Cy Quotes

Lu-cy...you have some s'plainin' to do. ~Gem

Hearts can never be stolen, Cy. They can only be given.” – Ren

Don't be an Island Cy. When you push us away, the only person you hurt is yourself.

Why are you still with me, Fry?" CyFi asks after one of his body-shaking seizures. "Any sane dude woulda taken off days ago. "Who says I'm sane?" "Oh, you're sane, Fry. You're so sane, you scare me. You're so sane, it's insane.

a salesman is an it that stinks to please but whether to please itself or someone else makes no more difference than if it sells hate condoms education snakeoil vac uumcleaners terror strawberries democ ra(caveat emptor)cy superfluous hair

I love my sculptures, and I was lucky I had them for 50 years because no one would look at them and I really liked having them around.

Daddy didn’t say anything for a minute or so, and then he reached up and caught a firefly as it glowed beside him. “See this light?” he asked me when the firefly lit up his hand. “Yes’r.” “That light is bright enough to light up a little speck of the night sky so a man can see it a ways away. That’s what God expects us to do. We’re to be lights in the dark, cold days that are this world. Like fireflies in December.” “Time meandered on without Gemma’s momma and daddy, and it meandered on without Cy fuller and Walt Blevins. . . but those of us left behind viewed life more dearly, felt it more keenly. I’d learned a bit more about God and I’d seen His powerful hands at work. As I was growing, my heart was changing. And the way I figured it, there were lessons learned in those dark days that would help me for years to come.” “As I sat on the porch on that December day . . . I leaned my head against the rail and sighed deeply. The way I figured it just then, my summer may have been full of bad luck, but my life wasn’t. I figured as far as family went, I was one of the luckiest girls alive.

There were times when initial introductions were so vested with something other as to confuse and distract and entrance both parties, Cy would realize later. And only further into their relationships when you knew the person better, and their place in your life became clear, if there was love, if there was hate, if there was deepness of any kind, only then did you understand that the embers of meaning have been present all along and glowing since that first moment you laid eyes on them. As if you already knew them before you came to know them. As if some rift had bent time.

All the computers in the world are on a network. They’re linked by our cuffs. But I’m a computer. Jack’s a computer—Akilah—PA Young—all the cy-clones. We’re all computers. You know the great thing about computers? They can be hacked.

And we who have always thought of happiness climbing, would feel the emotion that almost startles when happiness falls.

Elliot Rawley was a drinker, Cy’s mother had been right. And he was a poor drinker. One that let the demons of the bottle into his head when he tipped it back, demons that went about unloosing all the trouble they could find stashed in the catacombs of his mind. Every tragic thing that had ever happened, every self-doubt, every delusion, freed itself from bondage and revisited him when he drank.

It’s Curt Schilling and his bloody sock staring down the Yankees in the Bronx. It’s Derek Lowe taking the mound the very next night to complete the most improbable comeback in baseball history—and then seven days later clinching the World Series. It’s Pedro Martinez and his six hitless innings of postseason relief against the Indians. Yes, it is also Cy Young and Roger Clemens, and the 192 wins in a Red Sox uniform that they share—the perfect game for Young, the 20 strikeout games for Clemens—but it is also Bill Dinneen clinching the 1903 World Series with a busted, bloody hand, and Jose Santiago shutting down Minnesota with two games left in the season to keep the 1967 Impossible Dream alive, and Jim Lonborg clinching the Impossible Dream the very next day, and Jim Lonborg again, tossing a one-hitter and a three-hitter in the 1967 World Series, and Luis Tiant in the 1975 postseason, shutting out Oakland and Cincinnati in back-to-back starts. They are all winners.

Nobody has won thirty games in a season since Denny McLain did it in 1968. No other pitcher has drunk as many Pepsi-Colas, broken as many team rules, or played the organ as famously as McLain did. And there has never been another World Series game in which both starting pitchers had won the Cy Young and Most Valuable Player awards that year.

The best is yet to come...

We over-manage and under-lead, trying to control people rather than connecting to them and developing their potential.

Leaning over, Jace cupped his cheek again and rested his forehead against his. “The sky’s missing a star tonight, Cy, because you’re right here with me.

I probably won more games than you'll ever see - Cy Young

I lurve her. She’s got such beautiful fuck off energy. It’s like big dick energy…but spi-cy!

Jeśli ro­zu­mie się ludzi, wszy­scy stają się in­te­re­su­ją­cy.

Stick with me," CyFi had said, putting his fist in the air, "and as God is my witness, you will never go hungry again." Then he added, "That's from Gone with the Wind.

I go by CyFi.

Lev had agreed to go with him because he knew the two tilled a need in each other. CyFi was like a preacher with no flock. He couldn't exist without an audience, and Lev needed someone who could fill his head with ideas, to replace the lifetime of ideas that had been taken from him.

Relief pitchers have only recently begun receiving proper recognition. When Whitey Ford rose at the New York Baseball Writers banquet to receive the Cy Young Award for the 1961 season, he said he had a nine-minute speech but would deliver only seven minutes of it. He would let Luis Arroyo, who had saved so many of Ford’s wins, do the final two minutes.

Like most bad ideas, it started with alcohol.

I hate roses. Don't you? It's all right if you can hide them in a cutting garden, but I think a rose garden is the height of ick.

Love Knows NO GENDER.

I’d tarred him with the same brush my ancestors had been tarred with. I’d become the perpetrator of the crime with my prejudice of his looks.

Shut up and kiss me! You had me at, I know every millimetre of your face.

The past is a springboard for me….Ancient things are new things. Everything lives in the moment; that’s the only time it can live, but its influence can go on forever.

Legs still clenched together like a twelve year old virgin at a pedophilia conference

In fact, employee evaluations, if you keep them at all, should be centered not on past performance but on readiness for the future.

You're like a salmon swimming upstream," Lev offers. “It's inside you to do it. And it's inside me to help you get there.” “Salmon.” Cy looks thoughtful. “I once saw this poster about a salmon. It was jumping up this waterfall, see? But there was a bear at the top, and the fish, it was jumping right into the bear's mouth. The caption beneath— it was supposed to be funny—said, The journey of a thousand miles sometimes ends very, very badly.

We cannot guess what incident or influence arranged our lives or ambitions in the way that it did, or whether in fact it was something deeper. And most mysterious of all is why artists become artists, and why they become the artists they are.

Takie dzia­ła­nia to także go­to­wy prze­pis na ka­ta­stro­fę. Nawet naj­po­pu­lar­niej­si twór­cy, któ­rych mamy za wiecz­nie za­do­wo­lo­nych i na­ła­do­wa­nych dobrą ener­gią, łapią so­cial­me­dio­we kry­zy­sy, gdy któ­re­goś dnia nie są w sta­nie wsta­wić żad­ne­go po­zy­tyw­ne­go zdję­cia ani na­grać ekscytujące­go sto­ries. Na tym polu łatwo się wy­pa­lić, znu­dzić swoją dzia­łal­no­ścią i na­brać niebezpiecznego prze­ko­na­nia, że nie mamy prawa do sła­bo­ści oraz gor­szych dni.

See my coat over there? I want you to look in the pockets.” CyFi’s heavy coat is a few yards away tossed over the seat of a swing. Lev goes to the swing set and picks up the coat. He reaches into an inside pocket and finds, of all things, a gold cigarette lighter. He pulls it out. “Is that it, Cy? You want a cigarette?” If a cigarette would bring CyFi out of this, Lev would be the first to light it for him. There are things far more illegal than cigarettes, anyway. “Check the other pockets.” Lev searches the other pockets for a pack of cigarettes, but there are none. Instead he finds a small treasure trove. Jeweled earrings, watches, a gold necklace, a diamond bracelet—things that shimmer and shine even in the dim daylight. “Cy, what did you do . . . ?” “I already told you, it wasn’t me! Now go take all that stuff and get rid of it. Get rid of it and don’t let me see where you put it.” Then he covers his eyes like it’s a game of hide-and-seek. “Go—before he changes my mind!” Lev pulls everything out of the pocket and, cradling it in his arms, runs to the far end of the playground. He digs in the cold sand and drops it all in, kicking sand back over it. When he’s done, he smoothes it over with the side of his shoe and drops a scattering of leaves above it. He goes back to CyFi, who’s sitting there just like Lev left him, hands over his face. “It’s done,” Lev says. “You can look now.” When Cy takes his hands away, there’s blood all over his face from the cuts on his hands. Cy stares at his hands, then looks at Lev helplessly, like . . . well, like a kid who just got hurt in a playground. Lev half expects him to cry. “You wait here,” Lev says. “I’ll go get some bandages.” He knows he’ll have to steal them. He wonders what Pastor Dan would say about all the things he’s been stealing lately. “Thank you, Fry,” Cy says. “You did good, and I ain’t gonna forget it.” The Old Umber lilt is back in his voice. The twitching has stopped.

It’s important to remember that most television is not just entertainment: it’s also narrative. And it’s so true it’s trite that human beings are narrative animals: every culture countenances itself as culture via a story, whether mythopoeic or politico-economic; every whole person understands his lifetime as an organized, recountable series of events and changes with at least a beginning and middle. We need narrative like we need space-time; it’s a built-in thing. In the C.Y. writers today, the narrative patterns to which literate Americans are most regularly exposed are televised. And, even on a charitable account, television is a pretty low type of narrative art. It’s a narrative art that strives not to change or enlighten or broaden or reorient — not necessarily even to “entertain”—but merely and always to engage, to appeal to. Its one end — openly acknowledged — is to ensure continued watching. And (I claim) the metastatic efficiency with which it’s done so has, as cost, inevitable and dire consequences for the level of people’s tastes in narrative art. For the very expectations of readers in virtue of which narrative art is art." - from"Fictional Futures and the Conspicuously Young

There is no fault that can’t be corrected [in natural wine] with one powder or another; no feature that can’t be engineered from a bottle, box, or bag. Wine too tannic? Fine it with Ovo-Pure (powdered egg whites), isinglass (granulate from fish bladders), gelatin (often derived from cow bones and pigskins), or if it’s a white, strip out pesky proteins that cause haziness with Puri-Bent (bentonite clay, the ingredient in kitty litter). Not tannic enough? Replace $1,000 barrels with a bag of oak chips (small wood nuggets toasted for flavor), “tank planks” (long oak staves), oak dust (what it sounds like), or a few drops of liquid oak tannin (pick between “mocha” and “vanilla”). Or simulate the texture of barrel-aged wines with powdered tannin, then double what you charge. (““Typically, the $8 to $12 bottle can be brought up to $15 to $20 per bottle because it gives you more of a barrel quality. . . . You’re dressing it up,” a sales rep explained.) Wine too thin? Build fullness in the mouth with gum arabic (an ingredient also found in frosting and watercolor paint). Too frothy? Add a few drops of antifoaming agent (food-grade silicone oil). Cut acidity with potassium carbonate (a white salt) or calcium carbonate (chalk). Crank it up again with a bag of tartaric acid (aka cream of tartar). Increase alcohol by mixing the pressed grape must with sugary grape concentrate, or just add sugar. Decrease alcohol with ConeTech’s spinning cone, or Vinovation’s reverse-osmosis machine, or water. Fake an aged Bordeaux with Lesaffre’s yeast and yeast derivative. Boost “fresh butter” and “honey” aromas by ordering the CY3079 designer yeast from a catalog, or go for “cherry-cola” with the Rhône 2226. Or just ask the “Yeast Whisperer,” a man with thick sideburns at the Lallemand stand, for the best yeast to meet your “stylistic goals.” (For a Sauvignon Blanc with citrus aromas, use the Uvaferm SVG. For pear and melon, do Lalvin Ba11. For passion fruit, add Vitilevure Elixir.) Kill off microbes with Velcorin (just be careful, because it’s toxic). And preserve the whole thing with sulfur dioxide. When it’s all over, if you still don’t like the wine, just add a few drops of Mega Purple—thick grape-juice concentrate that’s been called a “magical potion.” It can plump up a wine, make it sweeter on the finish, add richer color, cover up greenness, mask the horsey stink of Brett, and make fruit flavors pop. No one will admit to using it, but it ends up in an estimated 25 million bottles of red each year. “Virtually everyone is using it,” the president of a Monterey County winery confided to Wines and Vines magazine. “In just about every wine up to $20 a bottle anyway, but maybe not as much over that.

Today, 9/10/20, Thursday, Deathload is being promoted on Discovery with a new five-star review by Karen Siddle. Check out the book/review on Amazon.

I’ll love you, Jace. I’ll love you until my end of days.” Warmth flooded Jace’s chest. His smile broadened, and he twisted in the Messenger’s arms to look up at him. Burying a hand in his hair, he pulled Cyrus down for a kiss. “You can’t just say shit like that to me, Cy,” he told him.” You’re going to make me love you, too.

Did your friend kill my father as a wedding present?” “Technically, he’s Cy’s friend,” Preacher murmured, staring after Javier, “but yeah, I think maybe he did. Are you alright?” Memphis thought about it for a long minute.

bal-cy-on (adjective). Calm, quiet, peaceful, undisturbed. I shan't look back upon these as halcyon days.

Nicky’s mouth found Cy’s, explaining in-between kisses. “I demanded conjugal visits, and I don’t think we should waste it. I want you to bang me like a drum in the marching band, like a screen door in a hurricane. Fuck me until every person in a fifty mile radius knows I’m getting railed by your huge cock and the guards are too embarrassed

The guards were just as much like animals as the animals they watched. They were wolves watching over sheep. They liked inflicting pain, flexing their power, making inmates beg for any shred of humanity. Cy couldn’t let Nicky be their next victim.

Cytat nr 1 Test

My daughter was making, that day in Chicago, an entirely unconscious but quite basic assumption about people and the work they do. She was assuming that the glory she saw in the work reflected a glory in its maker, that the painting was the painter as the poem is the poet, that every choice one made alone—every word chosen or rejected, every brush stroke laid or not laid down—betrayed one’s character. Style is character.

I need to talk to her,” Joan Didion’s young daughter said after seeing Georgia O’Keeffe’s Sky Above Clouds at the Art Institute of Chicago.

copy of Leonardo da Vinci’s destroyed masterpiece peaking through at the edges.

And, of course, the flowers: irises, lilies, bellflowers, peonies, chrysanthemums, tulips, tea roses, dried roses, black roses, palm leaves, calla lilies, hibiscus, dried garlic, plastic and paper and fabric.

The paintings of Fifty Days live together permanently at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

I’m held by nothing, I hold on to nothing, I belong to nothing. / All sensations seize me, and none endure.

the hero’s art is not about imagination, we see here, but perseverance in the face of endless tedium.

„Nie wszy­scy muszą sie­dzieć na ka­na­pach, oglą­dać te­le­wi­zję i go­to­wać obia­dy – mówią uczest­nicz­ki wy­pra­wy w Andy. – Świat byłby po­twor­nie nudny. W życiu są też po­trzeb­ni lu­dzie, któ­rzy wcho­dzą tam, gdzie nikt nie wszedł, nawet jeśli dają po­wo­dy do dys­ku­sji czy budzą emo­cje. I Wanda na pewno była taką osobą. Miała szer­szy ho­ry­zont i więk­sze plany, cele i ma­rze­nia niż zwy­kli śmier­tel­ni­cy”.

„Krocz spo­koj­nie wśród zgieł­ku i po­śpie­chu – pa­mię­taj, jaki pokój może być w ciszy. Tak da­le­ce, jak to moż­li­we, nie wy­rze­ka­jąc się sie­bie, bądź w do­brych sto­sun­kach z in­ny­mi ludź­mi. Praw­dę swoją głoś spo­koj­nie i jasno. Słu­chaj też tego, co mówią inni, nawet głup­cy i igno­ran­ci, bo oni też mają swoją opo­wieść. (...) Z całym swym za­kła­ma­niem, zno­jem i roz­wi­chrzo­ny­mi ma­rze­nia­mi cią­gle jesz­cze ten świat jest pięk­ny. Bądź uważ­ny, sta­raj się być szczę­śli­wym”[33].

Tak się skła­da, że je­śli wrzu­cisz w Go­ogle fra­zę «ka­rie­ro­wicz­ki», wy­sko­czy ci cał­kiem spo­ro lin­ków, ale je­śli wrzu­cisz «męż­czyź­ni ka­rie­ro­wi­cze», wy­szu­ki­war­ka spy­ta, czy masz na my­śli: „męż­czyź­ni – ka­rie­ry” (…). «Ka­rie­ro­wi­czo­stwo» – pa­to­lo­gicz­na po­trze­ba po­sia­da­nia płat­nej pra­cy – jest do­le­gli­wo­ścią, na któ­rą naj­wy­raź­niej cier­pią je­dy­nie ko­bie­ty

His work is as much a form of behavior as a product of craft.

Agnes Martin to Robert Ryman,

Part of the knack of looking at his paintings, as with swimming, is just to relax,” writes Martin Gayford. At which point, “Twombly’s art, far from being dauntingly avant-garde, is very easy to enjoy.

His passions and enthusiasms extended to paintings of all kinds, as well as to history, mythology, music, and much else, and he did not care if others did not share them. He was learned in a non-scholarly way. For him, culture was a living thing, not a box full of treasures to be plundered.

But Yau overstates the case. Culture for Twombly was both a “living thing” and “a box of treasures to be plundered.” These are not mutually exclusive, especially for Twombly.

At first he looked out of touch, then he looked inevitable, and then he looked great.

I’m asking them to empty themselves,” the photographer said of his process of giving his subjects so many instructions for how to position their body that they “become unaware, almost, of being photographed.”2

The Image cannot / be dis possessed of a / PRIMORdial / freshness / which IDEAS / CAN NEVER CLAIM.”1

irrational, involuntary, accidental, free, random,

the feeling of deskilling that Twombly had spent a lifetime seeking and perfecting.4

Eros weaver of myth, Eros sweet and bitter, Eros bringer of pain.

as if each painting is an hour of the day,

The quagliarola must have started.” Quagliarola, a word in no standard Italian dictionary, is the local term for the yearly migration of quail from North Africa to the Italian coast. This

Black Mountain College: Sprouted Seed, edited by Mervin Lane, and Black Mountain Book by Fielding Dawson; for a more in-depth history of the ethos, freedom, and collaborative spirit of the college, see Black Mountain College: Experiment in Art,

Nie twier­dzę, że po­wi­nie­neś igno­ro­wać wia­do­mo­ści lub nie zwa­żać na ak­ty­wi­stów na­wo­łu­ją­cych do dzia­ła­nia. Na­le­ży zi­gno­ro­wać pa­nu­ją­cy wokół szum, a sku­pić się na du­żych glo­bal­nych za­gro­że­niach. Nie twier­dzę, że po­wi­nie­neś wy­zbyć się lęku. Mu­sisz na­to­miast za­cho­wać spo­kój i wspie­rać współ­pra­cę na skalę świa­to­wą, która jest ko­niecz­na, jeśli chce­my za­po­biec tym za­gro­że­niom. Kon­tro­luj swój in­stynkt po­śpie­chu. Kon­tro­luj swoje po­zo­sta­łe dra­ma­tycz­ne in­stynk­ty. Nie stre­suj się wy­ima­gi­no­wa­ny­mi pro­ble­ma­mi drę­czą­cy­mi świat, który przed­sta­wia­ny jest w prze­sad­nie pe­sy­mi­stycz­nym świe­tle, lecz skup się na praw­dzi­wych pro­ble­mach i ich roz­wią­za­niach.

But the young man in his twenties is still in peak dreaming season: a thrilling time, an insecure time, even at the best of times. It should be a season full of possibility. Economic, romantic, technological, political, existential possibility. Yes, among all the various relativities to be considered, age is one that can't be parsed. The style of Cy - the style of all young people - now radically interrupted.

Ci, któ­rzy pro­wa­dzą oso­bi­ste no­tat­ni­ki, to cał­kiem od­mien­ny ga­tu­nek, sa­mot­ni i z upo­rem urzą­dza­ją­cy rze­czy­wi­stość po swo­je­mu, nie­spo­koj­ni mal­kon­ten­ci, dzie­ci naj­wy­raź­niej przy na­ro­dzi­nach do­tknię­te ja­kimś prze­czu­ciem czy stra­tą.

The images of the Eakens’ dying, the sounds of their pitiful screams, repeated in his mind and that feeling, that fear of never seeing his family again, overcame him―and he realized, as he entered the tunnel and the control of Cy disappeared instantly, the feeling was more than just fear; he wasn’t invincible anymore. He was just another Otherworlder with magic. If the Eakens could be murdered, the fourth most powerful Otherworlder alive, once alive, then no one was safe. Not even the Castaways. Ezrah Hollow kept on running.

No one’s ever needed me,” I whisper. “Not once in my life.” All three men groan simultaneously. I take a deep, shaky breath and look between each of them. “I love you,” I say. It’s the first time I’ve said those words in years. “All of you. I love you.” “We love you too, Bethie,” Cy whispers, kissing frantically down the crook of my neck. “We love you. Love you, love you, love you.

con·spir·a·cy/ [kuhn-spir-uh-see] an evil, unlawful, treacherous, or surreptitious plan formulated in secret by two or more persons; plot.

Flash grenades—a weapon used in China. Ingrid shivered as Cy’s comments suddenly made sense. Chinatown was so close. She was so close to the Chinese, to Lee and Jiao. So close, and so oblivious.

She was fucking gorgeous. Don’t gawk! A real android wouldn’t react, but as a cyborg, a red-blooded heterosexual man working undercover as a robot, how could he not?

Tex’ forearm twitched before he snarled again; “Lay…the…fuck…off.” Each word dripped with venom. “We will but first I want to make sure you take my meaning – take it as gospel. Play your little game, fuck her bow-legged but when it comes down to a choice between you or her getting hurt, I’ll put a bullet in her pretty little head so fast you’ll think you imagined her.” With that, he walked off. Cy following behind. They tipped their hats to Elena as they passed her.

I probably won more games than you'll ever see. - Cy Young

I would've liked to have been Poussin, if I'd had a choice, in another time.

A month in and it seemed to CY that he was an explorer summiting the foothill of an a bizarre and primitive island.

Love the quote: The best is yet to come...

It`s A dIsEasE In whIch wE hAvE thE tEndEnCy t0 kEep hUrtInG thE pErs0n wh0 cArEs f0r us‪‬

To be sure, Barbie is a toy, and in market research sessions, as Barbie's first advertising copywriter Cy Schneider has pointed out, children, presented with choices that can be characterized as "tasteful, gaudy, gaudier, or gaudiest," invariably choose "gaudiest." But Barbie is also a reflection of her times—or a reflection of how market researchers and professional prognosticators interpret them. And perhaps therein lies the paradox.

suicide is not an option. 

taught” specific sport skills that are not commensurate with their physical, cognitive, and emotional maturation levels. I have alluded to this at several places in the book. This is an alarming trend that has many long-term consequences. Certainly in most cases the young athletes have the specific sport skill and physical capabilities to excel, but what about for the long term? The early specialization can result in long-term stagnation. In reality, the ones who would have made it anyway do so because they matured early or just simply were more talented. At the other end of the spectrum there is greater incentive to compete longer because of the monetary rewards that are available in the later years of an athlete’s career. There is no simple solution to this. Intuitively we certainly know that the human cost is high. We always hear about those who made it, but what about the many who are cast by the wayside? The goal in youth sport should be to provide a good experience by teaching fundamentals and the rules, not by trying to identify the next National League MVP or Cy Young Award winner. Give them the opportunity to be kids. Play and playfulness

Whether you believe something possible or impossible -- either way, you will be right.

She felt like the crushed petals of a violet, dark and limp. No, no, no. She bit her knuckle until she tasted blood. Cy was gone.

AS THE DARKNESS grew, and with Samuel gone, Annie thought she’d join her children upstairs, but she stopped outside the door when she heard Birdie mention Cy’s name. Since he’d left, Birdie spoke to her in short angry sentences, as if Cy’s leaving were Annie’s fault. She wished she could hold her and say she understood. She had more in common with Birdie than she could admit. But she knew how trying to talk to her would go. They were each spinning in the dark, like flies in a glass of water, flapping around for something to latch onto. Something

It was the exploration of the past, not merely the facts of history but the stories of the past, that made the Memorials so important. A Memorial did not simply know that this fortress had been used to cage refugees, a Memorial smelled the death in the air, heard the sound of screams, sensed hope draining from bodies like spilled blood. With Memorials remembering the pain and devastation, their role was to ensure that things like these prison forts would never be used again. But here was Cy sitting in this cell, drowning in the pain of the past mixed with her own.

Is it my imagination or is his scrunched-up face, demonic eyes and fangs suddenly my idea of handsome?

Did your friend kill my father as a wedding present?” “Technically, he’s Cy’s friend,” Preacher murmured, staring after Javier, “but yeah, I think maybe he did. Are you alright?” Memphis thought about it for a long minute. “Yeah, in fact, I’ve never been better.

De hel is van binnen gestoffeerd als een Indisch hotel... en je krijgt er hetzelfde te eten ook...

{ "myRectShape": { "prefix": "myRectShape", "body": [ "float ${NAME}(float cx, float cy, float sx, float sy){", "\tfloat myRectX = step(cx - sx / 2.0, vUV.s) - step(cx + sx / 2.0, vUV.s);", "\tfloat myRectY = step(cy - sy / 2.0, vUV.t) - step(cy + sy / 2.0, vUV.t);", "\treturn myRectX * myRectY;", “}” ], “description”: “Draw a rectangle from its center position cx and cy, and size sx and sy” }, }

It was the prevalent thought on Wall Street that, without Cy Lewis, Bear Stearns would fade away like nomads in the night. Those skeptics overlooked one of Cy’s main attributes. He encouraged and promoted young people as fast as they warranted it. He left a group that could and did carry on.

Our first desire is to promote from within. If somebody with an MBA degree applies for a job, we will certainly not hold it against them, but we are really looking for people with PSD* degrees. They built this firm and there are plenty around because our competition seems to be restricting themselves to MBA’s. If we are smart, we will end up with the future Cy Lewises, Gus Levys and Bunny Laskers. These men made their mark with a high school degree and a PSD. * PSD stands for poor, smart and a deep desire to become rich.

C. Y. Croc knows that like art, stories can be subjective. What can be appealing for one person can be unappealing to another. She hopes you have a happy few hours getting lost in her art! ; )

Not that he would ever lay a hand on Cy the golden boy. Abuse of the smart one must always remain verbal. Emotional scars only for the good twin.

Cy smiles a lot, and I don’t. He’s the Yin to my Yang; the Ernie to my Bert, the Patch Kids to my Sour.

This was why people picked one person forever and ever amen—because that one person mattered more than anyone else. There was no democracy in monogamy, and Cy got that now like he never had before.

Gratitude fused with generosity expands the blessing. A practice of gratitude that fuels generosity can change other people’s lives in an impactful way. Breathe in gratitude, breathe out generosity. Repeat. A vital, virtuous cycle.