D Snyder Quotes

When we reached the door, Belen stepped in the way. 'If any harm—' 'Comes to her, you’ll rip out my arms. Got it,' Kerrick said. 'I’m serious,' Belen said. 'I know. Do you really think I’d put her in danger?' 'Not on purpose, but things happen that are out of your control.' Kerrick gave him a tight smile. 'You mean I'm not omnipotent?' 'You're not even semi-potent.' 'Is that even a word?' Kerrick asked. 'He probably means you're impotent,' I offered.

I'd wish you luck, but I don't think it would help.' 'Why not?' 'My lady, you make your own luck.

So who gave him his name?" I asked. "Kerrick," Belen answered. Not who I'd expect. "Why 'Flea'?" A full-out grin spread across Flea's face. "Cause I'm fast and hard to catch." "Because he's a pest and hard to squash," Belen said. "Because he jumps about three feet in the air when you scare him," Loren added. "Because he's annoying and makes us itch with impatience," Quain said. "Thanks, guys. I love you too." Flea made exaggerated kissing noises and patted his ass.

You put on such a brave front. But I know if I took another step toward you, you'd wet your pants.' 'With your blood.' I brandished my knife. But I couldn't keep a straight face; the boast sounded ridiculous even to my own ears. I snickered. She laughed. The release of tension made me giddy, and soon I was laughing and crying.

Yes, I thought I'd try electrocution next. Since a bomb, a fire, Vinco's knife and a brief encounter with outer space didn't kill me.

You had me tied in knots. You saved Belen's life, and I wanted to kill and thank you all at the same time. And during those nights when we didn't know if you'd live or die, I went from being angry, to worried to frustrated to scared all within a single heartbeat. If you had die, I would have killed you.

We should make a list of who doesn’t want to kill you, love. It’d be shorter.” I’d be offended, but it was actually a good idea.

You’re better off fighting hand to hand than wielding a weapon you don’t know how to use. A skilled opponent would simply disarm you. Then your troubles would be doubled. Not only would you be under attack, but you’d have to counter your own weapon

I’d better get going or Valek will be wondering where I am.” “Yes, by all means go. I noticed you and Valek have become close. Tell him, for me, not to kill anybody, will you?” Sarcasm rendered Rand’s voice sharp. I lost control and slammed the oven door shut. It echoed in the quiet kitchen. “At least Valek has the decency to inform me when he’s poisoning me,

I'd like you to make a commitment to me as well. Will you be my mate?

Some Queen of the Pipes, I thought. I'd believed I was better than a mindless drone. But I was the mindless one, hiding away. Even now I referred to them as if I didn't belong.

Yelena?” “Hmm?” “I’d like you to stay with me while we figure out how to unblock your magic. We’re stronger together.” “All right.” He laughed. “I thought I’d have more of a fight.” “I’m too tired to argue.” “Then I should take advantage of the situation.” I cracked one eye open. “And?” “I’d like you to stay with me forever.

I needed to sit down. I'd heard other people talk about having to sit down when shocked by an event or revelation and I had dismissed the notion as pure exaggeration. Little did I realize the actual physical weakness. It felt as if my bones had dissolved and my muscles could no longer support my weight.

You look stunning,” I blurted. Mortified, I blushed as a rush of heat spread through my body. I must have swallowed more brandy than I’d realized.

It was thrilling, wasn't it? [...] That moment, that perfect moment you let go of your rigid concepts of what was possible. When there was nothing left to do but step beyond anything you'd learned before...when you stopped being a poor mimic and became a master of the mind. How did that feel?" "Empowering.

Can you feel your pulse? That means Valek isn’t here, because if he was, you’d be dead. No pulse.

Ari said you screamed and raved a lot while he took care of you. In fact, he said that if Reyad was alive today, he’d gut the bastard without a moment’s hesitation. I just thought you might want to know.” Janco gave me a brotherly kiss on the forehead and left.

Whiskey Wendi," Kerrick said. "Oh, yes," Loren said. A slow smile spread on his lips. "That was Grzebien? Wow that was... a wild time." "That was also over a year ago before Estrid and when the Booze Baron ruled the town. Do you really think the people would remember us?" Quain asked. "Whiskey Wendi," Loren repeated, looking at Quain with a gleam in his eyes. "Oh, yeah." Quain grinned. "Yeah, they'd remember.

Hasn’t stopped us before. And besides, if they wanted to kill us, we’d be dead by now and would be having an entirely different conversation. I wonder if I’d still be mad at you, or if we would talk in words or pictures. Maybe in smells. That would be cool.” -Janco

Care to explain?” Ari asked. “Didn’t you see my signals?” “Yeah. But they didn’t make sense. Five into one and it’s an intrusion.” “It’s an illusion! Five of them are an illusion.” “That’s not the signal for illusion. This is.” Ari demonstrated the proper signal. “That’s what I did.” “No, you didn’t. You did a weird twisty thing with your pinky.” “I had a scimitar at my throat. I’d like to see you try signaling under those conditions.” -Janco and Ari bickering

I never laugh at a beautiful woman. I'd much rather laugh and dance with her.

Dear reader who finds this, if I am gone, My name is Jinny I lived here on this island. I loved it. I stayed. I held on. Then, after a pause, Jinny added a line. She'd never be able to write it in ink, bit it was there all the same, a ghost in the letter. As she slid the piece of paper into her pocket, she whispered it aloud. I held on Too long.

the democracies that arose after the First World War (and the Second) often collapsed when a single party seized power in some combination of an election and a coup d’état. A

The idea of calling this guy "dude" was ridiculous. His low, crisp voice sounded faintly English, definitely like he'd been raised somewhere outside the U.S. He was no more a dude than Fitz was a ballerina.

Since the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, historians have become both more accurate and more honest—fractionally more brave, one might say—about that 'other' cleansing of the regions and peoples that were ground to atoms between the upper and nether millstones of Hitlerism and Stalinism. One of the most objective chroniclers is Professor Timothy Snyder of Yale University. In his view, it is still 'Operation Reinhardt,' or the planned destruction of Polish Jewry, that is to be considered as the centerpiece of what we commonly call the Holocaust, in which of the estimated 5.7 million Jewish dead, 'roughly three million were prewar Polish citizens.' We should not at all allow ourselves to forget the millions of non-Jewish citizens of Belarus, Russia, Ukraine, and other Slav territories who were also massacred. But for me the salient fact remains that anti-Semitism was the regnant, essential, organizing principle of all the other National Socialist race theories. It is thus not to be thought of as just one prejudice among many.

Have you lost all faith?” “Yes,” she whispered. “Good,” he replied. “Then I have one last task for you. I’ve been to that planet of yours, and I think I’d like it best if the only sounds were the wind in the dead trees and the waves crashing upon empty shores.

What the hel—” “Finally! I can talk!” Janco said. Ari turned. Janco held the Sandseed’s scimitar in his hand. The man lay on the ground, unconscious. “Care to explain?” Ari asked. “Didn’t you see my signals?” “Yeah. But they didn’t make sense. Five into one and it’s an intrusion.” “It’s an illusion! Five of them are an illusion.” “That’s not the signal for illusion. This is.” Ari demonstrated the proper signal. “That’s what I did.” “No, you didn’t. You did a weird twisty thing with your pinky.” “I had a scimitar at my throat. I’d like to see you try signaling under those conditions.” Ari opened his mouth to retort, but thought better of it. They could argue for weeks and not resolve a thing. He changed tactics. “You did very well. You knocked him unconscious and stopped his magic.” As expected, Janco preened.

I still carry a picture in my mind of an abuser who is a rageaholic, a monster, a person visibly and uncontrollably angry. Someone easily identifiable as a “bad guy.” I may even have operated under the idea that my own gut instincts would alert me to such a man. And what strikes me immediately—in fact, deeply unsettles me in a way—is how incredibly normal they all seem. Like a bunch of guys I’d go have a beer with. They are charming. They are funny, gregarious, shy, high-strung. Good-looking or not, well-dressed or not. They are Everyman. One of the hallmarks of domestic violence, Adams told me, is this false idea that abusers are somehow angry generally; rather, their anger is targeted—at a partner or at the partner’s immediate family. As a result, friends and acquaintances of abusers are often surprised to hear that they committed an assault.

I believe real faith grows from the sanctification of the ordinary. When as a couple you commit on a regular basis to going to bed early to talk, and perhaps to making love afterward, that’s a sanctification of the ordinary.

In the United States, it wasn’t that there were no problems—poverty, disease, and natural disasters all happened here, too—but I’d forgotten how possible it was to live where, if you had the desire and the means, you could fairly easily insulate yourself from a lot of these problems.

What You Should Know to be a Poet" all you can know about animals as persons. the names of trees and flowers and weeds. the names of stars and the movements of planets and the moon. your own six senses, with a watchful elegant mind. at least one kind of traditional magic: divination, astrology, the book of changes, the tarot; dreams. the illusory demons and the illusory shining gods. kiss the ass of the devil and eat sh*t; fuck his horny barbed cock, fuck the hag, and all the celestial angels and maidens perfum’d and golden- & then love the human: wives husbands and friends children’s games, comic books, bubble-gum, the weirdness of television and advertising. work long, dry hours of dull work swallowed and accepted and lived with and finally lovd. exhaustion, hunger, rest. the wild freedom of the dance, extasy silent solitary illumination, entasy real danger. gambles and the edge of death.

I was looking at the sensoriums of heroes. I was sensing through the eyes and nose of Shelley and John Webster, and using the hearing and touch of Ginsberg and Duncan and Kerouac–– and the jazz lucidity of Creeley, and the Doug fir of Snyder, and the almost mystical, physical perceptions of D.H. Lawrence and of Olson himself. I was convinced that poetry was about, by, and from, the meat, that poetry was the product of flesh brushing itself against experience. We are seekers moving in the Tathagata brushing ourselves against the universe of the real, solid illusions. It is by our touches that we become ourselves –– as our ancestors became us and as we became our maturing, sharpening, brightening selves.

As more women began to attend Sinclair’s community organizing events, some of the men Sinclair had already helped organize would complain about the women, and say women can’t be organized. Organization was for men. “Five years I’d been doing this city-wide organization,” Sinclair told me of his time in Detroit, “and that was all destroyed when these men said, ‘You can’t organize girls.

It can’t be good news,” Leif said. “I’d doubt you would brave the weather just to say hello.” “You opened the door before I could knock,” I said. “You must know something’s up.” Leif wiped the rain from his face. “I smelled you coming.” “Smelled?” “You reek of Lavender. Do you bathe in Mother’s perfume or just wash your cloak with it?” he teased. “How mundane. I was thinking of something a little more magical.

Her eyes were glued to the tv; she didn't even notice when half of the noodles she'd attempted to cram in her mouth fell into her lap. Shifting my eyes, I realized why. It wasn't a tv show she was watching-it was the movie Magic Mike. And dear God, I didn't blame her for tuning me out. How Channing Tatum landed those moves blew my freaking mind. This couldn't be something he was taught, that was for sure. No, not even close, those dance moves were something he was born knowing how to do. And Jesus he looked good doing them.

Another example is tamoxifen, which is used for treatment of endocrine responsive breast cancer. Tamoxifen is given to patients postsurgery and dramatically reduces the rate of cancer recurrence. This drug is metabolized by cytochrome P450 2D6, the product of the CYP2D6 gene. Based on their DNA, there are patients with little CYP2D6 activity who are poor metabolizers and others with high activity who are extensive metabolizers. An FDA-approved genetic test exists for finding the variants of the CYP2D6 gene to help guide tamoxifen administration, but the lack of study data demonstrating its role in improving patient outcomes has, to date, led insurance companies to refuse to cover the test. Beyond having ramifications for drug efficacy, genetics also may play a role in the side effects of drugs.

I am sleeping deeply and soundly each and every night. I am waking up in the morning feeling rested and refreshed. I am easily drifting off to sleep each night. I am feeling very relaxed when I am getting into bed. I am allowing my body to drift off to sleep. I am reminding myself that I am functioning well throughout the day. I am letting go of stress and worry. I am feeling calm and deeply relaxed. I am engaging in relaxing activities prior to going to bed. I am noticing that my mind is growing quiet as I am lying in bed. I am abstaining from napping.* I am becoming an excellent sleeper. I am performing a self-soothing activity before going to bed. (See prior chapter for examples.) If you have a sleep problem, choose five to eight of the above statements and add them to the general statements that you’ve already selected.

But I imagine somewhere in one of the darkened windows there’s a couple who are still in their first throes of passion on this weeknight at 9: 00 P.M. I imagine they’ll stay up most of the night, lost in each other’s presence and wondering if this might be for real. It’s entirely possible this couple will never need my help. But while I have them in mind, I silently make them the following wish: Pay attention to this moment. It won’t come again. Moments like these have their mission, which is to inspire you to love. Love each other deeply and well. Be patient and kind to each other. In the place where you came together just now, you were as honest as small children, and just as vulnerable. The small children of your inner hearts will show you the way to heaven, if you let them. Let them run all the way up to heaven together, holding hands.

Hitler and Mussolini were indeed authoritarians, but it doesn’t follow that authoritarianism equals fascism or Nazism. Lenin and Stalin were authoritarian, but neither was a fascist. Many dictators—Franco in Spain, Pinochet in Chile, Perón in Argentina, Amin in Uganda—were authoritarian without being fascists or Nazis. Trump admittedly has a bossy style that he gets from, well, being a boss. He has been a corporate boss all his life, and he also played a boss on TV. Republicans elected Trump because they needed a tough guy to take on Hillary; previously they tried bland, harmless candidates like Romney, and look where that got them. That being said, Trump has done nothing to subvert the democratic process. While progressives continue to allege a plot between Trump and the Russians to rig the election, the only evidence for actual rigging comes from the Democratic National Committee’s attempt to rig the 2016 primary in favor of Hillary over Bernie. This rigging evoked virtually no dissent from Democratic officials or from the media, suggesting the support, or at least acquiescence, of the whole progressive movement and most of the party itself. Trump fired his FBI director, provoking dark ruminations in the Washington Post about Trump’s “respect for the rule of law,” yet Trump’s action was entirely lawful.18 He has criticized judges, sometimes in derisive terms, but contrary to Timothy Snyder there is nothing undemocratic about this. Lincoln blasted Justice Taney over the Dred Scott decision, and FDR was virtually apoplectic when the Supreme Court blocked his New Deal initiatives. Criticizing the media isn’t undemocratic either. The First Amendment isn’t just a press prerogative; the president too has the right to free speech.

Are you wondering what to write? Let’s start with some general statements that are useful each and every day. Then we’ll create statements that address specific emotional states like depression, anxiety, and feelings of stress. We’ll also create statements that pertain to specific situations such as sleep, relationships, parenting, job, school, health, skills, talents, and leisure activities. GENERAL STATEMENTS Here are some useful statements to write each and every day. Select two or three that resonate with you. You are not limited to these examples. You can write whatever you wish as long as it is a POSITIVE statement in the PRESENT TENSE that begins with ‘I AM’ and uses the PROGRESSIVE ‘ing’ form of the verb. At first, while learning the technique, you might want to use the statements suggested in this book. REMEMBER: Each POSITIVE, PRESENT TENSE, PROGRESSIVE statement is something you would like to be true. But you are writing it as if it already is true. In other words: I am writing positive statements. I am wanting them to be true. I am noticing that they are becoming true. I recommend writing at least two general statements every day. Here are some examples: I am embracing each and every day. I am enjoying today. I am living in the present moment. I am looking forward to today. I am having a productive day. I am staying focused. I am handling things well. I am taking things as they come. I am coping well with problems. I am focusing on the positives. I am moving smoothly through the day. I am confidently coping with challenges. I am noticing how well the day is going. I am feeling fully and deeply alive. Select two or three statements from the above list and write them here.

In reference to four of the most notorious death camps, Snyder notes, “The 1.6 million or so Jews killed at Treblinka, Chelmni, Belzec and Sobibor were asphyxiated by carbon monoxide.” At Auschwitz, the Nazis used Zyklon B hydrogen cyanide gas to kill an additional one million Jews.

Miss Trent opened the Bow Street Society’s office door but didn’t enter; she knew she’d locked it. Slowly she looked over the darkened room until she could make out two silhouettes; one behind the desk, the other to its left. She stared at the latter as she moved forward and closed the door. “There is a lamp, you know,” she remarked casually. Lifting the glass shade from the kerosene lamp on her desk, she turned on the gas slightly and ignited it with a match. As she carefully increased the lamp’s gas, the faces of Mr Locke and Mr Snyder emerged from the darkness.

C'è un punto oltre il quale l'addestramento e la pratica non possono portare. Zeami, lo straordinario drammaturgo e regista di teatro Noh del quattordicesimo secolo, che era anche sacerdote zen, ha parlato di questo momento come di una “sorpresa”. È la sorpresa di scoprire di non aver più bisogno di un sé, la sorpresa di ritrovarsi una cosa sola col proprio lavoro in un movimento pieno di fluida disciplina e grazia. Allora si capisce che cosa vuol dire essere una palla d'argilla che gira sul tornio, un trucciolo bianco sollevato dalla punta dello scalpello o una delle molte mani di Kannon, Bodhisattva della Compassione. A questo punto è possibile essere liberi, nel lavoro e dal lavoro.

La nostra cultura è nella famiglia e nella comunità ed emerge quando ci mettiamo insieme a fare un lavoro concreto, a giocare, a raccontare storie, recitare, o quando qualcuno si ammala, muore o nasce, oppure in occasione di feste come il Giorno del Ringraziamento. Una cultura è una rete di comunità locali che ha radici e viene curata. Ha dei limiti ed è ordinaria. “È una persona colta” non dovrebbe significare “d'élite” ma piuttosto qualcosa come “ben fecondata”. (Il termine cultura rimanda a significati latini legati al verbo colere, coltivare, curare, venerare, rispettare. La radice kwel significa fondamentalmente girare intorno a un cerchio, ed è parente di wheel (ruota) e del greco telos, completamento di un ciclo, da cui teologia. In sanscrito la ruota o “la grande ruota dell'universo” è chakra e la parola hindi moderna corrisponde a charkha, arcolaio, la ruota per filare con cui Gandhi meditò sulla libertà dell'India mentre era in prigione).

The Maker of all things is finding ways to make Himself known to those He has made. Maybe if I lived in a place like Kenya and had to wake up everyday wondering whether I'd have enough to eat and drink, and maybe if I had to wonder those same things about everyone I loved, then it wouldn't take grand, blatant gestures for me to appreciate God's provision. Maybe if I had a little less of what I need, then I would remember a little more how much I need Him.

I’d never listened so carefully to something I didn’t want to hear.

To be precise, I’d say you’re in the village of Hamlin. To be realistic, I’d say you’re exactly where you need to be.

I am focusing on all that is positive. I am experiencing an inner joy. I am embracing today and every day. I am looking forward to today. I am having a good day. I am doing something I enjoy. I am noticing that my energy is increasing. I am sleeping deeply and soundly every night. I am being good to me. I am loving myself more and more. I am beginning to feel hopeful. I am laughing more and more every day. I am having a productive day. I am feeling good about my accomplishments. I am complimenting myself today. I am making someone laugh today. I am doing one of my favorite things today. If you are despondent or depressed, select five to eight statements from the above list and write them in the space below.

I am letting go of stress. I am living in the present moment. I am breathing easily and naturally. I am sleeping deeply and soundly every night. I am beginning to feel more and more calm. I am noticing that my mind is feeling more clear and more quiet. More examples: I am focusing on whatever I am doing. I am accepting what is. I am taking things as they come. I am letting go of worry. I am living in the now. I am enjoying each and every moment. I am embracing each and every day. I am learning ways to soothe myself. I am feeling hopeful. I am laughing more and more every day. I am having a productive day. I am feeling good about my accomplishments. I am complimenting myself today. I am making someone laugh today. I am doing one of my favorite things today.

I am noticing that my relationship with (write name) is going more and more smoothly. I am becoming more and more patient. I am creating a positive relationship with (write name). I am feeling closer to (write name). I am learning positive parenting skills. I am listening and observing without reacting. I am being clear, firm, and loving with (write child’s name). I am behaving in a warm and loving manner with (write partner’s name). I am spending quality time with (write name) on a regular basis. I am verbalizing caring and loving feelings to (write partner’s name). I am displaying physical affection to (write partner’s name). I am doing something for (write partner’s name) that I know will please (him/her). Practice creating Cognitive Workout statements that deal with specific relationship issues or concerns that you are currently experiencing. You can use the above list of statements to guide you.

Le porte d'entrata sono tutte orientate verso est. Al centro di ogni casa c'è il focolare, ogni mattina la luce del sole entra attraverso la porta che guarda a oriente e illumina il focolare, allora dicono che la dea del sole visita sua sorella, la dea del fuoco del focolare.

BOOKS/AUTHORS ON THE BACKS OF LIBRARY CARDS #1 Miguel Fernandez Incident at Hawk’s Hill by Allan W. Eckert/ No, David! by David Shannon #2 Akimi Hughes One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish by Dr. Seuss/Nine Stories by J. D. Salinger #3 Andrew Peckleman Six Days of the Condor by James Grady/ Eight Cousins by Louisa May Alcott #4 Bridgette Wadge Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing by Judy Blume/ Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J. K. Rowling #5 Sierra Russell The Egypt Game by Zilpha Keatley Snyder/ The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin #6 Yasmeen Smith-Snyder Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne/The Yak Who Yelled Yuck by Carol Pugliano-Martin #7 Sean Keegan Olivia by Ian Falconer/Unreal! by Paul Jennings #8 Haley Daley Turtle in Paradise by Jennifer L. Holm/ A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle #9 Rose Vermette All-of-a-Kind Family by Sydney Taylor/ Scat by Carl Hiaasen #10 Kayla Corson Anna to the Infinite Power by Mildred Ames/Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein #11 UNKNOWN/CHARLES CHILTINGTON #12 Kyle Keeley I Love You, Stinky Face by Lisa McCourt/ The Napping House by Audrey

Full Disclosure: when Dan DiDio approached me about doing one, I was wary to say the least. Nowadays events often mean character deaths or reboots or company-wide publishing initiatives and so on. But the run Greg Capullo and I had on BATMAN was, for better or for worse, idiosyncratic - about our own hopes, our fears, our interests. It was just... very much ours. Even so, I told Dan that I *did* have a story, one I'd been working on for a few years, a big one, in the back of my brain. It was about a detective case that stretched back to the beginnings of humanity, a mystery about the nature of the DC Universe that Batman would try to uncover, and which would lead him and the Justice League to discover that their own cosmology was much larger, scarier and more wondrous than they'd known. But I wasn't sure it would make a good "event". Dan, to his credit, said, "Work it up and let's see." So I did. But in the course of working it up, I reread all the events I could think of. Just for reference. Not only recent ones, but events from years ago, from when I was a kid. And what I discovered, or rediscovered, was that at their core, events are joyous things. They're these great big stories, ridiculous tales about alien invasions or cosmic gems or zombie-space-cop attacks that have the highest stakes possible - stories where the whole universe hangs in the balance and nothing will ever be the same again! They were *about* things, and - what I also realized while doing my homework - when I was a kid, they were THE stories that brought me and my friends together. We'd split our money and buy different parts of an event, just to be able to argue about it. We'd meet after school and go on for hours about who should win, who should lose... Because even the grimmest events are celebratory. They're about pushing the limits of an already ludicrous form to a breaking point. So that's what I came back with. I remember standing in my kitchen and getting ready to pitch DARK NIGHTS: METAL to Greg, having prepared a whole presentation, a whole argument as to why, crazy as it was, it was us, it was *our* event. I said "It's called METAL," and Greg said, "I'm in," before I could even tell him the story. And even though Dan thought it was crazy, he went with it, and for that I'm very grateful. In the end, METAL is a lot of things - it's about those moments when you find yourself face to face with the worst versions of yourself, moments when all looks like doom - but at it's heart it's a love letter to comic storytelling at its most lunatic, and a tribute to the kinds of stories, events that got me thought hard times as a kid and as an adult. It's about using friendship as a foundation to go further than you thought you could go, and that means it's about me and Greg, and you as well. Because we tried something different with it, something ours, hoping you'd show up, and you did. So thank you, sincerely, from all of us on the team. Because when they work, events are about coming together and rocking out over our love of this crazy art form. And you're all in the band, now and always.

There was something else about Tuol Sleng that was important, though, beyond the ghosts and the darkness. At night, after it closed to tourists, it opened as a parking garage. Boeung Keng Kang III was not a neighborhood built for cars, and many homes had nowhere at night to park their cars. It was not unusual to see Camrys and Daelim motorcycles parked for the night in someone’s living room. But at Tuol Sleng, for two thousand riel, or fifty cents, you could park from eight o’clock at night until eight in the morning, an hour before the gates opened for tourism. Paul and I each had a motorcycle for the first three years that we lived in Phnom Penh, but eventually I sold mine and we bought a cobbled-together SUV, a Kia Sportage body with a Mitsubishi engine and air-conditioning. Then we, too, became nighttime patrons of the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum parking lot. We’d pull in to the gate and hand money to one of several guards hanging out in hammocks as a soccer game played on an old television hooked up to a car battery. At first it was hilarious, and then an odd fact we’d share among our friends, and eventually just part of our daily routine. There was the horror and the memory, there were the ghosts and the darkness, but there was also the absolute utilitarian need to go on.

then through the Indian Ocean, down around the Cape of Good Hope, and up to the Atlantic. The entirety of the world via water. So many of the places I went exist in my mind like a brochure when I try to recall them. Elephants in Tsavo East National Park, an elevator packed with people riding from Salvador’s upper to lower city. The rippling heat of Delhi and the bright turquoises, saffrons, and fuchsias of women’s saris. I learned about silk and sashimi, about wild animals and barren deserts. I also learned about intractable poverty, caste systems, indigenous tribes—things I might have learned about America if I’d been paying closer attention. But this is perhaps the most profound lesson of travel, that you don’t really know the place and culture you’ve come from until you’ve left it. Today, I think that even if I had someday left the States, without that voyage, I’d have trod the familiar: London, Paris, Amsterdam, Montreal. Instead, Semester at Sea gave me the courage to imagine a different kind of travel, and a blueprint for how to do it. To see the sights, certainly, but to understand that it was meeting people that really mattered. In this, I also count a legacy from my father, the salesman who could talk to anyone about anything.

Have a nice day,” she said, waving. Which people said all the time, and probably didn’t really mean, but I swear, in that moment, she sounded like she really meant it. Like she genuinely hoped I’d have an especially nice day.

MARTIN SELIGMAN, LE GOUROU SCIENTIFIQUE Du mouvement humaniste est vraisemblablement née la psychologie positive. Mais il est indéniable que cette dernière surpasse l’humanisme des années 1960, braquées sur une forme de nirvana individuel et sur l’apologie du me, myself and I. La psychologie positive encourage le développement d’une personne saine dans une «société saine», l’une étant indissociable de l’autre. De plus, cette approche nouvelle ne partage pas la méfiance de ses aïeuls envers la méthode scientifique. Au contraire, elle s’en sert pour réclamer que l’on accorde au «positif» une place aussi importante qu’au «pathologique», ni plus ni moins. C’est ainsi qu’en 2002, dans un dernier chapitre du Handbook of Positive Psychology, les éditeurs Charles Snyder et Shane Lopez, tous deux docteurs en psychologie, signaient la «déclaration d’indépendance au modèle médical». Cet ouvrage marquait le coup d’envoi de cette science du bonheur dont la naissance officielle est généralement attribuée à Martin Seligman. Avec ses airs de méchant garçon plus brillant que ses maîtres, il procura l’étincelle qu’il fallait pour révolutionner les principes humanistes vieillissants. En 1998, lors de son passage à la présidence de l’American Psychological Association, il invita les psychologues américains et ceux du monde entier à aider les gens à être heureux.   L’histoire de Nikki Aussi surprenant que cela puisse paraître, Martin Seligman s’est d’abord fait connaître par son intérêt pour «l’impuissance apprise» (learned helplessness). À fin des années 1960, il démontra que, lorsqu’on lui inflige de petits chocs électriques, un animal finit par s’installer dans une forme de résignation acquise. Il consacra les premières années de sa carrière scientifique à ce domaine lugubre jusqu’au jour où Nikki, sa fille, lui apprit une leçon remarquable qu’il raconte comme une parabole.

Quizá resulte triste, pero para nada sorprendente, descubrir que expertos como Snyder son capaces de actuar en beneficio propio hasta el punto de engañar. Pero no pueden engañar solos. Los medios de comunicación necesitan a los expertos tanto como los expertos a los medios.

You haven't really lived if you don't wonder how you've lived this long.

Mama’s the sister I never had and the best friend I’d die without.

...if the world didn't suck, we'd all fall off.

Although you set your goal of getting a B, when your first exam score, worth 30% of your final grade is returned, you have received a D. It is now one week after you have learned about the D grade. What do you do?19 Hope made all the difference. The response by students with high levels of hope was to work harder and think of a range of things they might try that could bolster their final grade. Students with moderate levels of hope thought of several ways they might up their grade, but had far less determination to pursue them. And, understandably, students with low levels of hope gave up on both counts, demoralized. The question is not just theoretical, however. When C. R. Snyder, the University of Kansas psychologist who did this study, compared the actual academic achievement of freshman students high and low on hope, he discovered that hope was a better predictor of their first-semester grades than were their scores on the SAT, a test supposedly able to predict how students will fare in college (and highly correlated with IQ). Again, given roughly the same range of intellectual abilities, emotional aptitudes make the critical difference. Snyder's explanation: "Students with high hope set themselves higher goals and know how to work hard to attain them. When you compare students of equivalent intellectual aptitude on their academic achievements, what sets them apart is hope."20

JUST AS THEY’D planned, April stopped by the Rosses’ apartment on Thursday afternoon, and the three of them, April and Melanie and Marshall, went on down to pick up Elizabeth. Elizabeth

Smiling, Hearba offered her palms to the woman in greeting. “I thank you,” she said, when the greeting was completed, “for your kindness in coming to help us find our way about in this huge nid-place on this long day, which has left us quite exhausted. But perhaps you should quickly show us where we are to eat and sleep, as the night rains will soon begin and you will be unable to reach your own nid-place.” “You do not understand,” Ciela said. “My nid-place is here. I am assigned. You will find that with your special duties and responsibilities as the parents of a Chosen, you will have little time for such tasks as nid-weaving and food preparation.” “Valdo?” Hearba said questioningly, clearly asking him to intervene, and Raamo easily pensed her distress at the thought of sharing their nid-place with a stranger. But when Valdo responded by offering his thanks to Ciela, Hearba tried again. “We have always cared for our own—” she was saying when Ciela interrupted. “You have never had the care of so large a nid-place,” Ciela said, “nor the many responsibilities of a Chosen family. I think you will find that you need my help.” “Who is it that sends—” Hearba began haltingly, and then paused, troubled that the stranger might find her thoughtless and ungrateful. “By whom was I assigned?” Ciela asked. “By the Ol-zhaan. There is a helper assigned by the Ol-zhaan to the family of every Chosen, as I have been assigned to you.” Hearba bowed her head to signify her acceptance of the wisdom of the Ol-zhaan, the holy leaders of Green-sky. In the days that followed, Raamo remained with his family in the new nid-place. Just as before, his father and mother went daily to work as harvester and embroiderer, and Pomma returned to her classes at the Garden. But there were many differences. The D’ok family members were now persons of honor, and as such they found many differences in old familiar situations and relationships. People with whom they had long worked and played—friends with whom they had, only a few weeks before, danced and sung in the grund-halls, beloved friends with whom, in their Youth Hall days, they had once daily practiced rituals of close communion, even those with whom, as infants, they had once played Five-Pense—all these now stepped aside to let them pass and even asked them for advice in important matters—as if they had suddenly become authorities on everything from the nesting habits of trencher birds to the best way to cure an infant of fits of tearfulness.

I read R.D. Laing, I read Victor Frankl. Anything by Ken Kesey or Peter Matthiessen, Gary Snyder, Jack Kerouac, Alan Ginsberg, R. Crumb, Bob Dylan. These sacred texts are passed from one hand to another like relics of a religious past or harbingers of a new faith.

The day Mary Elizabeth had been born, he remembered how Susan had cried; he’d forced himself to cry with her. “I know,” he said to Susan, smiling, hugging her. Susan shook her head. He sat back, then, stopped hugging her, and balanced on the edge of her hospital bed, thinking, hormones. They’d been through it once already, with Thomas, three years earlier. In tears one minute and hysterical laughter the next. “I’m crying,” she said, “because I can’t think of a single place in the world that I can make safe enough for her.

There I met my granddaughter for the first time. As I held her, I wanted to give her a gift. Surely I could come up with something very special for my first grandchild. Not the usual stuffed animals and outfits, but something she could use for the rest of her life. She should get a lasting gift from her grandfather. It came to me that I’d like to give her hope.

a futile attempt to save myself, I annihilated everything inside me I cared about. Now, somehow, I’d come full circle. To lose myself in Jesus’ love, I had to let go. To let myself feel, I had to risk existential discomfort.

Knowledge had tried to come out of hiding dozens of times. In a song, a poem, the sun caressing golden wheat fields against a dark sky, I’d felt the nearness of God. Hundreds of times, I knew in my core that I was treasured.

And just to let you know, I see what you’re doing.” “Me?” He attempted to look innocent—a hard expression for him to pull off. Janco hadn’t been guiltless since he’d been a baby. Then again...his mother had claimed he’d come into the world feet first just to be difficult. “Save it for someone who has poor vision.” “Ouch.

Valek wondered aloud if their bedroom exertions endangered the baby. “No. Medic Mommy said we can have relations—those are her words, by the way, not mine—up until the last couple of weeks. However, I’ll be huge by then and probably resemble a turnip with legs. I doubt that you’d even want to have relations.” He cupped her cheek. “You are more beautiful to me today than yesterday. Each day, when I think I can’t possibly love you any more than I already do, you prove me wrong. So I’m very confident that even if you turn into a turnip with legs, I will love and desire you.” She turned and kissed him on the palm. “I love you, too.” He nuzzled her neck, then nibbled on her ear. “Besides, turnips are my favorite vegetable.” “Am I supposed to melt in your arms after that comment?” He pretended to be confused. “Turnips don’t melt.” Which earned him a hard smack on his arm. “Ow.” He rubbed his bicep. “Any other comments?” “You’re even beautiful when you’re annoyed.” “Nice save.” “The truth is easy, love.” He pulled her closer and breathed in her scent. Contentment filled him as he drifted to sleep.

Little Miss Assassin is as slow as molassin,” Janco sang. “Molassin? That’s not even a word,” Ari called. “Everyone’s a critic. I’d like to see you find a word that rhymes with assassin.

Please tell me you really didn’t think I’d set up such an obvious trap for you.” “You took a contract to kill Yelena. That makes me question the level of your intelligence.” “Fair enough.

As much as I enjoyed thinking all kinds of horrible possibilities about your whereabouts, do you think the next time you disappear, you could leave me a note?” Kade asked. “We can even make up a form. I’m gone because of A, Tricky, or B, Devlen, or C, fill in the blank. You can just circle a reason and leave it for me.” “Wow. That’s some impressive sarcasm,” Heli said. “I’m glad I’m not on the receiving end this time.” Considering all that had happened to me since I’d known Kade, I couldn’t blame him for being upset. “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to do it again.” An eyebrow spiked. “Try?” “Since your suggestion of making up a form actually is a good idea, I’d say try is the best I can do. I have no control over a whole list of things, but what I can control, I’ll make sure to let you know.” His anger dissipated as he conceded the point. “You liked my form idea?” A hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “It could use a little work. I think we should put check boxes next to the list—circling the reason might take too long. With a box, I can just check and go.” “I’ll get right on it.

She remembered once, years back, she and Deen had snuck away on a Changing night and made a bed in the high grass of the prairie, with their blankets and pillows. When they’d woken up, there had been a mouse, chewing on the pillow between them, and Deen had screamed so loud that Jinny’s ears rang.

You want to save me from them so you can force me to lead you to one of the glass prisons. I'll release the Warper trapped inside and you can learn how to finish the Kirakawa ritual." “That’s not why. Although you don’t appear bothered by that scenario.” I shrugged. “At least the Council would believe a Warper still lives and others are using blood magic.” “But people would die,” he said in shock. I almost laughed out loud at how we had reversed roles. It was fun playing the heartless destroyer. “It would be the Council’s fault. In fact the idea is growing on me.” I tapped a finger on my lips as if lost in thought. “If I release a Warper, I don’t really need you at all. Unless we use you as a sacrifice.: I studied him. He backed up. “You really are insane.” I pished. “I’m being smart. Think of how powerful I would be if I teamed up with a Warper. WE’d have my messengers, blood magic and, with my ability to siphon power, we’d have diamonds to fund our takeover. I could release the others and be unstoppable.” Delven’s shoulders dropped in chagrin as he realized what I’d been doing. “I should have known. You may have changed, but you’re not a ruthless killer.”I can learn to be ruthless.” I bent down to retrieve my switchblade. He grabbed my arm to stop me. This time I grasped at his wrist with my free hand and clamped down on his pressure point. He fell to his knees. “After all, you taught me well.

I'd suggest switching to the Great British Bake-Off," she said, dryly. "It might keep you from hitting on your lawyers, and you'll learn how to perfect a Victoria sponge to boot.

Maybe after all this was over, she'd write a book: A Desi's Guide to Going on the Run. Item 1: Aunties get shit done

Around this time, a few thousand miles west, in the industrial factory town of Zlín, Czechoslovakia, a gangly, five-foot-eight-inch runner named Emil Zátopek was experimenting with his own breath-restriction techniques. Zátopek never wanted to become a runner. When the management at the shoe factory where he was working elected him for a local race, he tried to refuse. Zátopek told them he was unfit, that he had no interest, that he’d never run in a competition. But he competed anyway and came in second out of 100 contestants. Zátopek saw a brighter future for himself in running, and began to take the sport more seriously. Four years later he broke the Czech national records for the 2,000, 3,000, and 5,000 meters. Zátopek developed his own training methods to give himself an edge. He’d run as fast as he could holding his breath, take a few huffs and puffs and then do it all again. It was an extreme version of Buteyko’s methods, but Zátopek didn’t call it Voluntary Elimination of Deep Breathing. Nobody did. It would become known as hypoventilation training. Hypo, which comes from the Greek for “under” (as in hypodermic needle), is the opposite of hyper, meaning “over.” The concept of hypoventilation training was to breathe less. Over the years, Zátopek’s approach was widely derided and mocked, but he ignored the critics. At the 1952 Olympics, he won gold in the 5,000 and 10,000 meters. On the heels of his success, he decided to compete in the marathon, an event he had neither trained for nor run in his life. He won gold. Zátopek would claim 18 world records, four Olympic golds and a silver over his career. He would later be named the “Greatest Runner of All Time” by Runner’s World magazine. “He does everything wrong but win,” said Larry Snyder, a track coach at Ohio State at the time. —

Tell them what? That we lost them? I'd rather tell them Tauno is afraid of heights and Moon Man is claustrophobic.

This is not a conventional “how-to” book. It contains no exercises, and it has few formulas saying “first do this, then do that.” This is intentional. As we’ll see later, eros doesn’t like to be told what to do. If you set a goal, your sexual mind will be happy to reject it. It’s kind of childish and brilliant that way. You also won’t find much about sexual biology or neurochemistry on these pages. Sex books these days tend to be full of advice for “boosting your dopamine”—or your oxytocin, or some other such nonsense. In all my 30 years as a sex therapist, I’ve yet to see a dopamine molecule walk into my office. We’ll stick with things you can see and feel yourself, without needing a laboratory. I’ll also spare you the body diagrams. You already know what a penis and vagina look like, right? And we won’t discuss how many neurons are concentrated in your clitoris. It’s an impressive number, but who really cares? There are a few great sex books already out there, and I’ll point them out to you as we go along. But reading most of the others is like gnawing on dry bones. As my friend and colleague Paul Joannides, the author of Guide to Getting it On (one of the aforementioned great ones), has accurately noted, “the trouble with most books on sex is they don’t get anyone hard or wet.” This book is not intended to get you hard or wet. But it’s meant not to get in your way either. The chapters are short, so you can read them even if you get a little distracted. Hey, I hope you get a little distracted. There are no lists to memorize, and there won’t be a test afterwards. We’re dealing with a part of the human mind that hasn’t gone to school yet, and never will. Any questions? OK, let’s get started . . . Adapted from LOVE WORTH MAKING by Stephen Snyder, M.D. Copyright © 2018 by the author and reprinted with permission of St. Martin’s Press, LLC.

I'd rather have freckles than be bald!

You won't ever find a perfect person. There isn't such a thing. However, you might find people that would treat you right, do all the right things, and might even be a perfect fit for you, but, because your mind is so contorted, you'd probably miss out on the opportunity. Simply because, according to you, they still weren't perfect enough.

The Commander’s lying is a more...recent event.” “But he didn’t tell you about Owen.” “Oh, he’s kept things from me before, but he’s never looked me in the eye and lied.” “What changed?” she asked. What indeed? “I suspect a few things.” “Such as?” “Not here, love. Janco’s far more interested in our conversation than his dreams.” “Am not,” Janco said, not in the least embarrassed he’d been caught eavesdropping. “Besides, I don’t have dreams, I have nightmares.” Before Janco could launch into a detailed description, Valek said, “Then we’ll let you get back to them.

Snyder had been running his twelve-man Special Forces team out of Naray since January. He conducted his operations with a palpable intensity, haunted by the ghosts of nineteen Americans—fellow special-operations troops—who’d been killed before he even arrived.

If you've never mistyped your password, it isn't complex enough.