Daylight Savings Quotes

I object to being told that I am saving daylight when my reason tells me that I am doing nothing of the kind... At the back of the Daylight Saving scheme, I detect the bony, blue-fingered hand of Puritanism, eager to push people into bed earlier, and get them up earlier, to make them healthy, wealthy, and wise in spite of themselves.

The sun got confused about daylight savings time. It rose twice. Everything had two shadows.

We set this house on fire forgetting that we live within.

Corporations even mess with one's natural sleep cycle. Daylight savings

The clock in his car hadn't adjusted to daylight saving time yet and said it was four-fifteen when it was really five-fifteen. Peter probably didn't have time to fiddle with it, or it was tricky, as car clocks are. I didn't mind. You can't mind these things, you just can't, for to dislike what makes a person human is to dislike all humans, or at least other people who can't work clocks. You have to love the whole person, if you are truly in love. If you are going to take a lifelong journey with somebody, you can't mind if the other person believes they are leaving for that journey an hour earlier than you, as long as truly, in the real world, you are both leaving at exactly the same time.

In the Northern Hemisphere, the switch to daylight savings time in March results in most people losing an hour of sleep opportunity. Should you tabulate millions of daily hospital records, as researchers have done, you discover that this seemingly trivial sleep reduction comes with a frightening spike in heart attacks the following day. Impressively, it works both ways. In the autumn within the Northern Hemisphere, when the clocks move forward and we gain an hour of sleep opportunity time, rates of heart attacks plummet the day after. A similar rise-and-fall relationship can be seen with the number of traffic accidents, proving that the brain, by way of attention lapses and microsleeps, is just as sensitive as the heart to very small perturbations of sleep. Most people think nothing of losing an hour of sleep for a single night, believing it to be trivial and inconsequential. It is anything but.

Daylight Savings" Like the money the light doesn't go as far these days

Have you found your life distasteful? My life did and does smack sweet. Was your youth of pleasure wasteful? Mine I save and hold complete. Do your joys with age diminish? When mine fail me, I'll complain. Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again.

The sun, taken in as usual by the never-failing practical joke of the Daylight Saving Act, had only just set, and a golden afterglow lingered on the fields as the car which had met the train purred over the two miles of country road that separated the little town from the castle.

My birthday is in March, and that year it fell during an especially bright spring week, vivid and clear in the narrow residential streets where we lived just a handful of blocks south of Sunset. The night-blooming jasmine that crawled up our neighborhood's front gate released its heady scent at dusk, and to the north, the hills rolled charmingly over the horizon, houses tucked into the brown. Soon, daylight savings time would arrive, and even at early nine, I associated my birthday with the first hint of summer, with the feeling in classrooms of open windows and lighter clothing and in a few months no more homework. My hair got lighter in spring, from light brown to nearly blond, almost like my mother's ponytail tassel. In the neighborhood gardens, the agapanthus plants started to push out their long green robot stems to open up to soft purples and blues.

Like we all sync our watches every year, at the start and at the end of daylight saving time, we also need to sync our relationships once in a while.

Now, my favorite day of the year is when daylight savings begins. It’s usually when the air starts to thaw and the only precipitation you can be threatened with is a little rain. You’re tired in the morning because you’ve lost an hour of sleep. But by seven o’clock at night, the sun is still out. And it’s warmer than it was yesterday at that time. It feels like the world is opening up, like the worst is over, and flowers are coming.

I believe history is a circle, made by men who don't learn from their mistakes.

The daylight has nothing to show me, since you are not here, and I don't like to see the rooks and starlings in the fields, because I grieve and grieve to miss you who used to see them with me. I long for only one thing in heaven or earth or under the earth, to meet you my own dear! Come to me - come to me, and save me from what threatens me! - Your faithful heartbroken

If only we could all escape from this house of incest, where we only love ourselves in the other, if only I could save you all from yourselves, said the modern Christ. But none of us could bear to pass through the tunnel which led from the house into the world on the other side of the walls, where there were leaves on the trees, where water ran beside the paths, where there was daylight and joy. We could not believe that the tunnel would open on daylight: we feared to be trapped into darkness again; we feared to return whence we had come, from darkness and night. The tunnel would narrow and taper down as we walked; it would close around us, and close tighter and tighter around us and stifle us. It would grow heavy and narrow and suffocate us as we walked.

What you see in an eclipse is entirely different from what you know. It is especially different for those of us whose grasp of astronomy is so frail that, given a flashlight, a grapefruit, two oranges, and fifteen years, we still could not figure out which way to set the clocks for Daylight Saving Time.

Daylight savings is approaching, relieving the world of its depressive claws. Something about the sun setting before five in the afternoon really puts a damper on your day.

Daylight Savings Time was created for the purpose of creating more taxable revenue on sales by the state governments by providing more daylight in the evening.

Out of the effort to cut back on civilian use of fuel, it was the Federal Fuel Administration that first introduced daylight saving time a year later, in 1918.

Wilson introduced Daylight Saving Time to America, which created an extra hour of farm work every day

She, for her part, was accustomed to my leavings and didn't complain too much. But she still felt about me what she'd always felt, which was what I wouldn't really feel about her until after she was gone. "I hate it when Daylight Savings Time starts while you're here," she told me while we were driving to the airport, "because it means I have an hour less with you.

To save myself, I would try to summon up a vision of Mattie, but I could not see her. I could not imagine her. Some nights in the midst of this loneliness I swung among the scattered stars at the end of the thin thread of faith alone. And then I would wake up and be in awe to see the daylight coming and my old familiar workaday life taking shape again in the dear world. Coherence and clarity returned. I could imagine myself again. I could imagine Mattie Chatham. I could imagine Port William.

Maybe like the bat in the birdcage, Gavriel had been waiting for dark, waiting to get out of the chains, drink Aidan’s blood, and escape. But when she showed up, he figured he could use them for a ride through daylight, so long as he seemed harmless enough to need saving. A chill crept up her spine.

Thank you, Daylight Savings Time, for making people wax on about the wonder of an extra hour of sleep, only to serve as an especially depressing reminder to parents that kids don’t care about farmers and harvests and extra hours of daylight. I enjoy my kids standing at my bedside at 4:30 a.m. like creepy, wide-awake Children of the Corn. Naptimes are also jacked, so there’s that. With all due respect-ish, A Tired Mom.

the true choice is between losing it all and creating what we are about to lose: only this could eventually save us, in a profound sense . . . The possible awakening of the bomb is not simply 'let's do all in our power to prevent it before it's too late', but rather 'let's first build this totality (unity, community, freedom) that we are about to lose through the bomb.

I loved my life in California, where it never snowed and the sun was always shining. Now, my favorite day of the year is when daylight savings begins. It’s usually when the air starts to thaw and the only precipitation you can be threatened with is a little rain. You’re tired in the morning because you’ve lost an hour of sleep. But by seven o’clock at night, the sun is still out. And it’s warmer than it was yesterday at that time. It feels like the world is opening up, like the worst is over, and flowers are coming. They don’t have that in Los Angeles. The flowers never leave.

The satyr, as the Dionysiac chorist, dwells in a reality sanctioned by myth and ritual. That tragedy should begin with him, that the Dionysiac wisdom of tragedy should speak through him, is as puzzling a phenomenon as, more generally, the origin of tragedy from the chorus. Perhaps we can gain a starting point for this inquiry by claiming that the satyr, that fictive nature sprite, stands to cultured man in the same relation as Dionysian music does to civilization. Richard Wagner has said of the latter that it is absorbed by music as lamplight by daylight. In the same manner, I believe, the cultured Greek felt himself absorbed into the satyr chorus, and in the next development of Greek tragedy state and society, in fact everything that separates man from man, gave way before an overwhelming sense of unity that led back into the heart of nature. This metaphysical solace (which, I wish to say at once, all true tragedy sends us away) that, despite every phenomenal change, life is at bottom indestructibly joyful and powerful, was expressed most concretely in the chorus of satyrs, nature beings who dwell behind all civilization and preserve their identity through every change of generations and historical movement. With this chorus the profound Greek, so uniquely susceptible to the subtlest and deepest suffering, who had penetrated the destructive agencies of both nature and history, solaced himself. Though he had been in danger of craving a Buddhistic denial of the will, he was saved through art, and through art life reclaimed him.

He often dreams of the nine dogs of his life and idly wonders if he’ll see them again. He’s not counting on it but it’s another nice idea.

Lift up your dark heart and sing a song about how time drifts past you like the gentlest, almost imperceptible breeze. — Jim Harrison, from “Cold Poem,” Saving Daylight. (Copper Canyon Press 2006)

my favorite day of the year is when daylight savings begins. It’s usually when the air starts to thaw and the only precipitation you can be threatened with is a little rain. You’re tired in the morning because you’ve lost an hour of sleep. But by seven o’clock at night, the sun is still out. And it’s warmer than it was yesterday at that time. It feels like the world is opening up, like the worst is over, and flowers are coming.

There were places you didn't want to walk, precautions you took that had to do with locks on windows and doors, drawing the curtains, leaving on lights. These things you did were like prayers; you did them and you hoped they would save you. And for the most part they did. Or something did; you could tell by the fact that you were still alive. But all of that was pertinent only in the night, and had nothing to do with the man you loved, at least in daylight.

I know there were many prayers of thanks offered up at that quiet moment. “Let us pause also in tribute to those who have preceded us, whether to victory or failure,” I spoke into the microphone, “and in our earnest hope for world peace.” I glanced at Jenks and took a deep breath. “Now stand by. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Mark! 2315 Eastern Daylight Savings Time,August 3, 1958. For the U.S. A. and the U.S.Navy—the North Pole!

The things I’m burning daylight to figure out in my head are things God has already figured out in His. Faith then is resting in that fact, and in doing so suddenly finding out that among other things, I’m saving a whole bunch of daylight.

Nowhere is it the same place as yesterday. None of us is the same person as yesterday. We finally die from the exhaustion of becoming. This downward cellular jubilance is shared by the wind, bugs, birds, bears and rivers, and perhaps the black holes in galactic space where our souls will all be gathered in an invisible thimble of antimatter. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Yes, trees wear out as the wattles under my chin grow, the wrinkled hands that tried to strangle a wife beater in New York City in 1957. We whirl with the earth, catching our breath as someone else, our soft brains ill-trained except to watch ourselves disappear into the distance. Still, we love to make music of this puzzle.

Yet here I am, edging even closer to the abyss, throwing away the secure underpinnings of my life by leaving my secure job. In daylight, I can make an account of the stress that made the decision to leave a sensible one—the slow encroachment that ate into my family life. But that’s in the daytime, when I value such things as calm and freedom. In the dark, I am struck by a dyspeptic bout of conservatism. I should have a savings account containing a year’s salary. I should have proper life insurance. I have squandered something, somehow. I am not sure what or when, but I despise myself for it. The precariousness of my life bites me hard. I can feel its teeth in my gut. I am nothing, I am no one, I have failed.

position down down ↓ bottom Remove this quote from your collection “Well, you’ve saved Paris. What lies ahead of us, I wonder?” “It really doesn’t matter.” “Doesn’t matter?” “Not if we face every challenge the way we always have (All For One). With Great passion. Hearts that stay true. To all they hold dear. Courage, no matter how many enemies lie in wait for us. Faith. That daylight will always follow the dark.” “And Love?” “Above all else.” -Athos

The tunnel of winter had settled over our lives, ushered in by that great official Hoodwink, the end of daylight saving time. Personally I would vote for one more hour of light on winter evenings instead of the sudden, extra-early blackout. Whose idea was it to jilt us this way, leaving us in cold November with our unsaved remnants of daylight petering out before the workday ends? In my childhood, as early as that, I remember observing the same despair every autumn: the feeling that sunshine, summertime, and probably life itself had passed me by before I'd even finished a halfway decent tree fort. But mine is not to question those who command the springing forward and the falling back. I only vow each winter to try harder to live like a potato, with its tacit understanding that time is time, no matter what any clock might say. I get through the hibernation months by hovering as close as possible to the woodstove without actual self-immolation, and catching up on my reading, cheered at regular intervals by the excess of holidays that collect in a festive logjam at the outflow end of our calendar.

Finally there came a crisp blue afternoon, a Sunday, the day after Daylight Saving ended, when they met at the park at three o’clock and hit for so long that the light began to fail. Pip was in an absolute groove with her forehand, Jason was bounding around and achieving his own personal-best low error rate, and although her elbow had begun to ache she wanted never to stop. They had impossibly long rallies, back and forth, whack and whack, rallies so long that she was giggling with happiness by the end of them. The sun went down, the air was deliciously cool, and they kept hitting. The ball bouncing up in a low arc, her eyes latching on to it, being sure to see it, just see it, not think, and her body doing the rest without being asked to. That instant of connecting, the satisfaction of reversing the ball’s inertia, the sweetness of the sweet spot. For the first time since her early days at Los Volcanes she was experiencing perfect contentment. Yes, a kind of heaven: long rallies on an autumn evening, the exercise of skill in light still good enough to hit by, the faithful pock of a tennis ball. It was enough.

Ye came to me on the parapet. Was it to tempt me?” “It would take me the rest of the night to dry my clothes and hair and to warm my body- a little to extreme for sport. I thought you were going to jump. I wanted to prevent it if I could.” He almost laughed, until he saw her eyes glisten as she drew her cloak tightly about herself and turned toward the fire. “ I think you should go now. It will be daylight soon. I need to dry my hair and get out of these wet clothes.” “And would it bothered you if I had jumped?” She whirled around, her eyes flashing angrily. “Of course it would! I am not a hard-hearted wretch! You saved my life. I owe you a tremendous debt. How could I hope to gain anything by your death when you have treated me with every kindness and sheltered me in your home?” “Those are the only reasons?” She shrugged. “I like you. You are brave and strong, yet your heart is kind, your manner gentle, and you heart pure. You have a great future ahead of you. Your clan and your country need you. And I am indebted to you why would I want to watch you jump if I could prevent it?” – Isobella Douglas & Alysandir Mackinnon

For cardiovascular health, I believe that finding comes from a “global experiment” in which 1.5 billion people are forced to reduce their sleep by one hour or less for a single night each year. It is very likely that you have been part of this experiment, otherwise known as daylight savings time. In the Northern Hemisphere, the switch to daylight savings time in March results in most people losing an hour of sleep opportunity. Should you tabulate millions of daily hospital records, as researchers have done, you discover that this seemingly trivial sleep reduction comes with a frightening spike in heart attacks the following day. Impressively, it works both ways. In the autumn within the Northern Hemisphere, when the clocks move forward and we gain an hour of sleep opportunity time, rates of heart attacks plummet the day after. A similar rise-and-fall relationship can be seen with the number of traffic accidents, proving that the brain, by way of attention lapses and microsleeps, is just as sensitive as the heart to very small perturbations of sleep. Most people think nothing of losing an hour of sleep for a single night, believing it to be trivial and inconsequential. It is anything but.

You are personally responsible for so much of the sunshine that brightens up your life. Optimists and gentle souls continually benefit from their very own versions of daylight saving time. They get extra hours of happiness and sunshine every day. – Douglas Pagels, from Simple Thoughts That Can Literally Change Your Life The secret joys of living are not found by rushing from point A to point B, but by slowing down and inventing some imaginary letters along the way. – Douglas Pagels, from Simple Thoughts That Can Literally Change Your Life “There is nothing more important than family.” Those words should be etched in stone on the sidewalks that lead to every home. – Douglas Pagels, from Simple Thoughts That Can Literally Change Your Life I may be uncertain about exactly where I’m headed, but I am very clear regarding this: I’m glad I’ve got a ticket to go on this magnificent journey. – Douglas Pagels, from Simple Thoughts That Can Literally Change Your Life When your heart is filled with gratitude for what you do have, your head isn’t nearly so worried about what you don’t. – Douglas Pagels, from Simple Thoughts That Can Literally Change Your Life Don’t let cynical people transfer their cynicism off on you. In spite of its problems, it is still a pretty amazing world, and there are lots of truly wonderful people spinning around on this planet. – Douglas Pagels, from Required Reading for All Teenagers All the good things you can do – having the right attitude, having a strong belief in your abilities, making good choices and responsible decisions – all those good things will pay huge dividends. You’ll see. Your prayers will be heard. Your karma will kick in. The sacrifices you made will be repaid. And the good work will have all been worth it. – Douglas Pagels, from Required Reading for All Teenagers The more you’re bothered by something that’s wrong, the more you’re empowered to make things right. – Douglas Pagels, from Everyone Should Have a Book Like This to Get Through the Gray Days May you be blessed with all these things: A little more joy, a little less stress, a lot more understanding of your wonderfulness. Abundance in your life, blessings in your days, dreams that come true, and hopes that stay. A rainbow on the horizon, an angel by your side, and everything that could ever bring a smile to your life. – Douglas Pagels, from May You Be Blessed with All These Things Each day brings with it the miracle of a new beginning. Many of the moments ahead will be marvelously disguised as ordinary days, but each one of us has the chance to make something extraordinary out of them. – Douglas Pagels, from May You Be Blessed with All These Things Keep planting the seeds of your dreams, because if you keep believing in them, they will keep trying their best to blossom for you. – Douglas Pagels, from May You Be Blessed with All These Things I hope your dreams take you... to the corners of your smiles, to the highest of your hopes, to the windows of your opportunities, and to the most special places your heart has ever known. – Douglas Pagels, from May You Be Blessed with All These Things Love is what holds everything together. It’s the ribbon around the gift of life. – Douglas Pagels, from May You Be Blessed with All These Things There are times in life when just being brave is all you need to be. – Douglas Pagels, from May You Be Blessed with All These Things When it comes to anything – whether it involves people or places or jobs or hoped-for plans – you never know what the answer will be if you don’t ask. And you never know what the result will be if you don’t try. – Douglas Pagels, from Make Every Day a Positive One Don’t just have minutes in the day; have moments in time. – Douglas Pagels, from Chasing Away the Clouds A life well lived is simply a compilation of days well spent. – Douglas Pagels, from Chasing Away the Clouds

He was no hero. These were just things he did, sweeping up small crimes while he chased nightmares through the night. Back when he'd attempted to sleep, he'd been tortured by them. Eventually, those nightmares had seeped into the daylight, following him from the dark until they filled every corner of every room. Shades and specters. The ghosts of those he'd killed, of those who'd endeavored to kill him. Of the souls he'd failed to save and the monsters who'd escaped justice. For decades they'd haunted him, tormented him endlessly each time he dared close his eyes. Until he'd done something about it. He became the thing from which nightmares ran.

Dunkirk was to hold out until the day on which all the Allied troops in the pocket who could embark to Britain had done so. Ramsay and the British Government initially assumed that no more than 45,000 troops could be saved, but over the nine days between dawn on Sunday, 26 May and 03.30 on Tuesday, 4 June, no fewer than 338,226 Allied soldiers were rescued from death or capture, 118,000 of whom were French, Belgian and Dutch. Operation Dynamo – so named because Ramsay’s bunker at Dover had housed electrical equipment during the Great War – was the largest military evacuation in history so far, and a fine logistical achievement, especially as daylight sailings had to be suspended on 1 June due to heavy Luftwaffe attacks.

and these he concluded had probably been made by Jane Clayton's abductors. It had only been to minimize the chance of error by the process of elimination that he had carefully reconnoitered every other avenue leading from A-lur toward the southeast where lay Mo-sar's city of Tu-lur, and now he followed the trail to the shores of Jad-ben-lul where the party had embarked upon the quiet waters in their sturdy canoes. He found many other craft of the same description moored along the shore and one of these he commandeered for the purpose of pursuit. It was daylight when he passed through the lake which lies next below Jad-ben-lul and paddling strongly passed within sight of the very tree in which his lost mate lay sleeping. Had the gentle wind that caressed the bosom of the lake been blowing from a southerly direction the giant ape-man and Jane Clayton would have been reunited then, but an unkind fate had willed otherwise and the opportunity passed with the passing of his canoe which presently his powerful strokes carried out of sight into the stream at the lower end of the lake. Following the winding river which bore a considerable distance to the north before doubling back to empty into the Jad-in-lul, the ape-man missed a portage that would have saved him hours of paddling. It was at the upper end of this portage where Mo-sar and his warriors had debarked that the chief discovered the absence of his captive

God is not dead— She has forsaken us. We wipe our angry, hate-filled tears after another shooting, as a man polishes his gun outside a mosque. All those stolen lives—we scream for justice! But God has quietly left our temples and churches. She will not return, for what WE have done is much worse. We have murdered humanity. God has deserted even the devout of us who save our love and compassion for those good and righteous, as we abandon the bigots brimming with hate. Yes, those least deserving of love, but the most in need of it. God’s agony rings in our hearts. She wails for the future shooters. Though we reject them, God greets these cracked and confused creatures— the least deserving of compassion but the most in need of it! We’ve read their spiteful tweets, but when we pass them in classrooms, in trains and markets, we dismiss those seemingly small opportunities for kindness. We don’t know—and how ignorant we are— that every time we ignore them, we sharpen our daggers and stab humanity in its pink raw flesh, not in dark alleyways. No, we do this openly in broad daylight, for hating them shows how loving we are. For condemning them proves how moral we are. But every shooting illumines the failure of our collective duty to love as God loves, to be compassionate as God is compassionate. Your prayers heal, yes, but for God’s sake, let God be. I say: First, resurrect your humanity!

When Dad came home a couple of days later, Mom told him about the fish I’d caught and how much money we’d made. I could see the smile on his face. But then he went outside to check his boat and noticed that a paddle was missing. Instead of saying, “Good job, son,” he yelled at me for losing a paddle! I couldn’t believe he was scolding me over a stupid oar! I’d worked from daylight to dusk and earned enough money for my family to buy a dozen paddles! Where was the gratitude? I was so mad that I jumped in the boat and headed to the nets to see if I could find the missing paddle. After checking about seventy nets, I was resigned to the fact that it was probably gone. But when I finally reached the seventy-ninth net, I saw the paddle lying in a few bushes where I’d tied up a headliner, which is a rope leading to the net. It was almost like a religious experience for me. What were the odds of my finding a lost paddle floating in a current on a washed-out river? It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. I took the paddle back to my dad, but he was still mad at me for losing it in the first place. I have never liked the line “up a creek without a paddle” because of the trouble boat paddles caused me. I swore I would never lose another one, but lo and behold, the next year, I broke the same paddle I’d lost while trying to kill a cottonmouth water moccasin that almost bit me. My dad wasn’t very compassionate even after I told him his prized paddle perhaps saved my life. I finally concluded that everyone has quirks, and apparently my dad has some sort of weird love affair with boat paddles.

After my dad started making duck calls, he’d leave town for a few days, driving all over Louisiana, Arkansas, Mississippi, and Texas trying to sell them. He left me in charge of the fishing operation. I was only a teenager, but it was my responsibility to check almost eighty hoop nets three times a week. Looking back now, it was pretty dangerous work for a teenager on the river, especially since I’d never done it alone. If you fell out of the boat and into the river, chances were you might drown if something went wrong and you were alone. But I was determined to prove to my father that I could do it, so I left the house one morning and spent all day on the river. I checked every one of our hoop nets and brought a mound of fish back to Kay to take to market. I was so proud of myself for pulling it off without anyone’s help! When Dad came home a couple of days later, Mom told him about the fish I’d caught and how much money we’d made. I could see the smile on his face. But then he went outside to check his boat and noticed that a paddle was missing. Instead of saying, “Good job, son,” he yelled at me for losing a paddle! I couldn’t believe he was scolding me over a stupid oar! I’d worked from daylight to dusk and earned enough money for my family to buy a dozen paddles! Where was the gratitude? I was so mad that I jumped in the boat and headed to the nets to see if I could find the missing paddle. After checking about seventy nets, I was resigned to the fact that it was probably gone. But when I finally reached the seventy-ninth net, I saw the paddle lying in a few bushes where I’d tied up a headliner, which is a rope leading to the net. It was almost like a religious experience for me. What were the odds of my finding a lost paddle floating in a current on a washed-out river? It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. I took the paddle back to my dad, but he was still mad at me for losing it in the first place. I have never liked the line “up a creek without a paddle” because of the trouble boat paddles caused me. I swore I would never lose another one, but lo and behold, the next year, I broke the same paddle I’d lost while trying to kill a cottonmouth water moccasin that almost bit me. My dad wasn’t very compassionate even after I told him his prized paddle perhaps saved my life. I finally concluded that everyone has quirks, and apparently my dad has some sort of weird love affair with boat paddles.

And then she would discuss very different people whom she had been led to believe existed; hard-working, honourable men and women, not a few of them possessed of fine brains, yet lacking the courage to admit their inversion. Honourable, it seemed, in all things save this that the world had forced on them - this dishonourable lie whereby alone they could hope to find peace, could hope to stake out a claim on existence. And always these people must carry that lie like a poisonous asp pressed against their bosoms; must unworthily hide and deny their love, which might well be the finest thing about them. And what of the women who had worked in the war - those quiet, gaunt women she had seen about London? England had called them and they had come; for once, unabashed, they had faced the daylight. And now because they were not prepared to slink back and hide in their holes and corners, the very public whom they had served was the first to turn round and spit upon them; to cry: 'Away with this canker in our midst, this nest of unrighteousness and corruption!' That was the gratitude they had received for the work they had done out of love for England! And what of that curious craving for religion which so often went hand in hand with inversion? Many such people were deeply religious, and this surely was one of their bitterest problems. They believed, and believing they craved a blessing on what to some of them seemed very sacred - a faithful and deeply devoted union. But the Church's blessing was not for them. Faithful they might be, leading orderly lives, harming no one, and yet the Church turned away; her blessings were strictly reserved for the normal. Then Stephen would come to the thing of all others that to her was the most agonising question. Youth, what of youth? Where could it turn for its natural and harmless recreations? There was Dickie West and many more like her, vigorous, courageous and kind-hearted youngsters; yet shut away from so many of the pleasures that belonged by right to every young creature - and more pitiful still was the lot of a girl who, herself being normal, gave her love to an invert. The young had a right to their innocent pleasures, a right to social companionship; had a right, indeed, to resent isolation. But here, as in all the great cities of the world, they were isolated until they went under; until, in their ignorance and resentment, they turned to the only communal life that a world bent upon their destruction had left them; turned to the worst elements of their kind, to those who haunted the bars of Paris. Their lovers were helpless, for what could they do? Empty-handed they were, having nothing to offer. And even the tolerant normal were helpless - those who went to Valérie's parties, for instance. If they had sons and daughters, they left them at home; and considering all things, who could blame them? While as for themselves, they were far too old - only tolerant, no doubt, because they were ageing. They could not provide the frivolities for which youth had a perfectly natural craving.

Spring forward, fall back," Eunice chants. "Daylight saving" -- what an amazing idea. (If only you could, but where would you keep it? With the time that's found? Or the time that's kept? A treasure chest, or a hole in the ground?) "You're late," Eunice says. "Better than never," I reply irritably.

I'm wondering about this daylight-saving business," she said. "You know, I think it's all a piece of Bolshevik propaganda to get us confused and encourage anarchy.

In the daylight, Noah had a doe-eyed stare. At night, it was haunting. She could be a siren; I painted her on the water in my mind, her hair splayed across the surface, eyes daring the viewer to jump in. Would she save them? Save me? Did I want her to? Mutual destruction didn't sound too horrible if, for a moment, I was able to touch her.

I don’t know why it always seems so dark after daylight savings time.

daylight savings time was created by the Multitude as a way to fuck with people’s minds.

The researchers say they cannot identify precisely what’s driving this phenomenon. It could be that eating restored judges’ glucose levels and replenished their mental reserves. It could be that a little time away from the bench lifted their mood. It could be that the judges were tired and that rest reduced their fatigue. (Another study of U.S. federal courts found that on the Mondays after the switch to Daylight Saving Time, when people on average lose roughly forty minutes of sleep, judges rendered prison sentences that were about 5 percent longer than the ones they handed down on typical Mondays.15)

In the Northern Hemisphere, the switch to daylight savings time in March results in most people losing an hour of sleep opportunity. Should you tabulate millions of daily hospital records, as researchers have done, you discover that this seemingly trivial sleep reduction comes with a frightening spike in heart attacks the following day. Impressively, it works both ways.

We'd been looking to the daylight to save us, when all it did was hide and diffuse the power. Night waited for our eyes to come home. Charlie understood the stars didn't just twinkle and burn—they sang, just like us. Across the dark distance of space every star vibrated, a song belted through time—the music of life—offering more power than ever produced. All our ancestors looked up at the same night sky. In the dark, under ancient, cosmic sparkle, they found their gifts. In the dark they evolved math and poetry and song, found the language of themselves. In the dark, they discovered infinite power, black power, a heritage of and beyond the world.

Did you know daylight savings time started this week? I’ll be able to visit the museum again.

In the United States, the story of DST is rather ridiculous, influenced by that especially American blend of wartime morality and blatant commercial interest. In the surprisingly hilarious book Spring Forward: The Annual Madness of Daylight Saving Time, Michael Downing writes that soon after the United States adopted DST in March 1918, “the lofty humanitarian goals of Daylight Saving—to get working girls safely home before dark, to reunite dads and moms with the kids before shadows fell on the backyard garden, to safeguard the physical and mental health of industrial workers by increasing their daily opportunity for sports and recreation—also resembled an innovative strategy for boosting retail sales.

Arizona was one of the few states that didn’t honor daylight savings time. A perk that Sun had prayed for since childhood. She hated spring forward with the fiery passion of a thousand suns.

Caroline stands at the window, watching Nellie Griffiths and old Mrs Mulvaney trot down the street on their way to the jam factory. Poor ugly biddies: they spend their daylight hours drudging in the scalding heat for next to nothing, then come home to drunken husbands who knock them from one wall to the other. If this is what it means to be ‘upright’, and Caroline is supposed to be ‘fallen’…! What did God make cunts for, if not to save women from donkey-work?

At the back of the yard, tufted with grass like sparse hair on a balding head, is a weathered gray shed with a slit cut out of the door. Fanny nods toward it. “I’ll wait.” “You don’t have to.” “The longer you’re in there, the longer my fingers get a break.” The shed is drafty, and I can see a sliver of daylight through the slit. A black toilet seat, worn through to wood in some places, is set in the middle of a rough-hewn bench. Strips of newspaper hang on a roll on the wall. I remember the privy behind our cottage in Kinvara, so the smell doesn’t shock me, though the seat is cold. What will it be like out here in a snowstorm? Like this, I suppose, only worse. When I’m finished, I open the door, pulling down my dress. “You’re pitiful thin,” Fanny says. “I’ll bet you’re hungry.” Hongry. She’s right. My stomach feels like a cavern. “A little,” I admit. Fanny’s face is creased and puckered, but her eyes are bright. I can’t tell if she’s seventy or a hundred. She’s wearing a pretty purple flowered dress with a gathered bodice, and I wonder if she made it herself. “Mrs. Byrne don’t give us much for lunch, but it’s prolly more’n you had.” She reaches into the side pocket of her dress and pulls out a small shiny apple. “I always save something for later, case I need it. She locks up the refrigerator between meals.” “No,” I say. “Oh yes she does. Says she don’t want us rooting around in there without her permission. But I usually manage to save something.” She hands me the apple. “I can’t—

Still, unpacking Tom had been more for Tom than for him, because in Prophet’s eyes, the man had already moved in everywhere: Prophet’s place. His room. His heart. And Prophet knew when it was time to give up the ghost. It was too late to save himself. For

Doc snorted. “What? You want to be left all alone? Is that it? So you’ll have an excuse to take yourself out? Are you pushing Tom away, or do you have a new plan to get rid of him? Because if you want to kill yourself, save him some grief and do it now, before he’s really invested in you.” “Fuck you,” Prophet muttered, blinking hard, his throat tightening. Stop it, Doc. Just fucking stop it, he wanted to say, but the words choked on the way out. “Come on. I’ll give you the pills. An injection. It’ll be painless. Quick. And exactly what you were trying to do with your missions.” “You’re wrong.” “Really? Tell me how wrong.” Now

I've lived on the equator all my life and we never had to change clocks. Now they're telling me time goes forward an hour after midnight? What is this, Narnia?

The other day I was trying to enjoy the sunset of my mind when I realized we were on daylight saving time!!

When you fight while young, you remember well.” If he and Fukuhara had not grappled at the festival in Hiroshima, he might not have recognized him in New Guinea. “Fighting brings intimacy,” he reflected. By giving him special treatment and dispatching him promptly to Australia, Harry had saved his life.

There are very few things in the world I hate more than Daylight Savings Time. It is the grand lie of time, the scourge of science, the blight on biological understanding.

I looked into her gray-blue eyes and saw myself in them, as clearly as looking in a mirror. Building a miniature record player for my dollhouse long past bedtime. Teaching myself to code a Web site under the covers, so my dad wouldn’t come in and tell me to go to sleep. DJing alone in my bedroom in the dark. These things could always wait until daylight, but I wanted to do them in the night.

Thank you, Daylight Savings Time, for making people wax on about the wonder of an extra hour of sleep, only to serve as an especially depressing reminder to parents that kids don’t care about farmers and harvests and extra hours of daylight. I enjoy my kids standing at my bedside at 4:30 a.m. like creepy, wide-awake Children of the Corn. Naptimes are also jacked, so there’s that. With all due respect-ish, A Tired Mom. Thank you, Obvious

Like we all sync our watches every year, at the start and at the end of daylight saving time, we also need to sync our relationships once in a while.

Now let's consider the impact of sleep deprivation on our ability to distinguish right from wrong. A study of people in a raffle ticket competition found participants were more likely to cheat if they'd had as little as twenty-two minutes' less sleep than normal. Another study found we're less likely to search the internet for ethics-related queries the day we shift our clocks forward to daylight-saving time. Other studies found tired people are less likely to notice unethical behaviour in others, or even to recognise in the first place whether there is a moral or ethical question at stake.

It's a simple concept- connecting to nature in the built environment- and for thousands of years it was the only way we knew how to build…Traditionally, buildings were an expression of their people and unique to their place. The movement to reclaim this way of thinking is called biophilic design- philia meaning “love”, bio meaning “life.” Rooting the design of the built environment in a “love of life” is about much more than daylight, fresh air, and views; it’s a strategy to reawaken hopeful and positive connections between people and nature. BUILDINGS DESIGNED FOR LIFE by Amanda Sturgeon

My vision is this: when any building is created, it emerges in response to the unique climate, ecology, culture, and community of its specific location. The structure becomes a story of that place, and it embraces the same natural breezes and sunshine to heat, cool, and light the space that have been used to make buildings comfortable for centuries, even millennia. When any existing building is renovated, it reintroduces daylight and natural ventilation and opens up to the outside... Already a combination of very high efficiency and passive solar can maintain comfortable indoor temperatures with outdoor temperatures as low as 45 degrees. BUILDINGS DESIGNED FOR LIFE by Amanda Sturgeon

Why would you call for me to save you?" He led her out of the coffee shop. "Saving you would be Faroz's job." "I don't know." She looked out over the bay, taking in the soft glow of the golden hour, that magical, romantic, fleeting moment between daylight and dusk when the sun began to dip below the horizon, enveloping everything in shimmering gold. "I think it's maybe because you made me feel safe when Faroz was flashing his gun and telling us stories about being tortured. My subconscious must have figured you were my best bet for a happy Bollywood ending." "You think I could protect you?" He looked so bewildered that Layla had to laugh. "Of course I do. It's who you are. You might be trying to kick me out of the office, but you've been protecting me since the day we met.

Time is a circle. Yes, it's powerful. Yes, it's dangerous, but when it comes around again you can damn well change it. Daylight Saving By Edward Hogan

she must have got away i thought ive saved her

I saw that Lexi had returned she was meters away. she came back because she cared about me we cared about each other and that - it seemed - was our downfall.

Wilson’s hard line threatened dissenters with imprisonment. The federal government also took control over much of national life. The War Industries Board allocated raw materials to factories, guaranteed profits, and controlled production and prices of war materials, and, with the National War Labor Board, it set wages as well. The Railroad Administration virtually nationalized the American railroad industry. The Fuel Administration controlled fuel distribution (and to save fuel it also instituted daylight savings time). The Food Admininstration—under Herbert Hoover—oversaw agricultural production, pricing, and distribution. And the government inserted itself in the psyche of America by allowing only its own voice to be heard, by both threatening dissenters with prison and shouting down everyone else.

Well, you’ve saved Paris. What lies ahead of us, I wonder?” “It really doesn’t matter.” “Doesn’t matter?” “Not if we face every challenge the way we alway have (All For One). With Great passion. Hearts that stay true. To all they hold dear. Courage, no matter how many enemies lie in wait for us. Faith. That daylight will always follow the dark.” “And Love?” “Above all else.

Well, you’ve saved Paris. What lies ahead of us, I wonder?” “It really doesn’t matter.” “Doesn’t matter?” “Not if we face every challenge the way we alway have (All For One). With Great passion. Hearts that stay true. To all they hold dear. Courage, no matter how many enemies lie in wait for us. Faith. That daylight will always follow the dark.” “And Love?” “Above all else.” ― Athos

Well, you’ve saved Paris. What lies ahead of us, I wonder?” “It really doesn’t matter.” “Doesn’t matter?” “Not if we face every challenge the way we alway have (All For One). With Great passion. Hearts that stay true. To all they hold dear. Courage, no matter how many enemies lie in wait for us. Faith. That daylight will always follow the dark.” “And Love?” “Above all else.

Well, you’ve saved Paris. What lies ahead of us, I wonder?” “It really doesn’t matter.” “Doesn’t matter?” “Not if we face every challenge the way we always have (All For One). With Great passion. Hearts that stay true. To all they hold dear. Courage, no matter how many enemies lie in wait for us. Faith. That daylight will always follow the dark.” “And Love?” “Above all else.

They say the darkest hour is just before the dawn, but people can be stupid. The darkest hour - at the end of daylight saving - was five past one in the morning.

When communicating science to the general public in lectures or writing, I’m always wary of bombarding an audience with never-ending mortality and morbidity statistics, lest they themselves lose the will to live in front of me. It is hard not to do so with such compelling masses of studies in the field of sleep deprivation. Often, however, a single astonishing result is all that people need to apprehend the point. For cardiovascular health, I believe that finding comes from a “global experiment” in which 1.5 billion people are forced to reduce their sleep by one hour or less for a single night each year. It is very likely that you have been part of this experiment, otherwise known as daylight savings time. In the Northern Hemisphere, the switch to daylight savings time in March results in most people losing an hour of sleep opportunity. Should you tabulate millions of daily hospital records, as researchers have done, you discover that this seemingly trivial sleep reduction comes with a frightening spike in heart attacks the following day. Impressively, it works both ways. In the autumn within the Northern Hemisphere, when the clocks move forward and we gain an hour of sleep opportunity time, rates of heart attacks plummet the day after. A similar rise-and-fall relationship can be seen with the number of traffic accidents, proving that the brain, by way of attention lapses and microsleeps, is just as sensitive as the heart to very small perturbations of sleep. Most people think nothing of losing an hour of sleep for a single night, believing it to be trivial and inconsequential. It is anything but.

I needed to make sure you were okay.” “And if I had not been…?” “I would have done what was required to save you.” Tears entered her eyes, putting a gloss over her vision that blurred him and the meadow. “Why,” she breathed. An eternity of silence stretched out between them. And then he reached out and brushed her cheek. When he dropped his hand, she smelled the scent—and could not understand it. Why would the perfume of fresh flowers be out— Rahvyn gasped. Looking down at their feet, she saw violets spring up from the scruffy ground, the fragile purple blooms unfurling, little flags upon green nests. And among them sprouted also daisies and dandelions, then other colorful blooms, all of the heads lifting free of the soil, maturing as if it were July, not April, as if the air were warm, not chilled. The rush of wild flowers swirled around them both, encompassing their vicinity in the meadow, bringing daylight unto the night—and Rahvyn was so o’ercome, she let out a sound of delight and swept her hands to the sky. In a twirl, she imagined that she could gather them up in her arms, a sight for sore eyes, a lift for a heavy heart, a sniff into a grateful, astounded nose. And then she stilled. Lowering her arms, she saw that he remained grim. “Are you leaving right the now?” He took a step back. “I just wanted to give you something beautiful, so you can feel even a little of the wonder I have whenever I look into your eyes.

When I woke the next morning, I felt ill. Except ill isn’t the right word. I felt like someone had kicked the absolute crap out of me. Was this love?

It’s a brave and difficult thing – to touch someone and then let them go.

In the same way, if we are going to comprehend communication that took place between members of an ancient culture, we are going to have to adjust our thinking to be able to sit in the circle of communication with the ancient audience. The Bible has plenty of examples like “Iron Curtain” and “daylight savings time” that are not explained, and we do not intrinsically understand. But in many cases the key to understanding can be found in other ancient Near Eastern literature. When we study an ancient text, we cannot make words mean whatever we want them to, or assume that they meant the same to the ancient audience that they do to a modern audience.

On the day we arrived, I thought I saved her life.

It doesn’t make it any easier, being powerless.

Her watch... It was ticking backward.

And it wasn’t just Josh’s body. It was him. There wasn’t anything about him I didn’t like. I wished there were. He was easygoing and funny. My moods didn’t scare him. He just kind of shrugged them off. He was down for anything. We hated all the same stuff—artsy indie movies with endings that didn’t have any closure, pineapple on pizza, daylight savings time. Sometimes he said something right as I was going to say it, like our brains worked on the same wavelength. Every day I searched for some fatal flaw so I could stop having these feelings. Sometimes I purposely grilled him on things, just to see if his answers would irritate me. It never worked.

I see us free, therefore, to return to some of the most sure and certain principles of religion and traditional virtue—that avarice is a vice . . . and the love of money is detestable. . . . But beware! The time for all this is not yet. For at least another hundred years we must pretend to ourselves and to everyone that fair is foul and foul is fair; for foul is useful and fair is not. Avarice and usury and precaution must be our gods for a little longer still. For only they can lead us out of the tunnel of economic necessity into daylight. John Maynard Keynes,

Help me!” Elliot screamed. The gnomes rushed to the edge of the quagmire, holding him high. They pulled back their arms, ready to heave him in feetfirst. I twisted myself around. Gave myself a little room. Reached into my jeans pocket. And pulled out a light-stick. Before a gnome could grab it away, I raised it to my face — and blew on it as hard as I could. WHOOOOOSH. The light-stick exploded in a blinding flash of fiery light. The sky lit up bright as day. I held the light-stick high in front of me. And in its glowing light, I saw that my idea had worked. The gnomes stood stiffly, frozen. Hard and still — like lawn gnomes. Lifeless once again. “Yesss!” I raised my hands in a victory cry. My thinking was correct: The gnomes came to life at night. But they froze in daylight. And so, they froze in the bright light of my light-stick. “Yesss!” I did a little victory dance. My invention saved our lives.

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Someone to Eat Chips With All I’m looking for is someone to Laugh at all my jokes Give me the pickle that comes with their sandwich Explain Daylight Saving Time to me every year (multiple times) Read the entire contract and tell me if I should sign Bear the weight of my failures but be the first to put a feather in my cap Be the keeper of my heart and the curator of my secrets Stand in the dark doorway of our uncertain future and step inside Is that so much to ask?

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