Deleting Friends Quotes

i have a friend request from some stranger on facebook and i delete it without looking at the profile because that doesn't seem natural. 'cause friendship should not be as easy as that. it's like people believe all you need to do is like the same bands in order to be soulmates. or books. omg... U like the outsiders 2... it's like we're the same person! no we're not. it's like we have the same english teacher. there's a difference.

What did that stupid deserting crap-bag ex-boyfriend, ex-best friend with the most perfect stupid hair do? He DIDN'T delete his crap off the desktop before he fled my life and left me all alone. That's what he did.

I hope you feel better about yourself. I hope you feel alive. I hope that good things happen to you, and I hope that when the inevitable bad things happen you can handle them and learn a lesson and move on. I hope you know you're not alone and I hope you spend plenty of time with your family and/or friends and I hope you write more and get a seven-figure book deal. I hope next year no more celebrities die and I hope you get an iPhone if you want one. Or maybe a pony. I hope someone writes a song for you on Valentines Day that's a bit like Hey There Delilah, and I hope they have a good singing voice, or at least one better than mine. I hope that you accept yourself the way you are, and figure out that losing 20 pounds isn't going to magically make you love yourself. I hope you read a lot. I hope you don't have to almost die to figure out how valuable life is. I hope you find the perfect nail polish/digital camera/home/life partner. I hope you stop being jealous of others. I hope you feel good, about yourself and the people around you and the world. I hope you eat heaps of salt and vinegar chips because they're the best kind. I hope you accomplish all your hopes & dreams & aspirations and are blissfully happy & get married to Edward Cullen/George Clooney/Megan Fox/Angelina Jolie (delete whichever are inappropriate) & ride a pretty white horse into the sunset & I hope it's all sweet and wonderful because you deserve it because you did well this year in the face of sparkly vampires/great evil/low self-esteem.

She's like a sister. People say we're such opposites, but that's what makes us such good friends. She's incredibly blunt. I love that about her. If some guy has said or done something to me she doesn't like, she'll grab my cell phone and say, 'I'm deleting his number.

Online friends networks and dating sites, like the coffeehouse, are responding to the needs of introverts. We can write, not talk. We can get to the good stuff, and we can press delete as needed.

It's Not Important To Delete You From My Facebook Friends List Already I Bocked You From My Heart List . Samia Gallabi

You know that when your partner deletes their messages to a past lover after being accused of cheating, then it is likely that they were being unfaithful in some way.

Love transcends time, space, distance, universes. “Love can’t be confined to pages or photos or memories—it’s forever alive and wild and free. Romance comes and goes, lust flickers and smoulders, trials appear and test, life gets in the way and educates, pain can derail happiness, joy can delete sadness, togetherness is more than just a fairy-tale...it’s a choice. “A choice to love and cherish and honour and trust and adore. “A choice to choose love, all the while knowing it has the power to break you. “A choice, dear friends, to give someone your entire heart. “But in the end, love is what life is about. “And love is the purpose of everything.

Making the hard to decision to throw away a once favorite bra is like deleting an ex-friend that repeatedly let you down.

I wrote a sample message, and then deleted the draft in case I might accidentally hit send. Then I wrote the same thing over again. I sat staring at my laptop screen until it went black. Things matter to me more than they do to normal people, I thought. I need to relax and let things go. I should experiment with drugs. These thoughts were not unusual for me.

It was your birthday, we had drunk and dined Half of the night with our old friend Who’d showed us in the end To a bed I reached in one drunk stride. Already I lay snug, And drowsy with the wine dozed on one side. I dozed, I slept. My sleep broke on a hug, Suddenly, from behind, In which the full lengths of our bodies pressed: Your instep to my heel, My shoulder-blades against your chest. It was not sex, but I could feel The whole strength of your body set, Or braced, to mine, And locking me to you As if we were still twenty-two When our grand passion had not yet Become familial. My quick sleep had deleted all Of intervening time and place. I only knew The stay of your secure firm dry embrace.

Scanning through her friend requests, I delete all the males who requested to be her friend. I don’t like those creepy fuckers.

Many contemporaries of Proust’s insisted that he wrote the way he spoke, although when Du côté de chez Swann appeared in print, they were startled by what they saw as the severity of the page. Where were the pauses, the inflections? There were not enough empty spaces, not enough punctuation marks. To them, the sentences seemed longer when read on the page than they did when they were spoken, in his extraordinary hoarse voice: his voice punctuated them. One friend, though surely exaggerating, reported that Proust would arrive late in the evening, wake him up, begin talking, and deliver one long sentence that did not come to an end until the middle of the night. The sentence would be full of asides, parentheses, illuminations, reconsiderations, revisions, addenda, corrections, augmentations, digressions, qualifications, erasures, deletions, and marginal notes.

Social wasn’t about selling. It was about making friends. I changed my tactics, deleted all my posts that were trying to sell my products, and started serving, interacting, being entertaining, and having fun with my followers.

grief is the reminder of the depth of our love. Without love, there is no grief. So when we feel our grief, uncomfortable and aching as it may be, it is actually a reminder of the beauty of that love, now lost. I’ll never forget calling Gordon while I was traveling, and hearing him say that he was out to dinner by himself after the loss of a dear friend “so he could feel his grief.” He knew that in the blinking and buzzing world of our lives, it is so easy to delete the past and move on to the next moment. To linger in the longing, the loss, the yearning is a way of feeling the rich and embroidered texture of life, the torn cloth of our world that is endlessly being ripped and rewoven.

Dear Readers and Friends, An Appeal... For an entire year, an impostor has been squatting on the page of Prey By The Ganges. And he has written idiotic and embarrassing things on the page, attributing quotes to me. I have not written any one of them. After a long delay, goodreads responded to my email, and removed the squatter two days ago. I have been trying to remove the quotes the squatter has left behind, but I simply cannot. Please ignore the quotes. Better, please let me know how I can delete them. I have tried hard to do so, but to no avail. Hemant Kumar Author, Prey By The Ganges

delete that old version of me in your head, it's expired.

Who do you imagine you are? Imagine there's a version of you that sees all of it. A version that knows when versions are messing with the other ones, trying to get things off track, trying to erase things. A record of all the versions, partial and deleted and written over. All the changes. All truths about all parts of our self. We break ourselves up into parts. To lie to ourselves, to hide things from ourselves. You are not you. You are not what you think you are. You are bigger than you think. More complicated than you think. You are the only version of you that is you. There are less of you than you think, and more. There are a million versions of you, half a trillion. One for every particle, every quantum coin flip. Imagine this uncountable number of yous. You don't always have your own best interests at heart. It's true. You are your own best friend and your own worst enemy. . . . Only you know what you need to do. Imagine there is a perfect version of you. Out of all the oceans of oceans of you, there is exactly one who is perfectly you. And that's me. And I'm telling you that you are the only you.

The harder the push, the greater the Rebel push-back. I laughed when a Rebel friend told me, 'No one can tell me to do anything. I recently got an email saying "Please read" in the subject line, and I immediately deleted it.

If you step a foot outside this room in that outfit, I’ll not only delete every picture on this camera, but I will destroy your ‘friend’s’ career until he has to resort to advertising shitty five-dollar-an-hour headshots on Craigslist.

I have spent the last half hour scrolling through Facebook while contemplating deleting Facebook. I used to enjoy it, but every single one of my friends’ posts now seems to consist of babies upon babies. Is anyone besides me not procreating right now?

There will likely be one important difference between corporeal suicide and digital suicide. Right now, one cannot destroy oneself utterly. We can blow our heads off, get the chatter to stop and cease having to pay bills, but we persist in the minds of those who knew and loved us. We continue to appear to them, unbidden, in myriad ways. They recall our smiles, hear our voices, jolt from frightening dreams and reach for us on reflex before remembering that we are no longer there. Until they themselves are gone, they continue to suffer the chafing pang of our absence. But when we all exist as pure thought, we can be deleted not just from ourselves, but from the minds of everyone. With a keystroke (or its post-Singularity equivalent) parents will be spared grief, lovers loneliness, friends the pain of having known and knowing no longer. When we choose suicide, we will choose not merely to destroy ourselves, but to never have existed. In this way, the one compelling argument against suicide―the anguish it causes to those left behind―will be eliminated.

... how sad I felt about the dodo bird, which became extinct due to its friendly tendency to walk up to human strangers and expect the best—but then the other part of my brain, the writerly part I guess, keeps saying, That’s irrelevant, That isn’t crucial to the story, Delete

Hi, I’m Jane. I’m twenty-four and I have a similar experience with Tinder where I was, like, at a party with friends and they were like, “This is the funnest game ever. Let’s play this.” And I downloaded it. And then, like, started seeing way too many people I knew. So I deleted it.

I want my crew back.' Arada's brows lifted, like she was relieved it wasn't something worse. "What happened to them?" 'The hostiles stole them, forced me to cooperate by threatening their welfare, infected my engines with interdicted alien remnant technology, installed adversarial software, and then deleted me.' I was still mad, right? But there were a lot of keywords there that invoked involuntary responses. Thiago kept his expression neutral. "Then how are you talking to us if--" 'I saved a backup copy and hid it where only a trusted friend could find it.' I was looking at the wall, watching everyone and the display with Amena's drones. Trusted friend? "Oh, fuck you." 'That still counts as speaking.

If you want to be a real person living in the real world, the first thing you must do is get off the grid. Take the first brave step and delete your Facebook profile. After all, you surely wouldn’t want the words carved on your headstone to be: “I was registered with Facebook. I had 101 online friends (and I even knew a few of them). My current mood is: Sad.

My first instinct was to just delete the bug. Remove my terrible code from the system entirely. Briefly, ancient plans resurfaced: carbon monoxide and sleeping pills. But that would have its ramifications, too. My previous efforts to heal might not have fixed me, but they had woven me into this world, sewing me emotionally and professionally into a network of lives. I had friends who cared dearly about me, mentees who looked up to me. And Joey, of course. If I cut myself out of the web, I would leave a gaping hole that would hurt all those around me. And the whole point of this endeavor was to stop hurting people. I guess I had to embrace the impossible. Goddamn it, what a task: I had to fight against fate itself.

Then he thinks that there should be a place in every town where people could put rescued or found things. Not just objects, but snippets of forgotten languages, or misused time – an hour that can never be lived again. It would be a place where lost faiths could be collected, as well as keys, gloves and love letters never sent. Here you could find extinct animals and old wives’ tales vanished in history; a whole shelf of unfinished songs, discontinued books, deleted texts. It would be a safe for fleeting emotions – the first flush of love, or a particular scent on a sunny day that is never savoured again. Among the dog leads, phones and hats, there would be babies hoped for and lost. All this would be remembered: missed opportunities, mislaid friends, the smile of a wife. It would be a place for lost things.

But too many kids get to college and try to collapse it, to make it as comfortable and recognizable as possible. They replicate the friends and friendships they've previously enjoyed. They join groups that perpetuate their high school cliques. Concerned with establishing a "network" they seek out peers with aspirations identical to their own. In doing so, they frequently default to a clannishness that too easily becomes a lifelong habit. ....Open your laptops . Delete at least one of every four bookmarks. Replace it with something entirely different, even anti ethical. Go to twitter, Facebook etc start falling or connecting with views that diverge from your own. Conduct your social lives along the same lines, mixing it up. Do not go only to the campus basketball games....wander beyond the periphery of campus, and not to find equally enchanted realms-if you study abroad, don't choose the destination for its picturesqueness-but to see something else.

I struggled out of bed, and turned on my laptop. There were twenty messages from Sholto. None were particularly friendly, though few of his missives ever were. The first read, ‘I see you’re in hospital. When you get out, download these files. Keep them safe. It could be important.’ I’m not sure why I followed his instructions, but I did. Day after day, I copied the files to my laptop, deleting all the documents, films, and music to make room. When the broadband stopped working, I used the government phone. By the time that stopped working, just after the evacuation began, I’d filled the laptop and the external hard drive on which I’d been storing our plans for the election campaign. I did look at some of the files before the power went out. I listened to the air-traffic control audio-feed from when Air Force Two went down. There were calls

I surface from the simulation with a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I detach from the wires and get up. She’s still recovering from the sensation of almost drowning, shaking her hands and taking deep breaths. I watch her for a moment, not sure how to say what I need to say. “What?” she says. “How did you do that?” “Do what?” “Crack the glass.” “I don’t know.” I nod, and offer her my hand. She gets up without any trouble, but she avoids my eyes. I check the corners of the room for cameras. There is one, just where I thought it would be, right across from us. I take her elbow and lead her out of the room, to a place where I know we won’t be observed, in the blind spot between two surveillance points. “What?” she says irritably. “You’re Divergent,” I say. I haven’t been very nice to her today. Last night I saw her and her friends by the chasm, and a lapse in judgment--or sobriety--led me to lean in too close, to tell her she looked good. I’m worried that I went too far. Now I’m even more worried, but for different reasons. She cracked the glass. She’s Divergent. She’s in danger. She stares. Then she sinks against the wall, adopting an almost-convincing aura of casualness. “What’s Divergent?” “Don’t play stupid,” I say. “I suspected it last time, but this time it’s obvious. You manipulated the simulation; you’re Divergent. I’ll delete the footage, but unless you want to wind up dead at the bottom of the chasm, you’ll figure out how to hide it during the simulations! Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I walk back to the simulation room, pulling the door closed behind me. It’s easy to delete the footage--just a few keystrokes and it’s done, the record clean. I double-check her file, making sure the only thing that’s in there is the data from the first simulation. I’ll have to come up with a way to explain where the data from this session went. A good lie, one that Eric and Max will actually believe. In a hurry, I take out my pocketknife and wedge it between the panels covering the motherboard of the computer, prying them apart. Then I go into the hallway, to the drinking fountain, and fill my mouth with water. When I return to the simulation room, I spit some of the water into the gap between the panels. I put my knife away and wait. A minute or so later, the screen goes dark. Dauntless headquarters is basically a leaky cave--water damage happens all the time.

My friend Gordon Wheeler, who is a psychologist, explains that grief is the reminder of the depth of our love. Without love, there is no grief. So when we feel our grief, uncomfortable and aching as it may be, it is actually a reminder of the beauty of that love, now lost. I’ll never forget calling Gordon while I was traveling, and hearing him say that he was out to dinner by himself after the loss of a dear friend “so he could feel his grief.” He knew that in the blinking and buzzing world of our lives, it is so easy to delete the past and move on to the next moment. To linger in the longing, the loss, the yearning is a way of feeling the rich and embroidered texture of life, the torn cloth of our world that is endlessly being ripped and rewoven

When Franklin Graham recently called for a boycott of gay-friendly companies on his Facebook page, it quickly became apparent that to follow through on his own initiative, he’d need to delete his Facebook account (he didn’t), stop using any Microsoft software, and shut down all Apple devices. When he publicly moved the bank accounts of the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association to BB&T Bank in protest of a Wells Fargo ad featuring a lesbian couple and their daughter, it generated this Miami Herald headline: “Billy Graham Group Moving Money to BB&T, Sponsor of Miami Beach Gay Pride Fundraiser.”110

When you delete a property, you’re not just deleting the value of the property, you’re deleting the property itself. And, if you try to use fido.dogYears after deleting it, it will evaluate to undefined.

Many of my books emerged from deep online conversations with friends. I merely had to delete their deep ignorant sayings, which nonetheless forced me to reconstruct a new insight. Because, you see, a rotten apple can feed a growing apple tree but never replace it or do more than that once its job is done. Likewise, most human beings only exist to feed you with their rotting ignorance. They have nothing else inside of themselves. And that's exactly how you should see them, because that's how they see themselves too.

Fair enough.” I deleted him from my friend list.

A round applause for that Person who deleted you, blocked you, and is now looking at your profile from their friends Facebook.

Let’s talk about the Johnny Depp vs Amber Heard trial! I’m trying to keep on open mind about other people’s opinions on the case but I still believe that it can be prevented with a simple no. Amber has done so much damage to Johnny’s career. It seems to me that an old fling of mine is mirroring what went on with Johnny and Amber in their home. He is with someone who people only knows because of him. This person is a person of color but that doesn’t mean that she can’t abuse someone and their dog. I’ve spoken to someone who thinks that she is abusing him. Abuse can be done mentally, emotionally, or physically. Grooming can also be done the same way too. And deleting evidence of conversation is a crime, it’s also known as tampering with evidence so that the guilty party remains free. I’m sick and tired of those who are trying to speak up get silenced by “successful” people. People don’t see the truth because of the things people are hiding from the public. This brings me back to my post about standing up from myself and speaking up about grooming. And honestly, I do have a history with Tom Hiddleston. He was someone who I’ve met when I was 7 or 8 years old in Scotland. This is true because I’ve lived it and I can tell you the things he said. But back to the trial, I am glad that someone with mental issues (Winona Ryder) is standing up for a friend. I, too, have mental issues and I’m also standing up for a friend. Abuse is something that can be lethal and can also be prevented. Amber lied to everyone about what happened in 2016. I believe that Zawe will also lie about what happened at home with Tom and his dog when the time comes. I have a friend who also thinks that Zawe is like Amber Heard. I’m saying this because enough is enough. I stand with those who have been abused by someone.

Extensive background in public accounting. I can also stand on my head!" Too many E-numbers. "I perform my job with effortless efficiency, effectiveness, efficacy, and expertise." There are not too many of them about. "Personal: Married 20 years; own a home, along with a friendly mortgage company." The first rule of projects is: You don't talk about projects. "My intensity and focus are at inordinately high levels, and my ability to complete projects on time is unspeakable." Learning a language. "Exposure to German for two years, but many words are inappropriate for business." Congratulations! "Accomplishments: Completed 11 years of high school."  No really, how is your memory? "Excellent memory; strong math aptitude; excellent memory; effective management skills; and very good at math." I think bricks would work better personally, but hey go for it. "Personal Goal: To hand-build a classic cottage from the ground up using my father-in-law. To be fair the job on offer was to play Snow White in a Christmas production. "Thank you for your consideration. Hope to hear from you shorty!" . Very I would say. "Enclosed is a ruff draft of my resume." Delete. "I saw your ad on the information highway, and I came to a screeching halt." Then why attach it? "Please disregard the attached resume -- it is terribly out of date." Lone wolf. "It's best for employers that I not work with people.

I’m her best friend. I know her passwords too, and after she decided she didn’t want to know, I went to her phone planning to do the same, but it was already gone. The entire thread. You deleted it, didn’t you?” “I did what was asked of me.” After a moment, his eyes meet mine, shame weighing them down. “He didn’t want to make things harder on you.” He…

Don’t tell me what’s so special about this object. Tell me what’s different about the customer journey.” Your product isn’t only your product. It’s the whole user experience—a chain that begins when someone learns about your brand for the first time and ends when your product disappears from their life, returned or thrown away, sold to a friend or deleted in a burst of electrons.

Add in subtle changes; more subtle changes; differences; differences that you both sensed; weeping after lights-out; sobbing after lights-out; trying to work things out; trying to figure out what happened; useless talks; things that changed; things that did not change; blank time; blank space; space; words; delete; the word “jerk” in five different languages; mutual friends; lies; truth; lies; lies that you don’t realize that they are lies; lies that turn into truth; truth; truth.

After a flight with heavy turbulence—so terrible that I was compelled to send a text to my best friend, Cami, telling her that if I died she’d need to delete all the books on my Kindle

HOW I BUSTED MY UNFAITHFUL WIFE WITH THE HELP OF GRAYHATHACKS CONTRACTOR My wife had become increasingly distant, her behavior erratic, and she would often go out with friends and return home at odd hours. Her phone was her sanctuary, which she guarded fiercely. I had a gut-wrenching feeling that she was being unfaithful, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't catch her in the act. That's when I stumbled upon Grayhathacks Contractor, a team of professional hackers who specialize in investigating matters of infidelity. The process was swift and straightforward. They requested some basic information about Rachel's phone and her daily routines, which I provided with a heavy heart. I had to be meticulous in my details, describing her habits such as her favorite coffee shop where she'd often go to 'work' on her laptop, the secret password she used for her phone among other details. Their service was impeccable. Within a few hours, they had infiltrated Rachel's phone and installed an undetectable spyware that would allow me to monitor her messages, calls, location, and even her social media accounts. The software was so sophisticated that it didn't drain her battery or cause any glitches that would raise suspicion. The first few days were agonizing as I waited for any signs of deceit, but the evidence I gathered was chilling. She had been meeting her ex-boyfriend, at a motel just outside of town. The spyware provided me with the exact dates, times, and even the exact location where they were staying. I could see their flirty texts, the lovey-dovey emojis, and the incriminating photos they exchanged. But what was most disturbing was Rachel's level of deception. She had gone to great lengths to cover her tracks. She would delete messages and call logs, and even change her phone's settings to prevent any notifications from her ex from reaching her lock screen. It was like watching a masterclass in infidelity, and she had done it all right under my nose. Grayhathacks Contractor also provided me with a detailed report of her whereabouts. I could see the exact moments she lied to me about her whereabouts, the hours she spent with Michael, and the clandestine meetings she arranged when she thought I was out of town. It was a crushing realization, but I needed to know the truth. When I finally gathered the courage to confront her, I had irrefutable proof of her betrayal. The look on her face said it all. She had been caught red-handed, and she knew it. The truth was out, and it was disgusting. She had betrayed me in the worst possible way. The service they provide is not for the faint of heart, but for those who suspect their partner of infidelity and need concrete evidence, I can't recommend Grayhathacks Contractor enough. They gave me the tools to uncover the harsh reality and, ultimately, make the right decision for my life. Contact Email grayhathacks@contractor.net

We demand shorter and shorter books that will accommodate our diminished focus and present to us more like what we read online. We are becoming less tolerant of friends who voice opinions we dislike, so accustomed we are to being able to mute or delete that which discomforts us. We are becoming much more anxious, unable to accept stillness or silence that cuts against our daily intake of new noise. These real, offline effects emerge from our online habits because, in God’s providential design, our minds are also brains—physical objects with pathways and neurons and adaptability.

You are crazy how?? Just delete everything around you, starting from friends, bus, objects and everything delete everything leave space and delete our planet what do you see?? Yourself, there and laughing like an crazy mental guy! - So I proved that you are crazy

Meanwhile, angered by white violence in the South and inspired by the gigantic June 23 march in Detroit, grassroots people on the streets all over the country had begun talking about marching on Washington. “It scared the white power structure in Washington, D.C. to death,” as Malcolm put it in his “Message to the Grassroots” and in his Autobiography.6 So the White House called in the Big Six national Negro leaders and arranged for them to be given the money to control the march. The result was what Malcolm called the “Farce on Washington” on August 28, 1963. John Lewis, then chairman of SNCC and fresh from the battlefields of Georgia, Mississippi, and Alabama where hundreds of blacks and their white student allies were being beaten and murdered simply for trying to register blacks to vote, was forced to delete references to the revolution and power from his speech and, specifically, to take out the sentence, “We will not wait for the President, the Justice Department nor Congress, but we will take matters into our own hands and create a source of power, outside of any national structure, that could and would assure us a victory.” Marchers were instructed to carry only official signs and to sing only one song, “We Shall Overcome.” As a result, many rank-and-file SNCC militants refused to participate.7 Meanwhile, conscious of the tensions that were developing around preparations for the march on Washington and in order to provide a national rallying point for the independent black movement, Conrad Lynn and William Worthy, veterans in the struggle and old friends of ours, issued a call on the day of the march for an all-black Freedom Now Party. Lynn, a militant civil rights and civil liberties lawyer, had participated in the first Freedom Ride from Richmond, Virginia, to Memphis, Tennessee, in 1947 and was one of Robert Williams’s attorneys.8 Worthy, a Baltimore Afro-American reporter and a 1936–37 Nieman Fellow, had distinguished himself by his courageous actions in defense of freedom of the press, including spending forty-one days in the Peoples Republic of China in 1957 in defiance of the U.S. travel ban (for which his passport was lifted) and traveling to Cuba without a passport following the Bay of Pigs invasion in order to help produce a documentary. The prospect of a black independent party terrified the Democratic Party. Following the call for the Freedom Now Party, Kennedy twice told the press that a political division between whites and blacks would be “fatal.

Winkler was checking his e-mail and yawning before going to bed. Davis was working out well as his Second and Glen had slipped into the background a little. He and Phil had been friends for a very long time, but even Glen hadn't known anything about Phil's betrayal. Lissa's cell phone and the credit card he'd given her still rested on a corner of Winkler's desk; he couldn't bring himself to get rid of them. They were the only things he had left of her. Lissa's fake ID was missing and he could only imagine that Gavin had taken it with him. Winkler got down to his last e-mail message of the evening. It was from an unknown source. He was just about to hit delete without reading it when he changed his mind and opened it up. He stared at the three words for a very long time. "She lives. -Gavin

Why? Why? Do you follow me and then unfollow me? Do you add me as a friend and then delete me?

And among the prissiest. Gilder’s method of raising public standards of taste and morality required the production of bloodless pages. As custodian of genteel culture he sought out the delicate and the refined and stood guard against the vulgar and the vernacular. Walt Whitman, though a personal friend, was banned from the Century’s pages; a bit of Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn snuck in, but only after Gilder deleted references to nakedness, blasphemy, and smells and emended all improper phraseology (changing “in a sweat” to “worrying”).

My friend Gordon Wheeler, who is a psychologist, explains that grief is the reminder of the depth of our love. Without love, there is no grief. So when we feel our grief, uncomfortable and aching as it may be, it is actually a reminder of the beauty of that love, now lost. I'll never forget calling Gordon while I was traveling and hearing him say that he was out to dinner by himself after the loss of a dear friend 'so he could feel his grief.' He knew that in the blinking and buzzing world of our lives, it is so easy to delete the past and move on to the next moment. To linger in the longing, the loss, the yearning is a way of feeling the rich embroidered texture of life, the torn cloth of our world that is endlessly being ripped and rewoven.

which a drawing imported into a text document can no longer be altered, but must be changed in the original graphics program and reintroduced into the text document.) Out of the box the Star was multilingual, offering typefaces and keyboard configurations that could be implemented in the blink of an eye for writing in Russian, French, Spanish, and Swedish through the use of “virtual keyboards”—graphic representations of keyboards that appeared on screen to show the user where to find the unique characters in whatever language he or she was using. In 1982 an internal library of 6,000 Japanese kanji characters was added; eventually Star users were able to draft documents in almost every modern language, from Arabic and Bengali to Amharic and Cambodian. As the term implied, the user’s view of the screen resembled the surface of a desk. Thumbnail-sized icons representing documents were lined up on one side of the screen and those representing peripheral devices—printers, file servers, e-mail boxes—on the other. The display image could be infinitely personalized to be tidy or cluttered, obsessively organized or hopelessly confused, alphabetized or random, as dictated by the user’s personality and taste. The icons themselves had been painstakingly drafted and redrafted so they would be instantaneously recognized by the user as document pages (with a distinctive dog-eared upper right corner), file folders, in and out baskets, a clock, and a wastebasket. Thanks to the system’s object-oriented software, the Star’s user could launch any application simply by clicking on the pertinent icon; the machine automatically “knew” that a text document required it to launch a text editor or a drawing to launch a graphics program. No system has ever equaled the consistency of the Star’s set of generic commands, in which “move,” “copy,” and “delete” performed similar operations across the entire spectrum of software applications. The Star was the epitome of PARC’s user-friendly machine. No secretary had to learn about programming or code to use the machine, any more than she had to understand the servomechanism driving the dancing golf ball to type on an IBM Selectric typewriter. Changing a font, or a margin, or the space between typed lines in most cases required a keystroke or two or a couple of intuitive mouse clicks. The user understood what was happening entirely from watching the icons or documents move or change on the screen. This was no accident: “When everything in a computer system is visible on the screen,” wrote David Smith, a designer of the Star interface, “the display becomes reality. Objects and actions can be understood purely in terms of their effects on the display.

As I turn on my computer: Come to Me, I want to connect with you. As I make a phone call to talk through my stress with a friend: Call on Me! As I scroll through Facebook: Don’t follow them, follow Me. As I open up Instagram: Come to Me, open up to Me. As I binge watch another late-night TV show: Come. To. Me. As I start a text, complaining to a friend about my day: Delete that; don’t complain to her, come to Me. As I link over to Amazon Prime for a little retail therapy: Come to Me, I’m a Wonderful Counselor. As I run in to Starbucks for something sweet: My words are sweet as honey. Come to me. As I turn to comfort food: Come to Me, I’m the Great Comforter.

Ehsan Sehgal Quotes about Wikipedia --- * If you are jobless, you do not have the proper ability, even if you can’t get a cleaning job, join Wikipedia, or become an editor. You may knock all the educated figures, lawyers, professional journalists, academics, and specialists of the various subjects down by the Wikipedia rules and policies that contradict each other. You have a useful weapon, which is called consensus. Your friends can support you in winning all disputes. You can change from wrong to right and right to wrong. You can decide the reliability and assessment of subjects; however, no matter whether you qualify for that or not, you have multiple tools for harassing others. That means Wikipedia. * The duffer’s heaven is Wikipedia, where academic ones are the house arrested and used for their shelter of qualification. * Wikipedia is the best place for poor grammar. * If one desires to explore the unique idiots and fools, Wikipedia has that and such a place. * The scholarly world rejects Wikipedia as a reliable website because most of the world’s silly clowns contribute their ignorance within the garbage of Wiki-Rules, which also, indeed, contradict each other. * You cannot delete this, whether with due or undue weight. It is social media, not Wikipedia. * One cannot trust Wikipedia since its articles have minute or continual variant content in all subjects, which demonstrates a lack of qualification and vision. One may find the most authentic and reliable articles on websites that even have no editorial board. * Notability cannot prevail in any subject’s reality. * Virtually, Wikipedia rules are not the law of the judiciary, approved by the majority of the parliament that applied accurately and precisely within its context. Conversely, Wikipedian rules, in other words, tools are only garbage of the frustrated and ignorant heads, which support the blackmailers for blackmailing and comfort for its founding architecture, and also fools who have to execute nothing other than fighting, wasting time. Consequently, every second Wikipedia, having no established and qualified paid editorial board, stays as an encyclopedia of Idiots-Pedia. Thus, it endorses itself as unreliable and untrustworthy an ordinary website, where educationally-unmatured children contribute and decide one’s notability, alongside ignorant ones as well.

We demand shorter and shorter books that will accommodate our diminished focus and present to us more like what we read online. We are becoming less tolerant of friends who voice opinions we dislike, so accustomed we are to being able to mute or delete that which discomforts us. We are becoming much more anxious, unable to accept stillness or silence that cuts against our daily intake of new noise. These real, offline effects emerge from our online habits because, in God’s providential design, our minds are also brains—physical objects with pathways and neurons and adaptability

Washington Boulevard until he reached another small park that had a view over the lake. He stopped and looked out at the churning grey water. One of the first things the police had done was attempt to trace Scarlett through her phone. Using GPS, they had been able to tell that Scarlett had been at Aidan’s apartment at eleven fifty, but then the signal had gone dead. Either her phone had died at that point or she had turned it off. Aidan wondered briefly if someone had broken into the apartment while he lay listening to his sleep story, but there was no evidence of it. The police believed Scarlett had done it herself. They had asked the phone company to retrieve her messages and call records from the couple of days before she disappeared, but there was nothing that shed any light on where she’d gone. ‘If she was using WhatsApp, it’s all secure and impossible to access or recover,’ the police reminded Aidan, who already knew that fact – and that Scarlett frequently used the app to message her friends. They had searched her laptop too and discovered that she had wiped her search history. Using special data tools they had been able to recover it, but hadn’t found anything interesting. She had mostly been on social media and YouTube, where she had watched a couple of make-up tutorials, various clips by her favourite content creators, and a video about the climate protest she and Aidan had got mixed up in. Aidan speculated that she had been looking to see if she could spot herself. There was nothing to indicate why she had felt the need to delete her history. Maybe it was something she did regularly, out of habit. On day three, someone had come forward to say he had seen a red-headed woman or girl on Lake Washington Boulevard in the early hours after Scarlett disappeared. Apparently, she had been walking down the hill, which made the police wonder if she’d gone back to Viretta Park. Over the next couple of days there had been a lot of activity on the lake. The police had gone out with boats. Divers had plunged beneath the surface and scoured the area close

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You told me to call you when i need your help but i deleted your number because i didn't want to open my heart again. You came in as a stranger and soon you dressed up like a long lost friend only to hurt me when it felt convenient and walk out to find yourself.

Thank You" for being on this journey with me. Thank you for all your kind comments and for sharin' with your family and friends. I want you to know I take time to read each and every comment and your kindness means so much! I also wanted to say THANK YOU for your patience as I try and delete the harassing comments that hit my page almost every day by silly desperate men as they search for women who will reply to them. Unless you know the person PLEASE DO NOT give out any personal information or accept as a friend. I'm at the point now when reporting to Facebook I don't report as a Scammer but report as Harassment comments because that's exactly what they're doing… Harassing YOU! Hopefully Facebook will resolve this major issue as quickly as they do a Political Post.

Maya’s face as though wondering what to tell her. ‘It’s just I know they weren’t always happy, and I did once wonder if they’d have stayed together… There was something my husband, George, said when you were first in my maths class. As you know, he taught the other year one class at your primary school and mentioned how once he’d had to break up an argument between your parents when they were waiting to pick you up from school. It must have been pretty heated for him to remember it after all that time – he wasn’t one to gossip. Apparently, Mrs Lyons wouldn’t let you out of your classroom until George had managed to calm them down.’ Maya feels her stomach clench. ‘All couples argue.’ ‘I know.’ Mrs Ellis pats her hand. ‘And that’s why you mustn’t worry about it. It was a long time ago, anyway.’ The bus is stopping. Bending to her bag, Mrs Ellis moves it so that it’s not in the way of the people getting on. ‘But if you ever feel you want to spread your wings, you mustn’t feel your dad would be on his own. He’s a grown man, and you can’t make him your responsibility. I’m sure he has friends, neighbours, even work colleagues who would keep an eye on him. Doesn’t he have his own private practice in Lyme Regis?’ ‘Yes, but it’s not the same. He needs me.’ Maya’s voice slips away, so it’s barely a whisper. ‘Yes, he needs me. It’s why I couldn’t go to university.’ She doesn’t want to talk about that time for, although her dad had been encouraging when she’d first told him she was applying, a week after the forms were filled in, a cloud had settled over him. One that was darker than previous ones. Maya had tempted him with his favourite food, enticed him out for healing walks along the clifftop, but nothing she’d done could lift it. Eventually, telling herself it was because of what she’d done, she’d deleted her application from the computer. When her dad had found out and asked why she’d done it, she’d told him it was because she couldn’t face more studying. Would rather earn a living. Whether he’d believed her or not, she couldn’t say. What she did know was that he’d never tried to change her mind. ‘Do you like your job, Maya?’ Maya lowers her eyes and studies her hands. It’s something she hasn’t given much thought to. Her job is just something she does to get through

Dauer figured Moonves was calling about a role for Phillips, which finally seemed to be happening. Dauer was watching his hometown baseball team, the Minnesota Twins, on TV when Moonves reached him. But Moonves wasn’t calling him with good news about Phillips. Instead, he was terse and sounded stressed. Moonves asked Dauer to delete all their text messages, adding that he was asking all his friends to do the same thing. (A spokesman for Moonves denied he asked him to delete messages.) Dauer wondered what that was all about. He hung up and went back to watching the game. He never deleted the messages.

the ends. Jesus saw through it at once; why are pastors so intoxicated with visions and goals and so muddled when it comes to ways and means? The difficulty is that concern for ways and means, which is the heart of the contemplative life, is very low on the agenda of the American pastor, especially for the pastor who wants to make an “impact” on the culture. Even the word contemplative itself is consigned to the far margins of interest, something to be indulged occasionally, perhaps on a weekend retreat or on a walk through the woods. When I am in Tyler, Texas, and its many suburbs that fill the pews in evangelical congregations all over the country, I am simply overwhelmed with the seeming impossibility of arousing any interest in caring about ways and means—how we live this life the way Jesus led us to do it. The ways and means adopted by all my erstwhile and admiring friends revolve around instant communication, efficiency, hurry, planning, and counting. Anything small or slow, which includes any person small or slow, is treated with condescension. Your mother and I have been thinking about this trust—we have named it the Selah Trust—and so have been trying to get a focus on just what it is that we have been about all our lives and how we want our money to be used in a way consistent with that. The word that keeps coming up is contemplation. What we are looking for is not primarily the causes and ends that people/organizations are committed to, but how they go about it—the test for gospel authenticity is the way, not the what. Standard fundraising is all about the what. Any how will do, so long as it brings in the money. So we find ourselves staying very local, very close to the ground, as we make our decisions and plans. I am not sure, Eric, that this is a letter; it qualifies more as a rant. At one time in the course of those earlier deletions, I started out by reflecting on what it feels like to be seventy. But that will come later. Actually, it feels pretty good. I can’t remember being as reflective regarding any other decade marker. There is a contemplative feel to this one. But maybe I had to get the “rant” out of my system to get down to what is really going on in me. With much love,

Who cares if I myself am liberal? If you are a principled conservative, do you think you’ve really been well served by BUMMER? My evangelical Christian conservative friends suddenly find themselves wedged into social media communities that support an obscene, cruel philanderer and abuser who made fortunes from gambling and bankruptcies and who has stated, on the record, that he doesn’t need or seek forgiveness from God. 12 Meanwhile my patriotic, hawkish conservative friends now find themselves aligned with a leader who would almost certainly not be in office were it not for cynical, illegal interventions by a hostile foreign power. Look what BUMMER has done to your conservatism.

There is something so wonderfully complex about labelling someone a ‘best friend’. It is leaps ahead of ‘friend’, who is just someone you like a bit without a special kind of bond tying you together like you are white-water rafting through life with each other. It’s a commitment, for starters, but one that you can’t ever imagine not being part of. You fall quite romantically for each other and think: ‘Yep, you. You will soon become an extension of my personality; I will finish your sentences and you will know all my most awful secrets, and therefore hold all the power over me for ever more. And, oh balls, I can never ever forget your birthday.

Like most of us, I often assume that I am perfect. I tell myself I am the greatest friend in the world, that I have never done anything wrong, and that any person who interacts with me is blessed and lucky and being smiled down upon by whatever higher power they believe in. And then, after a few moments of beautiful delusion, I convince myself that my friends will all soon realize that I'm not as great as they thought I was, and my next birthday party will consist of them telling me why we'll never speak again. (this is why I'll never have a birthday party.) Which isn't a totally unfounded fear. While I know even the best and longest friendships have peaks and valleys, I have lived that valley life hard. My long journeys to the bottom would justify "accidentally" deleting this chapter in lieu of trying to put a positive spin on all the friendship lessons I've learned, bless us, every one.

That's my future self, that's my future self. Listen to you. You sound like an idiot. Who do you think you are? Imagine there's a version of you that sees all of it. A version that knows when versions are messing with the other ones, trying to get things off track, trying to erase things. A record of all the keystrokes, the storage of all the versions, partial and deleted and written over. All the changes. All truths about all parts of our self. We break ourselves up into parts. To lie to ourselves, to hide things from ourselves. You are not you. You are not what you think you are. You are bigger than you think. More complicated than you think. You are the only version of you that is you. There are less of you than you think, and more. There are a million versions of you, half a trillion. One for every particle, every quantum coin flip. Imagine this uncountable number of your. You don't always have your own best interests at heart. That's true. You are your own best friend and your own worst enemy. You can't trust a guy who gives you a book and says, This is your life. He might have been your future, he might not. Only you know how you get there. Only you know what you need to do. Imagine there is a perfect version of you. Out of all the oceans of oceans of you, there is exactly one who is perfectly you. And that's me. And I'm telling you: you are the only you. Does that make any sense?

Expression of the bygone All relationships are going to end naturally or not. It is all up to you and what you want, I choose to stay in this relationship forever, and doing it is too difficult sometimes. Just remember you have choices in life. So, what are you going to listen to? Your inner voice or the ones that are all around you and me? It is just like we all needed to get off the cyber walls and take our life’s back. The webbed walls were doing nothing but showing names with faces that label others with either good or bad stigmas, it could not be deleted, and it would follow you everywhere you went… even if you had a past that was made up by someone else it remained with you. It needed to end; it was ripping the world apart. I still believe that we all need to find real friends in person if you can in this day and age, we should not spend all of our free time looking at faces on a screen, that are deceiving what true thoughts of friendship should stand for. Please remember they are not your so-called friends… they are not your friends on there at all, if you do not or cannot talk to them in real life. Then what in the hell makes, you think you can chat with them on the webbed walls of the internet, and not real life? They are just there to look into your business, so stop being stupid. They do not care about you at all. They are stopping you from achieving your desires in your life, by talking or chatting behind your back, and how do you truly know what they are saying if you are blocked out, or who it is that is saying it. They do not care about you! So, I ask why should you care about them by having them on a profile or friends list; it is useless and completely immature?

Jenny- We were friends on Facebook and our friendship was short-lived, I confirmed his request… and he unfriended me? The same day- What happened? He deleted me; no, the boy has ever done that to me. I must have him as my boyfriend, he is the first one to ever say no to me. He said her I don't remember sending you a request! Sure… to be truthful I am kind of disappointed in him, I was thinking finally we can at least be friends. Why doesn’t he want me? Why does he like her more? (Facebook chat) He typed - No we can't be friends. I, asked- why not? He typed - Because I don't want to. I typed - That’s mean… What did I ever do to you? He typed - I tried to be nice to you but you took it too far, and I feel a little uncomfortable around you. I'm not trying to be mean. I- was- thinking uncomfortable? Uncomfortable because you don’t like me? Or uncomfortable because you can control yourself around me because you like me that much? I typed - I am sorry I never meant to do anything to you. Yes, I like you, and I know you’re with Karly, I was hoping for someday... Maybe we could go to a movie or something like that? I’m not a bad person… you no! You have to give people a chance. And if you’re judging me, I have changed a lot. Is asking you out so wrong? Why, do I make you so uncomfortable? His typed- I am very happy with Karly, and I see her in my future, so I wish you could respect that. I don't understand why… you think it’s okay for me to give you a chance when I have a girlfriend. I'm not like that, and I think that's very wrong. I typed - My god you are not married to her. You need to stop listening to your friends so much... What are you so scared of? He typed- I was scared to fall in love with someone like you! I said- It will happen! You will fall for me! ~*~ Jenny’s thoughts walking to class- I’m going to get what I want… And none of you b*tches know! I’ll get you! I’ll have to sit in class like this. I hope you don’t mind blood Mr. D I have to change this tampon out… The gym is my only ‘A,’ I wish they were all that easy for me. Karly small good, I wonder what she is wearing? Does anyone have a tampon? Do people still use pads? These… underwear cost me $30! I WISH I WAS A GUY! (So. me being on my period feels like you getting- kicked in the balls for a week, non-stop, like that love a sick feeling or you have to squeeze something out of yah, consent churning inside.)

James Lee asked Bobby if he had ever referred to Reggie Brown as an employer at Picaboo. Bobby said he hadn’t. Lee showed him an automated email from Facebook, reading “Bobby Murphy tagged you in Picaboo under Employers.” Bobby’s eyes darted, his head tilted down, and he twitched his mouth nervously. Glancing up at Lee, he sheepishly replied “Uh … Well it looks like here that I did something to that effect,” Murphy said. “I don’t have a specific recollection of this happening … although I would say that it would have been unclear to me what … tagging someone as an ‘employer’ under Facebook would mean.” The following Monday, it was Evan’s turn in front of the deposition camera. Like Bobby, Evan got tripped up a few times. After getting Evan on the record that Reggie had not been building an application with Evan and Bobby, Lee showed Evan an email he sent to Nicole James, the blogger who wrote about Snapchat, in which he wrote, “I just built an app with two friends of mine (certified bros.)” Evan reluctantly admitted that the two people he was referring to were Bobby and Reggie. The deposition continued: “Did you come up with the idea for deleting picture messages?” “No.” “Did Bobby come up with the idea?” “No, he did not.” “Who came up with the idea?” “Reggie did.” “Do you think Reggie deserves anything for the contributions he made on the project?” Evan paused for seven seconds. The room was dead silent. “Reggie may deserve something for some of his contributions.” “Do you have any regrets?” Evan sat still for thirty seconds. Again, the room was noiseless. Evan searched for the right words. “That’s a really hard question for me because it’s pretty clear that I lost a good friend.

Margot’s off shopping for new boots with her friend Casey, Daddy’s at work, and Kitty and I are lazing about watching TV when my phone buzzes next to me. It’s a text from Peter. "Movie tonight?" I text back yes, exclamation point. Then I delete the exclamation point for sounding too eager. Though without the exclamation point, the yes seems completely unenthused. I settle on a smiley face and press send before I can obsess over it further.

I hate fighting. I’m sensitive and, frankly, not good at it. If the consequence of bickering online means I’ve got to spend the afternoon feeling bad because a kid I don’t remember from high school called me a “fat-ass Kelly Price” over a Reductress article, please murder me. And if my tweets get on your goddamn nerves: BLOCK ME FIRST. Kill me with your powerful brain! There are too many places in real life where blocking is not a viable option to tolerate someone ruining your secret lives online. You can’t block the coworker who won’t stop fucking talking while loitering nearby as you’re just trying to put half-and-half in your breakroom coffee, but you can block that friend of a friend who says shit like, “I’m not prejudiced, I don’t care if a person is purple or green or blue.” LMAO, blue people???? SHUT THE FUCK UP. You can’t delete the neighbor whose eyesore of a car is parked halfway across your driveway and whose cat keeps shitting on your deck, but you can delete your cousin who earnestly believes that rap music is reverse racism and vehemently comments as much on every Kendrick Lamar video you share. There’s no mute button for the woman at the grocery store who won’t stop asking you where the shampoo is, even though you’re pushing your

So we talk about that for a while: deleting Facebook friends whose frequent status updates document their gestational cycle, steering clear of baby showers and children’s birthday parties. We talk about our fears that we will be left out, left behind, while our friends and relatives go about the business of raising their ever-growing families.

Most of the other friendships in her life had simply fizzled out. They’d seen each other less and less, time between texts became longer and longer, and, eventually, they just weren’t friends anymore. Nothing explosive, just life. It was both nicer and heartbreaking in its own way. It wasn’t clear either. When did you stop saying you were friends? When did you stop thinking you were friends? When did you delete their number, stop liking all their posts online? When did you stop knowing each other? And how long did you both keep pretending? When did it all stop hurting?

If you step a foot outside this room in that outfit, I’ll not only delete every picture on this camera, but I will destroy your ‘friend’s’ career until he has to resort to advertising shitty five-dollar-an-hour headshots on Craigslist.” A wintry smile touched my lips. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?

As I turn on my computer: Come to Me, I want to connect with you. As I make a phone call to talk through my stress with a friend: Call on Me! As I scroll through Facebook: Don't follow them, follow Me. As I open up Instagram: Come to Me, open up to Me. As I binge watch another late-night TV show: Come. To. Me. As I start a text, complaining to a friend about my day: Delete that; don't complain to her, come to Me. As I link over to Amazon Prime for a little retail therapy: Come to Me, I'm a Wonderful Counselor. As I run in to Starbucks for something sweet: My words are sweet as honey. Come to me. As I turn to comfort food: Come to Me, I'm the Great Comforter. Come to Me.

What is absolutely clear true and undeniable is that certain people, behave in a certain way with you, people are as they are, because that’s how they are, even though you might believe in that person totally, through all appeasement all through all your patience with them, waiting for the change, the change will not come towards you, because they do not see you as you see them, they are not interested in you or your feelings or what you stand for in life, we see these signs and we ignore them, but when you face yourself with the truth, and you realize those certain people sap your energy, like Dracula sapping blood for his victims, no matter how kind you are towards them, no matter how patient you are with them, you cannot change them, not only that, they have no intention to change themselves, to grow spiritually towards healing themselves in the process, it is better to distance yourself from such people, for your own emotional and mental wellbeing, it is better to delete these people from your life, for they bring nothing but uncertainty, they bring nothing but constant negative, it is not that you are not good enough for them or the world even though you have proven this many times over, there is just something in them that they cannot bridge that empathy with you, do not feed into their hunger to see you miserable just because they are miserable, we all operate on certain vibration in life, do not compromise your vibration to appease them, for it is you who will pay the price in the end emotionally and mentally, do not look for validation and approval from them, value your own vibration by deleting them from your life, it is better to be alone, in good company with yourself, then in bad company with the negative they bring to your life, most people confuse kindness with weakness, your source of kindness comes from strength not weakness, I know sometimes it’s hard to walk away, and sometimes it takes longer with some people then other people to walk away, and we prolong the leaving process in the hope of changes to come but changes do not come, the change must come from you, and the only change you need to make is walk away from them and live your own life, with your own high vibration, giving to the world, giving to people who appreciate you, for who you are, and what you stand for in life, do right and fear none in life, love is free, and nothing should be attached to that free love in life, the reason that love is free is because it’s the only thing in the world that has the power to uplift yourself with self love and uplift others with love, and uplift your spirits with love for animals and nature, by deleting some people who are negative to you from your life, is being kind to yourself, but sometimes this is impossible because we are in daily contact with these people through work, through other friends even though family sometimes, and if this is the case then give them wide birth, if you want to keep your tranquility and your peace, and for your vibration to operate on a certain level you are accustomed to living with goodness and love in your heart

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