Diaries With Daily Quotes

The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. What will it matter to him if he notices that he is growing old? Has he any reason to envy the young people whom he sees, or wax nostalgic over his own lost youth? What reasons has he to envy a young person? For the possibilities that a young person has, the future which is in store for him? No, thank you,' he will think. 'Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not only the reality of work done and of love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are even the things of which I am most proud, although these are things which cannot inspire envy.

I suggest you write I love you in your daily diary when we hang up so that you can refer to it should you ever develop that need to read those words again.

The aim of life is no more to control the mind, but to develop it harmoniously; not to achieve salvation here after, but to make the best use of it here below; and not to realise truth, beauty and good only in contemplation, but also in the actual experience of daily life; social progress depends not upon the ennoblement of the few but on the enrichment of democracy; universal brotherhood can be achieved only when there is an equality of opportunity - of opportunity in the social, political and individual life.— from Bhagat Singh's prison diary, p. 124

My diary became more than a place to record daily events. It became a friend, the paper that it was made of was ready and willing to accept anything and everything I had to say.

DEAR DI­ARY You are greater than the Bible And the Con­fer­ence of the Birds And the Up­an­ishads All put to­geth­er You are more se­vere Than the Scrip­tures And Ham­mura­bi’s Code More dan­ger­ous than Luther’s pa­per Nailed to the Cathe­dral door You are sweet­er Than the Song of Songs Might­ier by far Than the Epic of Gil­gamesh And braver Than the Sagas of Ice­land I bow my head in grat­itude To the ones who give their lives To keep the se­cret The dai­ly se­cret Un­der lock and key Dear Di­ary I mean no dis­re­spect But you are more sub­lime Than any Sa­cred Text Some­times just a list Of my events Is holi­er than the Bill of Rights And more in­tense

Scientists at first were skeptical that a kitten-type being could exist in the rare Martian atmosphere. As a test, two Earth kittens were put in a chamber that simulated the Martian air. The diary of this experiment is fascinating: 6:00 A.M.: Kittens appear to sleep. 7:02 A.M.: Kitten wakes, darts from one end of cage to another for no apparent reason. 7:14 A.M.: Kitten runs up wall of cage, leaps onto other kitten for no apparent reason. 7:22 A.M.: Kitten lies on back and punches other kitten for no apparent reason. 7:30 A.M.: Kitten leaps, stops, darts left, abruptly stops, climbs wall, clings for two seconds, falls on head, darts right for no apparent reason. 7:51 A.M.: Kitten parses first sentence of daily newspaper that is at bottom of chamber. With the exception of the parsing, all behavior is typical of Earth kitten behavior. The parsing activity, which was done with a small ball-point pen, was an anomaly.

From the moment I came to love suffering, it ceased to be a suffering for me. Suffering is the daily food of my soul.

I'm beginning to have second thoughts regarding the validity of Gloria's theory that I can overcome my heroin addiction by the simple process of shooting up vast quantities of speed with her twenty times daily.

Regarding sleep, this sinister adventure of each night, one could say that people fall asleep daily with an audacity that would be incomprehensible if we didn't know that it results from their being oblivious of danger.

Up till now I always thought bickering was just something children did and they outgrew it. Of course, there's sometimes a reason to have a 'real' quarrel, but the verbal exchanges that take place here are just plain bickering. I should be used to the fact that these squabbles are daily occurrences, but I'm not and never will be as long as I'm the subject of nearly every discussion. (They refer to these as 'discussions instead of 'quarrels', but Germans don't know the difference!)

The grace of writing is upon me. I love writing. I write daily.

Doctors must be psychologically fit for the job — able to make decisions under a terrifying amount of pressure, able to break bad news to us anguished relatives, able to deal with death on a daily basis. They must have something that cannot be memorized and graded; a great doctor must have a huge heart and a distended aorta which pumps a vast lake of compassion and human kindness.

Blessed is he who keeps daily diary and compares the work of this week with that of the last, for he will realize God quickly!

Siguro ganun talaga ang buhay. May mga bagay na kahit anong buhos mo ng effort o kahit gaano pa ang tindi ng kagustuhan mong makuha ay hindi mapapasaiyo kung hindi nakatakda sa isang invisible na script na kung tawagin ay tadhana.

Henry's recollections of the past, in contrast to Proust, are done while in movement. He may remember his first wife while making love to a whore, or he may remember his very first love while walking the streets, traveling to see a friend; and life does not stop while he remembers. Analysis in movement. No static vivisection. Henry's daily and continuous flow of life, his sexual activity, his talks with everyone, his cafe life, his conversations with people in the street, which I once considered an interruption to writing, I now believe to be a quality which distinguishes him from other writers. He never writes in cold blood: he is always writing in white heat. It is what I do with the journal, carrying it everywhere, writing on cafe tables while waiting for a friend, on the train, on the bus, in waiting rooms at the station, while my hair is washed, at the Sorbonne when the lectures get tedious, on journeys, trips, almost while people are talking. It is while cooking, gardening, walking, or love-making that I remember my childhood, and not while reading Freud's 'Preface to a Little Girl's Journal.

The daily exercise of suffering gives one the gaze of an abandoned dog and the colour of a ghost. - Fragment of a Diary [July to August]

I stopped in front of a florist's window. Behind me, the screeching and throbbing boulevard vanished. Gone, too, were the voices of newspaper vendors selling their daily poisoned flowers. Facing me, behind the glass curtain, a fairyland. Shining, plump carnations, with the pink voluptuousness of women about to reach maturity, poised for the first step of a sprightly dance; shamelessly lascivious gladioli; virginal branches of white lilac; roses lost in pure meditation, undecided between the metaphysical white and the unreal yellow of a sky after the rain.

Pag mahal mo ang isang tao, palayain mo. Kapag bumalik siya, ibig sabihin wala siyang pamasahe.

I never deliberately learned to read, but somehow I had been wallowing illicitly in the daily papers. In the long hours of church--was it then I learned? I could not remember not being able to read hymns. Now that I was compelled to think about it, reading was something that just came to me, as learning to fasten the seat of my union suit without looking around, or achieving two bows from a snarl of shoelaces. I could not remember when the lines above Atticus's moving finger separated into words. But I had stared at them all the evenings in my memory, listening to the news of the day, Bills to Be Enacted into Laws, the diaries of Lorenzo Dow--anything Atticus happened to be reading when I crawled into his lap every night. Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.

Don't tell me about the Press. I know *exactly* who reads the papers. The Daily Mirror is read by the people who think they run the country. The Guardian is read by people who think they *ought* to run the country. The Times is read by the people who actually *do* run the country. The Daily Mail is read by the wives of the people who run the country. The Financial Times is read by people who *own* the country. The Morning Star is read by people who think the country ought to be run by *another* country. The Daily Telegraph is read by the people who think it is.' "Prime Minister, what about the people who read The Sun?" "Sun readers don't care *who* runs the country - as long as she's got big tits.

A history of nightlife!--what an interesting concept. A history of a people, told not through their daily travails and successive political upheavals, but via the changes in their nightly celebrations and unwindings. History is, in this telling, accompanied by a bottle of Malbec, some fine Argentine steak, tango music, dancing, and gossip. It unfolds through and alongside illicit activities that take place in the multitude of discos, dance parlors, and clubs. Its direction, the way people live, is determined on half-lit streets, in bars, and in smoky late-night restaurants. This history is inscribed in songs, on menus, via half-remembered conversations, love affairs, drunken fights, and years of drug abuse.

Ode to Algebra Thrust into this dingy classroom we die like lampless moths locked into the desolation of fluorescent lights and metal desks. Ten minutes until the bell rings. What use is the quadratic formula in our daily lives? Can we use it to unlock the secrets in the hearts of those we love? Five minutes until the bell rings. Cruel Algebra teacher, won't you let us go?

Courage is continuing to perform your daily tasks, and being hopeful despite the odds, not inflicting your fears on others, and remaining sensitive to their needs and expectations, and also not supposing, because you're dying, nothing matters any more.

A daily written thankful gratitude is a heavenly blessing.

Develop convictions from your understanding of revelation, but take them no further; do not make absolute what the Bible dos not make absolute.

I was not travelling away from human life, I was seeking my own fulfillment. Searching for heightened moments uninterrupted by life’s daily exigencies.

I come to the conclusion that letters—even good letters—are often concerned with the straws and pebbles of daily life, a realm which, rightly or wrongly, seems traditionally assigned to women.

Henry’s daily and continuous flow of life, his sexual activity, his talks with everyone, his café life, his conversations with people in the street, which I once considered an interruption to writing, I now believe to be a quality which distinguishes him from other writers. He never writes in cold blood: he is always writing in white heat.

Thrust into this dingy classroom we die like lampless moths locked into the desolation of fluorescent lights and metal desks. Ten minutes until the bell rings. What use is the quadratic formula in our daily lives? Can we use it to unlock the secrets in the hearts of those we love? Five minutes until the bell rings. Cruel Algebra teacher, won’t you let us go?

The men, her husband and sons, leave for the quarry at seven o'clock sharp and return at five. What do they imagine she does all day? It makes her shiver to think of it, how not one pair of eyes can see through the roof and walls of her house and regard her as she moves through her dreamlike days, bargaining from minute to minute with indolence, that tempter.

Some things you carry around inside you as though they were part of your blood and bones, and when that happens, there’s nothing you can do to forget …But I had never been much of a believer. If anything, I believed that things got worse before they got better. I believed good people suffered... people who have faith were so lucky; you didn’t want to ruin it for them. You didn’t want to plant doubt where there was none. You had to treat suck individuals tenderly and hope that some of whatever they were feeling rubs off on you Those who love you will love you forever, without questions or boundaries or the constraints of time. Daily life is real, unchanging as a well-built house. But houses burn; they catch fire in the middle of the night. The night is like any other night of disaster, with every fact filtered through a veil of disbelief. The rational world has spun so completely out of its orbit, there is no way to chart or expect what might happen next At that point, they were both convinced that love was a figment of other people’s imaginations, an illusion fashioned out of smoke and air that really didn’t exist Fear, like heat, rises; it drifts up to the ceiling and when it falls down it pours out in a hot and horrible rain True love, after all, could bind a man where he didn’t belong. It could wrap him in cords that were all but impossible to break Fear is contagious. It doubles within minutes; it grows in places where there’s never been any doubt before The past stays with a man, sticking to his heels like glue, invisible and heartbreaking and unavoidable, threaded to the future, just as surely as day is sewn to night He looked at girls and saw only sweet little fuckboxes, there for him to use, no hearts involved, no souls, and, most assuredly no responsibilities. Welcome to the real world. Herein is the place where no one can tell you whether or not you’ve done the right thing. I could tell people anything I wanted to, and whatever I told them, that would be the truth as far as they were concerned. Whoever I said I was, well then, that’s who id be The truths by which she has lived her life have evaporated, leaving her empty of everything except the faint blue static of her own skepticism. She has never been a person to question herself; now she questions everything Something’s, are true no matter how hard you might try to bloc them out, and a lie is always a lie, no matter how prettily told You were nothing more than a speck of dust, good-looking dust, but dust all the same Some people needed saving She doesn’t want to waste precious time with something as prosaic as sleep. Every second is a second that belongs to her; one she understands could well be her last Why wait for anything when the world is so cockeyed and dangerous? Why sit and stare into the mirror, too fearful of what may come to pass to make a move? At last she knows how it feels to take a chance when everything in the world is at stake, breathless and heedless and desperate for more She’ll be imagining everything that’s out in front of them, road and cloud and sky, all the elements of a future, the sort you have to put together by hand, slowly and carefully until the world is yours once more

Every human being is an incalculable force, bearing within him something of the future. To the end of time, our daily words and actions will bear fruit, either good or bad; nothing that we have once given of ourselves will perish, but our words and works, handed on from one to another, will continue to do good or harm to remote generations. This is why life is a sacred thing, and we ought not to pass through it thoughtlessly, but to appreciate its value and use it so that, when we are gone, the sum total of good in the world may be greater.

Matagal na din akong naghintay dito sa bus stop sa pag-aakalang babalik sya, na muli siyang dadaan at sabay kaming aalis. Lumipas na ang ulan. Mataas na ang sikat ng araw. Pero mag-isa pa rin ako dito. Siguro naman, ito na ang tamang panahon para sumakay, umalis at lumayo. Paunti-unti. Hindi naman biglaan. Konting andar. Konting lakad. Konting kembot pakanan. Darating din ako doon.Kung saan maaliwalas na ang lahat.

Logotherapy, keeping in mind the essential transitoriness of human existence, is not pessimistic but rather activistic. To express this point figuratively we might say: The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. What will it matter to him if he notices that he is growing old? Has he any reason to envy the young people whom he sees, or wax nostalgic over his own lost youth? What reasons has he to envy a young person? For the possibilities that a young person has, the future which is in store for him? “No, thank you,” he will think. “Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not only the reality of work done and of love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are even the things of which I am most proud, though these are things which cannot inspire envy.

Of course, there’s sometimes a reason to have a “real” quarrel, but the verbal exchanges that take place here are just plain bickering. I should be used to the fact that these squabbles are daily occurrences, but I’m not and never will be as long as I’m the subject of nearly every discussion.

Billy Pilgrim had a theory about diaries. Women were more likely than men to think that their lives had sufficient meaning to require recording on a daily basis. It was not for the most part a God-is-leading-me-on-a-wondrous-journey kind of meaning, but more an I've-gotta-be-me-but-nobody-cares sentimentalism that passed for meaning, and they usually stopped keeping a diary by the time they hit thirty, because by then they didn't want to ponder the meaning of life anymore because it scared the crap out of them.

Florida Scott-Maxwell’s Stoic diary during her terminal illness, The Measure of My Days,

It is bad to love life if one loves it like a coward.

Daily more and more people question their way of life and ponder their connections with Spirit." From The Keeper Of The Diary

Daily.

The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. What will it matter to him if he notices that he is growing old? Has he any reason to envy the young people whom he sees, or wax nostalgic over his own lost youth? What reasons has he to envy a young person? For the possibilities that a young person has, the future which is in store for him? “No, thank you,” he will think. “Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not only the reality of work done and of love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are even the things of which I am most proud, though these are things which cannot inspire envy.

The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back.

He had sometimes attempted to keep a diary himself, the kind of record of his daily life that could rival famous clerical diarists of the past, a nineteen-seventies Woodforde or Kilvert. What was he to write about the events of this morning? ‘My sister Daphne made a gooseberry tart and told me that she was going to live on the outskirts of Birmingham’? Could that possibly be of interest to readers of the next century?

Florida Scott-Maxwell’s Stoic diary during her terminal illness, The Measure of My Days, is one. Seneca’s famous words to his family and friends, who had broken down and begged with his executioners, is another.

Daisy can’t bear shutting off her Instagram space. What would she have left? She’d have no daily connection, no love, hearts, validation. She needs it all so badly just to keep going. Her life would be so empty. Lonely. Why can’t she be more like the old schoolgirl-teen Daisy?

(One midwestern doctor kept a diary of his daily visits to patients. He confessed that there were only two items in his black bag that actually worked. Everything else was snake oil. What actually worked was the hacksaw to cut off injured and diseased limbs, and morphine to dull the pain of amputation.)

Seventy-five years ago a young woman kept a diary in which she wrote some of her innermost thoughts, many of the daily happenings, and all of the weather. This story is the fictionalized version of the real diary. The thoughts more or less trite pedantic have been curtailed, the happenings (for obvious reasons) sometimes changed, but the weather remains practically intact. ...So step out of the yellowed diary, Linnie Colsworth,.... Recreate yourself from the fading ink of it's pages and help us understand something of the stanch heart that beat under those hard little stays, bidding you defy convention three-quarters of a century ago.

There is nothing more difficult than understanding human mentality. My master's present mental state is very far from clear; is he feeling angry or lighthearted, or simply seeking solace in the scribblings of some dead philosopher? One just can't tell whether he's mocking the world or yearning to be accepted into its frivolous company, whether he is getting furious over some piddling little matter or holding himself aloof from worldly things. Compared to such complexities, cats are truly simple. If we want to eat, we eat; if we want to sleep, we sleep; when we are angry, we are angry utterly; when we cry, we cry with all the desperation of extreme commitment to our grief. Thus we never keep things like diaries. For what would be the point? No doubt human beings like my two-faced master find it necessary to keep diaries in order to display in a darkened room that true character so assiduously hidden from the world. But among cats both our four main occupations (walking, standing, sitting and lying down) and such incidental activities as excreting waste are pursued quite openly. We live our diaries, and consequently have no need to keep a daily record as a means of maintaining our real characters. Had I the time to keep a diary, I'd use that time to better effect; sleeping on the veranda.

Taking this “servant” attitude of thankfulness in all of life’s circumstances will help you react as old Matthew Henry did when he was mugged. He wrote in his diary, “Let me be thankful first because I was never robbed before; second, although they took my purse, they did not take my life; third, because although they took my all, it was not much; and fourth, because it was I who was robbed, not I who robbed.

Especially her father was watching with much attention to ensure that Emma didn’t have “too much” of leisure time (or even happy emotions) in her life; that’s why she was sometimes truly missing it and didn’t have much of anything interesting going on, being surrounded mostly by depressing boredom of everlasting routine duties she was fulfilling daily, being a responsible and hardworking person since early ages.

Why should millions be spent daily on the war and yet there's not a penny available for medical services, artists, or for poor people? Why do some people have to starve, while there are surpluses rotting in other parts of the world? Oh, why are people so crazy? I don't believe that the big men, the politicians and the capitalists alone, are guilty, otherwise the peoples of the world would have risen in revolt long ago!

But the truth is different. You’re much more likely to have a Silver Emma moment than a Bronze Borghini one. When researchers have tracked people’s thoughts by asking them to keep daily diaries or by pinging them randomly to ask what’s on their mind, they’ve discovered that If Onlys outnumber At Leasts in people’s lives—often by a wide margin.[7] One study found that 80 percent of the counterfactuals people generate are If Onlys.

George S. Kaufman was not Miss Astor’s last love. George had been supplanted in her affections by one of his best friends, whose name would surely have been disclosed had the hearing gone on. The scoop appeared on August 12 in the Daily Mirror, announcing that the best friend, an unnamed dashing broker and bachelor, maintained a seven-room penthouse on Park Avenue, complete with butler and maid. Kaufman had introduced Mary to “Mr. Big” in December, according to the Mirror.

Not all of us were intended to be tied down to daily humdrum work. Some of us who rejected monotonous daily tasks developed a magnificent gift for living. You have a capacity to bloom in leisure, unknown to men at work, men in harness. You have a genius for friendship, for love, for human life. In others this becomes atrophied. You bring great gifts to living. You bring a openness to adventure, a poetry, fantasy, and imagination that spring from the habit of pursuing pleasure and freedom.

So the point of my keeping a notebook has never been, nor is it now, to have an accurate factual record of what I have been doing or thinking. That would be a different impulse entirely, an instinct for reality which I sometimes envy but do not possess. At no point have I ever been able successfully to keep a diary; my approach to daily life ranges from the grossly negligent to the merely absent, and on those few occasions when I have tried dutifully to record a day’s events, boredom has so overcome me that the results are mysterious at best.

The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest.

The delivery boy from the bakery has supplied us with darning thread—90 cents for one measly skein—the milkman can get hold of ration books, an undertaker delivers cheese. Break-ins, murders and thefts are daily occurrences. Even the police and night watchmen are getting in on the act. Everyone wants to put food in their stomachs, and since salaries have been frozen, people have had to resort to swindling. The police have their hands full trying to track down the many girls of fifteen, sixteen, seventeen and older who are reported missing every day.

That would be a different impulse entirely, an instinct for reality which I sometimes envy but do not possess. At no point have I ever been able successfully to keep a diary; my approach to daily life ranges from the grossly negligent to the merely absent, and on those few occasions when I have tried dutifully to record a day's events, boredom has so overcome me that the results are mysterious at best. What is this business about "shopping, typing piece, dinner with E, depressed"? Shopping for what? Typing what piece? Who is E? Was this "E" depressed, or was I depressed? Who cares?

In September 1936, Britain's former prime minister, David Lloyd George, spent two weeks in Germany as his guest. He admiringly wrote in the Daily Express how Hitler had united Catholic and Protestant, employer and artisan, rich and poor into one people – Ein Volk, in fact. (The British press magnate Cecil King wrote in his diary four years later, ‘Lloyd George mentioned meeting Hitler and spoke of him as the greatest figure in Europe since Napoleon and possibly greater than him. He said we had not had to deal with an austere ascetic like Hitler since the days of Attila and his Huns.’)

Sometimes the most important finding in a scientific study is a simple observation, free of any hypothesis or pitting of theoretical perspectives against one another. And this was true in our daily diary research: people experience awe two to three times a week. That’s once every couple of days. They did so in finding the extraordinary in the ordinary: a friend’s generosity to a homeless person in the streets; the scent of a flower; looking at a leafy tree’s play of light and shadow on a sidewalk; hearing a song that transported them back to a first love; bingeing Game of Thrones with friends. Everyday awe.

As you can easily imagine we often ask ourselves here despairingly: "What, oh, what is the use of the war? Why can't people live peacefully together? Why all this destruction?" The question is very understandable, but no one has found a satisfactory answer to it so far. Yes, why do they make still more gigantic planes, still heavier bombs and, at the same time, prefabricated houses for reconstruction? Why should millions be spent daily on the war and yet there's not a penny available for medical services, artists, or for poor people? Why do some people have to starve, while there are surpluses rotting in other parts of the world. Oh, why are people so crazy?

I never deliberately learned to read, but somehow I had been wallowing illicitly in the daily papers. In the long hours of church—was it then I learned? I could not remember not being able to read hymns. Now that I was compelled to think about it, reading was something that just came to me, as learning to fasten the seat of my union suit without looking around, or achieving two bows from a snarl of shoelaces. I could not remember when the lines above Atticus’s moving finger separated into words, but I had stared at them all the evenings in my memory, listening to the news of the day, Bills to Be Enacted into Laws, the diaries of Lorenzo Dow—anything Atticus happened to be reading when I crawled into his lap every night. Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.

ON 26 July 1926, Vita Sackville-West gave the Woolfs a cocker spaniel puppy which they named Pinka (or Pinker). She ate holes in Virginia’s skirt and devoured Leonard’s proofs. “But”, writes Virginia, “she is an angel of light. Leonard says seriously she makes him believe in God . . . and this after she has wetted his floor 8 times in one day”. For nine years Pinka was the much loved companion of both Leonard and Virginia, though in time she became essentially Leonard’s dog. Loved as she was, the pattern of her life naturally became woven into the pattern of theirs. The daily habits; her walk with Leonard round Tavistock Square garden in the morning before the day’s work began. Her joke of extinguishing, with her paw, Virginia’s match when she lit a cigarette, and so on. Virginia mentions her again and again in letters and diaries.

Estonian students, sitting in a café, impervious to the sparkling weather out of doors, impervious to the far roar of the world. It would not be so bad, if the café had an atmosphere of its own, if it could encourage the growth of an Estonian Boheme, throughout these winter months. But it has nothing of the sort. It is only a shabby reproduction of that indescribably vacuous institution: the typical northern-European café, where heavy red draperies shut out the healthy light of day; where coffee and cake is served on little tables with sticky imitation-marble tops and paper-napkins, where bored traveling salesmen read the daily papers and look at the women; where women sit patiently, by themselves, hoping to appear mysterious and romantic through their anonymity, hoping someday to encounter the shadowy Prince Charming, as he is encountered in fiction magazines; where a second-rate orchestra scrapes out tunes to which nobody listens—in short, where there is not even the lure of intoxication and vice and despair, but only sickening pretension, dullness, boredom, and stale air.

The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. What will it matter to him if he notices that he is growing old? Has he any reason to envy the young people whom he sees, or wax nostalgic over his own lost youth? What reasons has he to envy a young person? For the possibilities that a young person has, the future which is in store for him? No, thank you,' he will think. 'Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not only the reality of work done and of love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are even the things of which I am most proud, although these are things which cannot inspire envy.

we might say: The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. What will it matter to him if he notices that he is growing old? Has he any reason to envy the young people whom he sees, or wax nostalgic over his own lost youth? What reasons has he to envy a young person? For the possibilities that a young person has, the future which is in store for him? “No, thank you,” he will think. “Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not only the reality of work done and of love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are even the things of which I am most proud, though these are things which cannot inspire envy.

Logotherapy, keeping in mind the essential transitoriness of human existence, is not pessimistic but rather activistic. To express this point figuratively, we might say: the pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes; on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. What will it matter to him if he notices that he is growing old? Has he any reason to envy the young people whom he sees, or wax nostalgic over his own lost youth? What reasons has he to envy a young person? For the possibilities that a young person has, the future which is in store for him? No thank you, he will think. Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past. Not only the reality of work done, and of love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are even the things of which I am most proud, though these are things which cannot inspire envy.

Harvard professor Teresa Amabile concurs. After examining 12,000 daily diary entries by several hundred workers, she found that the single largest motivator was making progress in meaningful work.16 Wins needn’t be large to be meaningful. When you enter a new role, set up small “high-probability” targets and celebrate when you hit them.

Our Lord does not promise that what He asks of us will be easy; He is not an easy God. He is loving, gentle, patient, and caring, but not easy.

I can suffer less because my mind can create a love story out of any experience

Find What Inspires You Inspiration does not always come to us in a flash. We often have to go in search of it, especially when we feel stuck. Finding inspiration means discovering the things that make you excited—even when they have nothing to do with your art practice. If you go on a trip, you might find inspiration in architecture, landscapes, or traditional patterns found in old cultures. Whatever speaks to you, infuse these visual stimuli from your life into your work. To work through anxieties or find out what ignites your interest, it helps to carry a journal to do daily entries. Maintaining a journal with both written and visual thoughts is a long-standing tradition among artists that helps you ignite creativity and work through blocks. There is no right or wrong way to keep a journal. You can use a book with lined or unlined pages; it can be a written diary with stream-of-consciousness thoughts or a purely visual notebook with pages of drawings. One thing that is helpful, though, is to choose a journal size that is portable, so that you can carry it around with you. Make a habit of writing or drawing in your journal every day. Some days you’ll have only a quick five minutes and other days a whole hour to devote to it. Don’t worry about whether your writing makes sense or your ideas or drawings are any good. Eventually a pattern will emerge that will help unlock your mission as an artist and even identify new avenues for exploration.

Rachel Renée Russell is an attorney who prefers writing tween books to legal briefs. (Mainly because books are a lot more fun and pajamas and bunny slippers aren’t allowed in court.) She has raised two daughters and lived to tell about it. Her hobbies include growing purple flowers and doing totally useless crafts (like, for example, making a microwave oven out of lolly sticks, glue and glitter). Rachel lives in northern Virginia with a spoiled pet Yorkie who terrorizes her daily by climbing on top of a computer cabinet and pelting her with stuffed animals while she writes. And, yes, Rachel considers herself a total Dork.

The Harada Method Steps Set Your Long-Term Goal Set Milestone Goals Believe in Yourself Determine Service to Others Find Your Purpose Analyze Yourself Create Your 64-Chart with Eight Areas to Achieve Your Goal Task Start Dates Select 10 Tasks to Start Select 10 Routines Determine Your Resource Needs Select Support People Use Your Routine Check Sheet Keep a Daily Diary Write Affirmations Achieve Self-Reliance

I advise you to take an empty notebook that will become your diet diary. It is essential to create the habit of recording all critical information in this notebook daily; this will allow you to analyze how your diet is progressing and if any changes to the chosen approach are necessary.

And a very good thing (he used to say), an excellent thing, the very best of practices, is to write a little every day. Just a little scrap, but cultivate the habit of doing it every day. I don't mean what is called keeping a diary, you know. Don't write what you do. There's no benefit in that. We do things for all kinds of reasons and it's the reasons, not the things, that matter. Let your little daily scrap be something you've thought. What you've done belongs partly to some one else; often you're made to do it. But what you think is you yourself: you write it down and there it is, a tiny little bit of you that you can look at and say, 'Well, really!' You see, a little bit like that, written every day, is a mirror in which you can see your real self and correct your real self. A looking-glass shows you your face is dirty or your hair rumpled, and you go and polish up. But it's ever so much more important to have a mirror that shows you how your real self, your mind, your spirit, is looking. Just see if you can't do it. A little scrap. It's very steadying; very steadying....

Let us earnestly avoid the confusion of ideas which would represent worship as service, instead of joyous preparation for service in daily life, and which too often ends in making of this supposed worship our only service.

Look at all three levels: relaxing, resting and sleeping, and keep a diary for one week to check on how much time you are allowing for each on a daily basis.

Following Jesus has always been hard. After delivering His discourse on the bread of life, “many of His disciples went back, and walked no more with Him.”1 Turning to the twelve disciples, Jesus said, “Will ye also go away?”2 The door to discipleship opens both ways. Jesus will hold the door open for you to enter, or to exit. God did not design the life of discipleship so you can do Him a favor. Rather He did it as a favor to you. The day you no longer see discipleship as God doing you a favor, you should exit.

No one will go to heaven glad that they sinned, but they will be glad they obeyed.

In our world, where rapid response seems to be more valued than reflection, the diary might be just a sort of daily exercise we need to draw us back into a richer present. Perhaps we would all be happier if we sort out a little time and space for own inner Pepys. If we went to a chamber once a day to scribble down our thoughts on the day. If we stopped browsing, pausing, surfing and tweeting, and began really looking around us at the small Very Important Things who knows the next day might even go better.

the simple likelihood of drawing a connection between a dream and a waking experience dwindles with temporal distance from the dream. At this point, it is hard to say if there is any kind of probability curve defining some temporal sweet spot when you are likeliest to identify a waking experience relating to a prior dream. This is one of the many, many open questions that we need armies of precognitive dreamworkers with fat dream journals to help figure out. While the bulk of my precognitive hits occur within about three days of a dream, it is not uncommon to find hits up to a couple weeks after a dream, as well as at yearly intervals (we will discuss calendrical resonances in more detail later). Dunne recommended returning to your dreams up to two days afterward and thereafter discarding dream records. He lived before word processors, and since no one would have the time to check all their dreams on an indefinite daily basis, he felt you had to set limits to make your search most effective. In our day of computer files, it is easy to keep permanent, detailed dream records—they no longer take up space—as well as to search them electronically and potentially perform other kinds of analyses if you are really hardcore. But it remains the case that nobody has the time to compare their entire dream journal, which may grow a bit each day, to their entire life, every day. You can see how that could begin to consume one’s life! You have to make compromises. Revisiting your dream records from the previous three days for a minute or two each evening is minimally sufficient. EMINENT COMPANY In taking the J. W. Dunne challenge, you will be in some brilliant and eminent company. Some of the most influential writers of the mid-twentieth century, including T. S. Eliot, C. S. Lewis, and J. R. R. Tolkien, were powerfully inspired by Dunne’s book, and some undertook his experiment. Most fans of Tolkien’s fantasy epics The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings don’t realize that the timeless worldview of his Elven races was based largely on the serial-universe cosmology developed by Dunne on the basis of his dream experiences.4 So far, no dream diary has emerged among Tolkien’s papers that would prove he carried out Dunne’s experiment systematically, but his friend C. S. Lewis, author of The Chronicles of Narnia, probably did. Lewis hints as much in a posthumously published novel called The Dark Tower, which is partly devoted to Dunne’s ideas.

I should say that it was only for me that Marxism seemed over. Surely, I would tell G. at least once a week, it had to count for something that every single self-described Marxist state had turned into an economically backward dictatorship. Irrelevant, he would reply. The real Marxists weren’t the Leninists and Stalinists and Maoists—or the Trotskyists either, those bloodthirsty romantics—but libertarian anarchist-socialists, people like Anton Pannekoek, Herman Gorter, Karl Korsch, scholarly believers in true workers’ control who had labored in obscurity for most of the twentieth century, enjoyed a late-afternoon moment in the sun after 1968 when they were discovered by the New Left, and had now once again fallen back into the shadows of history, existing mostly as tiny stars in the vast night sky of the Internet, archived on blogs with names like Diary of a Council Communist and Break Their Haughty Power. They were all men. The group itself was mostly men. This was, as Marxists used to say, no accident. There was something about Marxist theory that just did not appeal to women. G. and I spent a lot of time discussing the possible reasons for this. Was it that women don’t allow themselves to engage in abstract speculation, as he thought? That Marxism is incompatible with feminism, as I sometimes suspected? Or perhaps the problem was not Marxism but Marxists: in its heyday men had kept a lock on it as they did on everything they considered important; now, in its decline, Marxism had become one of those obsessive lonely-guy hobbies, like collecting stamps or 78s. Maybe, like collecting, it was related, through subterranean psychological pathways, to sexual perversions, most of which seemed to be male as well. You never hear about a female foot fetishist, or a woman like the high-school history teacher of a friend of mine who kept dated bottles of his own urine on a closet shelf. Perhaps women’s need for speculation is satisfied by the intense curiosity they bring to daily life, the way their collecting masquerades as fashion and domesticity—instead of old records, shoes and ceramic mixing bowls—and their perversity can be satisfied simply by enacting the highly artificial role of Woman, by becoming, as it were, fetishizers of their own feet.

MyFitnessPal and although using the app was novel at first, it soon became a drag. Keeping a food diary was not part of my daily routine and was not something I came to the app wanting to do. I wanted to lose weight and the app was telling me how to do it with its strict method of tracking calories in and calories out.

Richard Kay Richard Kay became friends with Diana, Princess of Wales, through his job as royal correspondent for London’s Daily Mail. After her separation in 1992, he used his knowledge to give a penetrating and unique insight into Diana’s troubled life, and they remained friends until the end. Richard is now diary editor or the Daily Mail and lives in London with his wife and three children. Over the years, I saw her at her happiest and in her darkest moments. There were moments of confusion and despair when I believed Diana was being driven by the incredible pressures made on her almost to the point of destruction. She talked of being strengthened by events, and anyone could see how the bride of twenty had grown into a mature woman, but I never found her strong. She was as unsure of herself at her death as when I first talked to her on that airplane, and she wanted reassurance about the role she was creating for herself. In private, she was a completely different person form the manicured clotheshorse that the public’s insatiable demand for icons had created. She was natural and witty and did a wonderful impression of the Queen. This was the person, she told me, that she would have been all the time if she hadn’t married into the world’s most famous family. What she hated most of all was being called “manipulative” and privately railed against those who used the word to describe her. “They don’t even know me,” she would say bitterly, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her apartment in Kensington Palace and pouring tea from a china pot. It was this blindness, as she saw it, to what she really was that led her seriously to consider living in another country where she hoped she would be understood. The idea first emerged in her mind about three years before her death. “I’ve got to find a place where I can have peace of mind,” she said to me. She considered France, because I was near enough to stay in close touch with William and Harry. She thought of America because she--naively, it must be said--saw it as a country so brimming over with glittery people and celebrities that she would be able to “disappear.” She also thought of South Africa, where her brother, Charles, made a home, and even Australia, because it was the farthest place she could think of from the seat of her unhappiness. But that would have separated her form her sons. Everyone said she would go anywhere, do anything, to have her picture taken, but in my view the truth was completely different. A good day for her was one where her picture was not taken and the paparazzi photographers did not pursue her and clamber over her car. “Why are they so obsessed with me?” she would ask me. I would try to explain, but I never felt she fully understood. Millions of women dreamed of changing places with her, but the Princess that I knew yearned for the ordinary humdrum routine of their lives. “They don’t know how lucky they are,” she would say. On Saturday, just before she was joined by Dodi Al Fayed for their last fateful dinner at the Ritz in Pairs, she told me how fed up she was being compared with Camilla. “It’s all so meaningless,” she said. She didn’t say--she never said--whether she thought Charles and Camilla should marry. Then, knowing that as a journalist I often work at weekends, she said to me, “Unplug your phone and get a good night’s sleep.

Rachel Renée Russell is an attorney who prefers writing tween books to legal briefs. (Mainly because books are a lot more fun and pajamas and bunny slippers aren’t allowed in court.) She has raised two daughters and lived to tell about it. Her hobbies include growing purple flowers and doing totally useless crafts (like, for example, making a microwave oven out of Popsicle sticks, glue, and glitter). Rachel lives in northern Virginia with a spoiled pet Yorkie who terrorizes her daily by climbing on top of a computer cabinet and pelting her with stuffed animals while she writes. And, yes, Rachel considers herself a total Dork. Visit

Getting old always means a hardening of the main trait of one's character.

I have always wanted to record my daily life and personal thoughts, but I didn’t have the chance because the Priest never let me have my own notebook. I kept asking him for many months and he finally agreed to give me one. Now that I’ve got it, I will write everything about me. Villagers can be very stingy with their own items, because they usually keep them to trade with humans. Oh! I totally forgot to introduce myself on my own diary…! My name is Ann. I am a young villager and I have lived in this small village to the East for 18 years, and I have never left this place. In fact, I do like living here, although it can be boring sometimes. The villagers who live here with me are nice and hardworking, always doing their best to sustain the village. We are led by a Priest, who is also a villager who can trade items with humans. But the Priest is the highest level villager of all, and he has the rarest items with him. The humans who stop by usually trade items with him first because of his valuable goods. Anyway, I think that sums up our place. I live in a small house next to the entrance of the village. I am a farmer, so my job here is to look after the crops and plant new seeds when needed.

The place was a wreck, and Nancy insisted that the first thing we had to do was tear up the rotting linoleum in the kitchen. One layer yielded to another, until finally I came to a bunch of newspapers that had been laid over the warped wooden floor to make it level. They were issues of the New York Daily News and Daily Mirror from 1936. The papers, nearly thirty years old, were smelly and yellow with age, but otherwise readable. The giant black headlines concerned a child custody trial in Los Angeles. The News banner for August 1 screamed ASTOR’S BABY TO BE JUDGE. Next came ASTOR’S SENSATIONS SCARE FILM MOGULS. And by August 8 it was ASTOR DIARY “ECSTACY” (sic), with the subhead G. S. KAUFMAN TRYST BARED. I began piecing the pages together chronologically.

There were certainly multiple factors contributing to these men’s post-moonwalk slump, but the question What do you do after walking on the moon? became a gigantic speed bump. The trouble with moonwalkers and billionaires is when they arrive at the top, their momentum often stops. If they don’t manage to find something to parlay, they turn into the kid on the jungle gym who just hangs from the ring. Not coincidentally, this is the same reason that only one-third of Americans are happy at their jobs. When there’s no forward momentum in our careers, we get depressed, too. As Newton pointed out, an object at rest tends to stay at rest. So how does one avoid billionaire’s depression? Or regular person’s stuck-in-a-dead-end-job, lack-of-momentum-fueled depression? Harvard Business School professor Teresa Amabile took on the question in the mid-2000s in a research study of white-collar employees. She tasked 238 pencil pushers in various industries to keep daily work diaries. The workers answered open-ended questions about how they felt, what events in their days stood out. Amabile and her fellow researchers then dissected the 12,000 resulting entries, searching for patterns in what affects people’s “inner” work lives the most dramatically. The answer, it turned out, is simply progress. A sense of forward motion. Regardless how small. And that’s the interesting part. Amabile found that minor victories at work were nearly as psychologically powerful as major breakthroughs. To motivate stuck employees, as Amabile and her colleague Steven J. Kramer suggest in their book, The Progress Principle, businesses need to help their workers experience lots of tiny wins. (And as we learned from the bored BYU students in chapter 1, breaking up big challenges into tiny ones also speeds up progress.) This is helpful to know when motivating employees. But it also hints at what billionaires and astronauts can do to stave off the depression that follows the high of getting to the top. To get out of the funk, say Joan DiFuria and Stephen Goldbart, cofounders of the Money, Meaning & Choices Institute, depressed successes simply have to start the Olympic rings over. Some use their money to create new businesses. Others parlay sideways and get into philanthropy. And others simply pick up hobbies that take time to master. Even if the subsequent endeavors are smaller than their previous ones, the depression dissipates as they make progress.

How does one wait for death? What does one do while waiting? Carry on the same daily tasks? Bathe, cook, eat? Bring the washing in when rain threatens? Read a book? Hold up a mirror to one’s face? Write a letter, a diary entry? Death provides no calendar, no timetable, no clock to consult. No doctor, no acclaimed astrologer can say when it might come calling. Whatever mankind may do to bring about method, order, regulation, and use the astounding logic of mathematics, death will not obey. Death is most ungovernable, unmethodical, unruly, unreasonable. Death mocks. It jeers.

The danger was within itself: it was the crisis of confidence it was going through, the fear of being itself. When you considered them individually, French boys were as active and intelligent as ever. But they lacked the sort of shared hope and dreams which are the sign of health in a people. The fact that the celebrations for the 150th anniversary of the Revolution were only funeral commemorations revealed that weakness, that lifelessness. It was so clear

He . . . began to wash the disciples' feet. John xiii. 5. We forget that Jesus Christ is the same to-day, when He is sitting on the throne, as He was yesterday, when He trod the pathway of our world. And in this forgetfulness how much we miss! What He was, that He is. What He said, that He says. The Gospels are simply specimens of the life that He is ever living; they are leaves torn out of the diary of His unchangeable Being. To-day He is engaged in washing the feet of His disciples, soiled with their wilderness journeyings. Yes, that charming incident is having its fulfilment in thee, my friend, if only thou dost not refuse the lowly loving offices of Him whom we call Master and Lord, but who still girds Himself and comes forth to serve. And we must have this incessant cleansing if we would keep right. It is not enough to look back to a certain hour when we first knelt at the feet of the Son of God for pardon; and heard Him say, "Thy sins, which are many, are all forgiven." We need daily, hourly cleansing—from daily, hourly sin.—F. B. Meyer.

Take control of your emotions on a daily basis. Some people like to keep an emotional diary which can often be very revealing as most of the time we act in ways that are very subconscious.

Take a minute, take a breath, and remember—God’s still on His throne. He’s always in control, even when we want to be. And sometimes his blessings of provision bring more work, more responsibility and more joy than we can imagine.

The story of Dracula isn’t simply the classic fight between good and evil. Bram Stoker draws the battle lines between ordinary, everyday people who are naive about the challenge they face, and an ancient, inhuman, calculating evil. The imagery is vivid, commoners challenging a powerful aristocracy. The stakes are the opportunity to live a normal life without succumbing to evil and preying on loved ones. And it is this grounding in the daily routines of life in the 19th century that makes Dracula resonate even today. Rather than flights of fantasy, Dracula seems to exist as a shadow in our own world.

Daily Mandarin Chinese!每日普通話 Peter began to keep a diary. 彼特開始寫日記了。 Bǐtè kāihǐ xiě rìjì le。

List your ten favorite comedians and humorists, and search for jokes, tweets, or quotes by each of these individuals. After you amass twenty jokes, identify the subject or target of the joke, and explain why you think the joke is funny. This exercise will help you become aware of the format of successful jokes and provide you with insight into your own comedic preferences. Collect ten to fifteen cartoons or comics. As you did with the jokes, identify the target of the humor and describe why the cartoon is funny to you. You may find it helpful to continue building a file of jokes and cartoons that appeal to you. In addition to building a joke and cartoon file, you’ll need to find new material to use as the building blocks for your humor writing. Most professional humor writers begin each day by reading a newspaper, watching news on TV, and/or surfing the Internet for incidents and situations that might provide joke material. As you read this book and complete the exercises at the end of each chapter, form a daily habit of recording odd and funny news events. Everyday life is the main source for humor, so you need to keep some type of personal humor journal. To facilitate psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud had patients complete a dream diary, and he encouraged them to associate freely during therapy. To be a successful writer and to tap into the full potential of your comic persona, you should follow an analogous approach. Record everyday events, ideas, or observations that you find funny, and do your journaling without any form of censorship. The items you list are not intended to be funny, but to serve as starting points for writing humor.

You cannot have a clean conscience without satisfying justice, and this Christ did when He died on the cross.

From the Daily Herald, November 1, 1981: Provo police have asked school officials to warn children not to accept candy or stamps from strangers. The stamps could contain glue laced with LSD. “Timpanogos, Franklin and Grandview elementary schools have reported seeing a male dressed as a clown in the vicinity of the schools,” says Provo Police Chief Swen Nielsen. “At Timpanogos, children said a clown was giving away candy and stamps.” Nielsen says in all instances, Provo police canvassed neighborhoods but could not find evidence that the clown was the same individual or if LSD-laced stamps were involved. “We’ve gotten varying descriptions of the clown,” adds Nielsen. “There’s no doubt a clown has been in the area of elementary schools. But whether it is the same clown, or if he is doing anything illegal, is still a question.

SEPTEMBER 14 Day 258 The Divine Dwelling Place “For thus says the high and lofty One who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy: ‘I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite.’” Isaiah 57:15 Isaiah’s words are a study in contrasts. The transcendent God draws near to man. The High and Lofty One comes to those who are humble. He who is holy dwells with the contrite sinner. The One who inhabits eternity enters time to have a relationship with finite man. The Sovereign of the universe reaches down to sinful people and draws them to Himself. You must maintain an appreciation of this contrast in order to have a healthy relationship with God. During the last two centuries the difference and distance between God and man was all but forgotten in Christian thought. Human logic decreed that people are basically good. Since people are like God, God is like people. Jesus was emphasized as human rather than divine. With this blurring of the difference and distance between the Creator and His creation, the Christian message was compromised. If you are good and God is like you, then you not only lose your sense of depravity, you have little need for Him. When you lose your fear of Judgment, you lose your need for salvation. You worship a God who is holy, transcendent, and eternal. The miracle is, He is willing to have a relationship with you, a sinner, bound by the limitations of being a creature, and incapable of initiating a relationship with your Creator. Never lose your awe of it all.

When Jesus said He came “to seek and to save the lost,” he meant that there are two kinds of people in the world: those that know they need saving, and those that don’t know.

So many people and so many diaries. Some are full of trite details of daily routines, while others diligently guard what our past selves thought to be our dearest and most important memories. Some become deeply cherished heirlooms passed down from generation to generation, while others are consumed by the insatiable quicksand of history, the names of those who wrote them vanishing like the final gentle whisper of the early autumn wind. Yet every diary—no matter how boring or gripping it is—tells a story and creates meaning where there was none. If used wisely, that meaning helps us to better understand this ridiculously complicated world through the stories of ourselves and others.

In your heart you know whether you are as close to God as you ought to be; keep your ears open to your conscience, your heart open to God and your eyes in the Word. 1

Okay, I think that’s it. That’s everything that happened last week… oh, no! Wait! One more thing— Ah, three more things, actually. The first thing is that we’ve been filling up our trench with lava. The mayor had put in an order to the mines for more lava, so lava carts have been arriving daily. He even put together a small team of villagers with one specific job: filling in the trench with lava. The mayor was extremely dedicated to finishing the trench, so I asked him about it. He told me that he wanted to be ready for Team Scorpion.

My mouth dropped to the floor. “Whoa… 80 emeralds…” I could eat at Grant’s upgraded restaurant everyday if I could capture a bat daily, I thought. Though technically, I could eat there now for free everyday, but I don’t want to take advantage of Grant like that.

His hopes for finding a new meaning in life were realized. In his diary for 14 April, he records: Took my daily walk at 4 p.m. today in 89° of frost . . . I paused to listen to the silence . . . The day was dying, the night being born – but with great peace. Here were imponderable processes and forces of the cosmos, harmonious and soundless. Harmony, that was it! That was what came out of the silence – a gentle rhythm, the strain of a perfect chord, the music of the spheres, perhaps. It was enough to catch that rhythm, momentarily to be myself a part of it. In that instant I could feel no doubt of man’s oneness with the universe. The conviction came that that rhythm was too orderly, too harmonious, too perfect to be a product of blind chance – that, therefore, there must be purpose in the whole and that man was part of that whole and not an accidental off-shoot. It was a feeling that transcended reason; that went to the heart of man’s despair and found it groundless. The universe was a cosmos, not a chaos; man was as rightfully a part of that cosmos as were the day and night.

Handwriting in a journal can offer a wealth of self-care benefits. James Pennebaker, a psychologist at the University of Texas, researched the effects of daily journaling by hand. He discovered that journaling, even just for a few minutes a day, built up T-lymphocytes, cells in the immune system, and reduced the symptoms of arthritis and asthma. Further research suggests that writing in a diary about life events also relieves stress and promotes emotional well-being.

God makes you an incredible offer:You can give your life in exchange for the same thing for which Jesus spent His life – people. People last forever. For good or bad, they are eternal. Spend your life helping them prepare for their eternity. Don’t give your life to mediocrity. Life is too short and the issues of eternity too significant.

Learn two things from Solomon’s example: You cannot run fast enough to stay ahead of sin, and you cannot foresee or anticipate the consequences of your disobedience.

1 Lamentations 1:21-22 2 Matthew 27:46 APRIL 7 Day 98 Lamentations “And when the people complained, it displeased the Lord: and the Lord heard it; and his anger was kindled; and the fire of the Lord burnt among them, and consumed them that were in the uttermost parts of the camp.” Numbers 11:1 The Psalmist complains to God, “Thou hast made us like sheep for slaughter, and hast scattered us among the nations. Thou hast sold thy people for a trifle, demanding no high price for them. Thou hast made us the taunt of our neighbors, the derision and scorn of those about us.”1 Thus we see that there is more than one kind of lamentation: When the Psalmist does it, God included it in a book of worship, but when Israel did it, God killed them. A friend who was without a job for a protracted period of time was in anguish because he could not provide for his family. He found himself angry with God because he was trapped. He had no options. He knew that he could never abandon God, that looking back he would be embarrassed and apologize to God, but he also experienced pain and disorientation. His committed soul anguished over a destroyed hope, realizing that his only option was to hold tight to God. Then there is the man who challenges God in a spirit of rebellion, like the children of Israel in the wilderness. He is like the person who says, “I can never trust a god who inflicts this kind of pain.” The man who complains because he sees options is the object of God’s wrath.

Viewing People Correctly “Wherefore henceforth know we no man after the flesh: yea, though we have known Christ after the flesh, yet now henceforth know we him no more.” II Corinthians 5:16 Viewing people correctly is one of the most important qualifications in becoming Christ’s disciple. To illustrate its importance, Paul says that there was a day when he saw Jesus as a carpenter’s son from Nazareth, the son of Joseph and Mary, a troublemaker who spread discontent and heresy among his followers. Now Paul sees Him as God sees Him: The eternal Son of God who became the propitiation for our sins. Just as Paul now sees Jesus as God sees Him, so also all people. Before his conversion he viewed people from a human perspective. Some were attractive and others not; some were intellectually stimulating and others dull; some were powerful, important people, and others the opposite. Jesus Christ changed all of that. Paul now sees everyone as equal in value and importance, created in the image of God and of eternal worth. This does not mean that you condone sin any more than Jesus approved of the Pharisees. Good or bad, right or wrong, all people bear God’s image and are of eternal worth. You can no longer view people “after the flesh.” All are of equal worth and significance in the economy of God, and you must view them through that lens. This does not come naturally. You must discipline yourself to treat people with the dignity and respect that is theirs by virtue of God’s imputation, the same way that God views you.

In their writings—often private letters or diaries—and in their lectures, the Stoics struggled to come up with real, actionable answers. They ultimately framed their work around a series of exercises in three critical disciplines: The Discipline of Perception (how we see and perceive the world around us) The Discipline of Action (the decisions and actions we take—and to what end) The Discipline of Will (how we deal with the things we cannot change, attain clear and convincing judgment, and come to a true understanding of our place in the world)

Lewis, it seems, could remember texts primarily because he had absorbed their deep inner logic. His diaries bear witness to his habit of reading an astonishing number of texts; his personal library contains annotations indicating when a book was first read, and then read again. He was good at explaining complex ideas to others, because he had first explained them to himself: “I’m a professional teacher and explanation happens to be one of the things I’ve learned to do.”[369] Lewis achieved this feat partly by neglecting other sources of reading—such as daily newspapers. As a result, even his friends sometimes found him worryingly ignorant of current affairs. William Empson (1906–1984), a leading literary critic who had little time for Lewis’s views on Milton, nevertheless declared that “he was the best read man of his generation, one who read everything and remembered everything he read.”[370] It showed. Students attending his lectures were impressed by his grasp not simply of the texts of leading works of literature—above all, Milton’s Paradise Lost—but his deeper grasp of their internal structure. Rarely did university lectures both inform and inspire; yet these quickly became the hallmarks of Lewis’s academic lecturing style.

FEBRUARY 11 Day 42 The Sacrifice of Praise “By him therefore let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually, that is, the fruit of our lips giving thanks to his name” Hebrews 13:15 What do you give to someone who has everything? What do you offer to God who has no need? The Psalmist addresses this question: God says that He owns all. “If I were hungry, I would not tell you, for the world is Mine and the fullness thereof.”1 Although He has no needs, He does say that there exits one thing He desires. “Offer unto God thanksgiving.” He delights in the “sacrifice of praise.” Thanksgiving becomes a sacrifice when, in the midst of your hurts and disappointments, you affirm His goodness. You delight the heart of God when you don’t feel grateful and yet thank Him. People and circumstances cause pain when they impact you in ways contrary to your expectations. Life is full of such hurts. It is easy, even natural, to thank God for that which you perceive to benefit you. To believe that pain comes from a benevolent God showing love, and to give Him thanks for that pain, this reflects the kind of faith that pleases Him. Thus He calls it “the sacrifice of praise.” A sacrifice costs, else it is not sacrificial. When you give the Lord thanks in the midst of your pain you affirm His goodness. During such times you do not want to thank Him; you want to question His goodness, for why does a loving, caring God inflict pain? Content that you can never answer the question “why?”, you rest in the character of God. He is good. All of His designs toward you are good. For this reason, you “offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually, that is, the fruit of your lips giving thanks to His name.

our daily diary studies in different countries, it was other people who were most likely to bring our participants everyday awe—actions of strangers, roommates, teachers, colleagues at work, people in the news, characters on podcasts, and our neighbors and family members. On

God did not give you the Bible to make you a smarter sinner, but rather a holy saint. Application, not knowledge, pleases God.

Absorption of Scripture is an essential counter-balance to the background noise of the world.

December 20th FEAR THE FEAR OF DEATH “Do you then ponder how the supreme of human evils, the surest mark of the base and cowardly, is not death, but the fear of death? I urge you to discipline yourself against such fear, direct all your thinking, exercises, and reading this way—and you will know the only path to human freedom.” —EPICTETUS, DISCOURSES, 3.26.38–39 To steel himself before he committed suicide rather than submit to Julius Caesar’s destruction of the Roman Republic, the great Stoic philosopher Cato read a bit of Plato’s Phaedo. In it, Plato writes, “It is the child within us that trembles before death.” Death is scary because it is such an unknown. No one can come back and tell us what it is like. We are in the dark about it. As childlike and ultimately ignorant as we are about death, there are plenty of wise men and women who can at least provide some guidance. There’s a reason that the world’s oldest people never seem to be afraid of death: they’ve had more time to think about it than we have (and they realized how pointless worrying was). There are other wonderful resources: Florida Scott-Maxwell’s Stoic diary during her terminal illness, The Measure of My Days, is one. Seneca’s famous words to his family and friends, who had broken down and begged with his executioners, is another. “Where,” Seneca gently chided them, “are your maxims of philosophy, or the preparation of so many years’ study against evils to come?” Throughout philosophy there are inspiring, brave words from brave men and women who can help us face this fear. There is another helpful consideration about death from the Stoics. If death is truly the end, then what is there exactly to fear? For everything from your fears to your pain receptors to your worries and your remaining wishes, they will perish with you. As frightening as death might seem, remember: it contains within it the end of fear.

Whenever you conclude that God is unjust, you can know that you err biblically. Behind your misconception you will find the beautiful, gracious work of God.

Yes, Jordanians practice torture on a daily basis, but they need a reasonable suspicion to do so.

Sometimes such hopelessness cannot be described in words. My blood pressure rises in frustration. The mind becomes infected with sadness. Life is a boat without oars. Where we will drop anchor nobody knows. After years of drifting abroad to make the family happy, some will never get satisfaction themselves. Neither is the family pleased. Sometimes it's surreal to watch, an empty book of sighs. If the unwanted pain makes us cry, there's no echo because it's emptiness everywhere. There are no perfect walls, so the scream goes and goes and never comes back. I feel like a stranger to myself. Once again, we start over the daily grind.

We all are organic computers.

People are organic computers.

Repentance is essential, but never presume to come to God with a broken heart of repentance without acknowledging your dependence upon Jesus Christ’s death as the sole basis of God’s mercy. It is only in His name and for His sake that God promises to forgive you.

Death is at work in every person. It is the natural progression of life. Paul realized this and elected to participate willingly by purposely putting himself to death by spending his life on others.

There’s no doubt that a main obstacle to my progress is my physical condition. With such a body nothing can be achieved. I will have to get used to its perpetual failure. From the last few wildly dreamed-through but barely even snatchily slept-through nights I was so incoherent this morning, felt nothing but my forehead, saw a halfway bearable condition only far beyond the present one and in sheer readiness for death at one point would have liked to curl up with the documents in my hand on the cement tiles of the corridor. My body is too long for its weakness, it has not the least fat to generate a blessed warmth, to preserve inner fire, no fat on which the spirit might at some point nourish itself beyond its daily need without damage to the whole. How is the weak heart, which recently has often stabbed me, supposed to push the blood down the whole length of these legs. To the knee would be enough work, but then it is washed with only decrepit strength into the cold lower legs. But now it is already needed again up above, one waits for it while it dissipates down below. Due to the length of the body everything is pulled apart. What can it accomplish then, when perhaps even if it were compressed, it wouldn’t have enough strength for what I want to achieve.

Bridezellia was like General Patton she had an Operations Room, HQ established in her sitting room. Wall charts, to do lists, pictures, contact lists, mood charts, a calendar, list of dates and jobs were marked off with daily duties in her thick black diary. Her second in command was Saoirse, her local wedding planner. Nothing was going to be left to chance and nobody was going to ruin her prefect day. No expense was to be spared and fools were not suffered gladly. Raised voices were constantly heard in her phone calls to suppliers. Her personality changed and she became a hot head, losing her patience easily. Nobody entered her sitting room, the twilight zone without an invitation

You will carry into eternity the product of your investment in this life. Life is too short and the stakes too high to live mediocre lives.

Do not confuse discipline and mercy. When you discipline a person and it is suggested that you show mercy, someone is not thinking biblically. The objective of mercy is withholding justice. The objective of discipline is correction, not justice. Justice is the objective of punishment. Godly behavior is the objective of correction.

Inspiration is like a silent gun. It isn’t loud, but it gets you fired up.

Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make your free.” John 8:32 These words are carved over the doors of university buildings. Obviously, how the university and Jesus use this phrase differ. Jesus said of Himself, “I am Truth.”1 And again, “If the Son shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.”2

My daily posts are not about you, Even though they might have served you. They are the thoughts of a mad man with a writing hobby Compiling in his daily Public Diary

A diary or journal isn’t necessarily something that should be done daily so much as it is a clue to how to see the daily world around oneself differently.

Seeing the Worm Instead of the Apple Another thought pattern that makes you keep your partner at a distance is “seeing the worm instead of the apple.” Carole had been with Bob for nine months and had been feeling increasingly unhappy. She felt Bob was the wrong guy for her, and gave a multitude of reasons: He wasn’t her intellectual equal, he lacked sophistication, he was too needy, and she didn’t like the way he dressed or interacted with people. Yet, at the same time, there was a tenderness about him that she’d never experienced with another man. He made her feel safe and accepted, he lavished gifts on her, and he had endless patience to deal with her silences, moods, and scorn. Still, Carole was adamant about her need to leave Bob. “It will never work,” she said time and again. Finally, she broke up with him. Months later she was surprised by just how difficult she was finding things without him. Lonely, depressed, and heartbroken, she mourned their lost relationship as the best she’d ever had. Carole’s experience is typical of people with an avoidant attachment style. They tend to see the glass half-empty instead of half-full when it comes to their partner. In fact, in one study, Mario Mikulincer, dean of the New School of Psychology at the Interdisciplinary Center in Israel and one of the leading researchers in the field of adult attachment, together with colleagues Victor Florian and Gilad Hirschberger, from the department of psychology at Bar-Ilan University in Israel, asked couples to recount their daily experiences in a diary. They found that people with an avoidant attachment style rated their partner less positively than did non-avoidants. What’s more, they found they did so even on days in which their accounts of their partners’ behavior indicated supportiveness, warmth, and caring. Dr. Mikulincer explains that this pattern of behavior is driven by avoidants’ generally dismissive attitude toward connectedness. When something occurs that contradicts this perspective—such as their spouse behaving in a genuinely caring and loving manner—they are prone to ignoring the behavior, or at least diminishing its value. When they were together, Carole used many deactivating strategies, tending to focus on Bob’s negative attributes. Although she was aware of her boyfriend’s strengths, she couldn’t keep her mind off what she perceived to be his countless flaws. Only after they broke up, and she no longer felt threatened by the high level of intimacy, did her defense strategies lift. She was then able to get in touch with the underlying feelings of attachment that were there all along and to accurately assess Bob’s pluses.

He had a magnificent physique; the physique, one might say, of the Emperor of Catdom. Among cats both our four main occupations ( walking, standing, sitting and lying down ) and such incidental activities as excreting waste are pursued quite openly. We live our diaries and consequently have no need to keep a daily record as a means of maintaining our real characters. Had I had the time to keep a diary, I'd use that time to better effect, sleeping on the veranda. When cats exchange greetings one first holds one's tail upright like a pole, then twists it round to the left.

Cómo hablo con una persona en Delta? Para hablar con alguien en Delta, puedes comunicarte a través de su servicio al cliente por teléfono +52-(744)-602-0028(ＭＸ), +1-848-339-6339(ＥＥ. ＵＵ)o +18-483-396-339 (ＥＳ), correo electrónico o chat en línea.

I photographer because I want a visual diary. Photography lets me capture the fleeting moments of daily life, the images would otherwise fade into oblivion. My contact sheets, my hard drives bursting with images, these are my personal journal, just with better lighting and way less writing. - Chris Geiger

And this was true in our daily diary research: people experience awe two to three times a week. That’s once every couple of days.

Our daily diary findings suggest that these great minds and cultures were onto something: the wonders of life are so often nearby.

Ian wanted to know how I got Michael to talk about such matters and I explained what I had discovered in Jill’s diary and what she herself had said about the need for candour in biography. I also mentioned that four-minute silence in which Michael seemed to be calculating what to say. “I know those silences,” Ian said, laughing again. “It’s going to be a good book,” Ian told me. “I’ve learned more from you than you have from me,” he added. “I try to give good value,” I replied. “So Elizabeth was not the innocent thing I thought she was,” he marvelled. I suggested perhaps nothing would have happened if Michael had not taken the initiative. “He did?” Ian asked. “How do you know?” “Because I asked him,” I told Ian. “Michael is not the man we always believe him to be,” Julie said. “There are other sides to Michael Foot, “ I announced, “which is what one should learn in a biography.” Ian wondered aloud about what the Daily Mail would do with such a story. Both Ian and Julie cautioned me to have nothing to do with the tabloids; publishing there would set Michael off. “Michael Foot: A Sexual Life,” Ian said, and laughed. “Michael Foot in Love,” Julie countered. “There is a passion there, yes,” I agreed. “ I always thought his interest was academic,” Ian noted. “No, it ain’t,” Julie said.

I will take refuge in my real country. My country, my France, is a France that cannot be invaded.

1. Once again, my country, that country which is only an idea has not been invaded and never will be. 2. Pétain is not France. Pétain and Laval do not speak for us. Their word does not commit us to anything and cannot dishonor us. 3. The only right way to gauge this event must be in terms of the world. In the world, France has not been defeated.

It seems to me that today every piece of writing, every word one Frenchman can say to all the other French must be first and foremost a sign of fraternity, and then must mean: 'Be proud, whoever you are, my comrade, my brother. All this happened only because we were not proud enough. Be proud. You are not defeated and you never will be.

Table of Contents Your Free Book Why Healthy Habits are Important Healthy Habit # 1:  Drink Eight Glasses of Water Healthy Habit #2:  Eat a Serving of Protein and Carbohydrates Healthy Habit #3:  Fill Half Your Plate with Vegetables Healthy Habit #4:  Add Two Teaspoons of Healthy Oil to Meals Healthy Habit #5:  Walk for 30 Minutes Healthy Habit #6:  Take a Fish Oil Supplement Healthy Habit #7:  Introduce Healthy Bacteria to Your Body Healthy Habit #8:  Get a “Once a Month” Massage Healthy Habit #9:  Eat a Clove of Garlic Healthy Habit #10:  Give Your Sinuses a Daily Bath Healthy Habit #11:  Eat 25-30 Grams of Fiber Healthy Habit #12:  Eliminate Refined Sugar and Carbohydrates Healthy Habit #13:  Drink a Cup of Green Tea Healthy Habit #14:  Get Your Vitamin D Levels Checked Yearly Healthy Habit #15: Floss Your Teeth Healthy Habit #16: Wash Your Hands Often Healthy Habit #17:  Treat a Cough or Sore Throat with Honey Healthy Habit #18:  Give Your Body 500 mg of Calcium Healthy Habit #19:  Eat Breakfast Healthy Habit #20:  Sleep 8-10 Hours Healthy Habit #21:  Eat Five Different Colors of Food Healthy Habit #22:  Breathe Deeply for Two Minutes Healthy Habit #23:  Practice Yoga Three Times a Week Healthy Habit #24:  Sleep On Your Left Side Healthy Habit #25:  Eat Healthy Fats Healthy Habit #26:  Dilute Juice with Sparkling Water Healthy Habit #27:  Slow Alcohol Consumption with Water Healthy Habit #28:  Do Strength Training Healthy Habit #29:  Keep a Food Diary Healthy Habit #30:  Exercise during TV Commercials Healthy Habit #31:  Move, Don’t Use Technology Healthy Habit #32:  Eat a Teaspoon of Cinnamon Healthy Habit #33:  Use Acupressure to Treat Headache and Nausea Healthy Habit #34:  Get an Eye Exam Every Year Healthy Habit #35:  Wear Protective Eyewear Healthy Habit #36:  Quit Smoking Healthy Habit #37:  Pack Healthy Snacks Healthy Habit #38:  Pack Your Lunch Healthy Habit #39:  Eliminate Caffeine Healthy Habit #40:  Finish Your Antibiotics Healthy Habit #41:  Wear Sunscreen – Over SPF 15 Healthy Habit #42:  Wear a Helmet for Biking or Rollerblading Healthy Habit #43:  Wear Your Seatbelt Healthy Habit #44:  Get a Yearly Physical Healthy Habit #45:  Maintain a First Aid Kit Healthy Habit #46:  Eat a Banana Every Day Healthy Habit #47:  Use Coconut Oil to Moisturize Healthy Habit #48:  Pay Attention to Hunger Cues Healthy Habit #49:  Eat a Handful of Nuts Healthy Habit #50:  Get a Flu Shot Each Year Healthy Habit #51:  Practice Daily Meditation Healthy Habit #52:  Eliminate Artificial Sweeteners Healthy Habit #53:  Sanitize Your Kitchen Healthy Habit #54:  Walk 10,000 Steps a Day Healthy Habit #55:  Take a Multivitamin Healthy Habit #56:  Eat Fish Twice a Week Healthy Habit #57:  Add Healthy Foods to Your Diet Healthy Habit #58:  Avoid Liquid Calories Healthy Habit #59:  Give Your Eyes a Break Healthy Habit #60:  Protect Yourself from STDs Healthy Habit #61:  Get 20 Minutes of Sunshine Healthy Habit #62:  Become a Once a Week Vegetarian Healthy Habit #63:  Limit Sodium to 2,300 mg a Day Healthy Habit #64:  Cook 2+ Home Meals Each Week Healthy Habit #65:  Eat a Half Ounce of Dark Chocolate Healthy Habit #66:  Use Low Fat Salad Dressing Healthy Habit #67:  Eat Meals at the Table Healthy Habit #68:  Eat an Ounce of Chia Seeds Healthy Habit #69:  Choose Juices that Contain Pulp Healthy Habit #70:  Prepare Produce After Shopping

Take advantage of the opportunities you have during your program. It’s not every day that you get to live in Florida with incredible people and make magic daily. During the last two months of my program, Sara and I made sure we conquered as much on our bucket list as possible. If you make a bucket list, use it. Don’t regret not doing something when you have the chance.

Your vocation is your pulpit. For this reason, you have no biblical ground for wanting to retire. Most believers who do want to retire, want a little bit of heaven this side of the grave. Such may be possible for the Philistines, but definitely not for the serious follower of Christ.

The desire to retire is an expression of despair. It means that you have lost your rudder and do not know why you are here or where you are going.

God distributes in unequal amounts certain gifts, abilities, and opportunities. The sickly person with few gifts who dies early is not handicapped in the economy of God. Your reward in heaven will not be determined by what God gave you, but by what you do with what God gave you and why you do it.

God will forget your sin and iniquity in the sense that it will not adversely affect your relationship with Him. His acceptance of you is total; He will never taunt you with a past transgression or allow it to influence adversely His relationship with you. Nor are you on probation in the Christian life. The Lord’s acceptance of you is based on perfect knowledge; you may disappoint Him, but you will never surprise Him.

This does not mean, however, that you will not stand before the judgment bar of God and give an account for how you lived the life God gave you. He will remember every thought, motive, word, and deed in your life, and you will be judged accordingly. Your relationship with Him will not be under consideration, but your eternal fruit will.

The sun melts butter and hardens clay. Blessed are the troubled who allow their tribulation to soften their heart to repentance. Notice how often God uses our children to get our attention. Christianity is a religion of rescue. It is designed for the desperate.

faithfully kept a Confucian-style diary of daily self-criticism.

Repentance is the key to reconciliation, and the key to repentance is an admission of wrong.

The attitude of John reflects that of all of Christ’s followers. As you minister to others, investing yourself in their lives, your objective remains the same: “He must increase and I must decrease.” To the degree that you call attention to yourself, you draw attention away from Jesus. As you minister to others let this be your job description, the gauge of your success: You and your opinions become less and less important while Jesus becomes more and more important.

Illegitimate self-justification takes place when you know you are guilty and seek to hide the fact. Few sins carry the profound ramifications that self-justification does.

Jesus did not die for man’s sin against man, only for man’s sin against God. God decides how we are to treat one another, and therefore when we sin against others we sin against God. David said, “in thy sight,” knowing that God looks on. Nothing escapes His notice. One of the marks of regeneration is an awareness that God is watching.

Shirer was used extensively by CBS in its daily coverage of the buildup to war. He did a daily five-minute broadcast from Prague in 1938, and tried to cover Hitler’s invasion of Austria but was ejected from the Vienna radio station at bayonetpoint. At Murrow’s directive, he flew to London and gave his report from there. He returned to Berlin in September 1939: his daily reports, beginning “This is Berlin,” were done under strict censorship. But Shirer was able to tell much by using slang phrases that otherwise might not have been allowed. He returned to the United States in 1940, bringing the detailed diaries he had kept throughout his years in Germany. These were published in June 1941 as Berlin Diary, which became a bestseller. Shirer settled with his family in Bronxville, New York, and began a regular stint as a CBS commentator Sept. 28, 1941. But he and Murrow (who by 1947 was head of CBS News) came to an unfortunate parting of ways, and Shirer went to Mutual. His final broadcast was April 10, 1949. He then entered a new career, that of contemporary historian. His history of Nazi Germany, The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, was published to great acclaim and financial success in 1960. He was still producing books in his 80s.

View every day as a school day and every relationship as an opportunity to learn. There is no such thing as an accidental encounter. Each person you meet has been sent by God for your edification.

Jesus did not die for institutions, but for people. Programs, organizations, causes – all are temporal. Never use people to further institutional goals; use institutions to help invest in people. You will find it easy to become enamored with your own program or cause, and recruit others to make it a success. The work of the Lord is not building institutions, but redeeming people. People and the Word of God last forever. Immerse yourself in Scripture and give your life serving others. Never sacrifice the individual for the common good, for who decides what constitutes the common good? Jesus never tried to articulate such a definition; He simply said that He came to seek and save the lost.

You worship a God who is holy, transcendent, and eternal. The miracle is, He is willing to have a relationship with you, a sinner, bound by the limitations of being a creature, and incapable of initiating a relationship with your Creator. Never lose your awe of it all.

You can sin by doing what you know to be wrong, but also by doing what you think is right. The latter is probably more deadly, for you do not have the help of your conscience to check you. To convince yourself that you are doing right, you need to bring your conscience into agreement. It is not hard to do. A man recently converted expressed shock that the Bible prohibits fornication. When asked if he always thought it was right, after reflection he said, “When I first did it I knew it was wrong, but I overruled my conscience and in a short while it seemed right.” Conscience has the power to condemn, but not absolve. A clear conscience gives confidence in the presence of God, but it does not absolve guilt. The Holy Spirit will assist your conscience in these matters, but even He may be grieved.1 Because you believe something to be right doesn’t mean that it is right. God may call it sin, as He did in the day of the judges. 1

A younger colleague once asked Liszt why he didn’t keep a diary. “To live one’s life is hard enough,” he replied. “Why write down all the misery? It would resemble nothing more than the inventory of a torture chamber.

Instead, he (and Epictetus and Seneca) focused on a series of questions not unlike the ones we continue to ask ourselves today: “What is the best way to live?” “What do I do about my anger?” “What are my obligations to my fellow human beings?” “I’m afraid to die; why is that?” “How can I deal with the difficult situations I face?” “How should I handle the success or power I hold?” These weren’t abstract questions. In their writings—often private letters or diaries—and in their lectures, the Stoics struggled to come up with real, actionable answers. They ultimately framed their work around a series of exercises in three critical disciplines: The Discipline of Perception (how we see and perceive the world around us) The Discipline of Action (the decisions and actions we take—and to what end) The Discipline of Will (how we deal with the things we cannot change, attain clear and convincing judgment, and come to a true understanding of our place in the world) By controlling our perceptions, the Stoics tell us, we can find mental clarity. In directing our actions properly and justly, we’ll be effective. In utilizing and aligning our will, we will find the wisdom and perspective to deal with anything the world puts before us. It was their belief that by strengthening themselves and their fellow citizens in these disciplines, they could cultivate resilience, purpose, and even joy. Born in the tumultuous ancient world,

All right,” Polly said. “Your assignment for today is to say nice things about Mitt Romney.” Everyone in the conference room for the daily intern orientation groaned. A couple of people booed. “I don’t like it any more than you do,” Polly said. “But the fact is that Romney’s come out for a minimum wage increase. That puts him at odds with the House Republicans. You know how the game works as well as I do. We’re united; they’re divided. We’re for principle; they’re for political expediency. We’re the centrists; they’re the extremists. Something like this is gold for us, and you don’t let gold pass through your hands.

You can know that you are judging illegitimately when your standard rests outside of Scripture, such as judging motives. Clearly, judging the motives of another places you outside the parameters of legitimate judging.

Thus it is easy to see how your awareness of your indebtedness to God influences the totality of your life. When you acknowledge that God is good in all that He does, and you affirm His goodness by a life of gratitude, it appreciably influences your ability to get along with others, mitigates your propensity to anger, and fills your life with contentment.

God commanded His prophet Hosea to enter into a marriage with Gomer that was not only dishonoring to the husband, but was against custom, legal sense, and reason. He woos to himself a worthless woman and yokes himself to her in a nonsensical marriage. God uses this marriage to depict to the nation of Israel how He views His relationship with her. Israel, the whore, lusts after other gods and sells herself to a never-ending string of lovers. Still God elects Israel to be His bride, the object of His affection. No reason for such love can be given other than to say that it serves His purpose. Grace has no rationale

Confrontation is one of the highest expressions of love. When done in love and compassion, confrontation is one the kindest things you can do for another person. A refusal to confront when needed, is one of the most selfish things you can do.

When people observe that your life is in harmony with the message, they may not believe, but they know in their conscience that they have met truth.

Good habits are hard to establish and easy to lose. Bad habits are easy to establish and hard to break. The reason has to do with our depravity; our natural inclination is to sin, not be righteous.

Fellowship with God is for those who want to live under His authority.

Commit to mastering three to four new words every day. People with a rich vocabulary seldom have trouble articulating their views and display greater confidence while talking to people. The difference between a functional vocabulary and extensive vocabulary can be the difference between a black and white and vivid, colorful picture. Paint a picture with your words to make the conversation more interesting and compelling. Stay away from redundant words and phrases. Avoid using conversation fillers. Keep your sentences short, crisp and to the point. Do not use the most highfalutin words to flaunt your vocabulary. Instead be an effective communicator by using words that convey your ideas and feelings most appropriately. Less is always more in a conversation. Try to say more by using less yet effective words and phrases. Think of better and more articulate ways to convey your emotions and ideas, For example, you can say “famished” in place of “very hungry” or “livid” instead of “very angry or upset.” Try to convey your ideas using more effective words. Replace redundant words and phrases in your daily conversations. For example, instead of saying, “They said xyz about my looks” say “they commented on my looks.” The idea is to make your speech crisper, more articulate and tighter by replacing ineffectual words/phrases with more meaningful expressions. Everyday words and phrases such as “big” can become “gigantic,” “massive” or “colossal.” Similarly, scared can become “petrified” and “spooked,” hungry become “famished” and so on. Consciously think of more effective ways to convey the same meaning. This practice will make you come across as a more engaging, interesting and vibrant conversationalist. A richer and more power-packed vocabulary lends more character, feelings and sensory experiences to the conversation. The way to go about it is – Use a diary or notebook for listing new words and phrases you come across each day. You can also randomly pick three new words to learn from the dictionary every day, and try to use it in your speech or conversation. Install ‘word a day’ applications on your phones to keep enriching your vocabulary. It’s a work in progress. You’ll never know everything. Even if you believe you have a limited vocabulary or aren’t able to hold a conversation because you don’t know how best to express yourself, breathe easy. There are plenty of ways to build a powerful vocabulary if you have the initiative.

How do you demonstrate a love for God and others in the heat of a contract negotiation in which you perceive the other party to be unreasonable? The Bible gives you no clear-cut answer. God designed the ambiguity in which you are forced to live in order to keep you trusting in Him.

To the degree that you know what God’s expectations of you look like, you do not need Him. Seeking to apply positive commandments forces you into a posture of dependence upon God, which is right where He wants you.

As they worked, the conversation never lagged. It never touched on spirits or Sasquatches. They talked about food and the weather and things each did recently. Somewhere inside the discussion, Lin realized they were talking like the letters and diaries. They talked about life. They discussed daily stuff that might matter to no one later, but it defined their feelings of that day. It also hinted at their hopes and what was important to them.

if we wanted a daily diary, we had to write it for ourselves. But I also wonder if another reason is that, subconsciously, we regarded our episodic memories as such an integral part of our identities that we were reluctant to externalize them, to relegate them to books on a shelf or files on a computer.

Yet it is in the very dailiness, the exhaustive, repetitious dailiness, that the real power of Martha Ballard’s book lies.

The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it nearly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life has already lived to the fullest.

minutes between 5:20 and 5:40 AM with the term ‘Daily Diaries.’ The key when you do this is just to write. Don’t think too much. Simply

The strangest thing is that when I can finally take the notebook out of its hiding place, sit down, and begin to write, I find I have nothing to say except to report on the daily struggle I endure to hide it.

Set aside blocks of time in your diary solely for you. Use the slot to do nothing at all. This is not the time to clean or cook or catch up on unread emails. It's the time to add to your mood board or flick through a magazine. Enjoy personal time without an agenda.

Sonnet on The Spectrum (Diary of An Autistic Neuroscientist) We, on the spectrum, are often misconstrued as rude or audacious. Problem is not that we feel too little, but that we feel too crippling much. Sensory overload is our biggest struggle, an eternal battle against daily situations. Storms that the normals experience only in tragedy, are our life's everyday occurrence. Sidelining the stormy torment of the spectrum, the world romanticizes with autistic savants. I never could communicate with my parents, and they never knew what my struggle was. We autistics have difficulty communicating, till we speak on a matter of interest. Then we can jabber like any neurotypical, bursting with joy in our nerves and veins.

Such statements, however, about the relative utility of needs over rights discourse overlook that blacks have been describing their needs for generations. They overlook a long history of legislation against the self-described needs of black people. While it is no longer against the law to teach black people to read, there is still within the national psyche a deep, self-replicating strain of denial of the urgent need for a literate black population. ('They're not intellectual,' 'They can't...') In housing, in employment, in public and private life, it is the same story: the undesired needs of black people transform them into those-without-desire. ('They're lazy,' 'They don't want to...') For blacks, describing needs has been a dismal failure as political activity. It has succeeded only as a literary achievement. They history of our need is certainly moving enough to have been called poetry, oratory, epic entertainment - but it has never been treated by white institutions as the statement of a political priority. (I don't mean to undervalue the liberating power for blacks of such poetry, oratory, and epic; my concern is the degree to which it has been compartmentalized by the larger culture as something other than political expression.) Some of our greatest politicians have been forced to become ministers or blues singers. Even white descriptions of 'the blues' tend to remove the daily hunger and hurt from need and abstract it into a mood. And whoever would legislate against depression? Particularly something as rich, soulful, and sonorously productive as black depression.

Such statements, however, about the relative utility of needs over rights discourse overlook that blacks have been describing their needs for generations. They overlook a long history of legislation against the self-described needs of black people. While it is no longer against the law to teach black people to read, there is still within the national psyche a deep, self-replicating strain of denial of the urgent need for a literate black population. ('They're not intellectual,' 'They can't...') In housing, in employment, in public and private life, it is the same story: the undesired neeeds of black people transform them into those-without-desire. ('They're lazy,' 'They don't want to...') For blacks, describing needs has been a dismal failure as political activity. It has succeeded only as a literary achievement. They history of our need is certainly moving enough to have been called poetry, oratory, epic entertainment - but it has never been treated by white institutions as the statement of a political priority. (I don't mean to undervalue the liberating power for blacks of such poetry, oratory, and epic; my concern is the degree to which it has been compartmentalized by the larger culture as something other than political expression.) Some of our greatest politicians have been forced to become ministers or blues singers. Even white descriptions of 'the blues' tend to remove the daily hunger and hurt from need and abstract it into a mood. And whoever would legislate against depression? Particularly something as rich, soulful, and sonorously productive as black depression.

The child today, used as he is to much praise and encouragement, finds it much more difficult to keep going as his task gets progressively long. Helping children to face up to a certain amount of drudgery, cheerfully and energetically, is one of the biggest problems that teachers, in these days of ubiquitous entertainment, have to face in our schools; and the negative attitude, in so many homes, of ‘How-much-money-can-I-get-for-how-little-work?’ does nothing to help them in their daily battle.

In New York, the CIA went the extra mile, launching its own brothel, complete with heroin-addicted prostitutes. In exchange for dosing johns with LSD (usually via tainted booze), the women got their daily fix, immunity from arrest, and a hundred bucks a night. The agents, in turn, got to watch through one-way mirrors as the hapless men went bonkers. They called it “Operation: Midnight Climax.

Before you came to Christ, you knew something of love; in all probability there were people in your life that loved you. So also you knew something of faith, for all must commit before knowing. You may have even experienced mercy. But grace is different. Only in Jesus Christ do you discover grace, for His death made it possible for Him to be both gracious and just. You are the recipient of God’s grace because He charged Jesus with your sin while imputing Jesus’ righteousness to you.

¿Cómo llamar a SKY desde Perú? Si necesitas comunicarte con la aerolínea, el Sky Airlines teléfono perú +511 700 6249 es la mejor opción para resolver dudas sobre reservas, cambios de vuelos, reembolsos y más. En este artículo, te explicaremos cómo contactar a Sky Airlines en perú y qué servicios puedes gestionar por teléfono. Sky Airlines teléfono perú: Para comunicarte con Sky Airlines desde perú +511 700 6249 o 1-848-339-6339, debes llamar al número de atención al cliente. Este servicio está disponible para responder preguntas relacionadas con: a.) Reservas y cambios de vuelos b.) Cancelaciones y reembolsos c.) Estado de vuelos d.) Información sobre equipaje e.) Servicios especiales El Sky Airlines teléfono perú te permite recibir asistencia en español y resolver tus inquietudes de manera rápida y eficiente. Horario de atención El centro de atención telefónica de Sky Airlines opera en horarios específicos +511 700 6249. Se recomienda llamar dentro del horario de oficina para obtener una respuesta rápida. Si necesitas asistencia fuera de estos horarios, puedes visitar el sitio web oficial de la aerolínea.

God meets you where you are, not where you ought to be. When you manifest a heart to seek Him, your sin and error do not stand in His way.

To understand Martha’s world we must approach it on its own terms, neither as a golden age of household productivity nor as a political void from which a later feminist consciousness emerged. Martha’s diary reaches to the marrow of eighteenth-century life. The trivia that so annoyed earlier readers provide a consistent, daily record of the operation of a female-managed economy. The scandals excised by local historians provide insight into sexual behavior, marital and extramarital, in a time of tumult and change. The remarkable birth records, 814 deliveries in all, allow the first full accounting of delivery practices and of obstetrical mortality in any early American town. The family squabbles that earlier readers (and abridgers) of the diary found almost as embarrassing as the sexual references show how closely related Martha’s occupation was to the life cycle of her own family, and reveal the private politics behind public issues like imprisonment for debt. The somber record of her last years provides rare evidence on the nature of aging in the preindustrial world, and shows the pull of traditional values in an era of economic and social turmoil.

It was the sort of weather for curling up with a good book beside a roaring fire. Unfortunately my sister-in-law, Hilda, usually known as Fig, was trying to economize and only allowed one log on the fire at a time. This was surely a false economy, as I had pointed out on several occasions. Trees were being felled by gales on a daily basis. But Fig had a bee in her bonnet about economizing. Times were hard everywhere and we had to set a good example to the lower classes. This example included porridge for breakfast instead of bacon and eggs and even baked beans as the savory after dinner one night. Life is drear, I wrote in my diary.

The emotions are the obedient servant of the mind and the mind is the obedient servant of the will. You think about something and you laugh. You think about something else and you are sad. Your mind controls your emotion and your will determines what you think, i.e., what the mind chooses to think about or dwell on is controlled by the will. You can choose to meditate on the goodness of God or on your wounded spirit from past hurts; the choice is yours. The battle is won or lost in the mind through your will.

In Paris, in the early hours of June 11, 1940, Khristo Stoianev lay awake in his cell in the Santé prison and planned his “escape.” […] His had been, he knew, a classic descent. He had braced his mind early on, willed himself to meet imprisonment as he had met other events in his life. “A man can survive anything.” He did not know where he'd heard it but he believed it, believed in it, a religion of endurance. Thus he had taken his formless days and nights and imposed on them a rigid system of obligations. Exercise—physical strength can forestall psychological collapse, a universal and timeless prisoner's axiom. Use the mind. He created a private algebra of propositions and wrestled with their solutions, mining his past life for usable circumstance: How long would it take for a man carrying his own food and water to walk in a straight line from Vidin to Sofia? From mental images of maps he contrived a route, crossing roads, streams and mountains, estimated the weight of water and food, determined the point of efficiency that lay somewhere between thirst and starvation and exertion of strength: the goal of the exercise was to arrive at the outskirts of Sofia carrying no provisions, crawling the final hundred feet. Keep a diary. They would give him no paper, so he used the surfaces of opened-up matchboxes he bought from the prison store with his meager stipend, and kept records in pin-scratched hieroglyphs—a plus or minus sign, for instance, indicated success or failure in the two-hour mental exercise period for that day. Control is everything. He permitted himself only one hour a day for daydreaming, which was always erotic, violently colored, tones and textures scrupulously perfected by his imagination. Retain any connection at all with the world. Every moment of his time in the exercise yard he spent talking with other prisoners. [...] But time—hours that became days that became months—was a killer of extraordinary stealth, and his spirit slowly failed him. He began to die. He watched it with slow horror, as a man will observe an illness that consumes his life. He would come to himself suddenly and realize that his mind had been on a journey into a violent universe of shimmering colors and bizarre shapes. He understood what was happening to him, but his understanding counted for nothing. Without the daily texture of existence to occupy it, he learned, the human soul wavers, wanders, begins to feed upon itself, and, in time, disintegrates. He saw them in the exercise yard, the clear-eyed, the ones who had died inside themselves. Thus, at last, he came upon the prisoner's timeless and universal conclusion: there is nothing worse than prison. From the gossip in the exercise yard, he knew that Wehrmacht columns were approaching Paris and that the country would fall in a matter of days. In shame, he prayed for this to happen. Bulgaria had joined Germany, Italy, Hungary and Romania in an alliance against Western Europe. He was, no matter the Stateless Person designation of the Nansen Commission, a Bulgarian national, thus nominally an ally of the Germans. When they took Paris, he would send them a message and offer his services. Initially, he would make his approach as Petrov, the former waiter, imprisoned for striking a blow against the Bolshevists. They would approve of that, he knew, despite their treaty of convenience with Stalin, and would more than likely accept him on that basis. If, perchance, they knew who he really was, he would brazen it out. Yes, he had fought them in Spain. But witness, Herr Oberst, this change of heart. Witness this attack on the NKVD itself—could they doubt his sincerity after that? He marveled at how the past could be refigured to suit the present, at how fragile reality truly was when you started to hey doubt his sincerity after that? He marveled at how the past could be refigured to suit the present, at how fragile reality truly was when you started to twist it.