Diaries With Positive Quotes

When they bombed Hiroshima, the explosion formed a mini-supernova, so every living animal, human or plant that received direct contact with the rays from that sun was instantly turned to ash. And what was left of the city soon followed. The long-lasting damage of nuclear radiation caused an entire city and its population to turn into powder. When I was born, my mom says I looked around the whole hospital room with a stare that said, "This? I've done this before." She says I have old eyes. When my Grandpa Genji died, I was only five years old, but I took my mom by the hand and told her, "Don't worry, he'll come back as a baby." And yet, for someone who's apparently done this already, I still haven't figured anything out yet. My knees still buckle every time I get on a stage. My self-confidence can be measured out in teaspoons mixed into my poetry, and it still always tastes funny in my mouth. But in Hiroshima, some people were wiped clean away, leaving only a wristwatch or a diary page. So no matter that I have inhibitions to fill all my pockets, I keep trying, hoping that one day I'll write a poem I can be proud to let sit in a museum exhibit as the only proof I existed. My parents named me Sarah, which is a biblical name. In the original story God told Sarah she could do something impossible and she laughed, because the first Sarah, she didn't know what to do with impossible. And me? Well, neither do I, but I see the impossible every day. Impossible is trying to connect in this world, trying to hold onto others while things are blowing up around you, knowing that while you're speaking, they aren't just waiting for their turn to talk -- they hear you. They feel exactly what you feel at the same time that you feel it. It's what I strive for every time I open my mouth -- that impossible connection. There's this piece of wall in Hiroshima that was completely burnt black by the radiation. But on the front step, a person who was sitting there blocked the rays from hitting the stone. The only thing left now is a permanent shadow of positive light. After the A bomb, specialists said it would take 75 years for the radiation damaged soil of Hiroshima City to ever grow anything again. But that spring, there were new buds popping up from the earth. When I meet you, in that moment, I'm no longer a part of your future. I start quickly becoming part of your past. But in that instant, I get to share your present. And you, you get to share mine. And that is the greatest present of all. So if you tell me I can do the impossible, I'll probably laugh at you. I don't know if I can change the world yet, because I don't know that much about it -- and I don't know that much about reincarnation either, but if you make me laugh hard enough, sometimes I forget what century I'm in. This isn't my first time here. This isn't my last time here. These aren't the last words I'll share. But just in case, I'm trying my hardest to get it right this time around.

...choose to deal with inhumane situations in a humane way, we can turn the world around and create positive lessons for ourselves and for others.

Of course, the diary helps me as well. 'That wasn't your position on July 7, 1991,' I'll remind Hugh an hour after we've had a fight. I'd have loved to rebut him sooner, but it takes awhile to look these things up.

It is quite true what Philosophy says: that Life must be understood backwards. But that makes one forget the other saying: that it must be lived—forwards. The more one ponders this, the more it comes to mean that life in the temporal existence never becomes quite intelligible, precisely because at no moment can I find complete quiet to take the backward- looking position.

Often as writers, we are surprised by what we learn about ourselves. It runs counter to what we’ve thought about who we are. But it is closer to the truth.

I see the mountains in the sky; the great clouds; and the moon; I have a great and astonishing sense of something there, which is “it”—it is not exactly beauty that I mean. It is that the thing is in itself enough: satisfactory, achieved. A sense of my own strangeness, walking on the earth is there too: of the infinite oddity of the human position; with the moon up there and those mountain clouds.

1)  CodeBundle.LockItDown had closed all the hatches on board except those directly between SecUnit 3’s position and the shuttle access. 2)  CodeBundle.FuckThem had fried all targetDrones. 3)  CodeBundle.FuckThisToo had cut the connections between the solid-state screen device and the humans’ implants. Oh, and I shut down life support on the bridge so the Targets in there would be thinking about other things besides restarting their screen.

Exes should never, never go out with or marry other people but should remain celibate to the end of their days in order to provide you with a mental fallback position.

Focus your energy on the positive moments, because wherever you focus your energy, you feed. Focusing energy is a tremendous nourishment to the object you focus upon

Tom Paine has almost no influence on present-day thinking in the United States because he is unknown to the average citizen. Perhaps I might say right here that this is a national loss and a deplorable lack of understanding concerning the man who first proposed and first wrote those impressive words, 'the United States of America.' But it is hardly strange. Paine's teachings have been debarred from schools everywhere and his views of life misrepresented until his memory is hidden in shadows, or he is looked upon as of unsound mind. We never had a sounder intelligence in this Republic. He was the equal of Washington in making American liberty possible. Where Washington performed Paine devised and wrote. The deeds of one in the Weld were matched by the deeds of the other with his pen. Washington himself appreciated Paine at his true worth. Franklin knew him for a great patriot and clear thinker. He was a friend and confidant of Jefferson, and the two must often have debated the academic and practical phases of liberty. I consider Paine our greatest political thinker. As we have not advanced, and perhaps never shall advance, beyond the Declaration and Constitution, so Paine has had no successors who extended his principles. Although the present generation knows little of Paine's writings, and although he has almost no influence upon contemporary thought, Americans of the future will justly appraise his work. I am certain of it. Truth is governed by natural laws and cannot be denied. Paine spoke truth with a peculiarly clear and forceful ring. Therefore time must balance the scales. The Declaration and the Constitution expressed in form Paine's theory of political rights. He worked in Philadelphia at the time that the first document was written, and occupied a position of intimate contact with the nation's leaders when they framed the Constitution. Certainly we may believe that Washington had a considerable voice in the Constitution. We know that Jefferson had much to do with the document. Franklin also had a hand and probably was responsible in even larger measure for the Declaration. But all of these men had communed with Paine. Their views were intimately understood and closely correlated. There is no doubt whatever that the two great documents of American liberty reflect the philosophy of Paine. ...Then Paine wrote 'Common Sense,' an anonymous tract which immediately stirred the fires of liberty. It flashed from hand to hand throughout the Colonies. One copy reached the New York Assembly, in session at Albany, and a night meeting was voted to answer this unknown writer with his clarion call to liberty. The Assembly met, but could find no suitable answer. Tom Paine had inscribed a document which never has been answered adversely, and never can be, so long as man esteems his priceless possession. In 'Common Sense' Paine flared forth with a document so powerful that the Revolution became inevitable. Washington recognized the difference, and in his calm way said that matters never could be the same again. It must be remembered that 'Common Sense' preceded the declaration and affirmed the very principles that went into the national doctrine of liberty. But that affirmation was made with more vigor, more of the fire of the patriot and was exactly suited to the hour... Certainly [the Revolution] could not be forestalled, once he had spoken. {The Philosophy of Paine, June 7, 1925}

Life is too short. Why surround yourself with negative energy when you can be positive?

Absolute value: the distance that a given number is from zero on a number line . . . always a positive

Moreover, probably owing to excessive self-consciousness, perhaps as the result of the generally unfortunate cast of my personality, there existed between my thoughts and feelings, and the expression of those feelings and thoughts, a sort of inexplicable, irrational, and utterly insuperable barrier; and whenever I made up my mind to overcome this obstacle by force, to break down this barrier, my gestures, the expression of my face, my whole being, took on an appearance of painful constraint. I not only seemed, I positively became unnatural and affected. I was conscious of this myself, and hastened to shrink back into myself. Then a terrible commotion was set up within me. I analysed myself to the last thread, compared myself with others, recalled the slightest glances, smiles, words of the people to whom I had tried to open myself out, put the worst construction on everything, laughed vindictively at my own pretensions to 'be like every one else,'—and suddenly, in the midst of my laughter, collapsed utterly into gloom, sank into absurd dejection, and then began again as before—went round and round, in fact, like a squirrel on its wheel. Whole days were spent in this harassing, fruitless exercise.

All experiences are stories to be told and must be written.

Yes, life is hard, but it's not a bad way to pass the time. When all is said and done, I recommend it.

Politics is a clean, happy, positive business under only the rarest circumstances. Democratic rule? Everyone thinks everyone else is an idiot. Despotic? Everyone wants to overthrow you, either to install democracy or to be the next despot. Kingdom full of abundance? Someone wants a bigger share. Kingdom starving? Someone needs to find blame.

One of the positives to being visibly damaged is that people can sometimes forget you’re there, even when they’re interfacing with you. You almost get to eavesdrop. It’s almost like they’re like: If nobody’s really in there, there’s nothing to be shy about. That’s why bullshit often tends to drop away around damaged listeners, deep beliefs revealed, diary-type private reveries indulged out loud; and, listening, the beaming and brady-kinetic boy gets to forge an interpersonal connection he knows only he can truly feel, here.

Daring soul has five diaries; gratitude, work, inspirational, prayer and language diaries.

Bad stuff does happen sometimes, always remember that but remember that you have to move on somehow. You just pick your head up and stare at something beautiful like the sky or the ocean and you move the hell on.

I'm not saying that the world will be reduced to expedient means and ridiculous disorder of the South American republics, - that we could maybe even return to savagery, and walk through the overgrown ruins of our civilization searching for food with a gun in our hand. No; - because such a destiny and such adventures would still presuppose a vital energy, an echo of primeval ages. As the new example and the new victims of inexorable moral laws, we shall perish by what we thought was our life-giver. Engineering will make us so Americanized, progress will create such great atrophy of everything spiritual in us, that the bloody, sacrilegious or unnatural dreams of the utopians could never compare with its positive results.

What one needs to do is to keep this correct thinking up and to make it a part and parcel of personality. For that you need to keep reminding yourself at continuous intervals. Write your aims or positive ideas in your diary and read them before sleep and after getting up in morning. You can paste motivational posters in your living room which will give you positive energy.

His body and his soul appeared to have the strange ability to repel the hours, just as, inversely, a magnet attracts metal. Everything spun about him and fled; he was always the sole centre of an enormous circumference. He kept moving forwards, body and soul, in the hope of coming close to what fled at his approach. The same thing happened with time – his position remained constant in relation to the thing which, however hard he tried to clasp it to him, stole away from him and bounded into the distance. He was the one who had no incriminating papers in his drawers, who could show his diary to anyone. He was a creator. Perhaps that was why his life did not exist

Language as a Prison The Philippines did have a written language before the Spanish colonists arrived, contrary to what many of those colonists subsequently claimed. However, it was a language that some theorists believe was mainly used as a mnemonic device for epic poems. There was simply no need for a European-style written language in a decentralized land of small seaside fishing villages that were largely self-sufficient. One theory regarding language is that it is primarily a useful tool born out of a need for control. In this theory written language was needed once top-down administration of small towns and villages came into being. Once there were bosses there arose a need for written language. The rise of the great metropolises of Ur and Babylon made a common written language an absolute necessity—but it was only a tool for the administrators. Administrators and rulers needed to keep records and know names— who had rented which plot of land, how many crops did they sell, how many fish did they catch, how many children do they have, how many water buffalo? More important, how much then do they owe me? In this account of the rise of written language, naming and accounting seem to be language's primary "civilizing" function. Language and number are also handy for keeping track of the movement of heavenly bodies, crop yields, and flood cycles. Naturally, a version of local oral languages was eventually translated into symbols as well, and nonadministrative words, the words of epic oral poets, sort of went along for the ride, according to this version. What's amazing to me is that if we accept this idea, then what may have begun as an instrument of social and economic control has now been internalized by us as a mark of being civilized. As if being controlled were, by inference, seen as a good thing, and to proudly wear the badge of this agent of control—to be able to read and write—makes us better, superior, more advanced. We have turned an object of our own oppression into something we now think of as virtuous. Perfect! We accept written language as something so essential to how we live and get along in the world that we feel and recognize its presence as an exclusively positive thing, a sign of enlightenment. We've come to love the chains that bind us, that control us, for we believe that they are us (161-2).

Make it a point: stop affirming negativities and start affirming positivities. Within a few weeks you will be surprised that you have a magical key in your hands. For example, if you get sad easily, then every night before you go to sleep affirm twenty times silently, deeply, to yourself but loud enough so that you can hear it, that you are going to be joyous, that this is going to happen, this is already on the way. You have lived your last sadness... good-bye! Repeat it twenty times and then fall asleep.

If you are capable,then you should not be inactive.

This year we're doing Christmas on my next day off: the sixth of January. 'Just think how reduced the crackers will be by then!' was the only positive I could offer.

Beauty cannot be limited to physical appearances... because beauty can be felt without being seen.

Officially signed off on position I took a few

so cute and quaint. It actually makes me feel so positive about books. That people are still so afraid of books that they’ll ban a book, they’ll keep their kid from reading a book, and yet their kid has an iPhone in their hands, access to every porn site in the world, access to all the porn that has ever been created, and yet they want my book banned because a teenage boy twice mentions masturbation. I think it says some-thing about books still being far more powerful. That the written word is still far more powerful than people think it is.

There are some men who, living with the one object of enriching themselves, no matter by what means, and being perfectly conscious of the baseness and rascality of the means which they will use every day towards this end, affect nevertheless—even to themselves—a high tone of moral rectitude, and shake their heads and sigh over the depravity of the world. Some of the craftiest scoundrels that ever walked this earth, or rather—for walking implies, at least, an erect position and the bearing of a man—that ever crawled and crept through life by its dirtiest and narrowest ways, will gravely jot down in diaries the events of every day, and keep a regular debtor and creditor account with Heaven, which shall always show a floating balance in their own favour. Whether this is a gratuitous (the only gratuitous) part of the falsehood and trickery of such men's lives, or whether they really hope to cheat Heaven itself, and lay up treasure in the next world by the same process which has enabled them to lay up treasure in this—not to question how it is, so it is. And, doubtless, such book-keeping (like certain autobiographies which have enlightened the world) cannot fail to prove serviceable, in the one respect of sparing the recording Angel some time and labour.

Crushes thrive in small spaces. Humans must be programmed to respond positively when faced with a small sampling of other humans in, say, caves. You're stuck in a cave with three other people - all mankind, presumably, was hidden away in such tiny groups during the winters until the thaw - and so, in order for the species to thrive, you must be biologically compelled to fuck at least one person in your cave, despite the fact that, when surrounded by a plenitude of Neanderthals at the Neanderthal summer barbecue, none of them struck your fancy. Without the element of choice, and in conjunction with captivity, you find love, or at least you find lust.

There are already millions of places to go if you want to celebrate weight loss. There are countless online spaces dedicated to dieting where you’ll be cheered on every pound of the way. You can still talk about food diaries and dropped dress sizes with 99 percent of the population. Is it really too much to ask that we preserve one space away from it? One part of our lives that diet culture can’t get its hands on? Body positivity is that space.

In many cases the problem does not lie with someone paying too much attention to the dark side of things, it is actually due to our overemphasis on bright and positive things — sometimes that brightness can be so blinding that it damages our ability to see things clearly.

On Turgenev: He knew from Lavrov that I was an enthusiastic admirer of his writings; and one day, as we were returning in a carriage from a visit to Antokolsky's studio, he asked me what I thought of Bazarov. I frankly replied, 'Bazaraov is an admirable painting of the nihilist, but one feels that you did not love him as mush as you did your other heroes.' 'On the contrary, I loved him, intensely loved him,' Turgenev replied, with an unexpected vigor. 'When we get home I will show you my diary, in which I have noted how I wept when I had ended the novel with Bazarov's death.' Turgenev certainly loved the intellectual aspect of Bazarov. He so identified himself with the nihilist philosophy of his hero that he even kept a diary in his name, appreciating the current events from Bazarov's point of view. But I think that he admired him more than he loved him. In a brilliant lecture on Hamlet and Don Quixote, he divided the history makers of mankind into two classes, represented by one or the other of these characters. 'Analysis first of all, and then egotism, and therefore no faith,--an egotist cannot even believe in himself:' so he characterized Hamlet. 'Therefore he is a skeptic, and never will achieve anything; while Don Quixote, who fights against windmills, and takes a barber's plate for the magic helmet of Mambrino (who of us has never made the same mistake?), is a leader of the masses, because the masses always follow those who, taking no heed of the sarcasms of the majority, or even of persecutions, march straight forward, keeping their eyes fixed upon a goal which is seen, perhaps, by no one but themselves. They search, they fall, but they rise again and find it,--and by right, too. Yet, although Hamlet is a skeptic, and disbelieves in Good, he does not disbelieve in Evil. He hates it; Evil and Deceit are his enemies; and his skepticism is not indifferentism, but only negation and doubt, which finally consume his will.' These thought of Turgenev give, I think, the true key for understanding his relations to his heroes. He himself and several of his best friends belonged more or less to the Hamlets. He loved Hamlet, and admired Don Quixote. So he admired also Bazarov. He represented his superiority admirably well, he understood the tragic character of his isolated position, but he could not surround him with that tender, poetical love which he bestowed as on a sick friend, when his heroes approached the Hamlet type. It would have been out of place.

Some of the craftiest scoundrels that ever walked this earth, or rather—for walking implies, at least, an erect position and the bearing of a man—that ever crawled and crept through life by its dirtiest and narrowest ways, will gravely jot down in diaries the events of every day, and keep a regular debtor and creditor account with Heaven,

Financial standing, a social position beyond what she has now, and a husband to dote upon her every wish. What more could she ask for?" "Maybe youth. Vigor. Teeth." "Lord Cameron has his own teeth." Margaret narrowed her eyes at the other candidate. "I'm not so certain about Munro. They seemed somewhat clacky at dinner, so I'm suspicious.

you think, really, that there is something unnatural, something positively abnormal about a young man dancing around with tears in his eyes for such a reason? Don’t you see that in this condition you scarcely present that bulwark of strength and self-assurance which a woman has a right to look for in a man? Don’t you see that you really don’t want a woman at all, as a woman? That you only want a mother to hold your head on her shoulder and dry your dancing-tears and flatter your delicate little egotism and tend to your little physical necessities for you. This, my hypothetical young man, is very very bad, and you had best take immediate steps to correct it. You had better stop dancing with this poor unappreciated girl if you can’t amuse her any better than by spoiling her make-up with your messy tears, and you had better go out into the open air and realize that mother is far away and that no one is ever going to understand you and that it is not very important whether anyone ever does; you might even try to understand someone else for a change.)

I had sent the lift to the bio pod, the nearest junction to the team’s position. The door slid open and I stepped into a wall of sound: screaming, energy weapon fire. I ran down the corridor and rounded the corner. I’m going to describe this as I reconstructed it from my and Miki’s camera feeds later, since at the time even I was mostly thinking, Oh shit oh shit.

Gabriel didn’t say it, but I could tell he’s concerned about me. And if I’m going to be honest—and I may as well be—the real reason I agreed to keep this diary was to reassure him—prove that I’m okay. I can’t bear the thought of him worrying about me. I don’t ever want to cause him any distress or make him unhappy or cause him pain. I love Gabriel so much. He is without doubt the love of my life. I love him so totally, completely, sometimes it threatens to overwhelm me. Sometimes I think— No. I won’t write about that. This is going to be a joyful record of ideas and images that inspire me artistically, things that make a creative impact on me. I’m only going to write positive, happy, normal thoughts. No crazy thoughts allowed.

Amena and Ratthi kept suggesting that I should help it “adjust” whatever that is. I knew if I was in its position, I’d want to be left alone. And if it hadn’t even sat down in a chair voluntarily yet, it probably wasn’t ready to talk. (I know this sounds suspiciously like a rationale I had come up with to keep from doing something I didn’t want to do anyway, but hey, I can’t help that.)

Miss Mapp had experienced a cruel disappointment last night, though the triumph of this morning had done something to soothe it, for Major Benjy's window had certainly been lit up to a very late hour, and so it was clear that he had not been able, twice in succession, to tear himself away from his diaries, or whatever else detained him, and go to bed at a proper time. Captain Puffin, however, had not sat up late; indeed he must have gone to bed quite unusually early, for his window was dark by half-past nine. To-night, again the position was reversed, and it seemed that Major Benjy was "good" and Captain Puffin was "bad". On the whole, then, there was cause for thankfulness, and as she added a tin of biscuits and two jars of Bovril to her prudent stores, she found herself a conscious sceptic about those Roman roads. Diaries (perhaps) were a little different, for egoism was a more potent force than archæology, and for her part she now definitely believed that Roman roads spelt some form of drink. She was sorry to believe it, but it was her duty to believe something of the kind, and she really did not know what else to believe. She did not go so far as mentally to accuse him of drunkenness, but considering the way he absorbed red-currant fool, it was clear that he was no foe to alcohol and probably watered the Roman roads with it.

It is quite gratifying to feel guilty if you haven't done anything wrong: how noble! Whereas it is rather hard and certainly depressing to admit guilt and to repent. The youth of Germany is surrounded, on all sides and in all walks of life, by men in positions of authority and in public office who are very guilty indeed but who feel nothing of the sort. The normal reaction to this state of affairs should be indignation, but indignation would be quite risky--not a danger to life and limb but definitely a handicap in a career. Those young German men and women who every once in a while--on the occasion of all the Diary of Anne Frank hubbub and of the Eichmann trial--treat us to hysterical outbreaks of guilt feelings are not staggering under the burden of the past, their fathers' guilt; rather, they are trying to escape from the pressure of very present and actual problems into a cheap sentimentality.

Liza and the Prince grew more and more attached to each other with every day that passed... But I positively lost all sense of my own dignity, and could not tear myself away from the spectacle of my unhappiness. I remember that one day I made an effort not to go, gave myself my word of honour in the morning that I would remain at home, and at eight o'clock in the evening (I usually went out at seven), I jumped up like a lunatic, put on my hat, and ran, panting, to Kirill Matvyeevitch's.

ASSUMING POSITIVE INTENT AND keeping a marriage diary are two examples of what psychologists call “considering the opposite.” I think my spouse is selfish—but perhaps I should keep track of situations where he’s looking out for me. I think my colleague is being rude and abrupt—but what if he’s not being abrupt and is just trying to respect my time? (Oops, and what if he thinks I’m disrespecting his time when I try to chat?) This simple technique of considering the opposite has been shown, across multiple studies, to reduce many otherwise thorny cognitive biases.

On August 29, 1789, the conservative Baron de Gauville noted in his diary, “We began to recognize each other; those who were loyal to their religion and the king took up positions to the right of the chair so as to avoid the shouts, speeches, and indecencies that enjoyed free rein in the opposite camp.” Thus began the division in France between those on the right, who wanted to conserve the existing order, and those on the left who wanted to push forward the power of the people. That divide, forged in the fires of the French Revolution, is why, more than two centuries later, we still speak of the Left and the Right.

About ten o’clock tonight I got caught in a mob of ten thousand hysterics who jammed the moat in front of Hitler’s hotel, shouting: “We want our Führer.” I was a little shocked at the faces, especially those of the women, when Hitler finally appeared on the balcony for a moment. They reminded me of the crazed expressions I saw once in the back country of Louisiana on the faces of some Holy Rollers who were about to hit the trail. They looked up at him as if he were a Messiah, their faces transformed into something positively inhuman. If he had remained in sight for more than a few moments, I think many of the women would have swooned from excitement. Later

IN BERLIN, JOSEPH GOEBBELS DISMISSED Churchill’s speech in the House of Commons as being full of “excuses” and devoid of information. “But no sign of weakness,” he acknowledged in his diary on Friday, May 9, adding: “England’s will to resist is still intact. We shall therefore have to continue attacking and chipping away at her power position.” Goebbels confessed in his diary to feeling a new respect for Churchill. “This man is a strange mixture of heroism and cunning,” he wrote. “If he had come to power in 1933, we would not be where we are today. And I believe that he will give us a few more problems yet. But we can and will solve them. Nevertheless, he is not to be taken as lightly as we usually take him.

The expectation of a reward or evaluation, even a positive evaluation, squelched creativity. She calls this phenomenon the intrinsic theory of motivation. Stated simply: “People will be most creative when they feel motivated primarily by interest, enjoyment, satisfaction, and the challenge of the work itself—not by external pressures.” She warns that many schools and corporations, by placing such emphasis on rewards and evaluation, are inadvertently suppressing creativity. It’s a compelling theory, and one that, intuitively, makes sense. Who hasn’t felt creatively liberated writing in a private diary or doodling in a notebook, knowing no one will ever see these zany scribbles? The theory, though, doesn’t always jibe with the real world. If we are only motivated by the sheer joy of an activity, why do athletes perform better in the heat of competition rather than during training sessions? Why did Mozart abandon works in progress because his

There are some men who, living with the one object of enriching themselves, no matter by what means, and being perfectly conscious of the baseness and rascality of the means which they will use every day towards this end, affect nevertheless—even to themselves—a high tone of moral rectitude, and shake their heads and sigh over the depravity of the world. Some of the craftiest scoundrels that ever walked this earth, or rather—for walking implies, at least, an erect position and the bearing of a man—that ever crawled and crept through life by its dirtiest and narrowest ways, will gravely jot down in diaries the events of every day, and keep a regular debtor and creditor account with Heaven, which shall always show a floating balance in their own favour. Whether this is a gratuitous (the only gratuitous) part of the falsehood and trickery of such men’s lives, or whether they really hope to cheat Heaven itself, and lay up treasure in the next world by the same process which has enabled them to lay up treasure in this—not to question how it is, so it is. And, doubtless, such book-keeping (like certain autobiographies which have enlightened the world) cannot fail to prove serviceable, in the one respect of sparing the recording Angel some time and labour.

There are some men who, living with the one object of enriching themselves, no matter by what means, and being perfectly conscious of the baseness and rascality of the means which they will use every day towards this end, affect nevertheless—even to themselves—a high tone of moral rectitude, and shake their heads and sigh over the depravity of the world. Some of the craftiest scoundrels that ever walked this earth, or rather—for walking implies, at least, an erect position and the bearing of a man—that ever crawled and crept through life by its dirtiest and narrowest ways, will gravely jot down in diaries the events of every day, and keep a regular debtor and creditor account with Heaven, which shall always show a floating balance in their own favour. Whether this is a gratuitous (the only gratuitous) part of the falsehood and trickery of such men’s lives, or whether they really hope to cheat Heaven itself, and lay up treasure in the next world by the same process which has enabled them to lay up treasure in this—not to question how it is, so it is. And, doubtless, such book-keeping (like certain autobiographies which have enlightened the world) cannot fail to prove serviceable, in the one respect of sparing the recording Angel some time and labour. Ralph Nickleby was not a man of this stamp. Stern, unyielding, dogged, and impenetrable, Ralph cared for nothing in life, or beyond it, save the gratification of two passions, avarice, the first and predominant appetite of his nature, and hatred, the second.

There was no day on which it was my positive duty to write for the publishers, as it was my duty to write reports for the Post Office. I was free to be idle if I pleased. But as I had made up my mind to undertake this second profession, I found it to be expedient to bind myself by certain self-imposed laws. When I have commenced a new book, I have always prepared a diary, divided into weeks, and carried it on for the period which I have allowed myself for the completion of the work. In this I have entered, day by day, the number of pages I have written, so that if at any time I have slipped into idleness for a day or two, the record of that idleness has been there, staring me in the face and demanding of me increased labor, so that the deficiency might be supplied.

THE LEWINSKY PROCEDURE: A STRATEGY GUIDE FOR MINIMIZING POLITICAL SCANDAL Deny -The necessary first stage, where you question the accuracy of the facts. It will take time for all the scandalous details to come out, and if you’re careful or lucky, they may never come out. Deny everything until the point that the facts against you can be substantiated. Delay -Take every action possible to stall, postpone, impede, procrastinate, and filibuster. The longer the time between the initial news of the scandal and the resolution of the scandal, the better. Diminish -Once the facts against you have been substantiated, either minimize the nature of the scandal or its impact against you. “At this point, what difference does it make?” Debunk -Have a helpful news organization or advocacy group develop a useful counter-narrative that explains away the scandal or contradicts the facts or generally does something to get progressives back on your side. “Explanatory journalism” is a great help here. Distract -Change the conversation by talking about something else. It doesn’t matter what that might be, because there’s always something else more important, even if it’s reminding people to drink more water. Suggest that the scandal itself is a distraction from the real issues. Deflect -When in doubt, blame the Republicans. All administrative failures can be blamed on the failures of the prior administration. All political failures can be blamed on Republican legislation or Republican intransigence in not passing progressive legislation which would have fixed the problem. All personal failures can be excused by either bringing up the example of a Republican who did something similar, or by pointing out that whatever was done wasn’t as bad as serving divorce papers on your wife when she’s in the hospital with cancer, or invading Iraq. Divide -Point out that the scandal is being driven by the most extreme Republicans, and that moderates aren’t to blame. This won’t help you with moderates that much, but it will give the moderates another reason not to like the extremists, and vice versa, and this can only be positive. Deploy -Get friends and allies to talk about your positive virtues in public, without reference to the scandal. If the scandal comes up, have them complain about the politics of personal destruction. Demonize -Attribute malign intentions to the conservatives trying to promote the scandal. This approach should also include special prosecutors, judges, and anyone else who is involved in the scandal to one degree or another. Defenestrate -When necessary, shove someone under the bus. Try not to make this a habit, or you won’t have anyone around to deploy. The target for defenestration can be small (rogue employees in the Cincinnati regional office) or large (Cabinet secretary) but it needs to be someone who won’t scream overly much as they sail out the window. ❄ ❄ ❄

Polly leaned back in her chair. “How does a bill become a law?” she asked. “Oh,” I said. “I know all about that. The idea for the bill emerges from the revolutionary consciousness. Advocates gather to demand social change. That gets transmitted to the political leadership, and they channel that positive energy into progressive legislation.” “Please tell me you’re not serious,” Polly said. “Of course, then it gets blocked by the greedy corporate special interests. But committed advocates for social justice can help change the system. You know, make a difference. That’s why I’m here.

Be true to yourself and follow your heart. Never bury yourself in disappointments or mistakes but learn from them and simply don't give it your energy. Focus on the positive and embrace the miracles life gives you. It's call the gift of HOPE.

Continuation patterns offer the opportunity to both pyramid an initial position and to tighten up the protective stops on the initial position.

Reversal patterns offer the opportunity to avoid riding the initial position back to the starting gates (or what I call a popcorn or round-trip move).

It is also possible that a pattern implying a reversal of trend could develop prior to the attainment of an expected target. I may elect to move my protective stop in relationship to a pattern that carries trend implications counter to my position.

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.

The reason my stage fright eventually vanished – to the point that now I feel 99.9 per cent less nervous when speaking in a packed arena or live on TV – is simply because I carried on speaking on stage. And doing so gradually gave me new, positive, first-party evidence that replaced the existing evidence I had about my on-stage abilities – the more I spoke on stage, the stronger my confidence in this new evidence became, and with it, the belief in my inability and the fear it created diminished.

If you want to change someone’s belief, don’t attack it, make them a direct witness to positive new evidence that will both inspire them and counteract the negative effects of their old beliefs. Unchallenged limiting beliefs are the greatest barrier between who we are and who we could be. Stop telling yourself you’re not qualified, good enough or worthy. Growth happens when you start doing the things you’re not qualified to do.

Stop letting unnecessary thoughts feed your mind. It's nugatory. Focus on your long-time goals and maximize your 86,400 seconds today.

Unfortunately, when all you can think about from sun up to sun down is how much you’re afraid of turning Shroom, you’re not in the best negotiating position. The Pharma company says, “Hey, I wanna fuck you over,” and all you can really say is, “Here, fuck my sister too.

asked Michael if he thought she could have become the Labour Party leader: “I don’t think so, really,” Michael answered decisively. “What stopped her?” I asked. “The business of understanding other people’s positions and working together—I don’t think she [Barbara] had much ... ” Michael did not complete his sentence but switched instead to saying Callaghan had a much better sense of the whole party. I observed to Michael that Castle’s diaries revealed that she often found Michael’s behaviour in cabinet difficult to understand. “You were responding to other people’s positions ... and therefore you would seem less focused than she was.” Quite right, Michael said.

About MC Steve Even when I was a kid, I knew I wanted to be a writer. Stories always fascinated me. And I did not just see them in books and movies… I saw them everywhere - especially in video games. When I looked at the characters in the video games I loved, I always wondered: What is their story? What do they spend their time thinking about? What great adventures will they have? Now, as an adult, and living in the greatest city in the world, I still wonder the same things. Living in New York means that ten thousand times a day I pass by strangers, each with rich and complicated lives I know nothing about. But I want to know! And when I want to know, I write. There is a medium for stories that I think many people – especially adults – ignore: and that is video games. So long and complicated are the plots of video games that sometimes they are richer than movies, or even books! In fact, it was Minecraft that actually got me going in my writing career. I saw it as a channel where the audience could not only engage in the stories, but actively participate in them. Hence, my desire to write my first book - Diary of a Minecraft Wimpy Zombie. When I first published my story, I was terrified. What will people think of me? Will they like my stories? However, given some time, kids have come up to me and told me how much they loved my book. They were not only reading, but enjoying my book! It was this feeling - reaching and connecting with kids – that inspired me to write some more. And, as I continued to write, the more positive feedback I got! Before I knew it, Readers’ Favorite rated my book 5 Stars and I became a #1 Amazon best-selling author, all from following my passion and responding to the passion I saw in others. Wimpy Zombie says, “Because zombies can’t go out into the sun, most of them tend to be afraid of anything that can go into the sun and live to tell the tale.” Let me say this: in a writer’s sense, I used to be a zombie. I was afraid to display my work to the light of day, for fear of the scorching rays of ridicule, embarrassment, or failure. But, like Wimpy Zombie eventually learns, and I learned myself, everyone needs to, at some point in their lives, be brave enough to venture into the sun. If you’d like to post a review, click on the button below and it will take you to the reviews page straightaway:  

Inner joy and peace are from the Holy Spirit (Galatians 5:22). If I’m disappointed in my human husband, it is because I have dis—as in wrongly— appointed him to God’s position in my mind. That’s just all kinds of wrong.

8pm: Take a shower or a bath 8:30pm: Meditate 9pm: Diary three things I’m grateful for, and one positive experience I had during the day1 9:15–9:30pm: Read in bed, then go to sleep

My second attempt ended just as quickly as the first, only this time I was thrown into a tree. It wasn’t pretty. The horse smirked at me (I’m positive this time!) and then trotted off. I followed after him. I didn’t want to spend another whole day searching for another horse.   After a while he stopped at a pond to get a drink. I’m sure playing catapult can make a horse very thirsty. Then I had a great idea. I’d climb on while he was busy drinking.

She looked at me with sympathy and commented in her usual positive manner, “Well, thank goodness you got here, Julia! The show just couldn’t go on without you!” Grateful

I also quickly came to appreciate the importance of watching what’s said around clients. When clients make unexpected requests for legal advice – as they often do – I learned that it was better to tell them I’d get back to them with an answer, and go away, research the question, and consult with a supervising attorney, rather than firing back an answer off-the-cuff. A friend of mine at another firm told me a story that illustrates the risks of saying too much. It seems an insurance company had engaged my friend’s California-based firm to help in defending against an environmental claim. This claim entailed reviewing huge volumes of documents in Arizona. So my friend’s firm sent teams of associates to Arizona, all expenses paid, on a weekly basis. Because the insurance company also sent its own lawyers and paralegals, as did other insurance companies who were also defendants in the lawsuit, the document review facility was often staffed with numerous attorneys and paralegals from different firms. Associates were instructed not to discuss the case with anyone unless they knew with whom they were speaking. After several months of document review, one associate from my friend’s firm abandoned his professionalism and discretion when he began describing to a young woman who had recently arrived at the facility what boondoggles the weekly trips were. He talked at length about the free airfare, expensive meals, the easy work, and the evening partying the trips involved. As fate would have it, the young woman was a paralegal working for the insurance company – the client who was paying for all of his “perks” – and she promptly informed her superiors about his comments. Not surprisingly, the associate was fired before the end of the month. My life as an associate would have been a lot easier if I had delegated work more freely. I’ve mentioned the stress associated with delegating work, but the flip side of that was appreciating the importance of asking others for help rather than doing everything myself. I found that by delegating to paralegals and other staff members some of my more tedious assignments, I was free to do more interesting work. I also wish I’d given myself greater latitude to make mistakes. As high achievers, law students often put enormous stress on themselves to be perfect, and I was no different. But as a new lawyer, I, of course, made mistakes; that’s the inevitable result of inexperience. Rather than expect perfection and be inevitably disappointed, I’d have been better off to let myself be tripped up by inexperience – and focus, instead, on reducing mistakes caused by carelessness. Finally, I tried to rely more on other associates within the firm for advice on assignments and office politics. When I learned to do this, I found that these insights gave me either the assurance that I was using the right approach, or guidance as to what the right approach might be. It didn’t take me long to realize that getting the “inside scoop” on firm politics was crucial to my own political survival. Once I figured this out, I made sure I not only exchanged information with other junior associates, but I also went out of my way to gather key insights from mid-level and senior associates, who typically knew more about the latest political maneuverings and happenings. Such information enabled me to better understand the various personal agendas directing work flow and office decisions and, in turn, to better position myself with respect to issues and cases circulating in the office.

World is not complex, Intricacy is not in the situations. Intricacy is in our minds.

Never in my life have I ever been so insulted; the cabman, who was a rough bully and to my thinking not sober, called me every name he could lay his tongue to, and positively seized me by the beard, which he pulled till the tears came into my eyes.  I took the number of a policeman (who witnessed the assault) for not taking the man in charge.  The policeman said he couldn’t interfere, that he had seen no assault, and that people should not ride in cabs without money.

This manga has a positive outlook on life, and so it has been made with as much realism removed as possible.

Memories of war are strangely positive, because to have them you must have survived.

Because Vard has been appointed the position by Lionel - who is the King whether we like it or not. And that means the chamber is his to use until you and Tory can dethrone him.” “And this Vard dude is as powerful as you?” I questioned, my gut knotting with anxiety at the thought of that because if that was the case then I didn’t know how we would ever be able to strike at Lionel without him knowing we were coming. “No fucking way, he’s not as powerful as me. But with the use of the chamber, he’ll be able to see more than we’d like. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that I’m watching everyone carefully though. He won’t get around me.” “So has Lionel taken the diary?” Seth asked, his own panic clear. We’d been pinning our hopes on that diary. What were we going to do without it? “No, it seems it is still in Lance’s possession, but I don’t know the details. The shadows conceal Lionel’s plans to me because he is with Clara so much, but I’ve seen enough to know that we’ll be safe to visit Lance and that he may have some answers for us.

DOJ is in a curious position. They demand states not enforce federal immigration laws, refuse to address cities and states contravening federal drug laws, but insist any federal gun laws be stringently enforced. Lady Justice, with her scales, is supposed to be blindfolded, not bipolar.

Are you jackasses going to let me finish or no?” “Fine, go,” Nazem says, waving his hand in permission. “We get a pet tiger. A nameless pet tiger.” I snicker under my breath. “Anyway,” Beckett continues, “this tiger is great. Round the clock protection, top-notch wingman because all the chicks want to rub his ears or whatever. Basically, he’s a net positive in your life.” “But…?” Shane asks, because there’s always a but in these things. “But for three hours every day, you have to hear him bitch,” Beckett finishes. “About what?” Rand asks curiously, pulling his jersey over his chest protector. “About everything. I’m talking the most mundane, trivial, petty stuff.” Beckett nods. “Basically, for three hours every day, he turns into Micah’s girlfriend.

THE TEN STEPS TO BUILDING A COMPANY CULTURE 1. Define the company’s core values and align them with aspects such as mission, vision, principles or purpose to create a solid foundation for the organisation. 2. Integrate the desired culture into every aspect of the company, including hiring policies, processes and procedures across all departments and functions. 3. Agree upon expected behaviours and standards for all team members, promoting a positive work environment. 4. Establish a purpose that goes beyond the company’s commercial goals, fostering a deeper connection for employees. 5. Use myths, stories, company-specific vocabulary and legends, along with symbols and habits, to reinforce the company culture and embed it in the collective consciousness. 6. Develop a unique identity as a group and cultivate a sense of exclusivity and pride within the team. 7. Create an atmosphere that celebrates achievements, progress, and living the company culture, boosting motivation and pride. 8. Encourage camaraderie, community and a sense of belonging among team members, encourage mutual dependence and a collective sense of obligation, reinforcing the interconnected nature of the team. 9. Remove barriers and enable employees to express themselves authentically and embrace their individuality within the organisation. 10. Emphasise the unique qualities and contributions of both employees and the collective, positioning them as distinct and exceptional.

When the sun came up fully, the ice field began to glow in mauves and corals, a breathtaking sight. There was one iceberg with a double peak about two hundred feet high. To Lucy Duff Gordon the illuminated bergs looked like giant opals, and May Futrelle noted how they glistened like rock quartz, though one of them, she thought, was doubtless the murderer. The scene reminded Hugh Woolner of photographs of an Antarctic expedition. Seven-year-old Douglas Spedden raised a few smiles in Boat 3 by exclaiming to his nurse, “Oh Muddie, look at the beautiful North Pole with no Santa Claus on it!” Daisy Spedden recorded in her diary that as their boat was rowed toward rescue, “the tragedy of the situation sank deep into our hearts as we saw the Carpathia standing amidst the few bits of wreckage with the pitifully small number of lifeboats coming up to her from different directions.” After racing through the night to the Titanic’s distress position, the Carpathia had spotted Fourth Officer Boxhall’s green flares and had headed for them. “Shut down your engines and take us aboard,” Boxhall shouted up as the Carpathia drew alongside Boat 2 at 4:10 a.m. “I have only one sailor,” he added, as the boat tossed on the choppy swells. “All right,” came back the voice of the Carpathia’s captain, Arthur Rostron.

My body was quiet after the orgy. I felt power; I felt I was taking revenge. I was inflicting pain, being unfaithful, desecrating all the delicacies in Bill and in myself. Wilson, who has big needs, needed me, wanted all I could give, wanted me for a wife, a collaborator, a mistress, one to enjoy power with, his two houses, his position of power, his last ten years of achievement, but I starve him, elude him. He telephones. I inflict the suffering on him that was inflicted on me by another, but only because I do not love. So it must mean that those who behaved as I do now do not love.

Pray like an artist. Hold the image of your desire in your heart, and say the right words.

Our main danger lies in being drawn into Belgium for political reasons to support the Belgians, instead of holding positions we have been preparing.

This was you. It all adds up now. You invited me to the pub, and she was waiting there. She moved in after you plied me with whisky, after you gave me the card for the PI. And then my drink was spiked. You fucking set me up. Ahmed Waheed was probably never in line for the COO position

SRT Once again, I hope you are filling in your sleep diary and that if you are doing SRT, your sleep efficiency is back up to near 85%, despite the fact that you are now spending more time in bed. If it is, reward yourself with another 20 minutes in bed. By now you should definitely be seeing improvements in the quality of your sleep, and you will be finding it easier to fall asleep and stay asleep. You should be feeling less tired during the day, which in turn will motivate you to do more of the exercises that I have been recommending. As I have said, most people will find that four weeks of SRT is enough to mend their sleep problems, although you can continue for up to eight – it very much depends on how you are getting on. Looking after your Old Friends If you have been eating meals from the recipe section in this book, I would also expect your gut microbiome to have changed radically, and for the better. Your levels of “good” bacteria should have increased, reducing inflammation and making you feel more cheerful, while the “bad” ones, that cause inflammation, will have been displaced. So keep munching those legumes! Remember that quite apart from the positive impact that these foods have on your sleep, they will also help cut your risk of type 2 diabetes, heart disease and dementia. Treat this way of eating as a way of life, not just a quick fix when it comes to improving your sleep. Eating for better health and weight loss As we have seen, if you are overweight

Close the circle!” yelled Devlin. Jake the gladiator ran over to our injured teammate. “Are you okay?!” Luigio replied weakly, “It hurts… it hurts so much.” “Move him to the middle,” commanded the knight-captain, “and tighten the formation.” “We’re no match for these thieves,” said Lendro. “We’re just guards!” “It’s okay, we’ll work together. We’ll protect you,” said Arthur. “Yeah, we got your back,” said Pierce. Then Devlin commanded, “Alternate our classes for the positions of the defensive circle. I want the positions to be knight, guard, knight, guard.” “Yes, sir. Understood,” replied the knights. The guards and knights got into the new formation. Our defensive power was spread across the circle much more evenly now. “Good job, everyone. Work together and protect each other,” said Devlin. “Yes, sir,” the knights and guards replied. Jake ran up to Devlin. “I want to join the circle. I want to help defend.” “Sorry, my friend. I can’t use you for the circle because you don’t have a shield,” replied the knight-captain. “What am I supposed to do then?” “Stay in the middle and take care of our wounded.” “But I want to he—” Right at that moment, Jake heard a grass block behind him crumble away. Both Devlin and Jake turned back to see what happened. Shadow yelled, “They’re coming from the ground!” Immediately, Jake rushed over to the hole. Right when he reached the hole, he saw an enemy rogue pop his head up. The gladiator jumped in the air and as he descended, he pointed his iron sword downward toward the hole. His attack struck the rogue right between the shoulder and neck.

This was supposed to be mine. Labden guaranteed me the COO position for the new resort when it comes online. I’ve put my heart and sweat into this company for years. TerraWest has traded on my name, my Olympic fame, my gold medals, for God’s sake. I’m married to the founder’s daughter.

It’s about political correctness. Give the brown boy the top job because he’s brown. We all know it. It has nothing to do with experience and suitability for the position.

the room to help me. I call her Mrs. Absolutely Positive because she always sees the positive side of things.

The words that you speak are just as important as the thoughts in your mind, Millie,” is what I had said to her only recently. “Keep your words and thoughts positive, because whatever you think about and talk about is what will come into your life!

Crushes thrive in small spaces. Humans must be programmed to respond positively when faced with a small sampling of other humans in, say, caves. You’re stuck in a cave with three other people—all mankind, presumably, was hidden away in such tiny groups during the winters until the thaw—and so, in order for the species to thrive, you must biologically be compelled to fuck at least one person in your cave, despite the fact that, when surrounded by a plenitude of Neanderthals at the Neanderthal summer barbecue, none of them struck your fancy. Without the element of choice, and in conjunction with captivity, you find love, or at least you find lust.

sort by ↑ top up position down ↓ bottom “Remember the importance of compounding tiny, happy moments and knowing their true weight over a lifetime because it's the key to unlocking your dreams. You will then discover longevity of life and be filled with grace and authenticity.

How wrong they are, these Potentates, to go out like this without dignity, without anything to distinguish them,’ wrote Anna Eynard in her diary, ‘for it is then that one sees them as men just like any others, and even as less, for they have been placed in the position of being able to achieve more.

Finally, it was our turn and my stomach churned with anxiety and nerves. As we raced out onto the stage to form our positions before the curtain went up, Sara turned to me and said, “Break a leg, Julia!” “What?” I frowned. “That’s for good luck,” she smirked and then faced the audience whose applause was deafening once again. We lunged into our routine, with Sara in the front row, doing the somersaults that she was so good at and as usual, her precision and timing were excellent. The applause erupted again and with a flick of her long ponytail, she executed a very tricky interchange with Alex and then moved to the back. Alex attacked his moves with his usual gusto and the sharp, expressive movements which made him the stand out hip-hop dancer that he was. I felt a rush of pride at being a part of such a cool routine but just as I moved to the front position, I felt my leg give way under me. It was a completely involuntary reaction and one I was powerless to prevent. I was supposed to kneel down and support the weight of one of the smaller girls on my bent knee but unfortunately, it was the leg that I had injured that morning. There was no way I could bear her weight and the sharp pain caused my knee to drop just as Abbie pressed down on it to raise herself into the air. With a gasp from the audience, she went tumbling to the ground. Bright red with embarrassment, she glared at me in horror and all I could do was help her up and try to resume the timing and movements of the routine going on around us. Fortunately, Abbie had no trouble getting back into rhythm, but I just seemed to lose my place and was not able to recover. As if in slow motion, I felt myself limping around the stage after the others and then looking down, I realized that blood was oozing from my leg and onto the floor. I tried to ignore it and focus on the moves that I knew so well, but I was simply unable to get it together. Gratefully, Millie took over my spot and I moved once again to the back row, trying to camouflage myself amongst the others. The scene around me was almost surreal and I felt as though I were a spectator watching the event unfold from afar. The swirling, twisting and turning of the dancers in front of me, along with the steady thumping beat of the latest hip-hop song that everyone knew so well, all seemed to mesh together into a whirlpool of crazy colors and sounds. Then, feeling a slight nudge in my lower back, I was pushed towards the front of the stage. An instant flash of recall had me leaping into the air. Everyone still considered this moment the highlight of our routine. It was the grand finale and my chance to relinquish my status as actually being a decent dancer and choreographer. Flinging my arms and legs forward, I came down onto the stage, one foot at a time. Then reminiscent of that morning’s episode in the school driveway, rather than gripping onto the stage in a final dramatic stomp, my foot slid forward and just kept on going until my whole body landed horizontally on the floor with a loud bang. In a blur of dizziness, I sat up and looked around then saw that I had slipped on a pool of blood; blood that had oozed from the gash in my knee and onto the stage. At that very moment, I was overcome with a sudden rush of nausea and unable to stop the sudden convulsion, I vomited all over the floor in front of me. Too terrified to open my eyes, I wished I could turn back the clock. Back to the day of our dress rehearsal when everything had gone so smoothly. My final leap had been the high point of the day, where even Miss Sheldon and also Alex our expert hip hop dancer, had congratulated me on my performance. I dared to glance fearfully out into the audience. Everyone appeared aghast and I could see the shocked expressions of my mom and dad. Then, realizing I was surrounded by worried faces peering down at me, everything suddenly went black.

Most of the lunchtime involves me dealing with my classmates and their funny comments about me falling asleep in class. This may take a long time to live down. The rest of the day passes quickly and I happily escape school to rush home. Home! My mom, whom I call Mrs. Absolutely Positive, greets me as I enter the lounge room. “I bet you had a marvelous day at school, another fulfilling step on your life of learning,” she gushes. Now you know where her nickname came from! She means well but her constant positiveness sometimes collides with my reality of being an almost cool girl.

Perhaps my distracted state had caused me to glance out the nearby window. I’m really not sure what drew my attention that way but the street lamp that stood in a prime position almost dead center in front of our house, cast a bright glow onto the road as well as the pavement surrounding it. And in the midst of that shining light was a lone figure, one that definitely seemed out of place. Of course it was not unusual to see people walking by during the early evening. Some of our neighbors walked their dogs at night, and there was also the occasional jogger who would pass by, taking the chance to fit in an evening run before dinner. However, something about the hesitant movement of the person on the street outside, caught my attention. And when I realized that he had paused to stand stock still and was looking directly towards our house, I was filled with sudden concern. Moving towards the edge of the window frame, I peered cautiously out, wondering who he was and what he was doing. In the spot where I stood, partly hidden by the curtain that hung at the side of the window, I was able to get a clear view. And when the boy’s face came into focus, I recognized him immediately. With a frightened gasp, I quickly grabbed hold of the thick curtain and pulled it roughly across, blocking any view of the street beyond. I could feel the beat of my racing pulse. Perhaps I was mistaken, but I didn’t dare risk another peek. And returning to my seat on the couch, I tried to ignore the uneasy sensation that had taken over.

The gladiator landed in the dirt and rolled for several more blocks before coming to a stop. Rex ran over to Autumn’s body and started counting down. “10… 9… 8…” Jasmine stood far away as she watched her rival’s motionless body. “7… 6… 5…” Finally, Autumn lifted her head. She looked up at Rex, who was counting loudly in her ear. “4… 3…” The gladiator got up to her hands and knees. “2… 1…” She got up to a one knee kneeling position, but it wasn’t enough.

Blast at close range. Ugh! Autumn flipped and turned through the air as she was pushed away by the powerful force. “OH! I think this fight is over, folks! No one can withstand such a powerful attack at close range!” yelled Rex. The gladiator landed in the dirt and rolled for several more blocks before coming to a stop. Rex ran over to Autumn’s body and started counting down. “10… 9… 8…” Jasmine stood far away as she watched her rival’s motionless body. “7… 6… 5…” Finally, Autumn lifted her head. She looked up at Rex, who was counting loudly in her ear. “4… 3…” The gladiator got up to her hands and knees. “2… 1…” She got up to a one knee kneeling position, but it wasn’t enough. “0!” yelled Rex. “That’s it, folks! This fight is over! And what a fight it was!” “I told you it was over…” said the fierce monk. Autumn fell back and sat on the dirt. “Jasmine has won the match! Wowee! That was intense!” announced Rex. The audience cheered and clapped for the both of them. “Whoa… that match was insane,” I said to Bob. “Yeah, I know… but it’s kind of weird to watch them fight so hard just for the glory of it,” Bob said. I nodded. “They’re both really competitive, I guess.” With that said, we both continued watching as Rex ran over to Jasmine and asked, “So, how does it feel to be the winner?” “Great…” she replied simply. “And Autumn, how do you feel?” Rex asked. “Ugh… how do you think I feel?” the gladiator replied. “Okay, then!” Rex continued making announcements about the fight. Meanwhile, Jasmine looked over at Autumn and said, “Hey… good fight.” “Yeah… good fight...” Then Jasmine walked over to the sitting gladiator, and they both bumped fists. Rex returned to Jasmine, grabbed her hand and raised it up in the air. “The winner of today’s last match! Let’s give it up for Jasmine the monk!” “Autumn! Are you okay?!” yelled Arthur as everyone around him cheered and clapped. “Also, please give it up for Autumn for putting up an amazing fight!” yelled Rex. The audience cheered just as loudly as before. Bob and I clapped as we watched medical personnel rush in to take care of the two combatants. “Man, I’m not sure that was worth it,” I said. “For some, it might be,” said Bob. “Yeah, I guess there are people who love glory more than their own wellbeing.” Bob nodded. “Come on, let’s go in and check up on the two of them.” “Are we allowed in there?” “Well, we’re basically in the fighting area already.” “Yeah, we got some front row seats, huh?” I nodded, and then we went in toward the center. “How are you feeling, Autumn?” I asked as I rolled up to the medics working on the gladiator. “I’m alright… but I can’t believe I lost…” Autumn said softly. “It’s okay, it was quite a fight,” I said, trying to comfort her. “I’m sorry that I let you down, Steve…” “Huh? What? You didn’t let me down.” “By losing, I let down gladiators everywhere.” I shook my head. “Nah, don’t be too hard on yourself, Autumn.” She just looked down at the ground. “Plus, I’m sure you’ve won if you had taken that Blood Lust potion earlier, instead of saving it for later.” “You think so?” Autumn said as she looked up. “Yeah, you took quite a beating in the beginning. If you were Blood Lusted from the get-go, you could’ve avoided most of that damage,” I explained. “Ah, yeah, huh?” “Speaking of the potion, how did you get one, anyway?” “I put in a special order at Paul’s Potions Shop. It took like a month to get made.” Bob nodded. “Yeah, they’re super busy over there.” “Ah, so Cindy brewed it for you, huh?” I said. “I guess she’s the only one who would know the recipe. Anyway, you really surprised me with that Blood Lust potion.” “Heh… my secret weapon…” Autumn said. “And I thought that I wouldn’t even need it.” “Who knew monks were such fierce fighters,” Bob said.

FOR SIX MONTHS in the winter, spring, and summer of 1919, Paris was the center of the world. The Great War had ended. The victorious Great Powers—Britain, France, Italy, and the United States—were redrawing much of the world’s map, “as if they were dividing cake,” one diplomat noted in his diary. The city’s streets teemed with petitioners from nearly everywhere on earth, eager to enhance their own position in the final settlement: Africans, Armenians, Bessarabians, Irishmen, Koreans, Kurds, Poles, Ukrainians, Palestinians, Zionists, and desert Arabs in flowing white robes all elbowed their way past French war widows dressed in black. The British diplomat Harold Nicolson compared the colorful scene to “a riot in a parrot house.

in reality the positive resonance was not as universal as the Security Service suggested. Some Germans expressed unease and sympathy with the victims. “The majority of the people are not happy about the new ordinance,” the journalist and Hitler opponent Ruth Andreas-Friedrich wrote in her diary about the reaction in Berlin.154 In Breslau, Cohn, who like all Jews had to summon his courage every time he went out on the street to buy something, wrote that the Yellow Star was “more of an embarrassment to the ethnic-popular comrades than to us.”155 Ulrich von Hassell observed a scene that does not seem to have been unique: “On the train, a humongous labourer said to a poor old Jewish woman, ‘Come on, my little shooting star, have a seat.’ When someone complained, he growled, ‘I can do whatever I like with my behind!

Nobody grins more on their first day on the dev team than someone from QA. Contrary to what people believe, QA people don’t sit around playing games all day. Although they’re the first people to see new titles, one can’t describe their day-to-day routine as fun. It takes meticulous effort to write and verify bug reports. Developers fix bugs at their own pace, after which it becomes QA’s responsibility to test and verify whether the proper adjustment has been made. Some bugs are trivial or are duplicates of others; some are fiendishly difficult to solve and take months or even years to address. Other entries aren’t even bugs and are dubbed “working as intended.” When a problem is discovered by QA, it has to be verified by senior QA staff members. Josh Kurtz described nightmarish experiences he had isolating a bug that occurred whenever a player attacked a monster in Diablo II’s expansion. To eliminate the possibility that a weapon was the culprit of the bug, Josh had to attack a dummy monster using every weapon in the game, a process that took hours. Tasks like these might be split among QA people or sometimes they fell to just one unfortunate soul to sort out. After every weapon was checked, Josh reported the results. The programmers or designers would change something, and Josh would then have to retest every weapon and report results again. The developers would change something else, and Josh would need to test everything again to make sure the bug hadn’t reactivated. And again. After doing something like this repetitively for hours, for days, for weeks, and sometimes for months, QA drudgery feels less like being in a computer game company and more like a psychological experiment. These entry-level positions are minimum-wage jobs, but people endure the experience just for a chance at getting a development position, becoming a QA lead, or attaining some other non-developer position. But everyone’s goal is the same: escape from QA.

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.