Do Do Hee Quotes

I'm Chase." he said. "Kind of an ironic name for a werewolf." The observation slipped easily off my tongue. The boy didn't blink. In fact, I was beginning to doubt that he'd blink once since I'd come into the room. "Werewolves do a lot of chasing." I explained. "And your name is Chase. Hee.

What do I wish for? I want to love and be loved. Without suspicion, and with ease.

ENTER THIS DESERTED HOUSE But please walk softly as you do. Frogs dwell here and crickets too. Ain't no ceiling, only blue Jays dwell here and sunbeams too. Floors are flowers - take a few. Ferns grow here and daisies too. Whoosh, swoosh - too-whit, too-woo, Bats dwell here and hoot owls too. Ha-ha-ha,hee-hee,hoo-hoooo, Gnomes dwell here and goblins too. And my child, I thought you knew I dwell here...and so do you.

Once there was a boy,” said Jace. Clary interrupted immediately. “A Shadowhunter boy?” “Of course.” For a moment a bleak amusement colored his voice. Then it was gone. “When the boy was six years old, his father gave him a falcon to train. Falcons are raptors – killing birds, his father told him, the Shadowhunters of the sky. “The falcon didn’t like the boy, and the boy didn’t like it, either. Its sharp beak made him nervous, and its bright eyes always seemed to be watching him. It would slash at him with beak and talons when he came near: For weeks his wrists and hands were always bleeding. He didn’t know it, but his father had selected a falcon that had lived in the wild for over a year, and thus was nearly impossible to tame. But the boy tried, because his father told him to make the falcon obedient, and he wanted to please his father. “He stayed with the falcon constantly, keeping it awake by talking to it and even playing music to it, because a tired bird was meant to be easier to tame. He learned the equipment: the jesses, the hood, the brail, the leash that bound the bird to his wrist. He was meant to keep the falcon blind, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it – instead he tried to sit where the bird could see him as he touched and stroked its wings, willing it to trust him. Hee fed it from his hand, and at first it would not eat. Later it ate so savagely that its beak cut the skin of his palm. But the boy was glad, because it was progress, and because he wanted the bird to know him, even if the bird had to consume his blood to make that happen. “He began to see that the falcon was beautiful, that its slim wings were built for the speed of flight, that it was strong and swift, fierce and gentle. When it dived to the ground, it moved like likght. When it learned to circle and come to his wrist, he neary shouted with delight Sometimes the bird would hope to his shoulder and put its beak in his hair. He knew his falcon loved him, and when he was certain it was not just tamed but perfectly tamed, he went to his father and showed him what he had done, expecting him to be proud. “Instead his father took the bird, now tame and trusting, in his hands and broke its neck. ‘I told you to make it obedient,’ his father said, and dropped the falcon’s lifeless body to the ground. ‘Instead, you taught it to love you. Falcons are not meant to be loving pets: They are fierce and wild, savage and cruel. This bird was not tamed; it was broken.’ “Later, when his father left him, the boy cried over his pet, until eventually his father sent a servant to take the body of the bird away and bury it. The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he’d learned: that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed.

It finally occurred to me that to expect someone to always be a certain way or consistently do a certain thing can be a huge burden on them.

Sissy: You really don't believe in political solutions do you? The Chink: I believe in political solutions to political problems. But man's primary problems aren't political; they're philosophical. Until humans can solve their philosophical problems, they're condemned to solve their political problems over and over and over again. It's a cruel, repetitious bore. Sissy: Well, then, what are the philosophical solutions? The Chink: Ha ha ho ho and hee hee. That's for you to find out. I'll say this much and no more: there's got to be poetry. And magic. At every level. If civilization is ever going to be anything but a grandiose pratfall, anything more than a can of deodorizer in the shithouse of existence, then statesmen are going to have to concern themselves with magic and poetry. Bankers are going to have to concern themselves with magic and poetry. Time magazine is going to have to write about magic and poetry. Factory workers and housewives are going to have to get their lives entangled in magic and poetry. Sissy: Do you think such a thing can ever happen? The Chink: If you understood poetry and magic, you'd know that it doesn't matter.

What I need to practice from now on is to stop trapping myself in the same formula of, 'This is what I have to be doing,' and to simply acknowledge the fact that I am an independent individual.

I can do well today, or not. It’ll be an experience either way.

Being imperfect is all right and being awkward is okay. You don’t have to cheer up. I can do well today, or not. It’ll be an experience either way. And that’s fine.

I'm going to go where my heart takes me, even if it's a messy road.

I want to own my own life. To do everything I want to do, so I don’t live a life of regret.

Sometimes the best thing to do with people who would never listen to you in the first place is to avoid them altogether. To right every wrong you come across in the world would be an impossible endeavour for any one person. You’re just one person, and you’re putting too much of the weight of the world on yourself.

Hello there dandelions, fuck off! Chop go the heads with a cut of the stick excuse me just what do you think you're doing clip clip chop chop aaargh! what the fuck is going on where's our heads? Hee-yup!, I said and away again.

Sometimes the best thing to do with people who would never listen to you in the first place is to avoid them altogether.

At the Lamaze class, they had me hold a block of ice for a full minute to stimulate labor pain, saying "Hee-haw, hee-haw," and doing my breathing excercises. They made the husbands try it first. Your father made it through the whole minute. The vision of him shouting "Hee-haw," cross-eyed with pain, was singular. The first really great laugh I've had in weeks.

I consider my public persona as the cover for what is underneath, a membrane no light can seep through. The inner thoughts that do not make it through the membrane fester inside of me. Which is why my thoughts are never clean, and it's hard to find a good thought in my inner rot.

Sometimes, this directive to cheer up and buck up is like poison that rots one’s soul. Note that the bestselling self-help books and essay collections of the past ten years aren’t about whipping yourself, they’re about healing and consolation. Being imperfect is all right and being awkward is okay. You don’t have to cheer up. I can do well today, or not. It’ll be an experience either way. And that’s fine.

When you have been whispering for hours the mere sound of anyone talking out loud has a wonderfully stirring effect. The whole party began talking and laughing: even Puzzle lifted up his head and gave a grand Haw-hee-haw-hee-hee; a thing the Ape hadn’t allowed him to do for days.

(Jen gets completely sloshed and it's not her wedding) I was supposed to meet Carol and her family at the aquarium the next morning, and somehow had the presence of mind to leave a voicemail apologizing in advance for not being able to make it. I was please at myself for being so responsible and considerate. After I left the message, I blissfully headed off to bed, wearing a face full of makeup, all my grown up jewelry, and a relatively restrictive girdle. Suffice it to say, yesterday was rough, what with my apartment spinning and all. But today I felt better. That is, until Carol played me the voice mail I left for her at 1:03 AM. Somehow I thought I had been able to hold it together on the phone. Following is a transcript of the message I left: 30 seconds of heavy breathing, giggling, and intermittent hiccups (At first Carol thought it was a 911 call.) Oh, heeheehee, I waassshh wayyyting for a beep. But noooooo beeeeeeep. Why don't you hash a beep on your, your, ummmmmm...celery phone? Noooooo beeeeeeep, hic, heeheeeheee. Um, hiiiiii, itsch JEENNNNNNNN!! It's thirteen o'clock in the peeeeeee eeeemmmmmmm. Heeeeeeeellllllllllloooooooo! I went to my wedding tonight and it wash sooooo niiiiiiiiiice. Hic." More giggling and the sound of a phone being dropped and retrieved Nannyway, I am calling to telllll you noooooooooo fishies tomorry...no fishies for meeee! I hic, heeeee, can't smake it to the quariyummm. Maybeeee you can call me so I can say HIIIIIIIIIIIIIII later hich in the day hee hee hee. Call me at, um, 312, ummmmmmm, 312, uummmmm, hee hee hee I can't member my phone, Hic. Do you know my number? Can you call me and tell me what it isssch? I LIKESH TURKEY SAMMICHES! 10 seconds of chewing, giggling, and what may be gobbling sounds Okay, GGGGGGGGooooooodniiiiiiiiiggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhttttt! No fish! Um, how do I turn this tthing off? Shhhhh, callllls' over. Beeee quiiiiiiietttt, hee hee hee." 15 more seconds of giggles, hiccups, shushing, and a great deal of banging Perhaps this is why most people only have one wedding?

Ya writin’ a book? Hey great. Need some help? Want some of my quips? Hey, we could do it together. We’d quip ’em to death. Give ’em quiplash hee hee hee.

Sometimes the best thing to do with people who never listen to you in the first place is to avoid them altogether.

What do I wish for? I want to love and be loved. Without suspicion, and with ease. That's it.

Your high school grades do not determine the rest of your life.

Me: How do I get out of this rut? Psychiatrist: Do you think it can be forced?

I’ve also realised that revealing my darkness is just as natural a thing to do as revealing my light.

But just as a person who is dropped into a dark well must make a circle in order to determine they are inside a well, I am sure my continued attempts to be better will take shape into something resembling an octagon, or even a dodecahedron, and maybe one day a circle. I was told that my accumulated mistakes will create a stronger sense of self, that I was doing just fine, that I was perfectly capable of looking at the other side of the coin, but the coin just happens to be a little heavy, that's all.

Just do your breathing exercises." He leans over the backseat and grabs my hand. "Come on. That's it. Hoo-hoo-hoo, hee-hee-hee. Hoo-hoo-hoo...' 'Keep that up,' I warn him, wincing around another contraction, 'and I'm going to hit you right in your "hoo-hoo

Mr Big looked across at Bond. "Which finger do you use the least, Mister Bond ?" Bond was startled by the question. His mind raced. "On reflection, I expect you will say the little finger of the left hand," continued the voice. "Tee-Hee, break the little finger of Mister Bond's left hand.

I thought about why I am overly polite to people who are not important to me. It’s because they can hate me at any time. Because they can judge me and resent me for the smallest things I do. Meanwhile, because the people who love me already love me, and there’s a low chance they’ll start to hate me, I get snappy with them.

It was also revealed that the reason I am cruel to others is because I have low-self-esteem. Because I don’t love myself, I am unable to understand those who do love me in spite of it all, and so I test them. “You love me even when I do this? Or this? Or this?” Even when the other person forgives me, I am unable to understand their forgiveness, and when they give up on me, I torture and console myself with the “fact” that no one could ever love me. That goddamn self-esteem. [...] Looking more closely at myself, there are parts that I've improved on. I still remain someone who is unable to love herself. But as I had that thought, I had another: light and darkness are part of the same thing. Happiness and unhappiness alternate throughout life, as in a dance. So as long as I keep going and don’t give up, surely I will keep having moments of tears and laughter. This book, therefore, ends not with answers but with a wish. I want to love and be loved. I want to find a way where I don’t hurt myself. I want to live a life where I say things are good more than things are bad. I want to keep failing and discovering new and better directions. I want to enjoy the tides of feeling in me as the rhythms of life. I want to be the kind of person who can walk inside the vast darkness and find the one fragment of sunlight I can linger in for a long time. Some day, I will.

Me: What should I do to know myself? Psychiatrist: Many people think they’re the foremost authority on themselves, but you should be more sceptical. You’ve got to ask yourself, ‘Do I really know myself well?’ Isn’t it really like touching an elephant’s leg in the dark and thinking it’s a tree trunk? Me: What should I be aiming for? Psychiatrist: To see all things three-dimensionally. Me: You’re right, so right. I think when you look at as many sides of a person as possible, you stop disliking them. I’ve thought about how I should be more like that.

You put a lot of stock in what other people think. It’s because your satisfaction with yourself is so low. But your life is your life, your body is your body – and you have responsibility over it. Right now, you don’t process the input that comes to you through a mechanism of rationality or mediation, you go straight to the extreme. Self-surveillance isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but there is so much you can do with the input, such as rationalising or finding a different way to think about things – but you only do one thing with it. There can be so many reasons for something, but you’re so focused on the result of it that you don’t see the reasons. You keep focusing on, I’m sad, I want to cry, I’m angry, which only amplifies these emotions.

How long will a man lie i’th earth ere he rot ? Clow. Fayth if a be not rotten before a die, as we haue many pockie corſes, that will ſcarce hold the laying in, a will laſt you ſom eyght yeere, or nine yeere. A Tanner will laſt you nine yeere. Ham. Why he more then another ? Clow. Why ſir, his hide is ſo tand with his trade, that a will keepe out water a great while ; & your water is a ſore decayer of your whorſon dead body, heer's a ſcull now hath lyen you i'th earth 23. yeeres. Ham. Whoſe was it ? Clow. A whorſon mad fellowes it was, whoſe do you think it was ? Ham. Nay I know not. Clow. A peſtilence on him for a madde rogue, a pourd a flagon of Reniſh on my head once ; this ſame skull ſir, was ſir Yoricks skull, the Kings Iester. Ham. This ? Clow. Een that. Ham. Alas poore Yorick, I knew him Horatio, a fellow of infinite ieſt, of moſt excellent fancie, hee hath bore me on his backe a thouſand times, and now how abhorred in my imagination it is: my gorge riſes at it. Heere hung thoſe lyppes that I haue kiſt I know not howe oft, where be your gibes now ? your gamboles, your ſongs, your flaſhes of merriment, that were wont to ſet the table on a roare, not one now to mocke your owne grinning, quite chapfalne. Now get you to my Ladies table, & tell her, let her paint an inch thicke, to this favour ſhe must come, make her laugh at that. Hora. What's that my Lord ? Ham. Dooſt thou thinke Alexander lookt a this faſhion i'th earth ? Hora. Een ſo. Ham. And ſmelt ſo pah. Hora. Een ſo my Lord. Ham. To what baſe vſes wee may returne Horatio ? Why may not imagination trace the noble duſt of Alexander, till a find it ſtopping a bunghole ? Hor. Twere to conſider too curiouſly to confider ſo. Ham. No faith, not a iot, but to follow him thether with modeſty enough, and likelyhood to leade it. Alexander dyed, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to duſt, the duſt is earth , of earth vvee make Lome & why of that Lome whereto he was conuerted, might they not ſtoppe a Beare-barrell ? Imperious Ceſar dead, and turn'd to Clay, Might ſtoppe a hole, to keepe the wind away. O that that earth which kept the world in awe, Should patch a wall t'expell the waters flaw. But ſoft, but ſoft awhile, here comes the King, The Queen, the Courtiers, who is this they follow? And with ſuch maimed rites ? this doth betoken, The corſe they follow, did with deſprat hand Foredoo it owne life, twas of ſome eſtate, Couch we a while and marke.

What a wonderful crunch! And yet the char's meat was still hot and deliciously juicy! The breading perfectly contained inside its protective shell the savory flavor of the fish! The Kaki no Tane Crackers came already seasoned... ... so the breading itself had a solid, delicious taste. And the dipping sauce is perfect! The Ki no Me mixed with Tamago no Moto is wonderfully light and fluffy!" *Ki no Me: The young leaves of the Japanese pepper plant. Clapping one in your palm crushes the leaf's cells, releasing a distinctive scent.* TAMAGO NO MOTO. Mayonnaise without the vinegar, it is simply egg yolks and vegetable oil whisked into a creamy consistency. It's often used to bring ingredients together or to add flavor to a dish. Some salt and minced Ki no Me adds an overall refreshing taste to the fish... ... erasing any oiliness and giving it a refined flavor. "That wonderfully smooth creaminess hiding between the crispy crunchiness of the breading really spurs the appetite! The breaded and deep-fried mountain vegetables on the side cannot be ignored, either. They provide an eye-pleasing contrast when arranged side-by-side with the deep-fried fish. " "Soma, where on earth did you get the idea for this?" "In Japanese cooking, there's a type of tempura called Okakiage, right? When deep-frying things, use crushed-up Okaki Rice Crackers instead of panko to give the dish some uniqueness and kick. I made this at home once long ago with my dad. " "And that gave you the idea to use the Kaki no Tane Crackers in place of the Okaki Rice Crackers?" "Yep! I call it the Yukihira Style Okaki- YUKIHIRA STYLE OKAKI-NO-TANE-AGE CHAR!" "You just slapped the two names together!" On one hand, Takumi Aldini maintained a broad version that did not overlook potential ingredients, such as the duck. On the other, Soma Yukihira's rare ability to think outside the box... ... led him to create a dish that no one else even expected! Neither was intimidated by the time constraints or the limited ingredients. They instead focused on what they could do to create their dish. That is the spirit of a true professional! Hee hee! This is hardly the first time I've given this assignment. And students have made deep-fried items before... without breading. But he is the first one to find a way to present to me fish that is both breaded and deep-fried! The char, in season this spring... ... is snuggly wrapped in a protective shell of Kaki no Tane Cracker breading.

In opting for large scale, Korean state planners got much of what they bargained for. Korean companies today compete globally with the Americans and Japanese in highly capital-intensive sectors like semiconductors, aerospace, consumer electronics, and automobiles, where they are far ahead of most Taiwanese or Hong Kong companies. Unlike Southeast Asia, the Koreans have moved into these sectors not primarily through joint ventures where the foreign partner has provided a turnkey assembly plant but through their own indigenous organizations. So successful have the Koreans been that many Japanese companies feel relentlessly dogged by Korean competitors in areas like semiconductors and steel. The chief advantage that large-scale chaebol organizations would appear to provide is the ability of the group to enter new industries and to ramp up to efficient production quickly through the exploitation of economies of scope.70 Does this mean, then, that cultural factors like social capital and spontaneous sociability are not, in the end, all that important, since a state can intervene to fill the gap left by culture? The answer is no, for several reasons. In the first place, not every state is culturally competent to run as effective an industrial policy as Korea is. The massive subsidies and benefits handed out to Korean corporations over the years could instead have led to enormous abuse, corruption, and misallocation of investment funds. Had President Park and his economic bureaucrats been subject to political pressures to do what was expedient rather than what they believed was economically beneficial, if they had not been as export oriented, or if they had simply been more consumption oriented and corrupt, Korea today would probably look much more like the Philippines. The Korean economic and political scene was in fact closer to that of the Philippines under Syngman Rhee in the 1950s. Park Chung Hee, for all his faults, led a disciplined and spartan personal lifestyle and had a clear vision of where he wanted the country to go economically. He played favorites and tolerated a considerable degree of corruption, but all within reasonable bounds by the standards of other developing countries. He did not waste money personally and kept the business elite from putting their resources into Swiss villas and long vacations on the Riviera.71 Park was a dictator who established a nasty authoritarian political system, but as an economic leader he did much better. The same power over the economy in different hands could have led to disaster. There are other economic drawbacks to state promotion of large-scale industry. The most common critique made by market-oriented economists is that because the investment was government rather than market driven, South Korea has acquired a series of white elephant industries such as shipbuilding, petrochemicals, and heavy manufacturing. In an age that rewards downsizing and nimbleness, the Koreans have created a series of centralized and inflexible corporations that will gradually lose their low-wage competitive edge. Some cite Taiwan’s somewhat higher overall rate of economic growth in the postwar period as evidence of the superior efficiency of a smaller, more competitive industrial structure.

How long God will preserve my strength to perform as I have done of late he only knows. May I trust in him at all times and do good and hee will fullfill his promis according to my Day. May he giv me strength and may I Conduct accordingly.

Being imperfect is all right and being awkward is okay. You don't have to cheer up. I can do well today, or not. It'll be an experience either way. And that's fine.

I don’t think being considerate of others is a bad thing. It’s only a problem when you do it too much and start being obsessed with it.

It was also revealed that the reason I am cruel to others is because I have low-self-esteem. Because I don't love myself, I am unable to understand those who do love me in spite of it all, and so I test them. «You love me even when I do this? Or this? Or this?» Even when the other person forgives me, I am unable to understand their forgiveness, and when they give up on me, I torture and console myself with the "fact" that no one could ever love me. That goddamn self-esteem. [...] Looking more closely at myself, there are parts that I've improved on. I still remain someone who is unable to love herself. But as I had that thought, I had another: light and darkness are part of the same thing. Happiness and unhappiness alternate throughout life, as in a dance. So as long as I keep going and don't give up, surely I will keep having moments of tears and laughter.

Psychiatrist: I think you’re the kind of person who would ask someone who wasn’t having a hard time if they were having a hard time. Me: (I burst into tears at this point.) You mean I was just pretending to be kind all this time? Psychiatrist: You are kind. There’s nothing you can do about that.

Challenge yourself to do something you had never thought possible for you.

I was told that my accumulated mistakes will create a stronger sense of self, that I was doing just fine, that I was perfectly capable of looking at the other side of the coin, but the coin just happens to be a little heavy, that’s all.

Hee-hee-hee-who,” she breathed, only she managed to do it to the tune of Beethoven’s Fifth, and Caleb burst out laughing.

Dissatisfied with North Korea’s propaganda films, which he apparently admitted were artistically substandard, this François Truffaut of northern Asia did what any self-respecting film producer would do in that situation: in 1978, he arranged for the abduction of South Korea’s top film director, Shin Sang-ok, and his actress ex-wife, Choi Eun-hee. He had them brought to Pyongyang and forced them to make Cannes-caliber propaganda films for him. In Kim’s own mind, this howling human rights abuse was just the logical extension of his enthusiasm for his hobbies. When

Santa Singh sent his bio data to America to apply for a post in Microsoft. A few days later he got this reply:- Dear Mr. Singh, You do not meet our requirements. Please do not send any further correspondence. No phone call shall be entertained. Thanks Santa singh jumped with joy on receiving this reply. He arranged a party and when all the guests had come, he said Bhaiyon aur Behno,aap ko jaan kar khushi hogee ki mujhay america mein naukri mil gayee hai." Everyone was delighted. Santa singh continued Ab main aap sab ko apnaa appointment letter padkar sunaongaa par letter english main hai isliyen saath-saath hindi main translate bhee kartaa jaongaa. Dear Mr. Singh-----pyare singh sahab You do not meet----aap to miltay hee naheen ho our requirement----humko to zaroorat hai Please do not send any furthur correspondance----ab letter vetter bhejnay kee zaroorat nahee hai. No phone call ----phone vone kee bhee zaroorat nahee hai shall be entertained----bahut khaatir kee jayegi. Thanks----aapkaa bahut bahut shukriya

Yolshimhi hapsida ! (Yohl-sheem-hee hahp-shedah!), or “Let’s do our best!” In

You did,” said Brian. “You encouraged us to fight … because you sent your pig out to get some iron golems and bring them back here while we were fighting so that Billy would nearly get killed and I would corral everyone to save him, and because of that we would make up and realise the value of family and teamwork!” Steve paused. “Um.” Alex said, “What?” “That’s what he did!” cried Brian happily. “Isn’t it!” Billy gasped. “AND ORANGE-HAIR GIRL KNOW ABOUT IT TOO! ORANGE-HAIR GIRL HELP BILLY SEE THAT BONE BROTHERS SHOULD FIGHT TOGETHER AGAIN! BECAUSE ORANGE-HAIR GIRL KNOW DIRTY PIG GOING TO COME WITH BIG METAL MACHINE-MEN!” Now Alex said, “Um.” “That,” said Steve, “is exactly what happened. You’ve got us! That was our plan all along. We just goaded you into fighting so that all this stuff with the iron golems would happen and you would become friends again.” Brian jumped up and down. “I knew it!!” Billy grinned. “YOU CLEVER, BRIAN. AND YOU BOTH CLEVER, ORANGE-HAIR GIRL AND STUPID SMILE BOY.” “Thank you,” said Steve. Then: “Wait. ‘Stupid smile boy’?” “You’re very welcome,” said Alex. “As thanks for our, err, brilliant planning … what do the two of you think about untying us?” Brian and Billy looked at her. They looked at Steve. They looked at Porker. And then: “BWA HA HA HA HA!” “Ha hah! What a silly suggestion!” “ORANGE-HAIR GIRL THINK THEM DESERVE BE UNTIED!” “What madness! Why would we ever do that? Eh, Billy?” “HA HA! YES, WHY? THEM ONLY REPAIR OUR BOND AND BRING FAMILY TOGETHER AGAIN! DO THEM THINK THAT REALLY DESERVE THEM BE UNTIED?” “Hee-hee, yes! E-exactly,” said Brian, laughter abruptly petering out. Then Billy stopped too. “BWA HA … HA.” They frowned. They looked at each other. They looked back at Alex. They looked at Steve. They looked at Porker. (Again.) “Maybe we should free them,” said Brian quietly. “THEM DO GOOD THING FOR US,” said Billy. “IT ONLY FAIR.

Many scholars and pundits have already analyzed Park Chung-Hee’s role in South Korea’s economic development. But attention should be paid to an obvious but nonetheless very startling fact: South Korea’s per capita income expanded from $100 to $20,000 within the lifetime of most of the adults now living. This was the result of their sweat and blood, to be sure, but it could not have been accomplished without the leadership of a man who emphasized the need for the “can-do” spirit.

I've worked hard to get here. And now I make a living doing what I enjoy. I've no anxieties about whether this is the right path for me. All I want is to get better at it. That's enough for me - why did I torture myself by comparing myself to someone else? If twenty-year-old me met me today, she would cry with joy. And that's enough for me.

Instead of keeping people at arm's length or living in the anxiety of trying desperately not to be discarded after a relationship is established, try thinking more in terms of, 'Am I really compatible with this person? What do I like about them, and what do I not?

I think this is an experiment you can act on immediately in your daily life, which is another good attitude to have. When you say you're going to get a tattoo today, write down your feelings before and after getting the tattoo. Once you do that, you'll find a commonality there. 'In some ways, I feel fear. In. these other ways, I feel relief.' That kind of thing. In this way, writing can be a way of regarding yourself three-dimensionally.

When we lose our sense of hope in our own lives, we can also lose the many touchstones in our lives. We don't want to do anything, be part of anything or want to be with anyone. All of our desire for relationships disappears, and we become totally isolated.

And even when you can accept that a stranger is in the wrong and you should move on, you're still deliberately making yourself responsible for correcting their behavior. Sometimes the best thing to do with people who would never listen to you in the first place is to avoid them altogether. To right every wrong you come across in the world would be an impossible endeavor for any one person. You're just one person, and you're putting too much of the weight of the world on yourself.

If we have a habit of judging people from a simplistic perspective, that perspective will eventually turn against ourselves. But it's also all right to be angry once in a while. For example, think of a person you admire and imagine what they would do in such a situation. Wouldn't they be angry as well?...If the anser is yes, then allow yourself to be angry. I think you tend to focus too much on your ideals and pressure yourself by thinking, 'I have to be this kind of person!' Even when those ideals are, in fact, taken from someone else and not from your own thoguts and experiences

The only thing to do here is to keep trying different things, little by little, trying to understand how much change is comfortable for you and what it is you really want. Once you understand what you like and how to reduce your anxiety, you'll feel satisfaction. You'll be able to accept or reject what others say about you.

I have dreamed of ways to kill her repeatedly. Like this one, I would like to see her be impaled on a sharp wooden stick, starting through her butt hole, and then slowly have gravity have it go up into her delicious miniature body until it hits her brain, and she screams out my girl’s names, as we get what we need. I would love to see a Nevaeh- kabob! I would love to see her stoned out in the open with rocks! I would love to see my girls bite their nipples off with their teeth! I want to see my girl claw her up to head to toe. I hunger to see them scratch her sweet blue eyes that are so heavenly right out of her face! I want to see her gush that cobalt blood like a waterfall from her naked sliced-up body. Yes, I want us to torture her any way we can until she says yes to us. We are going to get at anything of hers we can until she comes with us! As we would, all dance around her, as we would light her up, cheerfully for the last time. How I would love to bleach and fry that perfect hair with chemicals. I and we all in our family want to fuck her up and down anyways we can! Mwah Ha, ha! Yes, Beforehand, we all would kiss, touch, lick, and stick her, and do what we want to get the life from her by sucking away. We would eat her soul away as it would come down from the heavens then through her body, and into ours, as we would drink it out, the way we do. Yes, yes, hell- yes, I can see it now! Yes, I want her soul! Besides, anything or everything I can get out of her to add to my shrine. We even have a voodoo doll of her with pins in it. I have a few things of hers like her hymen-damaged red blood tarnished pink polka-dotted gym underwear, and her indigo pantiliner she had on. That my girl ripped off of her in school, the more things we have the more we can control her mind, but I want more! We want more! We want and need it all! Just like the one girl Lily; I have her one hair ribbon; from Nevaeh, I have something far more personal than her underwear, and it is on display too, and that was her virginity! Who knows that she was a little cock sucker too? How do I have it, you ask? Tee- hee- Will I tell you- how! Now come to think of it, back then my idea was to drive her insane so that she will do it to herself… like she did; by not having anyone to confide in, I wanted that to kill her slowly, that was the plan. Just like I was the arranger of her first sexual partner. I told him to pound the shit out of her, and pop her cherry so hard and fast, that the next day she could not even walk; plus, bleed for many days; which is how I got what is on display… I did this so that it would take everything away from her. If my girls do not have it, then neither does she. I made the schooling system think that she has major problems, from kindergarten up through high school. I will do whatever it takes to have her fall! For the reason that I have to be triumphant! It was a promise that I made to her mother. If I cannot have her mind, body, and soul, no one can. Yeah, now I did not mind putting a bullet in her father's head, so I would have loved to put one on hers also. Yes, I should have gotten to her way back then, when she was just sitting in her playpens so defenseless. Then again, I thought what the hell… it would be better to torture her, and make everything in her life a living hell for her! Why should I play god, when I can send the devil to her bed every night! Let’s not forget to mention everybody showed up at her father's house right after the murder that took place. So, I did not have enough time to complete the job. Oh yes, her mother is a very good friend of mine, and I wanted to make sure that Nevaeh would have nothing. Nothing but pain, misery, and torture from me and my girls. Yes, without her ever knowing, that I was the one causing all the trouble in her life.

I have dreamed of ways to kill her repeatedly. Like this one, I would like to see her be impaled on a sharp wooden stick, starting through her butt hole, and then slowly have gravity have it go up into her delicious miniature body until it hits her brain, and she screams out my girl’s names, as we get what we need. I would love to see a Nevaeh- kabob! I would love to see her stoned out in the open with rocks! I would love to see my girls bite their nipples off with their teeth! I want to see my girl claw her up to head to toe. I hunger to see them scratch her sweet blue eyes that are so heavenly right out of her face! I want to see her gush that cobalt blood like a waterfall from her naked sliced-up body. Yes, I want us to torture her any way we can until she says yes to us. We are going to get at anything of hers we can until she comes with us! As we would, all dance around her, as we would light her up, cheerfully for the last time. How I would love to bleach and fry that perfect hair with chemicals. I and we all in our family want to fuck her up and down anyways we can! Mwah Ha, ha! Yes, Beforehand, we all would kiss, touch, lick, and stick her, and do what we want to get the life from her by sucking away. We would eat her soul away as it would come down from the heavens then through her body, and into ours, as we would drink it out, the way we do. Yes, yes, hell- yes, I can see it now! Yes, I want her soul! Besides, anything or everything I can get out of her to add to my shrine. We even have a voodoo doll of her with pins in it. I have a few things of hers like her hymen-damaged red blood tarnished pink polka-dotted gym underwear, and her indigo pantiliner she had on. That my girl ripped off of her in school, the more things we have the more we can control her mind, but I want more! We want more! We want and need it all! Just like the one girl Lily; I have her one hair ribbon; from Nevaeh, I have something far more personal than her underwear, and it is on display too, and that was her virginity! Who knows that she was a little cock sucker too? How do I have it, you ask? Tee- hee- Will I tell you- how! Now come to think of it, back then my idea was to drive her insane so that she will do it to herself… like she did; by not having anyone to confide in, I wanted that to kill her slowly, that was the plan. Just like I was the arranger of her first sexual partner. I told him to pound the shit out of her, and pop her cherry so hard and fast, that the next day she could not even walk; plus, bleed for many days; which is how I got what is on display… I did this so that it would take everything away from her. If my girls do not have it, then neither does she. I made the schooling system think that she has major problems, from kindergarten up through high school. I will do whatever it takes to have her fall! For the reason that I have to be triumphant! It was a promise that I made to her mother. If I cannot have her mind, body, and soul, no one can. Yeah, now I did not mind putting a bullet in her father's head, so I would have loved to put one on hers also. Yes, I should have gotten to her way back then, when she was just sitting in her playpens so defenseless. Then again, I thought what the hell… it would be better to torture her, and make everything in her life a living hell for her! Why should I play god, when I can send the devil to her bed every night! Let’s not forget to mention everybody showed up at her father's house right after the murder that took place. So, I did not have enough time to complete the job. Oh yes, her mother is a very good friend of mine, and I wanted to make sure that Nevaeh would have nothing. Nothing but pain, misery, and torture from me and my girls. Yes, without her ever knowing, that I was the one causing all the trouble in her life.

Sometimes, this directive to cheer up and buck up is like poison that rots one's soul. Note that the bestselling self-help books and essay collections of the past ten years aren't about whipping yourself, they're about healing and consolation. Being imperfect is all right and being awkward is okay. You don't have to cheer up. I can do well today, or not. It'll be an experience either way. And that's fine.

The experts only try to discourage me by identifying risks and obstacles. Had I listened to their advice, I would have ended up doing nothing. Park Chung Hee

I am unable to understand those who do love me in spite of it all, and so I test them. ‘You love me even when I do this? Or this? Or this?’ Even when the other person forgives me, I am unable to understand their forgiveness, and when they give up on me, I torture and console myself with the ‘fact’ that no one could ever love me. That

revealing my darkness is just as natural a thing to do as revealing my light.

If it doesn’t make you feel good, don’t go out of your way to do it.

But the moment you think to yourself, Well, this is the way I am, and what can you do about it, you’ll feel much freer.

to expect someone to always be a certain way or consistently do a certain thing can be a huge burden on them.

release knot and led Cloud slowly down the ramp and around the back of the house to the stables. As she passed the kitchen window she saw Charlie watching her, a huge grin on his face. Her heart was threatening to burst as she undid the bolts of Chester’s stable. The donkey looked up and hee-hawed loudly when he saw his old friend. Cloud limped straight over and they nuzzled each other affectionately. ‘It’s a bit of a squeeze. Do you think they’ll be OK in there together?’ asked Caroline, who was watching over the stable door. Poppy looked at them and smiled. ‘I think so. He looks pretty settled already, I’d say.’ ‘We’ll get the vet out to have a look at his leg. You do realise it’s going to be a long journey, getting him back to full strength, Poppy? His leg might be so badly damaged you’ll never be able to ride him. And if it does heal it’s been years since Cloud has had anyone on his back. We’ll be starting from scratch,’ said Caroline. Poppy was glad her stepmother was planning to help. It felt right. ‘I know, Mum. All I care about is that he’s safe and he’s here. Anything else will be a bonus.’ Caroline smiled. Cloud Nine lay down, exhausted, in the thick straw, with Chester standing over

naamon mein itna matlab bharnewali pravritti ke khilaaf bolte-bolte hum khud usi pravritti ke hote jaa rahe the. Aise baat karne lage the ki jaise sach mein do hee pehchaanein rah gayee thee aur sab-kuch ho gaya tha—Hindu ya Musalman. "..the strain of going on speaking against the tendency to imbue names with such connotations was turning us into people with that tendency. We would talk as if there were only two identities left and everything was either Hindu or Musalman.

Others are bound to be moved by the fact that you want to be with them, that you want to understand them, that you can't do without them. Being together, misunderstanding each other, sharing with each other, growing further apart from each other, all these things help us live out our present moment. I wonder if this is our way of comforting ourselves through the darkness that is our world.

I was told that my accumulated mistakes will create a stronger sense of self, that I was doing just fine, that I was perfectly capable of looking at the other side of the coin, but the coin just happens to be a little heavy, that's all.

Sometimes the best thing to do with People who would never listen to you in the first place is to avoid them altogether. To right every wrong you come across in the world would be an impossible endeavour for any one person. You're just one person, and you're putting too much of the weight of the world on yourself.

We have to keep thinking through it. Because there are parts of it that have to do with your personality. You`ve lived with anxiety for a long time. Once your new experiences start overwriting your old ones, your view of yourself and others may become far brighter than it is now.

Fear increases when it's something that you keep to yourself. Instead of suffering alone, it can often be good to share it with someone else, like you`re doing now.

Yaaro mujhey muaaf rakho main nashey mein hoon Ab do to jaam khaali hee do main nashey mein hoon Masti sey barhamee hai meree guftagoo key beech Jo chaaho tum bhee mujh ko kaho main nashey mein hoon. Maazur hoon, jo paaon mera betarah padey Tum sargiraan to mujh sey na ho main nashey mein hoon. Bhaagee namaaz-e-jumma to jaatee nahee hai kuchh Chalta hoon main bhee, tuk to raho main nashey mein hoon Naazuk mizaaj aap qayaamat hain Meer jee Joon sheesha merey munh na lago main nashey mein hoon

So... um.. that's what I think I want to make." "That's a great idea!" "R-really? You think so? Yay! But, um... the recipe requires a whole lot of prep work on a bunch of the ingredients. I-I don't know if it'll all work out in the end..." "Hey! Who do you think you're talking to? I was the number two chef at Yukihira's Family Restaurant, y'know! Though the only other chef there was my dad." "Hee hee... Aha ha ha!" "All right! I'm gonna pour all of my experience into supporting you! Get ready, Tadokoro! For today only... ... "Tadokoro's" Family Restaurant... ... is open for business!" "Y... yay?!

Yukihira." "Yo. So, uh, what're you doin' out here, Nakiri?" "Hm? Oh, nothing much. Just enjoying the night air. What about you?" "Huh? Me? Um, I was, uh... wait, why did I come out here again?" "Hee hee! Really? Forgetful much? *giggle*" "Y'know? You should laugh more often. You're prettier when you do." "W-WHAAAAA?! I expect such talk from Yoshino, but now you of all people?!"It's just that I'm so used to seeing you looking all scowly or snapping in anger all the time, y'know?" "Ugh! Enough of this already. You're the last person I want to hear any of that romance nonsense from, Yukihira. We're students. Our job is to study- to cook! We're too busy with important things to bother with trivialities like love!" "Yeah, you said it! Eesh! I mean, right now I've gotta focus on passing this darn test." "Oh, I'm sure you'll be all right, Yukihira. You can overcome every obstacle put in front of you. You always have... and you always will." "Heh heh! You got that right! And once that's outta the way, I'll get right back to challenging you!" "Bring it on. Come at me with all that you have, and I will crush you as I always do." "Nya ha haha! You haven't changed a bit! Even now that you're Dean, you're still the old you." "Wha?! O-of course I am! Who else would I be?

Hee hee hee…” Christine and Heather watched as Iris became a drooling, nosebleeding mass of flesh as her mind became filled with images of increasingly mature rating. “Ugh, I can’t believe I actually hang out with this girl,” Christine muttered. “Why am I surrounded by perverts?” “Speaking of perverts…” Heather pointed over to the glass window of the store that they stood in front of. “You may want to do something about Lindsay. She looks like she’s lost an awful lot of blood.” Christine turned around to see what the woman meant. She began twitching when confronted by the sight of her tomboyish friend passed out cold, on the ground, her eyes swirling around inside of her eye sockets, with blood seeping out of her nose like a broken faucet. “Beboop! Beboop!” A pair of paramedics suddenly arrived on the scene. They were holding a stretcher between them, and the one in front was making siren-like sound effects. The two paramedics dressed in the white outfit of, well, paramedics, scooped up the nosebleeding girl and put her on the stretcher. Then they proceeded to rush out of the area. “Beboop! Beboop! Beboop!” They soon disappeared around a corner. “What. The fuck. Was that?” Christine asked of no one in particular

That person has changed’ are completely useless in some cases; it finally occurred to me that to expect someone to always be a certain way or consistently do a certain thing can be a huge burden on them.

What do I get from objectifying myself and applying impossible standards to everything about myself? Sometimes I need to rationalise to protect myself. This desire to look at myself ‘objectively’ has been the reason I have put a knife to my heart for such a long time.

You mustn’t let your hobby become stressful. But I hope if you don’t do it isn’t out of fear.

Even if I were fat or ugly, I want to acknowledge and love myself. But society teaches us to judge each other’s weight, and my father and older sister would praise me whenever I happened to lose a few pounds. I don’t think I look healthier or feel better when I’m thinner, but I do think I have more confidence.

Do I not know myself very well?

Cholly floated about aimlessly, doing chores as he was told. All the glamour and warmth the adults had given him on the previous day were replaced by a sharpness that agreed with his mood. He could think only of the flashlight, the muscadines, and Darlene’s hands. And when he was not thinking of them, the vacancy in his head was like the space left by a newly pulled tooth still conscious of the rottenness that had once filled it. Afraid of running into Darlene, he would not go far from the house, but neither could he endure the atmosphere of his dead Aunt’s house. The picking through her things, the comments on the “condition” of her goods. Sullen, irritable, he cultivated his hatred of Darlene. Never did he once consider directing his hatred toward the hunters. Such an emotion would have destroyed him. They were big, white, armed men. He was small, black, helpless. His subconscious knew what his conscious mind did not guess—that hating them would have consumed him, burned him up like a piece of soft coal, leaving only flakes of ash and a question mark of smoke. He was, in time, to discover that hatred of white men—but not now. Not in impotence but later, when the hatred could find sweet expression. For now, he hated the one who had created the situation, the one who bore witness to his failure, his impotence. The one whom he had not been able to protect, to spare, to cover from the round moon glow of the flashlight. The hee-hee-hee’s. He recalled Darlene’s dripping hair ribbon, flapping against her face as they walked back in silence in the rain. The loathing that galloped through him made him tremble. There was no one to talk to.

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Psychiatrist: How do you usually feel after the work day is over? Me: I have no energy. The only fun I have is walking home from work at the end of the day, and I just feel so listless when I’m home. As soon as I think, Should I do something?, I immediately think, I don’t want to do anything at all.

Psychiatrist: Why did you choose to go alone on this trip? Me: If I go with someone else, I have to compromise on the things we can do together, but I figured if I went alone, I would get to choose whatever I wanted to do.

What do I wish for? I want to love and be loved. Without suspicion, and with ease. That’s it. I don’t know how to love or be loved properly, and that’s what pains me.

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To do everything I want to do, so I don’t live a life of regret.

Psychiatrist: Are you scared? Me: Not anymore. I guess it’s because we’ve already communicated on a certain level, so I’m “not that nervous. Normally I’d be afraid they were a human trafficker or something. But weirdly I don’t feel scared this time. Psychiatrist: Writing can be a profound way of communicating and understanding each other, but you do have to be careful. But as long it’s your decision, it’s all right. Me: A little while ago I might have thought, Meeting someone off the Internet? How awful! Now it doesn’t seem like a strange thing at all. But I should tell my friend to call the police if she doesn’t hear from me after an hour.

Psychiatrist: Your mind immediately goes to the most extreme explanation instead of stopping to think of the many other reasons your friend could be doing what she’s doing. You keep applying these extreme standards to others. In effect, it’s your own thoughts that are torturing you. Me: Yes. I kept thinking extreme thoughts, which makes me think I need to pursue a healthier relationship instead. Psychiatrist: There is no absolute good when it comes to relationships. And it’s perfectly healthy to have disagreements with friends and lovers from time to time. I just hope you learn to differentiate the parts from the whole. Just because you like one thing about a person, you don’t need to like everything about them. And just because you don’t like one thing about a person, it doesn’t mean the person as a whole isn’t worth your time. I think you should get in the habit of thinking differently.

The thought that you can’t betray the person who has chosen you makes you feel obligated to them, ties you to them. Instead of keeping people at arm’s length or living in the anxiety of trying desperately not to be discarded after a relationship is established, try thinking more in terms of, ‘Am I really compatible with this person? What do I like about them, and what do I not?

But even when I’m meeting people who have nothing to do with the arts, it feels like I’m an island in the ocean. Someone who’s neither this nor that.