Dow Quotes

Coach: "All right, Patch. let's say you're at a party. the room is full of girls of all shapes and sizes. You see blondes, brunettes, redheads, a few girl with black hair. Some are talkive, while other appear shy. You've one girl who fits your profile - attractive, intelligent and vulnerable. Dow do you let her know you're interested?" Patch: "Single her out. Talk to her." Coach: "Good. Now for the big question - how do you know if she's game or if she wants you to move on?" Patch: "I study her. I figure out what she's thinking and feeling. She's not gonig to come right out and tell me, which is why i have to pay attention. Does she turn her body toward mine? Does she hold me eyes, then look away? Does she bite her lip and play with her hair, the way Nora is doing right now?

We say of some things that they can't be forgiven, or that we will never forgive ourselves. But we do--we do it all the time.

Until I became a librarian, I didn't know I was a rebel.

Music and books, they transport you. They make you feel in ways you didn’t know you could.

Everything important we learn too late.

Time does not heal all wounds. Some pain becomes part of who you are.

David Hume, the great­est skep­tic of them all, once remarked that after a gath­er­ing of skep­tics met to pro­claim the verac­i­ty of skep­ti­cism as a phi­los­o­phy, all of the mem­bers of the gath­er­ing nonethe­less left by the door rather than the win­dow. I see Hume’s point. It was all just talk. The solemn philoso­phers weren’t tak­ing what they said seri­ous­ly.

the truth may hurt initially, but it heals much better than the rigid scar caused by a lie!

life’s short, but it’s the longest thing you’ll ever do, so give more than you take and be kind.

Weapons,' hissed Dow. 'Weapons, it has to be.' For once, Tul agreed with him. 'Weapons, chief. Let's give 'em a lesson.' Not even Forley spoke up for staying out of a fight this time, but Threetrees thought it out for a bit still, taking his moment, not to be hurried. Then he nodded. 'Weapons it is.

A book can change someone’s world.

Honor and duty will ride upon my shoulders till the day I die, like the old man of the sea, who once picked up can never be put dow.

People will respond to higher standards quicker than low ones. Pure Christian love dows not presuppose approval of all conduct.

Our media outlets pay attention to the rise and fall of the Dow Jones Industrial Average, but not to species extinction rates. In this country money is well organized, but survival is not.

Pride of opinion has been responsible for the downfall of more men on Wall Street than any other factor.

All is il­lu­sion; noth­ing is re­al. There are no true win­dows or halls. The doors are not there and they can't hold the light. My life's not con­tained in these walls.

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

There’s a ter­ri­ble dark joy when the on­ly per­son who knows all your se­crets is fi­nal­ly dead. Your par­ents. Your doc­tor. Your ther­apist. Your case­work­er. The sun’s out­side the bath­room win­dow try­ing to show us we’re all be­ing stupid. All you have to do is look around.

...she knew again that her humour had saved her only for larger destructions; that the mad and the murdered, the living, must learn to hold their chemical breath.

if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with!

honesty should never be sacrificed!

You told me earlier that the necklace is your favorite. You’d give up your most treasured gold for the Vrekeners? For this kingdom?” She made a scoffing sound. “Not in a million years. But I’d give it up for you. Because that’s what we do—we save each other’s asses.

The sad truth is, men love to follow a man other men fear,” said Clover. “Makes them feel fearsome, too. We tell the odd fond story of the good men. The straight edges. Your Rudd Threetrees, your Dogmen. But it’s the butchers men love to sing of. The burners and the blood-spillers. Your Cracknut Whirruns and your Black Dows. Your Bloody-Nines. Men don’t dream of doing the right thing, but of ripping what they want from the world with their strength and their will.

I got bigger problems than that life hasn’t turned out the way you hoped. You can harp on the past all you please, Dow, like some old woman upset cause her tits used to stay up by themselves, or you can shut your fucking hole and help me get on with things.

Nearly every time I strayed from the herd, I've made a lot of money. Wandering away from the action is the way to find the new action.

Me having a stalker is like Donald Trump having a sense of humility. It's not a match. ~From LIBERTY & MEANS

You can and you can't — You shall and you shan't — You will and you won't — And you will be damned if you do — And you will be damned if you don't.

I don't live by the fuckin Dow Jones anymore. I live by the Tao, Jones.

A happy person is not a person in a certain set of circumstances but rather a person with a certain set of attitudes. Hugh Dow

They have to say SOMETHING. Maria Bartiromo can't exactly look into the camera and say that the Dow is down half a percent today because of random Brownian motion.

Dogman and Dow, Tul and Grim, West and Pike. Six of them, stood in a circle and looking down at two piles of cold earth. Below in the valley, the Union were busy burying their own dead, Dogman had seen it. Hundreds of ’em, in pits for a dozen each. It was a bad day for men, all in all, and a good one for the ground. Always the way, after a battle. Only the ground wins. Shivers

Well, what do you think I should do?" "Button raised a kindly brow. "Dow you want me to tell you if I think you should be wise, or unwise?" "Well... yes." Button smiled sadly. "But which is which?

We say of some things that they can’t be forgiven, or that we will never forgive ourselves. But we do—we do it all the time.

This is what we Mexicans do:we take what exists and we make it our own.

Fear makes folks restless enough to risk their lives.

I’ve known since the first moment I saw you and every day after has only made me surer. I see who you are, right down to your soul. I know you’re the kind of woman who gives of herself, completely. I know the promises you make mean more to you than the cost. I know that family is the most important thing to you in the entire world. But most of all, I know that you feel exactly the same thing I do—we belong together, Del. You’re the piece of me that’s been missing all my life and I can tell just looking that I’m the same for you.

Melchior. What good does that do? Moritz. What good does it have to do?——We are fit for nothing more, neither good nor evil.

Lessons in life are context specific. Contexts are never the same. If there are no lessons you can use does that mean there are actually no lessons

truth hurts just like needles, but they both provide pathways to the cure!

Me having a stalker is like Donald Trump having a sense of humility. It's not a match.

                •   Initiation, business requirements, architecture and design,

These people are my good friends, and this is what friends do—we take care of one another when we are in need.

Saturday night. Buddy Dow, hired skipper of a big lunker owned by an insurance company in Atlanta, had enlisted two recruits and was despairingly in need of more.

stock market as measured by the Dow did decrease 25% between 1969 and 1971

Alexander Dow, his boss at Edison, who thought him immensely talented, tried to dissuade him. “Electricity, yes,” Dow told Ford. “That’s the coming thing. But gas—no.

⸢Eh hem, you wa nna see yo ur att rib ute win dow?⸥ This guy, does he think I want to see the attribute window every time I have a chance?

May Your Dow Never Jones.

– Just a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down, makes the medicine go dow-own – cantou ela com uma voz embargada de emoção. Só uma colherinha de açúcar ajuda o remédio a descer.

I could not remember when the lines above Atticus’s moving finger separated into words, but I had stared at them all the evenings in my memory, listening to the news of the day, Bills to Be Enacted into Laws, the diaries of Lorenzo Dow—anything Atticus happened to be reading when I crawled into his lap every night. Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read.

Sadly...despair is with humanity and will affect all of us sooner or later. To accomplish the great things we were put on this earth to do...we must all reach down deep inside of us and overcome it. There is no other way.

Socrates had it backward. He thought the unexamined life is not worth living. I think no one's life holds up to examination. The more time you spend thinking the more you notice that everyone else is doing something better or more important than you.

In our offices and places of work we love to tell others what to do.We denigrate them.We compare their work unfavourably with our own.We are always in competition.We show off and gossip.Our dream is of being well treated and we dream of treating others badly...

During those terrible days after 9/11, when the whole country was being whipsawed by emotion, or the weeks between September 19 and October 10, 2008, when the Dow fell 3,600 points, there were times I felt like hugging our computers. They kept their cool no matter what.

I felt my lungs inflate with the inrush of scenery -- air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, "this is what it is to be happy." I plummeted dow past the zigzaggers, the students, the experts, through year after year of doubleness and smiles and compromise, into my own past.

If you do not love God, what good are you? You are too caught up in the meanness of self-love and self-gratification to be worth a tinker's damn. Your soul soars only with a spike in the Dow-Jones Industrial average; your heart leaps only at the prospect of a new tax break. The devil take you. He already has. Religion is for lovers, for men and women of passion, for real people with a passion for something other than taking profits, people who believe in something, who hope like mad in something, who love something with a love that surpasses understanding.

Csikszentmihalyi identified four “preconditions” of flow: first, each moment of the activity must have a little goal; second, the rules for attaining that goal must be clear; third, the activity must give immediate feedback so that one has certainty, from moment to moment, on where one stands; fourth, the tasks of the activity must be matched with operational skills, bestowing a sense of simultaneous control and challenge.

To be honest, we think we lose a lot when we do not do what others want us to do—we might lose a lot at the moment because we are not walking in their line. However, when all is said and done, we stole from ourselves, and we lost the war. We cheated ourselves because we didn’t love ourselves enough.

Decades of behavioral blunders and ill-conceived marriages and businesses run amok had left next to nothing by the time Leonard was in high school. He’d wangled himself an engineering scholarship to Cornell and then a job with Dow Chemical during a time he referred to, reverently, as the Dawn of the Absorbency Revolution.

The President looked out of his window. He was not very happy. “I worry about Bill, Hubert, Henry, Kevin, Edward, Clem, Dan and their lover, Snow White. I sense that all is not well with them. Now, looking out over this green lawn, and these fine rosebushes, and into the night and the yellow buildings, and the falling Dow Jones Index and the screams of the poor, I am concerned. I have many important things to worry about, but I worry about Bill and the boys too. Because I am the President. Finally. the President of the whole fucking country. And they are Americans, Bill, Hubert, Henry, Kevin, Edward, Clem, Dan and Snow White. They are Americans. My Americans.

Philips was setting up a new ‘underground’ label called Vertigo when we were looking for a deal. We were a perfect fit. But the funny thing was that Vertigo wasn’t even up and running in time for our first single, ‘Evil Woman’, so it was originally released on another Philips label, Fontana, before being reissued on Vertigo a few weeks later. Not that it made any f**king difference: the song went down like a concrete turd both times. But we didn’t care, because the BBC played it on Radio 1. Once. At six o’clock in the morning. I was so nervous, I got up at five and drank about eight cups of tea. ‘They won’t play it,’ I kept telling myself, ‘They won’t play it...’ But then: BLAM...BLAM... Dow-doww... BLAM... Dow-dow-d-d-dow, dooooow... D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d DUH-DA! Do-doo-do DUH-DA! Do-doo-do... It’s impossible to describe what it feels like to hear yourself on Radio 1 for the first time. It was magic, squared. I ran around the house screaming, ‘I’m on the radio! I’m on the f**king radio!’ until my mum stomped downstairs in her nightie and told me to shut up.

stevia.

But they don’t know that rebels are made in the worst of circumstances, and even death can’t stop them. Us.

Idleness and idolatry aren't related but they ought to be.

the present is a reality, and the future is just a possibility!

love is just an emotion that grows for whoever you chose!

your reality is only what you conceive in your mind!

You will be damned if you do, and you will be damned if you don’t

I'll do it, every time, if it means a story can change someone's outlook...

I love her with every part of my body, soul, mind, and molecules.

But freedom might be better than survival.

Cast aside your fear and fight for your future. Fight for freedom.

We spend so much time “doing” that we have forgotten how important simply “being,” or “nondoing,” is for the brain. Before

One thing I’ve learned is that just because you can successfully lie to yourself doesn’t mean you’re not completely transparent to the people you love.

The wolves seemed far more interested in watching Marrok tear him apart. For a heartbeat of time, everyone jsut stared at the graceful ballet of death. 'Do those two have a history I don't know about?' Dow asked conversationally. Richardson nodded. 'Tober punched Marrok's woman.' 'Ooohhhh, that explains it.' Dower snorted. 'Jesus, what kind of wolf hits a girl?

Mayflower-Plymouth has created The Permaculture Index as an alternative to the Dow Jones Industrial Average, the S&P, the Nasdaq and the Nikkei. The purpose of The Permaculture Index is to provide a more holistic representation of the health of the economy. And then we have several sub-indices which aim to present a more holistic representation of specific markets.

Keep your arms dow." He let go of the shirt and slipped his arms around me. A second later, his agile fingers unclasped my bra. "What are you doing?" He laughed as the straps slid down my arms, making me shiver. "Like I said before, get your mind out of the gutter. Your virtue is safe with me." "My virtue?" I wasn't sure if I wanted it to be safe with him. He peeked up. "For now.

Although interactive consumer devices are typically associated with new choices, connections, and forms of self-expression, they can also function to narrow choices, disconnect, and gain exit from the self.

let the Dow Jones plunge and markets all over the world also plummet. Some economists have advocated the decoupling of economies, but the crash in global markets, preceded by the financial crisis in the United States, is a stark reminder of the inter-dependence of the nations of the world, increasing ever since the first true decoupling occurred when God scattered the residents of the original Babylon and formed the nations.

The is a dark place, and bad things happen that we can’t control. People we love can disappoint us, hurt us and finding forgiveness is hard... but music is there. If it disappoints you, all you have to do is change the track.

Within five minutes – from 14:42 to 14:47 – the Dow Jones dropped by 1,000 points, wiping out $1 trillion. It then bounced back, returning to its pre-crash level in a little more than three minutes. That’s what happens when super-fast computer programs are in charge of our money. Experts have been trying ever since to understand what happened in this so-called ‘Flash Crash’. They know algorithms were to blame, but are still not sure exactly what went wrong.

The world is a dark place, and bad things happen that we can’t control. People we love can disappoint us, hurt us and finding forgiveness is hard... but music is there. If it disappoints you, all you have to do is change the track.

I love the color black because my roots run deep, and my core is strong. All of the hurt and pain I’ve been through, I never gave up. Life isn’t about pleasing others. To be honest, we think we lose a lot when we do not do what others want us to do—we might lose a lot at the moment because we are not walking in their line. However, when all is said and done, we stole from ourselves, and we lost the war. We cheated ourselves because we didn’t love ourselves enough. We have to have faith in ourselves and not in other people. They will leave you high and dry, and what you did for them wasn’t enough. After they rob you of everything, you and only you would be the only one sorting out the pieces.

By the fall of 1929, Livermore built up his biggest short position ever, $450 million spread across 100 stocks. And he was about to receive the biggest payday of his entire life. From October 25 through November 13, the Dow crashed 32%. In those 11 days, the Dow fell 5% seven times. Livermore covered all of his shorts and was worth $100 million, equivalent to $1.4 billion in today's dollars. He was one of the richest people in the world. This would be the height of his powers.

The Weasel Cafferty’s lieutenant Aly the Weasel’s son Ellen Dempsey owner of MG Cabs in Edinburgh DI Bobby Hogan Leith-based detective WPC Antonia “Toni” Jackson experienced uniformed officer at St. Leonard’s PC John “Perry” Mason latest recruit to the uniformed branch at St. Leonard’s Laura Stafford a prostitute Donny Dow father of Laura’s child DS Liz Hetherington Dundee-based detective Ricky manager of the Sauna Paradiso Other Characters Claverhouse detective in the Scottish Drug Enforcement Agency Ormiston Claverhouse’s

Your body is almost always within your control. This is rare in life, perhaps unique. Simply focusing on some measurable element of you physical nature can prevent you from becoming a "Dow Joneser," someone whose self-worth is dependent on things largely outside of their control. Job not going well? Company having issues? Some idiot making life difficult? If you add ten laps to your swimming or if you cut five seconds off your best mile time, it can still be a great week. Controlling your body puts you in life's driver's seat. p467

study that showed that even people without diabetes who had high blood sugar performed worse on memory tests. What’s more, the same study found that people with higher blood-sugar levels had a shrunken hippocampus, which is the part of the brain involved in learning.7 And

Do you think I would want to live under a government that you ran or set up? It’s all very nice to say you’re an anarchist, but you only want anarchy for yourself. For the rest of us, you want to make sure we do what you say, think how you think, and remember you’re the boss. You ask me why you wear that jacket or give away that piece of crap on the street, even though you know that when people take it they just throw it in the next trash can, or why you wear those glasses right out of Doctor Zhivago? You just want to get laid, like every guy. My brother, Dean, thinks playing hockey is going to get him laid. You think pretending you are some Russian is going to get you laid—big fucking difference.” She tossed her head. “You wouldn’t mind running General Motors. You hate big business just because you’re not the boss. If, by some magic trick, you got to be the president of…of…of Dow, you’d do it, and you would be happy to make napalm, too, because if you don’t care about one person getting killed, then you don’t care about any person getting killed. You’re just a heartless asshole.

Some sheep were bleating away beside the track, pressed tight into a pen much too small. Foraged, no doubt, meaning stolen, some unlucky shepherd’s livelihood vanished down the gullets and out the arses of Black Dow’s army. Behind a screen of hides, not two strides from the flock, a woman was slaughtering ’em and three more doing the skinning and gutting and hanging the carcasses, all soaked to the armpits in blood and not caring much about it either. Two lads, probably just reached fighting age, were watching. Laughing at how stupid the sheep were, not to guess what was happening behind those hides. They didn’t see that they were in the pen, and behind a screen of songs and stories and young men’s dreams, war was waiting, soaked to the armpits and not caring.

Yale tried to say some­thing, but didn’t know how to be­gin. It had to do with a walk he once took with Nico and Richard around the Lin­coln Park la­goon, the two of them shar­ing Richard’s Le­ica. It struck Yale that day how they both had a way of in­ter­act­ing with the world that was si­mul­ta­ne­ously self­ish and gen­er­ous—grab­bing at beauty and re­flect­ing beauty back. The benches and fire hy­drants and man­hole cov­ers Nico and Richard stopped to pho­to­graph were made more beau­ti­ful by their notic­ing. They were left more beau­ti­ful, once they walked away. By the end of the day, Yale found him­self see­ing things in frames, saw the way the light hit fence posts, wanted to lap up the rip­ples of sun on a record store win­dow. He said, “I get it, I do.

Stock-exchange traders are also in danger. Most financial trading today is already being managed by computer algorithms that can process in a second more data than a human can in a year, and can react to the data much faster than a human can blink. On 23 April 2013, Syrian hackers broke into Associated Press’s official Twitter account. At 13:07 they tweeted that the White House had been attacked and President Obama was hurt. Trade algorithms that constantly monitor newsfeeds reacted in no time and began selling stocks like mad. The Dow Jones went into free fall and within sixty seconds lost 150 points, equivalent to a loss of $136 billion! At 13:10 Associated Press clarified that the tweet was a hoax. The algorithms reversed gear and by 13:13 the Dow Jones had recuperated almost all the losses.

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

The first concerns how an investor should choose among different types of broad-based index funds. The best-known of the broad stock market mutual funds and ETFs in the United States track the S&P 500 index of the largest stocks. We prefer using a broader index that includes more smaller-company stocks, such as the Russell 3000 index or the Dow-Wilshire 5000 index. Funds that track these broader indexes are often referred to as “total stock market” index funds. More than 80 years of stock market history confirm that portfolios of smaller stocks have produced a higher rate of return than the return of the S&P 500 large-company index. While smaller companies are undoubtedly less stable and riskier than large firms, they are likely—on average—to produce somewhat higher future returns. Total stock market index funds are the better way for investors to benefit from the long-run growth of economic activity.

He glanced over at Luthar, sneering down into his bowl as though it was full of piss. No respect. He glanced over at Ferro, staring yellow knives at him through narrowed eyes. No trust. He shook his head sadly. Without trust and respect the group would fall apart in a fight like walls without mortar. Still, Logen had won over tougher audiences, in his time. Threetrees, Tul Duru, Black Dow, Harding Grim, he'd fought each one in single combat, and beaten them all. Spared each man's life, and left him bound to follow. Each one had tried their best to kill him, and with good reasons too, but in the end Logen had earned their trust, and their respect, and their friendship even. Small gestures and a lot of time, that was how he'd done it. 'Patience is the chief of virtues,' his father used to say, and 'you won't cross the mountains in a day.' Time might be against them, but there was nothing to be gained by rushing. You have to be realistic about these things.

to know that the Universe is conspiring in our favor, even though we may not understand how. I ask myself: are defeats necessary? Well, necessary or not, they happen. When we first begin fighting for our dream, we have no experience and make many mistakes. The secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight times. So, why is it so important to live our personal calling if we are only going to suffer more than other people? Because, once we have overcome the defeats—and we always do—we are filled by a greater sense of euphoria and confidence. In the silence of our hearts, we know that we are proving ourselves worthy of the miracle of life. Each day, each hour, is part of the good fight. We start to live with enthusiasm and pleasure. Intense, unexpected suffering passes more quickly than suffering that is apparently bearable; the latter goes on for years and, without our noticing, eats away at our soul, until, one day, we are no longer able to free ourselves from the bitterness and it stays with us for the rest of our lives. Having disinterred our dream, having used the power of love to nurture it and spent many years living with the scars, we suddenly notice that what we always wanted is there, waiting for us, perhaps the very next day. Then comes the fourth obstacle: the fear of realizing the dream for which we fought all our lives. Oscar Wilde said: “Each man kills the thing he loves.” And it’s true. The mere possibility of getting what we want fills the soul

Non mi ero mai messa di proposito a imparare a leggere, ma mi ero in un certo senso pasciuta del fango dei quotidiani. Nelle lunghe ore passate in chiesa… è stato forse allora che ho imparato a leggere? Nel mio ricordo non esisteva un’epoca in cui non fossi capace di leggere gli inni. Ora che ero costretta a pensarci, mi pareva che la lettura fosse una cosa venutami naturalmente, come l’abbottonarmi la tuta da operaio senza guardare, o fare il doppio nodo alle scarpe da un groviglio di lacci. Non ricordavo più il momento in cui le righe che il dito di Atticus indicava, muovendosi sulla pagina, si erano separate in tante parole, mi ricordavo di aver fissato quelle righe ogni sera della mia vita, ascoltando le notizie di cronaca, il dibattito parlamentare, i diari di Lorenzo Dow, tutto quello che leggeva Atticus, la sera, quando mi arrampicavo sulle sue ginocchia. Fino al giorno in cui mi minacciarono di non lasciarmi più leggere, non seppi di amare la lettura: si ama, forse, il proprio respiro?

May God give us faith to fully trust His Word though everything else witness the other way. C. H. P. When is the time to trust?Is it when all is calm, When waves the victor’s palm, And life is one glad psalm Of joy and praise?Nay! but the time to trust Is when the waves beat high, When storm clouds fill the sky, And prayer is one long cry, O help and save! When is the time to trust?Is it when friends are true?Is it when comforts woo, And in all we say and doWe meet but praise?Nay! but the time to trust Is when we stand alone, And summer birds have flown, And every prop is gone, All else but God. What is the time to trust?Is it some future day, When you have tried your way, And learned to trust and pray By bitter woe?Nay! but the time to trust Is in this moment’s need, Poor, broken, bruised reed!Poor, troubled soul, make speed To trust thy God. What is the time to trust?Is it when hopes beat high, When sunshine gilds the sky, And joy and ecstasy Fill all the heart?Nay! but the time to trust Is when our joy is fled, When sorrow bows the head, And all is cold and dead, All else but God. SELECTED

The bride-green yawns strich all orerrnd her, wid the poplores, erlms and faroof bildungs all roturnin’ in her planetree obit, undherstood still art the cindre like the Son, the veri soeurce of lied. The sauce of her, now! With a gae spring in her stoop, she-sex out on her walk in purgress, on her wake-myop parundulations, on her expermission, heeding oft acrux the do-we grass twowords the poertree-line of the spinny wetting in the da’stance. Iff she flaunces, as veneficent as elled Sent Knickerless hermself, an innerscent ulled lay-die in a wurli cardiagran out strawling on the institrusion lorns.

Diddy, not really alive, had a life. Hardly the same. Some people are their lives. Others, like Diddy, merely inhabit their lives. Like insecure tenants, never knowing exactly the extent of their property or when the lease will expire. Like unskilled cartographers, drawing and redrawing erroneous maps of an exotic continent. Eventually, for such a person, everything is bound to run dow. The walls sag. Empty spaces bulge between objects. The surfaces of objects sweat, thin out, buckle. The hysterical fluids of fear deposited at the core of objects ooze out along the seams. Deploying things and navigating through space becomes laborious. Too much effort to amble from kitchen to living room, serving drinks, turning on the hi-fi, pretending to be cheerful . . . Everything running down: suffusing the whole of Diddy's well-tended life. Like a house powered by one large generator in the basement. Diddy has an almost palpable sense of the decline of the generator's energy. Or, of the monstrous malfunctioning of that generator, gone amok. Sending forth a torrent of refuse that climbs up into Diddy's life, cluttering all his floor space and overwhelming his pleasant furnishings, so that he's forced to take refuge. Huddle in a narrow corner. But however small the space Diddy means to keep free for himself, it won't remain safe. If solid material can't invade it, then the offensive discharge of the failing or rebellious generator will liquefy; so that it can travel everywhere, spread like a skin. The generator will spew forth a stream of crude oil, grimy and malodorous, that coats all things and persons and objects, the vulgar as well as the precious, the ugly as well as what little still remains beautiful. Befouling Diddy's world and rendering it unusable. Uninhabitable. This deliquescent running-down of everything becomes coexistent with Diddy's entire span of consciousness, undermines his most minimal acts. Getting out of bed is an agony unpromising as the struggles of a fish cast up on the beach, trying to extract life from the meaningless air. Persons who merely have a life customarily move in a dense fluid. That's how they're able to conduct their lives at all. Their living depends on not seeing. But when this fluid evaporates, an uncensored, fetid, appalling underlife is disclosed. Lost continents are brought to view, bearing the ruins of doomed cities, the sparsely fleshed skeletons of ancient creatures immobilized in their death throes, a landscape of unparalleled savagery.

For queer people, there's something special about finding another queer person. And we do--we find each other, don't we? "Gaydar" feels like a term invented by a straight woman for the sole purpose of outing closeted men, but there's an underlying and universal purpose to the concept of gaydar. It's finding your pack; it's survival. Queer people have never, ever-even now, when so much about the world is objectively better than it used to be-been able to live our lives as freely and openly and spectacularly as straight people have. We've always had to find each other, in dark corners of gay bars, in back alleys, in niche Tumblr fandoms, to survive.

In the nouveau roman of Robbe-Grillet there is an attempt at a more or less Copernican change in the relation between the paradigm and the text. In Camus the counter-pointing is less doctrinaire; in Dostoevsky there is no evidence of any theoretical stand at all, simply rich originality within or without, as it chances, normal expectations. All these are novels which most of us would agree (and it is by a consensus of this kind only that these matters, quite rightly, are determined) to be at least very good. They represent in varying degrees that falsification of simple expectations as to the structure of a future which constitutes peripeteia. We cannot, of course, be denied an end; it is one of the great charms of books that they have to end. But unless we are extremely naive, as some apocalyptic sects still are, we do not ask that they progress towards that end precisely as we have been given to believe. In fact we should expect only the most trivial work to conform to pre-existent types. It is essential to the drift of all these talks that what I call the scepticism of the clerisy operates in the person of the reader as a demand for constantly changing, constantly more subtle, relationships between a fiction and the paradigms, and that this expectation enables a writer much inventive scope as he works to meet and transcend it. The presence of such paradigms in fictions may be necessary-that is a point I shall be discussing later--but if the fictions satisfy the clerisy, the paradigms will be to a varying but always great extent attenuated or obscured. The pressure of reality on us is always varying, as Stevens might have said: the fictions must change, or if they are fixed, the interpretations must change. Since we continue to 'prescribe laws to nature'--Kant's phrase, and we do--we shall continue to have a relation with the paradigms, but we shall change them to make them go on working. If we cannot break free of them, we must make sense of them.