Duly Noted Quotes

You're an interesting woman." "Your interest has been duly noted.

I trust my points are noted... Very noted... Received, recognized, and duly considered with the utmost gravity. Sealed, notarized, and firmly imprinted upon my rational essence.

So proper for a circus girl," Mme. Padva says with with a gleam in her eye. "We shall have to loosen those corset laces if we intend to keep you an intimate dinner company." "I expected the corset unlacing would take place after dinner," Celia says mildly, earning a chorus of laughter. "We shall keep Miss Bowen as intimate company regardless of the state of her corset," Chandresh says. "Make a note of that," he adds, waving a hand at Marco. "Miss Bowen's corset is duly noted, sir," Marco replies, and the laghter bubbles over the table again.

Duly noted.” Rhys yanked open the drawers and pulled out my undergarments. He dangled the bits of midnight lace and chuckled. “I’m surprised you didn’t demand Nuala and Cerridwen buy you something else.” I stalked to him, snatching the lace away. “You’re drooling on the carpet.” I slammed the bathing room door before he could respond.

It’s nothing compared to happiness.” I snorted through gritted teeth. “What happiness?” “Exactly.” “Reality interrupts—” Jaw clenching, my nostrils flared as I felt a gush of blood flow. A whisper. “Life.” His blink was slow. “The mother of all bitches.” “And the beauty?” “Its absence is duly noted.” “Only to be found by those later.” Another swipe of my cheeks. “Once they’ve suffered to the point they scream for death.” “Full circle.” His hand found mine in a gentle hold. “Pain needs to be felt.

Your dislike for the project will be duly noted, and ignored.

When I asked my dad why she left, his response was something along the lines of, “Darla’s a whore. Don’t be like Darla.” Duly noted, Dad.

Sloan & Dex... “You skipped puberty didn’t you?” Dex let out a wistful sigh. “It wasn’t for me.” Sloane laughed as he carried Dex out of the room. “You’re hopeless.” “I’m also nonrefundable.” “Surely there’s a return policy.” “Forget it. You’re way past the thirty-day refund period. You’re stuck with me now. And before you ask, I’m also nontransferable and nonexchangeable. If you donate me to charity there’s no tax write-off because technically that would be considered Human trafficking.” “Wow. You’ve got your bases covered.” “You bet. Should have paid more attention to the Dexter J. Daley boyfriend agreement.” Sloane dropped him onto the counter and stepped between his legs to pull him close. “I don’t recall this boyfriend agreement.” “You might have been sleeping at the time, but sleep during the reading of the DJDBA is covered in the fine print. As long as you have a pulse, you’re considered present and accounted for.” “Duly noted.

Duly noted. Don't get between you and your books otherwise you're totally approachable.

Your opinion has been duly noted and dismissed,

Duly noted. You’ve pissed in those four corners. He’s your territory. Got it.

Wearing only his boxers, Marz sat on the edge of the bed and removed his limb. And then he shifted under the covers with her. "Now," he said, "Does hiding under the covers involve covering the head, too?" Or just the body? Such a sweet, cute mane. "Just the body. Covering the head makes it a fort." His eyes went wide. "Is that so? Duly noted.

The approach to Earth of Halley’s Comet in the year 66 is the probable explanation of the account by Josephus of a sword that hung over Jerusalem for a whole year. In 1066 the Normans witnessed another return of Halley’s Comet. Since it must, they thought, presage the fall of some kingdom, the comet encouraged, in some sense precipitated, the invasion of England by William the Conqueror. The comet was duly noted in a newspaper of the time, the Bayeux Tapestry.

it’s not a good idea.” “your opinion has been duly noted and dismissed. anything else, or are you going to start signing stuff?” - neil & wymack

Don’t piss off a wolf with PMS. Duly noted.

Duly noted. Psychic attacks both exist and suck ass,

Friend of yours?” Priss asked. He turned on her so fast, she jumped back a foot. “You don’t look happy,” Priss noted. What an understatement. “It was just a question. Don’t implode or anything, okay?” He fumed quietly, and even in his rage, he looked self-possessed. “Under no circumstances will you provoke that woman. Do you understand me?” Intrigued by the warning, Priss tried to see around him to wherever the woman had gone. He didn’t allow it. His big, hard hand clasped her face, none too gently. “She will slit your throat and smile while doing it. And no one here will stop her. Do you understand me?” “Uh . . .” It wasn’t easy to speak with the way he smooshed her cheeks, but she felt compelled to point out, “You stopped her.” “This time.” He leaned down, close enough to kiss her, but his eyes said he had far from affectionate gestures on his mind. “I won’t always be around.” “Duly noted. Now you can stop abusing my face.” He released her and she worked her jaw. “Jerk. I bruise easy.” His eye did that interesting twitching thing again before he grabbed her elbow and hustled her forward.

Tackling these tasks in the order we receive them is behaving as if the squeaky wheel immediately deserves the grease. But, as Australian prime minister Bob Hawke duly noted, “The things which are most important don’t always scream the loudest.

As Unterberger duly notes in his expansive, two-volume review of the folk-rock movement, “much folk-rock was recorded and issued by huge corporations, and broadcast over radio and television stations owned for the most part by the same or similar pillars of the establishment.

I hate you, Bane. You live only to suck all the joy out of me death, don’t you?” He snorted. “Pray that joy is the only thing I ever strive to divest from you, my friend. The day I seek greater entertainment than that is the day you should live in absolute terror of.” “Duly noted, and me testicles have adequately shriveled back into me body so as to pose positively no threat whatsoever to the fair maiden in boy’s clothing.” “Good man.” “Eunuch, you mean.” “And well you should remain, lest I make that condition a permanent one.” “Aye, aye, Captain.

Okay. So all Clea and I need is for you to tell us what you know about the Elixir, and we can go get it. You won't eve have to see us again." "Not possible," Sage said. "I said it before; you've been tied to me. That means you're in danger. I don't think you get that." "Oh, I get it," Ben said, "I just think Clea and I will be safer on our own. And with all due respect, I don't entirely trust you. And I don't think Clea does either." "Respect duly noted," Sage said wryly, "but I'm not telling you what I know about the Elixir, so you kind of need me." The two guys stared each other down.

Fine. It’s your life, but—” “But you’re still going to tell me what to do?” he asked, a small smile on his lips. She went into defense mode at his amused tone. “Well, I’m sure as hell not going to be quiet about it.” “Duly noted,” he said dryly. “And for the record? I never want you to be quiet, Elle.

Your views on the two-party system are well-documented and duly noted.” “I don’t understand a nation that grew so powerful using capitalism, which is essentially about choice and options and hard work, being so lazy as to give us only two options, usually bad ones, in something as crucial as leading the free world.

I’m going to need you to do something besides the deer in headlights look. You’re giving everyone the impression that I brought you here at gunpoint.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re sweet.” “Seriously. Looking even moderately enthused will do.” “Yeah, duly noted. How could I say no to such a sweet and sensitive boyfriend?” Mason smirked… “I didn’t realize sweet and sensitive was what you wanted.” “I think that’s what most girlfriends want, but I understand that you wouldn’t know that,” I replied, averting my eyes as Mason watched me gather my hair over one shoulder. “Duly noted. If that’s what works with you, then here.” One step forward and Mason was suddenly inches from me. The breath hitched in my throat as he locked his gaze on mine. Shit.

Alessandro watched as Luke burrowed his nose in the snow and then shook his small body. “Well, that depends on whether you want a male or a female horse.” “Mmm. I tink I want a boy horsie. Girl horsies have babies and dat’s too much trouble.” Alessandro bit back a laugh. “Male horse it is then. Let’s see. My favourite horse’s name is Abbott.” “A But?” Will asked laughing. “Abbott,” Alessandro corrected. “Chimney,” Will suddenly decided, stopping. Alessandro blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘Chimney’?” “It make sense,” Will assured him. “Santa come down da chimney and he is my pesent, right? So his name be Chimney.” “I agree. Quite logical,” Alessandro nodded. “Well, dat one ting on my list. Der be more.” “Duly noted,” he said.

Nothing in my life had prepared me for this.Not one single thing.I feel like a lad rat stuck in some horrible experiment meant to measure how I adapt to brutal forms of social segregation and weirdness.And the sad news is,I'm producing way below average results. I stand to the side of the lunchroom or cafeteria,or whatever they call it.The vegetarian lunch Paloma packed with great love and care tightly clutched in my fist,though I've no clue as to where I'm supposed to go eat it. Having already committed the most heinous crime of all by sitting at the wrong table, I'm not sure I'm up for trying again.I'm still shaken by the way those girls acted-so self-righteous and territorial,so burdened by my presence at the end of their bench. It's the seniors' table, I was told. I have no right to sit there. Ever. And that includes holidays and weekends. "Duly noted," I replied, grabbing my lunch and standing before them. "I'll do my best to steer clear of it on Christmas.Easter as well.Though Valentine's Day is a wild card I just can't commit to." And though it felt good at the time,I've no doubt it was a reckless act that only made things worse.

Whatever potential Haverston has would depend on tim and inclination," Christopher replied tiredly. "You've got the time," Walter pointed out. "So it must be lack of inclination." "Exactly," Christopher said with a pointed look that he hoped would end the discussion, but jus to be sure, he added, "Now,if you two don't mind, I do have work to do here.I'd like to return to London before autumn." Since that season was a good month away, his sarcasm was duly noted and the two younger gentlemen exchanged aggrieved looks and got back to their gossiping.

I've only met Reed twice," I said. Kind of sad, but that made him my oldest friend. "And I have no idea who this new guy is. Just for the record, I'm calling him 'Full Metal Jackass' because he's a sucker-punching douchebag, and I hop you'll join me in that by putting it on his official file or threat designator or whatever you use to keep track of metas that cross you." "Duly noted. We have concerns." She folded her hands again. "So do I," I agreed. "Most of them involve your fashion sense, with a few left to spare for the armor-clad whackjob that b**** slapped me around a parking lot this morning.

As James Madison noted “where an excess of power prevails, property of no sort is duly respected. No man is safe in his opinions, his person, his faculties, or his possessions.” Hence no man had any incentive other than to do what was strictly necessary to live through the day. That is the recipe for poverty.12

I pulled Slayer from its sheath and pushed the door open with my fingertips. It swung soundlessly on well-greased hinges. Through the hallway, I saw the living room lamp glowing with soothing yellow light. I smelled coffee. Who breaks into a house, turns on the lights, and makes coffee? I padded into the living room on soft feet, Slayer ready. “Loud and clumsy, like a baby rhino,” said a familiar voice. I stepped into the living room. Curran sat on my couch, reading my favorite paperback. His hair was back to its normal short length. His face was clean shaven. He looked nothing like the dark, demonic figure who shook a would-be god’s head on a field a month ago. I thought he had forgotten about me. I had been quite happy to stay forgotten. “The Princess Bride?” he said, flipping the book over. “What are you doing in my house?” Let himself in, had he? Made himself comfortable, as if he owned the place. “Did everything go well with Julie?” “Yes. She didn’t want to stay, but she’ll make friends quickly, and the staff seems sensible.” I watched him, not quite sure where we stood. “I meant to tell you but haven’t gotten a chance. Sorry about Bran. I didn’t like him, but he died well.” “Yes, he did. I’m sorry about your people. Many losses?” A shadow darkened his face. “A third.” He had taken a hundred with him. At least thirty people had never come back. The weight of their deaths pressed on both of us. Curran turned the book over in his hands. “You own words of power.” He knew what a word of power was. Lovely. I shrugged. “Picked up a couple here and there. What happened in the Gap was a one shot deal. I won’t be that powerful again.” At least not until the next flare. “You’re an interesting woman,” he said. “Your interest has been duly noted.” I pointed to the door. He put the book down. “As you wish.” He rose and walked past me. I lowered my sword, expecting him to pass, but suddenly he stepped in dangerously close. “Welcome home. I’m glad you made it. There is coffee in the kitchen for you.” My mouth gaped open. He inhaled my scent, bent close, about to kiss me . . . I just stood there like an idiot. Curran smirked and whispered in my ear instead. “Psych.” And just like that, he was out the door and gone. Oh boy.

They seemed as if they had never missed Sylvia; no more did her mother for that matter, for she was busy and absorbed in her afternoon dairy-work to all appearance. But Sylvia had noted the watching not three minutes before, and many a time in her after life, when no one cared much for her out-goings and in-comings, the straight, upright figure of her mother, fronting the setting sun, but searching through its blinding rays for a sight of her child, rose up like a sudden-seen picture, the remembrance of which smote Sylvia to the heart with a sense of a lost blessing, not duly valued while possessed.

Growling softly, Peril opened her mouth again. The next two pieces sailed straight past her head, but the third finally splatted between her teeth, and she snapped her jaws shut around it. It felt like a cold slimy frog had just leaped into her mouth. She chewed for a moment, as long as she could bear it, and then swallowed fast. “No,” she said. “Definitely no. Horrifying amounts of no. That was one hundred percent disgusting.” Turtle laughed. “You’re so wrong,” he said. “It’s awesome. That’s how fish should be eaten.” “Blergh,” Peril said strongly. She hopped to the next boulder, heading for the shore. “I’m going to find something that is the opposite of fish, scorch it, and then coat my tongue with char to get that taste out of my mouth. YUUUCK. You are the worst. I would be so justified in setting you on fire while you’re asleep tonight.” “Duly noted,” Turtle said serenely. “Did I mention I’ll be sleeping at the bottom of the river? You know, if you’re looking for me.” He grinned at her. Peril paused on the riverbank, squinting at him. She had been joking, of course. There were a number of excellent reasons not to set Turtle on fire, which outweighed any potential benefits to doing so. But it unsettled her for a moment to realize that by sleeping in the river — even by standing in the river right now — he could foil any plan she did make, if she ever needed to burn him up. Not that I would. Probably. I most likely would never need to. And I wouldn’t want to, of course, that, too. But she’d never run into a situation where someone could stop her like that, apart from Clay. Maybe I did have an unfair advantage fighting SeaWings in the arena. If I were fighting them in their own part of the world —

I am now going to state three facts, which will startle a large class of readers on this side of the Atlantic, very much. Firstly, there is a joint-stock piano in a great many of the boarding-houses. Secondly, nearly all these young ladies subscribe to circulating libraries. Thirdly, they have got up among themselves a periodical called The Lowell Offering, ‘A repository of original articles, written exclusively by females actively employed in the mills,’—which is duly printed, published, and sold; and whereof I brought away from Lowell four hundred good solid pages, which I have read from beginning to end. The large class of readers, startled by these facts, will exclaim, with one voice, ‘How very preposterous!’ On my deferentially inquiring why, they will answer, ‘These things are above their station.’ In reply to that objection, I would beg to ask what their station is.

So few were the readers at that time in Philadelphia, and the majority of us so poor, that I was not able, with great industry; to find more than fifty persons, mostly young tradesmen, willing to pay down for this purpose forty shillings each, and ten shillings per annum. On this little fund we began. The books were imported; the library was opened one day in the week for lending to the subscribers, on their promissory notes to pay double the value if not duly returned. The institution soon manifested its utility, was imitated by other towns, and in other provinces. The libraries were augmented by donations; reading became fashionable; and our people, having no publick amusements to divert their attention from study, became better acquainted with books, and in a few years were observ'd by strangers to be better instructed and more intelligent than people of the same rank generally are in other countries.

So few were the readers at that time in Philadelphia, and the majority of us so poor, that I was not able, with great industry, to find more than fifty persons, mostly young tradesmen, willing to pay down for this purpose forty shillings each, and ten shillings per annum. On this little fund we began. The books were imported; the library was opened one day in the week for lending to the subscribers, on their promissory notes to pay double the value if not duly returned. The institution soon manifested its utility, was imitated by other towns, and in other provinces. The libraries were augmented by donations; reading became fashionable; and our people, having no publick amusements to divert their attention from study, became better acquainted with books, and in a few years were observ'd by strangers to be better instructed and more intelligent than people of the same rank generally are in other countries.

Duly noted.

Sarcasm duly noted. What happened? You were fine this morning.” Camille hated to see her sister in obvious pain. It had been four years since she shattered her kneecap during a practice session for the Olympic volleyball team. Their world had been rocked and almost destroyed, along with their relationship. Without their parents around, Camille had taken onto her shoulders the role of mothering her sister, something Paige had not enjoyed. It had been a tenuous rebuild for them, but they were slowly getting there. Needless to say, though, Paige still did not like Camille’s mothering tactics. “I’m fine. It’s just a little stiff.” “But

Armstrong’s hydro-electric machine – to its visitors. This gargantuan piece of equipment could be used to mount a truly spectacular extravaganza of sparks and explosions. The press was duly primed to note its substantial dimensions, with a boiler 7.5ft long and 3.5ft in diameter, to produce steam; the steam then came gushing out of a series of nozzles to produce the electricity, which powered the whole contraption.

His providences, if duly observed, promote holiness by stopping up our way to sin. O, if men would but note the designs of God in his preventive providences, how useful would it be to keep them upright and holy in their ways! For why is it that the Lord so often hedges up our way with thorns, as it is in Hosea ii. 6, but that we should not find our paths to sin?

Still, it wasn’t a nice thing to say,” Clove said, shifting from one foot to the other. “I think Bay and Thistle are a bad influence on me sometimes. I was in a good mood until … .” “You saw me?” I prodded. “Actually, I was going to say I was in a good mood until you scared the life out of me,” Clove replied. “If you must know, seeing you doesn’t dampen my mood.” For some reason, the statement warmed me. “I see.” “Don’t let that go to your head,” Clove warned, extending a finger. “I didn’t say seeing you made me happy.” “Duly noted,” I said, fighting the urge to laugh. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing out here?” “Oh, well … .” Clove looked caught, and I was pretty sure I knew why. “Did you come out to see the Dandridge?

Duly noted, the noble don't even have to speak, they just show it through their actions, they don't have to preach.

The sacrifice taken as a whole is conceived as Haug notes "to be a kind of machinery in which every piece must tally with the other," the slightest discrepancy in the performance of even a minute ritualistic detail, say in the pouring of the melted butter on the fire, or the proper placing of utensils employed in the sacrifice, or even the misplacing of a mere straw contrary to the injunctions was sufficient to spoil the whole sacrifice with whatsoever earnestness it might be performed. Even if a word was mispronounced the most dreadful results might follow. Thus when Tva@s@t@r performed a sacrifice for the production of a demon who would be able to kill his enemy Indra, owing to the mistaken accent of a single word the object was reversed and the demon produced was killed by Indra. But if the sacrifice could be duly performed down to the minutest detail, there was no power which could arrest or delay the fruition of the object. Thus the objects of a sacrifice were fulfilled not by the grace of the gods, but as a natural result of the sacrifice. The performance of the rituals invariably

The biblical King David was also a sacred shepherd. His sensual and ecstatic songs of earthly love, so untypical of the Bible, derive from the ancient love rites of the shepherd king and the Goddess—her Canaanite names were Asherah, Astarte, Ashtoreth. The settled people of the Old Testament, like everyone else in the Near East, practiced Goddess worship. The Old Testament is the record of the conquest and massacre of these Neolithic people by the nomadic Hebrews, followers of a Sky God, who then set up their biblical God in the place of the ancient Goddess. The biblical Hebrews were a nomadic pastoral and patriarchal people, tribes of sheepherders and warriors who invaded land belonging to the matriarchal Canaanites. Both Hebrews and Canaanites were Semitic people. The Canaanites lived in agricultural communities and worshiped the orgiastic-ecstatic Moon Mother Astarte. As Old Testament stories relate, the Hebrews sacked, burned, and destroyed village after village belonging to the Canaanites, massacring or enslaving the people—a series of brutal invasions and slaughters described typically by theologians and preachers as “a spiritual victory.” In this way the Hebrews established themselves on the land, along with the worship of their Sky-and-Thunder God Yahweh (Jehovah), calling themselves his “chosen people.” Yahweh’s male prophets and priests, however, despite their political victory over the Canaanites, had to carry on a continuous struggle and fulmination against their own people, who kept “backsliding” into worship of the Great Mother, the Goddess of all their Near Eastern neighbors. For she had originally been the Goddess of the Hebrews themselves. This constant fight against matriarchal religion and custom is the primary theme of the Old Testament. It begins in Genesis, with the takeover of the Goddess’s Garden of Immortality by a male God, and the inversion of all her sacred symbols—tree, serpent, moon-fruit, woman—into icons of evil. Of the two sons of Eve and Adam, Cain was made the “evil brother” because he chose settled agriculture (matriarchal)—the “good brother” Abel was a nomadic pastoralist (patriarchal). The war against the Goddess is carried on by the prophets’ rantings against the “golden calf,” the “brazen serpents,” the “great harlot” and “Whore of Babylon” (the Babylonian Goddess Ishtar), against enchantresses, pythonic diviners, and those who practice witchcraft. It is in the prophets’ war against the Canaanite worship of “stone idols”—the Triple Moon Goddess worshiped as three horned pillars, or menhirs. One of her shrines was on Mount Sinai, which means “Mountain of the Moon.” Moses was commanded by “the Lord” to go forth and destroy these “idols”—who all had breasts. We are told monotheism began with the Jews, that it was the great “spiritual invention” of the religious leader Moses. This is not so. The worship of one God, like everything else in religion, began with the worship of the Goddess. Her universality has been duly noted by everyone who has ever studied the matter. “Monotheism, once thought to have been the invention of Moses or Akhnaton, was worldwide in the prehistoric and early historic world,” i.e., throughout the Paleolithic and Neolithic ages. As E. O. James wrote in The Cult of the Mother Goddess, “It seems that Evans was correct when he affirmed that it was a ‘monotheism in which the female form of divinity was supreme.” The original monotheism of the Goddess is perhaps most clearly shown by the fact that, in Elizabeth Gould Davis’s words, “Almighty Yahweh, the god of Moses and the later Hebrews, was originally a goddess.” His name, Iahu ’anat, derives from that of the Sumerian Goddess Inanna.

Other skills and attributes can be appreciated and duly noted, but beauty is instantly noticeable to all.

Mm, so the dirty talk does it for ya? Duly noted.

He continued his one-man show. “Wait, you’re not talking about the smokin’-hot brunette who shut you down when you asked her to go as your date tonight.” Her attempts to conceal her smile were futile. The corners of her lips turned up into a wide grin as she shook her head. “Yep. That’s the one,” Lucky confirmed…to himself. “And while it’s true that she did pass on going as my date, I would like the record to show that she sat right next to me at dinner and was flirting shamelessly—” A gasp flew from her mouth. “I was not!” “I’m sorry, but no one was talking to you.” He looked over at her as if she had truly interrupted a private conversation. Despite herself, she burst out laughing. “Rude,” he said under his breath as he once again stared out the windshield, pretending to be offended. “As I was saying, after flirting subtly but shamelessly with me during dinner, we shared one of the most…I don’t even have the words…intimate slow dances in the history of all time. Then, said smokin’-hot brunette asked me for a ride home. Sooo, was it a date? I think so.” Deanna was still chuckling as they drove onto the main road, all the tension she’d been feeling gone. She was relaxed now and surprisingly having fun. After composing herself, she crossed her arms. “Are you finished?” Lucky turned his head slightly towards her, acting surprised. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want to join the conversation?” “Only to set the record straight that, one, I did not flirt with you at dinner. Shamelessly or subtly. And, two, I did not ask for a ride home. That was all you.” “Duly noted. Is that it?” he asked casually, but she had a bad feeling the question was leading somewhere. She narrowed her eyes, knowing she was playing right into his hand. “Yes.” He grinned—one of victory. “So you admit that was one of the most intimate slow dances in the history of all time.” “I didn’t say that.” Heat once again rushed to her cheeks, and she was glad the only light in the SUV was from the moon. “You didn’t submit any evidence disproving it, so by default, ya kinda did say that.” He sounded more than a little pleased with himself. “Whatever.” She was still grinning like an idiot as she looked back out the window. It was the lamest of all possible comebacks, but she hadn’t known what else to say. If her brain wasn’t consumed with the fact that they were alone in a small, enclosed area and she’d had six glasses of wine, she would’ve been able to come up with a wittier retort.

If you ever do that again,” he managed, in a mock-threatening tone of voice, “I swear to God I’ll sign over everything I own and let you lead me around like a lap dog.” Lily circled one of his taut nipples with the tip of her finger. “Your warning has been duly noted—sir.” Caleb laughed. “Vixen.” She

In early America, fear of failure loomed largest on Sunday. Monday morning dawned about the year i8oo. By then, "failure" meant an entrepreneurial fall from grace-"a breaking in business," as Caleb Alexander's Columbian Dictionary duly noted. Failure was an incident, not an identity, in lexicons and common usage. In awkward but typical phrasing, the Pennsylvania Gazette reported in 1793, "They have not yet indeed made a failure, but they can do very little business." Early Americans "made" failures, but it took a while before failures made-or unmade-men.

The guessers had had all the power. They had won again. Germs indeed. The guessers revealed something else about themselves, too, which we should duly note today. They aren’t really interested in saving lives. What matters to them is being listened to—as, however ignorantly, their guessing goes on and on and on. If there’s anything they hate, it’s a wise human. So be one anyway. Save our lives and your lives, too. Be honorable.

Younger persons tend to care more about what other people think, but at the same time, less of consequences. Older persons often appear the opposite: They tend to care less about what other people think all the while much more considering consequences. Duly note that this is a general point, and with plenty of room for exceptions, but the deeper reason is that, for better or for worse, persons who are more heart-centered think in the present; those who are more mind-centered, they feel for the future.

From: Jonathan Rosenberg Date: Thu, Aug 5, 2010 at 2:59 PM Subject: Amidst boundless opportunities, 13 PMs whiff on OKRs (names included) Product Gang, As most of you know, I strongly believe that having a good set of quarterly OKRs is an important part of being successful at Google. That’s why I regularly send you notes reminding you to get them done on time, and why I ask managers to review them to make sure all of our OKRs are good. I’ve tried notes that are nice and notes that are mean. Personal favorites include threatening you with Jonathan’s Pit of Despair in October 07 and celebrating near perfection in July 08. Over time I iterated this carrot/stick approach until we reached near 100% compliance. Yay! So then I stopped sending notes, and look what happened: this quarter, SEVERAL of you didn’t get your OKRs done on time, and several others didn’t grade your Q2 OKRs. It turns out it’s not the type of note I send that matters, but the fact that I send anything at all! Names of the fallen are duly noted below (with a pass given to several AdMob employees who are new to the ways of Google, and to many of you who missed the deadline but still got them done in July). We have so many great opportunities before us (search, ads, display, YouTube, Android, enterprise, local, commerce, Chrome, TV, mobile, social . . .) that if you can’t come up with OKRs that get you excited about coming to work every day, then something must be wrong. In fact, if that’s really the case, come see me. In the meantime, please do your OKRs on time, grade your previous quarter’s OKRs, do a good job at it, and post them so that the OKR link from your moma [intranet] page works. This is not administrative busywork, it’s an important way to set your priorities for the quarter and ensure that we’re all working together. Jonathan

Very noted,” said Locke. “Received, recognized, and duly considered with the utmost gravity. Sealed, notarized, and firmly imprinted upon my rational essence.

King laughed. “Well, for starters…you’re kind of quirky.” “Quirky?” “Pup, did you or did you not just put Cheetos on your sandwich?” “Duly noted. Okay, quirky. I can handle that. Keep going. What else do you think you know about me?

Please relay a message to Ghastek for me," I said. "Your way isn't working. Let me help." The vampire dutifully repeated the words. "He says 'The situation is under control.'" "Tell him, no, it's not. You can't contain it now. What happens when the metamorphosis is complete?" He says, 'Your concern is duly noted.'" Argh. "Asshole." The undead opened his mouth and paused as the navigator caught himself. "Should I . . . ?" "No," another navigator told him. "You shouldn't.

I can tell Nate’s mulling over each of my words. Then he wrinkles his nose, which is, by the way, the cutest thing ever, and says, “Soft kissing. Building the intensity as it goes.” Duly noted.

We know you can speak. It is duly noted that your kind communicates in the common tongue.” He remains quiet. She taps her tablet in frustration. “Have it your way. If you still won’t speak willingly, I think it’s time to try something new.” Ursula leans away and looks at me. “Vivian, hand me a scalpel.” I reach behind me and grab a sanitized one. I wish I were a person with integrity, a person with righteous morals who fought against the corrupt, but I’m not because I am afraid. I grew out of morals when my father introduced me to my mother. Her refusal to acknowledge my existence sealed which side I was on. My father’s. When I hand the scalpel to Ursula, I look down to discover the naga’s eyes locked on me. Like clockwork, my face spreads with heat—my body with tingles—and I swallow shallowly. Hot already from the temperature, I turn away. My hand cups my mask as I glance at Ursula and Muffin. Their focus is elsewhere. They don’t notice a thing. He notices. I know he does. Even through his fury, he knows something is up with me. It happens every time his gaze finds mine in the brief moments he’s awake. I’m sick. And I’m certain it’s because his fang sliced through my flesh. “Vivian, Muffin, leave the room.” Jumping, I turn back. “What? Why?