Earthshaker Quotes

He remained heartbroken, which meant one of two things: either his love was pure and true and earthshakingly significant; or he was addicted to feeling forlorn, he liked being heartbroken.

Earthshaker, Stormbreaker, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God

Poseidon,' said Chiron. 'Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.

But in some ways, the most significant choices one makes in life are done for reasons that are not all that dramatic, not earth-shaking at all; often enough, the choices we make are, for better or for worse, made by default.

All events, no matter how earthshaking or bizarre, are diluted within moments of their occurrence by the continuance of the necessary routines of day-to-day living.

All events, no matter how earthshaking or bizarre, are diluted within moments of their occurrence the the continuance of the necessary routines of day-to-day. -Fitz Most prisons are of our own making. A man makes his own freedom, too. -Chade When you cut pieces out of the truth to avoid looking like a fool, you end up sounding like a moron instead. -Burrich We left. Walking uphill and into the wind. That suddenly seemed a metaphor for my whole life. -Fitz

I was reading an old text on the exploits of Belgarath the Sorcerer, and I –“ Senji stopped, going very pale, turned, and gaped at Garion’s grandfather. “It’s a terrible letdown, isn’t it?” Beldin said. “We always told him he ought to try to look more impressive.” “You’re in no position to talk,” the old man said. “You’re the one with the earthshaking reputation.” Beldin shrugged. “I’m just a flunky. I’m along for comic relief.” “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you, Beldin?” “I haven’t had so much fun in years. Wait until I tell Pol.” “You keep your mouth shut, you hear me?” “Yes, O mighty Belgarath,” Beldin said mockingly.

Instead of answering, Will took a step toward her, and all at once, everything happened too quickly to even make sense of it. One second he was standing three feet away from her, and in the next he had a hand on her hip and was pulling her close. Leaning in, he kissed her. His lips were soft soft, and he was suprisingly gentle. Maybe it was simply that he'd caught her by surprise, but even so, she found herself kissing him back. The kiss didn't last long, and it wasn't the kind of earthshaking, soul-destroying kiss common in movies these days; but even so, she was glad it happened, and for whatever reason, she realized it was exactly what she'd wanted him to do.

Poseidon,” said Chiron. “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.

When Black women stand up— as they did during the Montgomery Bus Boycott—as they did during the Black liberation era, earth-shaking changes occur.

Is the world tough for you, too?” I asked. As expected, the earthshaking rumble of the drill swallowed my voice. YoonGi's puzzled look told me he didn't understand. I screamed again. “Do you want to give up on this world, too?

That was our first time together. Interesting, an interesting experience, but not earth-shaking. But then, I never expected it to be earth-shaking, not with him. What I was determined to avoid was emotional entanglement. A passing fling was one thing, an affair of the heart quite another. Of myself I was fairly sure. I was not about to lose my heart to a man about whom I knew next to nothing.

You're wounded," Annabeth told me. "Quick, Percy, get in the water." "I'm okay." "No, you're not," she said. "Chiron, watch this." I was too tired to argue. I stepped back into the creek, the whole camp gathering around me. Instantly, I felt better. I could feel the cuts on my chest closing up. Some of the campers gasped. "Look, I - I don't know why," I said, trying to apologize. "I'm sorry...." But they weren't watching my wounds heal. They were staring at something above my head. "Percy," Annabeth said, pointing. "Um ..." By the time I looked up, the sign was already fading, but I could still make out the hologram of green light, spinning and gleaming. A three-tipped spear: a trident. "Your father," Annabeth murmured. "This is really not good." "It is determined," Chiron announced. All around me, campers started kneeling, even the Ares cabin, though they didn't look happy about it. "My father?" I asked, completely bewildered. "Poseidon," said Chiron. "Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.

Poseidon,’ said Chiron. ‘Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.

Is it the nature of the world that all things seek a rhythm, and in that rhythm a sort of peace? Certainly it has always seemed so to me. All events, no matter how earthshaking or bizarre, are diluted within moments of their occurrence by the continuance of the necessary routines of day-to-day living. Men waling a battlefield to search for wounded among the dead will still stop to cough, to blow their noses, still lift their eyes to watch a V of geese in flight. I have seen farmers continue their plowing and planting, heedless of armies clashing but a few miles away.

All events, no matter how earth-shaking or bizarre, are diluted within moments of their occurrence by the continuance of the necessary routines of day-to-day living. Men walking a battlefield to search for wounded among the dead will still stop to cough, to blow their noses, still lift their eyes to watch a V of geese in flight. I have seen farmers continue their ploughing and planting, heedless of armies clashing but a few miles away.

Self-consciousness is, from a naturalistic point of view (in this case neurobiological), not more than a degree of sophistication of neural processes. The emergence of self-conscious states is not a drastic, extravagant, earth-shaking phenomenon.

The name Eve/Eab/Age stems from the Latin aetas, which is from aevum, “lifetime.” The word aetas is remarkably similar to the name Aïdes, i.e. Hades. Eve, you see, is not Adam’s wife but Adam’s father, Zeus bronnton, Zeus “the thunderer/earthshaker,” Poseidon, the fallen — or, better still, suspended, mediating — aspect of God!

There is a name for that pebble: passion. It can be used to describe the beauty of an earth-shaking meeting between two people, but it isn't just that. It's there in the excitement of the unexpected, in the desire to do something with real fervour, in the certainty that one is going to realise a dream. Passion sends us signals that guide us through our lives, and it's up to me to interpret those signs. I would like to believe that I'm in love. With someone I don't know and who didn't figure in my plans at all. All these months of self-control, of denying love, have had exactly the opposite result: I have let myself be swept away by the first person to treat me a little differently.

All around me, campers started kneeling, even the Ares cabin, though they didn't look happy about it. 'My father?' I asked, completely bewildered. 'Poseidon,' said Chiron. 'Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.

If the Romans could have fortified their cities the way the human brain fortifies itself, we’d still be wearing togas. The mind is an amazing piece of biomachinery, really. A serious threat presents itself at the gate and up fly the walls, standing firm in the face of earth-shaking revelations, ideological bullets, and plain old logic.

Not all of us have to possess earth-shaking talent. Just common sense and love will do.

You begged me for clemency once,” he called over the dead reaches of the Fold, over the hungry shrieks of the horrors he had made. “Is this your idea of mercy?” Another bullet hit the sand, only inches from us. Yes, I thought as the power rose up inside me, the mercy you taught me. I raised my hand and brought it down in a blazing arc, slashing through the air. An earth-shaking crack echoed through the Fold as the sandskiff split in half. Raw screams filled the air and the volcra shrieked in their frenzy. I

 We look for visions from heaven and for earthshaking events to see God’s power. Even the fact that we are dejected is proof that we do this. Yet we never realize that all the time God is at work in our everyday events and in the people around us. If we will only obey, and do the task that He has placed closest to us, we will see Him. One of the most amazing revelations of God comes to us when we learn that it is in the everyday things of life that we realize the magnificent deity of Jesus Christ.

We can cherish nothing less than our random understanding of death and the earth-shaking love that draws us to one another ... Cleanliness and valor will be our watchwords. Nothing less will get us past the armed sentry and over the mountainous border.

Martin Luther arrived at his earthshaking conclusions imbued with biblical exposition. As a professor, he taught the book of Psalms verse by verse from 1513 to 1515, Romans from 1515 to 1516, Galatians from 1516 until 1517, the book of Hebrews from 1517 to 1518 and then the Psalms again from 1519 until 1521.

Your father,” Annabeth murmured. “This is really not good.” “It is determined,” Chiron announced. All around me, campers started kneeling, even the Ares cabin, though they didn’t look happy about it. “My father?” I asked, completely bewildered. “Poseidon,” said Chiron. “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.

An earth-shaking ROAR! drowned out Sophie’s reply. “What was that?” Sophie glanced over her shoulder, sure she’d spot some sort of hungry beast come to devour them. Biana pointed to a high branch, where a black parrot-size bird watched over them with glittering dark eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s just a boobrie.” “That’s seriously its name?” “Yup. You should hear the jokes Fitz and Keefe make.

Following the rules doesn’t create success; it just eliminates extremes—both good and bad. While this is usually good and all but eliminates downside risk, it also frequently eliminates earthshaking accomplishments. It’s like putting a governor on your engine that stops the car from going over fifty-five; you’re far less likely to get into a lethal crash, but you won’t be setting any land speed records either. So if those who play by the rules don’t end up at the very top, who does?

Who can fix it? We’ve been trying forever, here we are today and it’s still a beautiful mess. Still, our individual participation is vital. Don't do anything to make it worse, and maintain a positive and productive atmosphere around you. Contribute where you can with your talents, knowledge, awareness and energy, and recognize in your head and heart that you’re doing just that. You count. You influence your surroundings far more than you realize. Your smile can light up a room; your glare can darken it. Imagine what your laughter can accomplish right about now. Earthshaking.

I argue against purism not because I want a devastated world, the Mordor of industrial capitalism emerging as from a closely aligned alternate universe through our floating islands of plastic gradually breaking down into microbeads consumed by the scant marine life left alive after generations of overfishing, bottom scraping, and coral reef–killing ocean acidification; our human-caused, place-devastating elevated sea levels; our earth-shaking, water poisoning fracking; our toxic lakes made of the externalities of rare-earth mineral production for so-called advanced electronics; our soul-and-life destroying prisons; our oil spills; our children playing with bits of dirty bombs; our white phosphorus; our generations of trauma held in the body; our cancers; and I could go on. I argue against purism because it is one bad but common approach to devastation in all its forms. It is a common approach for anyone who attempts to meet and control a complex situation that is fundamentally outside our control. It is a bad approach because it shuts down precisely the field of possibility that might allow us to take better collective action against the destruction of the world in all its strange, delightful, impure frolic. Purism is a de-collectivizing, de-mobilizing, paradoxical politics of despair. This world deserves better.

Why is it difficult for scientists to write in simple language? One reason is because we are part of a community where every statement and idea should be credited to fellow scientists. Professional science writers have the luxury of borrowing ideas from anyone, combining them in unexpected ways, simplifying and illuminating them with attractive metaphors, and packaging them in a mesmerizing narrative. They can do this without hesitation because the audience is aware that the author is a smart storyteller and not the maker of the discoveries. However, when scientists follow such a path, it is hard to distinguish, both for them and the audience, whether the beautiful insights and earthshaking ideas were sparked from their own brains or from other hard-working colleagues.

By the way, what presumptuous egocentricity to believe that earth-shaking events, on the scale at which a god (or a tectonic plate) might operate, must always have a human connection. Why should a divine being, with creation and eternity on his mind, care a fig for petty human malefactions? We humans give ourselves such airs, even aggrandizing our poky little 'sins' to the level of cosmic significance!

His breath left his lungs in a harsh exhale as he focused on her lips, the lips that had touched his, leaving him frozen while every part of him burned. As much as he reminded himself that it had been a joke, a tease, a way to win the silly game she'd insisted they play, he still couldn't shrink it down to the right size in his own mind. It was huge and important, and he'd always remember those few earth-shaking seconds. How could he forget his first kiss?

TTime and again the need arises for one fierce sword of character to stand face to face with the inhumans and bigots, and announce with an earth-shaking fervor - from this moment on, you are only inches away from extinction - at night look closely to every shadow - and by the light of day know that I am just one step behind you - mark me - one sinister move, one malicious deed and I will swoop down on you like god's thunder - from this moment on, I own your evil heart, and I will crush it, if you hurt the people anymore.

The issue concerned a minor matter of etiquette: How should the president be addressed by members of Congress? While hardly an earthshaking question, it had symbolic significance because of the obsessive American suspicion of monarchy, which haunted all conversations about the powers of the presidency under the recently ratified constituion...Anyone who favored a strong exective was vulnerable to the charge of being a quasi-monarchist...Adams was so confident in his own revolutionary credentials that he regarded himself as immune to such charges, but when he lectured the Senate on the need for elaborate trappings of authority and proposed the President Washington be addressed as 'His Majesty' or 'His Highness,'his remarks became the butt of serveral barbed jokes, including the suggestion that he had been seized by 'nobilimania' during his long sojourn in England and might prefer to be addressed as 'His Rotundity'or the 'Duke of Braintree.' Jefferson threw up his hands at the sheer stupidity of Adam's proposals, calling them 'the most superlatively ridiculous thing I ever heard of.

Okay, now. In the spirit of open minds — try to walk in somebody else's shoes at least once a day. Maybe even twice a day. What's it like for your poor teachers to have to put up with you rowdy, ill-tempered boys and girls? Just kidding. You're all very nice! What's it like for the other kids in your class? I'm talking about every single kid in this school! What is school like for them? Please walk in their shoes. Okay, and what's it like for your moms and dads? They think about you all the time. Especially your moms. Now it's time to think about them. Another thing. This is kind of earth-shakingly important. If you're a bully — stop it right now! Being a bully could mean you have stuff to work out at home. So try your best to work it out at home.

Relativistic twins? When one looks at the paths that Newton and Einstein followed while pursuing their theories of gravity, one is struck by the many similarities: the unexplained data on orbits, the sudden insight about falling objects, the need for a new mathematics, the calculational difficulties, the retroactive agreements, the controversy, the problem-plagued expeditions, and the final triumph and acclaim.. Both men had worked in the same eccentric and lonely way, divorced from other scientists, armed with a great feeling of self-reliance while struggling with new concepts and difficult mathematics, and both produced earth-shaking results. One can't help but wonder if these two greatest of scientists, born 237 years apart, were "relativistically related", conceived as twins in some ethereal plane in a far-off galaxy and sent to earth to solve a matter of some gravity.

2/ KICK YOUR OWN ASS, GENTLY. I’ve been trying to set a few modest goals, both daily and weekly. In the course of a day, it’s good to get some stupid things accomplished, and off your “list.” I guess because it leaves you feeling that you and the “rest of the world” still have something to do with each other! Like today, for example, I can think back on sending a fax to my brother on his birthday, leaving a phone message for Brutus at his “hotel” on his birthday, phoning my Dad on his birthday (yep, all on the same day), then driving to Morin Heights to the ATM machine, to St. Sauveur for grocery shopping, and planning all that so I’d still have enough daylight left to go snowshoeing in the woods. And then I could drink. Not a high-pressure day, and hardly earth-shaking activities, but I laid them out for myself and did them (even though tempted to “not bother” with each of them at one point or another). I gave myself a gentle kick in the ass when necessary, or cursed myself out for a lazy fool, and because of all that, I consider today a satisfactory day. Everything that needed to be done got done. And by “needs” I certainly include taking my little baby soul out for a ride. And drinking. And there are little side benefits from such activities, like when the cashier in the grocery store wished me a genuinely-pleasant “Bonjour,” and I forced myself to look at her and return the greeting. The world still seems unreal to me, but I try not to purposely avoid contact with pleasant strangers. It wouldn’t be polite! Another “little goal” for me right now is spending an hour or two at the desk every morning, writing a letter or a fax to someone like you, or Brutus, or Danny, who I want to reach out to, or conversely, to someone I’ve been out of touch with for a long while, maybe for a year-and-a-half or two years. These are friends that I’ve decided I still value, and that I want as part of my “new life,” whatever it may be. It doesn’t really matter what, but just so you can say that you changed something in the course of your day: a neglected friend is no longer neglected; an errand that ought to be dealt with has been dealt with.

They were both comparative mirrors of each other. It was clear to her now more than he had used her and she was outraged that she had someone allowed it if not instigated it. Kitty retreated; she bit her lips to hold back the tears. She was a strong woman. The car purred to life and the tall shadowy figure of the boy she had the most earthshaking sex with a few nights ago gaped at her with contempt from behind the glass. She raced into traffic and a push cart man swung his arms at her motor car belting out expletives, scolding Kitty for her reckless driving. She wanted to go home but first she wanted to be at one with the wind. She listened to the sound of the cars whooshing by and the bubbly nature of the people heading into the Chinese owned supermarkets and knew she was finally home. It always found her. It found her in the men she fell in love with. Tom was a good man but he was safe and Kitty never liked safe, she was reckless and risqué like the malefactor blood that ran in her veins. She could not run from it. The Ghetto was not just a place; it was a state of mind. She always thought she was running from the Ghetto but the Ghetto was with her even to the deepest corners of the earth for the Ghetto was her. You could not run away from yourself.

The “song” (he felt the word’s inadequacy, but knew no other word for it) had taken on for him all the significance of a historical, even a revolutionary event. He wondered how its existence had never been celebrated, or indeed mentioned in the newspapers. The music itself seemed to invite, even demand, a revolutionary interpretation. Not just in the sheer immensity of its sounds, the tremendous, earth-shaking importance asserted in its whispers and crashes, but in its progression, the very arrangement of its notes. The song began with trilling ups and downs that surely signified the fermenting, but disorganized, dissatisfaction of the pre-revolutionary proletariat; then, as though from afar, there entered for the first time the major melody, the sad but uplifting theme that came in to give sudden coherence, order, and direction to the impotent turmoil; and eventually, after a few unforeseen deviations, interruptions, and delays that could only signify the War itself, the rising and falling turmoil dropped entirely away, and only the theme remained, stronger and clearer than ever. And

I was racing to pull on my pants, since it seemed ridiculous to be standing in my underwear as the deputy head of Russia’s spy agency spilled his guts about some earthshaking plot.

She knows exactly what she wants, and she’s not just telling me. She’s showing me in the most earthshaking way possible.

as an assistant.” It was worth noting, but hardly earthshaking news. Spies were everywhere, and both sides knew it. That this operative tried to convert Woodhull to his side while clearly unaware as to Woodhull’s true loyalties is both comical and a testimony to the convincing role Woodhull was playing as a man of profound apathy. His secret letters, however, reveal just how deep his passions truly ran.

Revolutionary Poetry For poetry to take a quantum leap from a passion meaningful to few to a coup d'état that reinvents it purpose and brings millions under its fold, will require a paradigm shift no less earth-shaking than the Copernican revolution that turned the Heavens on its head.

I have stood in the places where history was made. I have seen with my own eyes the part that men and women of faith have played in these earthshaking events, and I have heard with my own ears their cries for freedom.

she begins to understand what it is that the older orogenes display: control. They have mastered their power. No ringed orogene would ice the courtyard just because some boy shoved her. None of these sleek, black-clad professionals would bat so much as an eyelash at either a strong earthshake, or a family’s rejection. They know what they are, and they have accepted all that means, and they fear nothing—not the stills, not themselves, not even Old Man Earth. If to achieve this Damaya must endure a few broken bones, or a few years in a place where no one loves or even likes her, that is a small price to pay.

As the social sciences became increasingly central to the formulation of public policy, this doctrine reinforced the political and legal drive for school desegregation. So powerful was the presumption that when Congress in 1964 ordered a survey on “the lack of availability of equal educational opportunity for individuals by reason of race, color, religion or national origin,” James Coleman, the study’s director, could tell an interviewer even before the field work was done: “… the study will show the difference in the quality of schools that the average Negro child and the average white child are exposed to. You know yourself that the difference is going to be striking.” So Coleman and most of the academic establishment were startled and dismayed eight months later by just how little difference his survey detected. When the results were in from this, the second-largest social science research project in history, they produced conclusions sharply at variance with the reigning doctrine. Popular impressions to the contrary, Coleman’s investigators found little difference between physical facilities and curricula at black and white schools. Moreover, the differences they did recognize had little effect on black and white performance. Even racial integration had relatively little impact on student achievement, as measured by standardized tests. The significant variables lay, not in the schools at all, but in the homes from which the children came and the cultural and class influences surrounding those homes. If the Coleman Report—as it came to be known—was a thunderclap in the cloistered world of social science research, its implications for public policy were even more earthshaking. Science magazine called it “a spear pointed at the heart of the cherished American belief that equality of educational opportunity will increase the equality of educational achievements.” But its implications went even deeper than that. For if the family, not the school, made the difference; if the poor, the black, and the disenfranchised were less susceptible to educational influence than hitherto believed; if differences between Americans were rooted in the bedrock of class—then social progress would be far more difficult to achieve than most people of goodwill had assumed.

Muldoon referred to an invention that Menlo Parker was currently working on, designing a miniaturized portable radio-telephone which the Omega operatives could carry on their person at all times, and by which they could always get in touch with one another, and also tap into the public phone lines to contact the police, fire department, or ambulance. The invention was by no means yet perfected.

JENNA SMILED WHEN Easy walked into the bedroom, carrying what appeared to be half the refrigerator on a bowing cookie sheet. How much more sweet could he be? He glanced between her and Sara like he was unsure what to do next. Jenna pulled the covers back so the surface would be flat and patted the bed next to her. “Put it anywhere.” Easy set the makeshift tray down and rubbed a hand over his head. “I tried to think of things that would be gentle on your stomach,” he said in a low voice. “But if you want something different—” “No, this looks perfect.” Her gaze settled on a tall glass of . . . She gasped. “You made me a milk shake?” At that, Sara patted her on the knee. “Okay, I’m gonna go. Let me know if you need anything?” “Oh, uh, Shane was making you all something to eat,” Easy said. Sara smiled. “Good timing. This is making me hungry,” she said, gesturing to the tray. Jenna grabbed up the milk shake and hugged the glass against her chest. “Get your own.” Holding up her hands in surrender, Sara smiled. “All yours. Besides, Nick and Jeremy have the world’s biggest sweet tooths. There’s an endless supply of ice cream downstairs. I’m not even joking. So there’s more where that came from.” She squeezed Easy’s arm. “You know where to find me if you need me,” she said. And then they were alone. Jenna was glad. Not because having Easy here warded off her panic and fear but because she just wanted to be with him. She fished a spoon out from between two plates and took a taste of her treat. Freaking heaven. “Oh, my God,” she said, scooping another big bite. “This is so good. I can’t believe you made me a milk shake.” Even when her father had been alive, no one was really taking care of Jenna. So maybe Easy’s thoughtfulness wouldn’t have been so earthshaking to someone else, but to her, it meant everything. She peered up at him, which made her realize he was still standing. Crisscrossing her legs, she pointed at the foot of the bed. “Come sit down. Some of this has to be for you, right?” “Yeah,” Easy said. “You sure this is okay?” “It’s great, really. I can’t even remember the last time I ate, so this is like filet mignon and Maine lobster rolled into one. Seriously.” She exchanged the milk shake for the bowl of soup, and the warm, salty broth tasted every bit as good. They ate in companionable silence for a while, then he asked, “So, what are you studying in school?” “International business,” Jenna said around a spoonful of soup. “I always wanted to travel.” And, to put it more plainly, she’d always wanted to get the hell out of here. “Sounds ambitious,” Easy said. “Did you have to learn languages?” Jenna nodded. “I minored in Spanish, and I’ve taken some French, too. What I’d really like to learn is Chinese since there are so many new markets opening up there. But I’ve heard it’s really hard. Do you speak any other languages?” Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Easy nodded. “Hablo español, árabe, y Dari.” Grinning, Jenna reached for her bagel. She’d thought him hard to resist just being his usual sexy, thoughtful, protective self. If he was going to throw speaking to her in a foreign language into the mix, she’d be a goner. “What is Dari?” “One of the main languages in Afghanistan,” he said. “Oh. Guess that makes sense. Are Arabic and Dari hard to learn?” “Yeah. Where I grew up in Philly, there were a lot of Hispanic kids, so Spanish was like a second language. But coming to languages as an adult about kicked my ass. Cultural training is a big part of Special Forces training, though. We’re not out there just trying to win battles, but hearts and minds, too. . .” He frowned. “Or, we were, anyway.

A note on the file folder said More series material in box 3312. “That one, Molly.” Reed pointed to the box on the top shelf in the corner. “Get that one. Look for two stories from the series. The folders might have something written on them.” Still on the higher shelf, Wilson heaved the box nearer, opening to the case of Cyras Makepeace. “Remember that case, Tom? Wilderness guide whose customers died hiking?” “Yeah, it’s all coming back. Cyras arranged to make himself a beneficiary on their insurance policies before his clients had wilderness accidents. They never charged him even after a couple of exhumations.” “Here’s the last one on the series,” Wilson said, just as the lights flickered, the floor shook from the presses, and the board she was standing on cracked. “Look out!” Wilson caught herself but the box crashed, files spilled on the floor at Reed’s feet He bent down to collect them. He reached for a black-and-white mug shot and he froze. “Jesus Christ!” Realization rushed at him with all the fury and the earth-shaking thunder of the presses, driving him to his knees as he studied the face that met his in the flickering light.

are constantly taking transient experiences, cramming them into prearranged slots, turning discontinuity into continuity, and making solid what is actually fluid. The technical term for what’s happening is reification—giving immaterial experiences “thingness.” So convincing is this transformation that rocks seem solid and heavy when, in fact, your mind reified them—you have created solidity and heaviness in your own awareness. This constitutes another outrageous conclusion to anyone who is out to reinforce and reaffirm the spell/dream/illusion. But you cannot thaw out the “thingness” of the physical world unless you break down the process that created it. I’m hesitant to use any kind of jargon, but we need to delve into how reification works. The dictionary definition of reify is “to make something more concrete or real.” The mental image of money gets reified into a dollar bill, which you can fold up and stick in your wallet. “Parenting” gets reified when you decide to have a baby you can hold in your arms. What’s earthshaking is that virtual reality owes its existence entirely to reification. The web of connections that entangles everything in the spell/dream/ illusion with everything else comes down to the mind, because connections are mind-made. No object is actually a physical thing, pure and simple. “Object” and “thing” and “physical” are strands of a mental web. People find it relatively easy to accept that a piece of paper currency is the reified form of a concept (money), but they balk when they are told that the same is true of body, brain, and universe. The key is to

We look for visions from heaven and for earth-shaking events to see God’s power. Even the fact that we are dejected is proof that we do this. Yet we never realize that all the time God is at work in our everyday events and in the people around us. If we will only obey, and do the task that He has placed closest to us, we will see Him. One of the most amazing revelations of God comes to us when we learn that it is in the everyday things of life that we realize the magnificent deity of Jesus Christ.

Is it the nature of the world that all things seek a rhythm, and in that rhythm a sort of peace? Certainly it has always seemed so to me. All events, no matter how earthshaking or bizarre, are diluted within moments of their occurrence by the continuance of the necessary routines of day-to-day living. Men walking a battlefield to search for wounded among the dead will still stop to cough, to blow their noses, still lift their eyes to watch a V of geese in flight.

The same local orientation and limited purview hold for sex in marriage. Through any given sexual act, spouses might express love, desire, generosity, frustration, fatigue, or a manipulative intent, but they will do so in the semantic context of a day, week, a stage of life, and series of specific events, and all set within the broader context of a shared life. Any particular sexual encounter need not say anything earth shattering; it need not point to the fullness or full meaning of a sexual relationship. We need not be completed by our sexual complement. Most sex within marriage is just ordinary, a minor episode in a larger story. One set of sexual expressions may need to be redeemed by another, and can be. One-night stands and passionate affairs, in contrast, need to be earthshaking and splendid because they are the whole story. They are manic attempts to overcome the fact that there is nothing else. The true superiority of sexual intercourse in marriage is that it does not have to mean very much. Expressed sexually or otherwise, our 'humanity' is something that accumulates quietly through small steps and comes to us as a whole only when we step back, in order to look back and to imagine the future.

To be sure, researchers on data mining have yet to offer any significant breakthrough regarding human happiness - that people prefer weekends to Tuesdays, that rain affects moods, that depressed individuals prefer darker colours and hues, and that Christmas is one of the happiest days of the year are amongst their earth-shaking findings.

Mo Ran at first wanted to recite some earthshakingly romantic lines of poetry, but unfortunately, he was the kind of illiterate who could name his own ruling era something akin to “Cock.

Here is the personal source of "the two Hegels." On the one hand, there is Hegel's sense of particular contexts, communities, and cultures; on the other hand, there is his Enlightenment sense of humanity, this all-embracing conception that had become, in Kant for example, the key to morality, rationality, politics, religion, and simply "being human." There is, again, this extreme tension in Hegel's Spirit, in other words, between his sense of unity and his sense of differences. And I shall argue in the pages that follow that this essential temperamental tension emerges in the writing of the Phenomenology itself, literally splitting the work in two. The incoherence of the Phenomenology, I want to argue, is nothing less than the epic philosophical tension of the age—something far more important than the lack of organization of a single philosopher, and something far more earth-shaking than an academic confusion concerning the proper "systematization" of German Idealism.

When Governor Wallace was reported recovering and able to receive visitors at Holy Cross Hospital in Silver Spring, Maryland, I went to pay him a call. No two candidates, perhaps no two people, could differ more vehemently on many issues of public policy, but I could not see that this ought to have any relationship to our private behavior toward each other. With one of my Congressional staff aides and several Secret Service men, I drove out and spent twenty minutes with him. Governor Wallace seemed sincerely touched. He cried for a moment, and so did I. "Is that really you, Shirley?" he asked. "Have you come to see me?" What we talked about was nothing earthshaking; it was like almost any other sick call. I did say at one point, "You and I don't agree, but you've been shot, and I might be shot, and we are both children of American democracy, so I wanted to come and see you.

This is the earthshaking insight that gave Luther the solidest of all foundations in Scripture upon which to base what may well be reckoned the greatest revolution in human history. But by jesting in 1532 that it happened in that most humbling and humiliating of places—“upon the toilet”—Luther made it a perfect illustration of his theological foundation. That is because it is in keeping with everything he knew about the incarnated God of the Bible. The specific point here is that the infinite and omniscient and omnipotent creator God of heaven did not descend to earth on a golden cloud. He came to us through screaming pain, through the bloody agony of a maiden’s vagina, in a cattle stall filthy with and stinking of dung. This is how humans enter the world, and

That is why throughout history and across disciplines, the best problem solvers, the big beasts of creativity who conjure earthshaking breakthroughs, have cherished solitude. Einstein spent hours staring into space in his office at Princeton University. William Wordsworth described Newton as “a mind for ever / Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.” Every major religion has prophets—Buddha, Muhammad, Moses—who went out into the wilderness to grapple with the big questions on their own.

Is it the nature of the world that all things seek a rhythm, and in that rhythm a sort of peace? Certainly it has always seemed so to me. All events, no matter how earth-shaking or bizarre, are diluted within moments of their occurrence by the continuance of the necessary routines of day-to-day living. Men walking a battlefield to search for wounded among the dead will still stop to cough, to blow their noses, still lift their eyes to watch a V of geese in flight.

Is it the nature of the world that all things seek a rhythm, and in that rhythm a sort of peace? Certainly it has always seemed so to me. All events, no matter how earth-shaking or bizarre, are diluted within moments of their occurrence by the continuance of the necessary routines of day-to-day living.

They were no fools-these Brahmins. They knew how to project even the mundane tasks of burning twigs as earth-shaking, scientific discoveries and claimed to tame the forces that controlled the world.

In 2003, the OECD published a paper on ‘sources of growth in OECD countries’ between 1971 and 1998, finding to its explicit surprise that whereas privately funded research and development stimulated economic growth, publicly funded research had no economic impact whatsoever. None. This earthshaking result has never been challenged or debunked. Yet it is so inconvenient to the argument that science needs public funding that it is ignored.

That the human body or any other animal is a system comprised of millions of smaller systems, some of them completely separate from us genetically, shouldn’t be an earthshaking revelation.

Our leader was dead. My eyes too filled with tears, and I wept like the thousand other. I heard heartrending screeches and earthshaking howls, people gasped for breath and choked in anguish - and then my mind began to wander. Grief no longer held me in its sway; my thoughts started moving in another direction entirely. If it had been just a few people weeping, I would certainly have felt sad, but a thousand people weeping at the same time simply struck me as funny. I had never in my life heard such cacophony. Even if every living variety of beast were to send a delegate to our auditorium and they were all to below in unison, I thought to myself, they surely could not make a stranger chorus than the din of a thousand people crying their heads off. This untimely fancy might have been the death of me. I couldn't help but smile, and then I had to fight back the laugh that was pushing its way out. If anybody were to see me laughing, I would be labeled a counterrevolutionary on the spot and life would not be worth living. Hard as I tried to bottle up my laughter, it insisted on spilling forth, and knowing I couldn't stifle it any longer, I desperately threw myself forward, hugging the back of the chair in front of me and buried my head in my folded arms. Amid weeping of a thousand people I was in the throes of uncontainable mirth, my shoulders heaving, and the more I tried to stop myself from laughing, the more laughs kept coming. My classmates, through a curtain of tears, saw me sprawled over a chair, racked by agonizing spasms of grief. They were deeply moved by my devotion to our fallen leader, and later they would say, 'Yu Hua was more upset than anyone - you should have seen the way he was crying

Our leader was dead. My eyes too filled with tears, and I wept like the thousand others. I heard heartrending screeches and earthshaking howls, people gasped for breath and choked in anguish - and then my mind began to wander. Grief no longer held me in its sway; my thoughts started moving in another direction entirely. If it had been just a few people weeping, I would certainly have felt sad, but a thousand people weeping at the same time simply struck me as funny. I had never in my life heard such cacophony. Even if every living variety of beast were to send a delegate to our auditorium and they were all to below in unison, I thought to myself, they surely could not make a stranger chorus than the din of a thousand people crying their heads off. This untimely fancy might have been the death of me. I couldn't help but smile, and then I had to fight back the laugh that was pushing its way out. If anybody were to see me laughing, I would be labeled a counterrevolutionary on the spot and life would not be worth living. Hard as I tried to bottle up my laughter, it insisted on spilling forth, and knowing I couldn't stifle it any longer, I desperately threw myself forward, hugging the back of the chair in front of me and buried my head in my folded arms. Amid weeping of a thousand people I was in the throes of uncontainable mirth, my shoulders heaving, and the more I tried to stop myself from laughing, the more laughs kept coming. My classmates, through a curtain of tears, saw me sprawled over a chair, racked by agonizing spasms of grief. They were deeply moved by my devotion to our fallen leader, and later they would say, 'Yu Hua was more upset than anyone - you should have seen the way he was crying

One potential explanation suggests that the evolutionary development of speech, language, and creativity, while bestowing significant gifts, has “dragged” along less desirable genetic tendencies with it; from this perspective, schizophrenia is simply the price humanity pays for the ability to write heartrending operas and earthshaking speeches.

It's like my very soul recognizes his. From the very beginning, there was the slightest tremor in my body, an awareness, a dormant part of me awakening, but the second I allowed myself to feel for him, that tremor became an earthshaking, life-altering, realization. Hades belongs to me. I belong to Hades.