Even The Strongest Break Quotes

Everyone cries sometimes, Tory. There are some pains that run too deep for even the strongest to take without breaking. I don’t think any less of you for it. (Acheron)

Life has a way of breaking even the strongest among us.

You think love is as fragile as that? Like a stalk of wheat, easily broken in a storm? That’s not what love is. Real love is the strongest kind of steel. It’s blade that can be melted down, its form changed with every bang of the hammer, but to break it is a task no one is capable of. Not even Death.

And when I look around the apartment where I now am,—when I see Charlotte’s apparel lying before me, and Albert’s writings, and all those articles of furniture which are so familiar to me, even to the very inkstand which I am using,—when I think what I am to this family—everything. My friends esteem me; I often contribute to their happiness, and my heart seems as if it could not beat without them; and yet—if I were to die, if I were to be summoned from the midst of this circle, would they feel—or how long would they feel—the void which my loss would make in their existence? How long! Yes, such is the frailty of man, that even there, where he has the greatest consciousness of his own being, where he makes the strongest and most forcible impression, even in the memory, in the heart of his beloved, there also he must perish,—vanish,—and that quickly. I could tear open my bosom with vexation to think how little we are capable of influencing the feelings of each other. No one can communicate to me those sensations of love, joy, rapture, and delight which I do not naturally possess; and though my heart may glow with the most lively affection, I cannot make the happiness of one in whom the same warmth is not inherent. Sometimes I don’t understand how another can love her, is allowed to love her, since I love her so completely myself, so intensely, so fully, grasp nothing, know nothing, have nothing but her! I possess so much, but my love for her absorbs it all. I possess so much, but without her I have nothing. One hundred times have I been on the point of embracing her. Heavens! what a torment it is to see so much loveliness passing and repassing before us, and yet not dare to lay hold of it! And laying hold is the most natural of human instincts. Do not children touch everything they see? And I! Witness, Heaven, how often I lie down in my bed with a wish, and even a hope, that I may never awaken again! And in the morning, when I open my eyes, I behold the sun once more, and am wretched. If I were whimsical, I might blame the weather, or an acquaintance, or some personal disappointment, for my discontented mind; and then this insupportable load of trouble would not rest entirely upon myself. But, alas! I feel it too sadly; I am alone the cause of my own woe, am I not? Truly, my own bosom contains the source of all my pleasure. Am I not the same being who once enjoyed an excess of happiness, who at every step saw paradise open before him, and whose heart was ever expanded towards the whole world? And this heart is now dead; no sentiment can revive it. My eyes are dry; and my senses, no more refreshed by the influence of soft tears, wither and consume my brain. I suffer much, for I have lost the only charm of life: that active, sacred power which created worlds around me,—it is no more. When I look from my window at the distant hills, and behold the morning sun breaking through the mists, and illuminating the country around, which is still wrapped in silence, whilst the soft stream winds gently through the willows, which have shed their leaves; when glorious Nature displays all her beauties before me, and her wondrous prospects are ineffectual to extract one tear of joy from my withered heart,—I feel that in such a moment I stand like a reprobate before heaven, hardened, insensible, and unmoved. Oftentimes do I then bend my knee to the earth, and implore God for the blessing of tears, as the desponding labourer in some scorching climate prays for the dews of heaven to moisten his parched corn.

There are some pains that run too deep for even the strongest to take without breaking.

Walter Mittys with Everest dreams need to bear in mind that when things go wrong up in the Death Zone--and sooner or later they always do--the strongest guides in the world may be powerless to save a client's life; indeed, as the events of 1996 demonstrated, the strongest guides in the world are sometimes powerless to save even their own lives. Four of my teammates died not so much because Rob Hall's systems were faulty--indeed, nobody's were better--but because on Everest it is the nature of systems to break down with a vengeance.

We accept life, breathe it in and celebrate it. But when death rocks our world, turning our happiness into hurt and grief, we fight it, unable to accept something that was engrained from the beginning. It’s a fact of life that is cruel, but undoubtedly necessary. Death is one of life’s biggest weakness, it's the one thing that will break even the strongest of people.

Love is the strongest bond. Nothing can break it, not even death.

Suspicion has a way of breaking through even the strongest barriers.

Even the strongest warrior’s heart can break. His soul can still be crushed. Since I won’t be able to comfort you when the challenges before you feel too great, take this book and keep it as a guide. Above all, know this. There will be times when the world seeks to destroy you, Kingfisher. But you are stronger than you can ever know. You will not falter. And you will not face it all alone.

She’d just watched Tristan McLean, her cool suave movie star dad, reduced to near insanity. Leo could barely stand to watch that, but for Piper—Wow, Leo couldn’t even imagine. He figured that would make her insecure about herself, too. If weakness was inherited, she’d be wondering, could she break down the same way her dad did? “Hey, don’t worry,” Leo said. “Piper, you’re the strongest, most powerful beauty queen I’ve ever met. You can trust yourself. For what it’s worth, you can trust me too.” The helicopter dipped in a wind shear, and Leo almost jumped out of his skin. He cursed and righted the chopper. Piper laughed nervously. “Trust you, huh?” “Ah, shut up, already.” But he grinned at her, and for a second, it felt like he was just relaxing comfortably with a friend. Then they hit the storm clouds.

Even a strong child, a powerful child, would be dependent on the adults around her. If her strength could unnerve him, how would her people, her family, react if they ever discovered what was contained inside that small husk? Would they accept the child who already was the strongest Queen in the history of the Blood, or would they fear the power? And if they feared the power, would they try to cut her off from it by breaking her? A Virgin Night performed with malevolent skill could strip her of her power while leaving the rest intact. But, since her inner web was so deep in the abyss, she might be able to withdraw far enough to withstand the physical violation—unless the male was able to descend deep enough into the abyss to threaten her even there. Was there a male strong enough, dark enough, vicious enough? There was…one." - Saetan

Grief can break even the strongest person.

She didn’t realize there was such a thing as being too strong too fast. She didn’t realize that even the strongest people could be dangerously close to breaking.

He’ll take from your mind the answer best suited to lead you on, to enthrall you. He’ll weave a web of deceits so thick you won’t see the world through it. He wants your strength and he’ll say what he must say to get it. Break the chain, child! You’re the strongest of them all! Break the chain and he’ll go back to hell for he has no other place to go in all the wide world to find strength like yours. Don’t you see? He’s created it. Bred sister to brother, and uncle to niece, and son to mother, yes, that too, when he had to do it, to make an ever more powerful witch, only faltering now and then, and gaining what he lost in one generation by even greater strength in the next. What was the cost of Antha and Deirdre if he could have a Rowan!

I run my fingers along the thick, fabric wallpaper to steady myself. Putting one foot in front of another feels like learning to walk all over again. My body's still working. Heart's still beating. Lungs still moving. But not because I want them to. They do those things on their own, without me even asking. So why didn't they do it for Eamon ? How could his body just give up on him like that ? Fall apart. It made him seen so fragile, and I don't want to remember him that way. He was the strongest guy I knew. How could he break so easily ? It seems like our bodies would be built better. It just doesn't fucking seem real.

The ground was shaking and my decade-old walls were starting to crumble. I could lose myself trying to rebuild them while the super storm known as Henry Alexander ominously hovered over me. Or I could sit back, relax, and enjoy the thunder. Even the strongest hurricanes had to die out eventually. Maybe Henry was mine. Or, more likely, he’d be the earthquake that was going to break me down before swallowing me whole. Either way, I wasn’t going to be left standing.

Fabian didn't flinch under Vlad's harsh analysis. "You have no idea what it's like, existing between worlds," he said, floating closer instead of backing away. "We are neither the living or the undead. It takes years to cope with the fact that even though over ninety-nine percent of everyone who dies crosses over to the next place, you are left behind. Years to accept that everything you worked for in your life is gone, and the shell of memory is all that remains. Years to recover from hopelessly trying to communicate with loved ones, only to fail time and again because no one except the crazed, psychics, the undead, or other ghosts can see you. Years to accept---even if you don't understand why---that vampires and ghouls will treat you worse that they do vermin, even though they are no human than you are." Fabian advanced again, until his finger disappeared into Vlad's chest. "I'd dare the strongest of your race or any other to say that they've conquered the same hardships my people have overcome. So think again before you question a ghost's worth, or judge those younger ones who are still in the process of becoming tougher than anyone tied to flesh will ever be." Stunned silence filled the air once Fabian was finished. I wanted to break out in apologies and applause all at the same time, but I was still recovering from my shock at how my mild-mannered, Casperesque friend had just unloaded a truck full of I-dare-yous onto one of the scariest vampires in existence. Damned if I would ever underestimate a ghost's chutzpah again, or question their fortitude. Being noncorporeal clearly didn't equate to lacking a pair of balls.

Nina had been just seven years old when she’d met her first tyrant. His name was Tomek, and he changed everything at the foundling home. He wasn’t the tallest or the strongest, he was simply the meanest, willing to strike and bite even the littlest orphans. If someone had a toy, he would break it. When a child was sleeping soundly, he would pinch them awake. He was all manners and dimples when the staff were near, but as soon as they were gone, cruel Tomek would return.

I found it remarkable how many esteemed Muslim thinkers had philosophized at such length about precisely how much female skin could be bared without causing chaos to break out across the landscape. Of course, almost all these thinkers agreed that once a girl reaches puberty, every part of her body except her face and her hands must be covered when in the company of any men who are not immediate family, and at all times outside the home. This was because her bare skin would involuntarily cause men to feel an uncontrollable frenzy of sexual arousal. But not all thinkers agreed on exactly which parts of a woman’s face and hands were so beguiling that they must be covered. Some scholars held that the eyes of women were the strongest source of sexual provocation: when the Quran said women should lower their gaze, it actually meant they should hide their eyes. Another school of thought held that the very sight of a woman’s lips, especially full ones that were firm and young, could bring a man into a sexual state that could cause his downfall. Yet other thinkers spent pages and pages on the sensual curve of the chin, a pretty nose, or long, slender fingers and the tendency of some women to move their hands in a way that attracted attention to their temptations. For every limitation the Prophet was quoted. Even

A breakdown is not the end. Even the strongest of people have a breaking point, We all break at some point in our lives. Yes, we all do. Remember, it's not something to be ashamed of, it's not the mark of your weakness. But in fact, your survival through it is just a proof of your resilience.

At the city gate and by your fireside I have seen you prostrate yourself and worship your own freedom, Even as slaves humble themselves before a tyrant and praise him though he slays them. Ay, in the grove of the temple and in the shadow of the citadel I have seen the freest among you wear their freedom as a yoke and a handcuff. And my heart bled within me; for you can only be free when even the desire of seeking freedom becomes a harness to you, and when you cease to speak of freedom as a goal and a fulfilment. You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care nor your nights without a want and a grief, But rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound. And how shall you rise beyond your days and nights unless you break the chains which you at the dawn of your understanding have fastened around your noon hour? In truth that which you call freedom is the strongest of these chains, though its links glitter in the sun and dazzle your eyes. And what is it but fragments of your own self you would discard that you may become free? If it is an unjust law you would abolish, that law was written with your own hand upon your own forehead. You cannot erase it by burning your law books nor by washing the foreheads of your judges, though you pour the sea upon them. And if it is a despot you would dethrone, see first that his throne erected within you is destroyed. For how can a tyrant rule the free and the proud, but for a tyranny in their own freedom and a shame in their own pride? And if it is a care you would cast off, that care has been chosen by you rather than imposed upon you. And if it is a fear you would dispel, the seat of that fear is in your heart and not in the hand of the feared. Verily all things move within your being in constant half embrace, the desired and the dreaded, the repugnant and the cherished, the pursued and that which you would escape. These things move within you as lights and shadows in pairs that cling. And when the shadow fades and is no more, the light that lingers becomes a shadow to another light. And thus your freedom when it loses its fetters becomes itself the fetter of a greater freedom.

The duties, which a man performs as a friend or parent, do not seem merely owing to his benefactor or children; nor can he be wanting to these duties, without breaking through all the ties of nature and morality. A strong inclination may prompt him to the performance: A sentiment of order and moral obligation joins its force to these natural ties: And the whole man, if truly virtuous, is drawn to his duty, without any effort or endeavour. Even with regard to the virtues, which are more austere, and more founded on reflection, such as public spirit, filial duty, temperance, or integrity; the moral obligation, in our apprehension, removes all pretension to religious merit; and the virtuous conduct is deemed no more than what we owe to society and to ourselves. In all this, a superstitious man finds nothing, which he has properly performed for the sake of his deity, or which can peculiarly recommend him to the divine favor and protection. He considers not, that the most genuine method of serving the divinity is by promoting the happiness of his creatures. He still looks out for some immediate service of the supreme Being, in order to allay those terrors, with which he is haunted. And any practice, recommended to him, which either serves to no purpose in life, or offers the strongest violence to his natural inclinations; that practice he will the more readily embrace, on account of those very circumstances, which should make him absolutely reject it. It seems the more purely religious, because it proceeds from no mixture of any other motive or consideration. And if, for its sake, he sacrifices much of his ease and quiet, his claim of merit appears still to rise upon him, in proportion to the zeal and devotion, which he discovers. In restoring a loan, or paying a debt, his divinity is nowise beholden to him; because these acts of justice are what he was bound to perform, and what many would have performed, were there no god in the universe. But if he fast a day, or give himself a sound whipping; this has a direct reference, in his opinion, to the service of God. No other motive could engage him to such austerities. By these distinguished marks of devotion, he has now acquired the divine favor; and may expect, in recompense, protection, and safety in this world, and eternal happiness in the next.

A torn aorta is almost always fatal He sets his stop watch; if his aorta is torn he only has a short time to live. Five minutes tick by, and he’s still alive. He shifts his attention to his leg which is painful and tingling and begins to check his lower body for injuries. Something about his leg looks weird. It takes him a few seconds to figure out what he’s looking at. Somehow he is sitting on his own leg, impossible even for a circus contortionist. The thigh bone, or femur, is the strongest bone in the body, and it takes a tremendous amount of force to break it. The PJ finally figures out his femur is snapped in half, and his leg is folded back underneath him.

Leyel had buried himself within the marriage, helping and serving and loving Deet with all his heart. She was wrong, completely wrong about his coming to Trantor. He hadn't come as a sacrifice, againt his will, solely because she wanted to come. On the contrary: because she wanted so much to come, he also wanted to come, changing even his desires to coincide with hers. She commanded his very heart, because it was impossible for him not to desire anything that would bring her happiness. But she, no, she could not do that for him. If she went to Terminus, it would be as a noble sacrifice. She wold never let him forget that she hadn't wanted to. To him, their marriage was his very soul. To Deet, their marriage was just a friendship with sex. Her soul belonged as much to these other women as to him. By dividing her loyalties, she fragmented them; none were strong enough to sway her deepest desires. Thus he discovered what he supposed all faithful men eventually discover--that no human relationship is ever anything but tentative. There is no such thing as an unbreakable bond between people. Like the particles in the nucleus of the atom. They are bound by the strongest forces in the universe, and yet they can be shattered, they can break. Nothing can last. Nothing is, finally, waht it once seemed to be. Deet and he had had a perfect marriage until there came a stress that exposed its imperfection. Anyonewho thinks he has a perfect marriage, a perfect friendship, a perfect trust of any kind, he only believes this becasue the stress that will break it has not yet come. He might die with the illusion of happiness, but all he has proven is that sometimes death comes before betrayal. If you live long enough, betrayal will inevitably come.

After the plates are removed by the silent and swift waiting staff, General Çiller leans forward and says across the table to Güney, ‘What’s this I’m reading in Hürriyet about Strasbourg breaking up the nation?’ ‘It’s not breaking up the nation. It’s a French motion to implement European Regional Directive 8182 which calls for a Kurdish Regional Parliament.’ ‘And that’s not breaking up the nation?’ General Çiller throws up his hands in exasperation. He’s a big, square man, the model of the military, but he moves freely and lightly ‘The French prancing all over the legacy of Atatürk? What do you think, Mr Sarioğlu?’ The trap could not be any more obvious but Ayşe sees Adnan straighten his tie, the code for, Trust me, I know what I’m doing, ‘What I think about the legacy of Atatürk, General? Let it go. I don’t care. The age of Atatürk is over.’ Guests stiffen around the table, breath subtly indrawn; social gasps. This is heresy. People have been shot down in the streets of Istanbul for less. Adnan commands every eye. ‘Atatürk was father of the nation, unquestionably. No Atatürk, no Turkey. But, at some point every child has to leave his father. You have to stand on your own two feet and find out if you’re a man. We’re like kids that go on about how great their dads are; my dad’s the strongest, the best wrestler, the fastest driver, the biggest moustache. And when someone squares up to us, or calls us a name or even looks at us squinty, we run back shouting ‘I’ll get my dad, I’ll get my dad!’ At some point; we have to grow up. If you’ll pardon the expression, the balls have to drop. We talk the talk mighty fine: great nation, proud people, global union of the noble Turkic races, all that stuff. There’s no one like us for talking ourselves up. And then the EU says, All right, prove it. The door’s open, in you come; sit down, be one of us. Move out of the family home; move in with the other guys. Step out from the shadow of the Father of the Nation. ‘And do you know what the European Union shows us about ourselves? We’re all those things we say we are. They weren’t lies, they weren’t boasts. We’re good. We’re big. We’re a powerhouse. We’ve got an economy that goes all the way to the South China Sea. We’ve got energy and ideas and talent - look at the stuff that’s coming out of those tin-shed business parks in the nano sector and the synthetic biology start-ups. Turkish. All Turkish. That’s the legacy of Atatürk. It doesn’t matter if the Kurds have their own Parliament or the French make everyone stand in Taksim Square and apologize to the Armenians. We’re the legacy of Atatürk. Turkey is the people. Atatürk’s done his job. He can crumble into dust now. The kid’s come right. The kid’s come very right. That’s why I believe the EU’s the best thing that’s ever happened to us because it’s finally taught us how to be Turks.’ General Çiller beats a fist on the table, sending the cutlery leaping. ‘By God, by God; that’s a bold thing to say but you’re exactly right.

August 18, 2006 It was so nice to talk to you tonight. I always wind up in a better mood after talking to you. Somehow you always manage to brighten my life even when in a hell hole like this. You are the greatest woman ever, and I will never understand how I got so lucky to have been blessed with you. I appreciate all you do. You are the strongest person I know, and I admire you, and respect you. I am always extremely proud of you. I know with all that has happened with Marc and Biggles, you have gone out of your way to try to make everyone feel better. Even though I know that is your worst nightmare. I don’t know many people who could be there, and put themselves through the pain just to make someone you don’t even know more comfortable. You are an angel sent by God. Now you have given me two more angels. Remember Satan was once an angel of God, so Bubba is an angel, but just which side is sometimes debatable. Just joking. I know he can be very trying sometimes, and you have kept your cool way better than I ever could have. Our kids are so lucky to have you as their mother. So am I. I cannot wait to get back into your arms. Talking about it tonight felt so good. Knowing that this whole thing is coming to an end. I dream about the day I step off that plane to see you. Hope you have no plans for the rest of your life, because you’re gonna be a little busy. I miss you so much!!! I loved talking to Bubba tonight. I love hearing him tell me he loves me, but I also don’t want to force him to say it. I know inside that he loves me. He just gets a little busy with everything going on around him. I can’t wait to play with him and chase him around the house. I was also thinking, all this time I’ve been wanting to talk to Bubba because he can talk back to me, but I want Angel to hear my voice, too. I want her to be a little familiar with me if at least my voice. Anyway, I love you with all my heart, and can’t wait to see you again. I am gonna smother you like crazy. You’ll be begging me to go on another deployment so you can get a little break. Too bad. You’re stuck with me now. I love you, sexy! XOXOXOXOXOXOOX

And an orator said, "Speak to us of Freedom." And he answered: At the city gate and by your fireside I have seen you prostrate yourself and worship your own freedom, Even as slaves humble themselves before a tyrant and praise him though he slays them. Ay, in the grove of the temple and in the shadow of the citadel I have seen the freest among you wear their freedom as a yoke and a handcuff. And my heart bled within me; for you can only be free when even the desire of seeking freedom becomes a harness to you, and when you cease to speak of freedom as a goal and a fulfillment. You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care nor your nights without a want and a grief, But rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound. And how shall you rise beyond your days and nights unless you break the chains which you at the dawn of your understanding have fastened around your noon hour? In truth that which you call freedom is the strongest of these chains, though its links glitter in the sun and dazzle the eyes. And what is it but fragments of your own self you would discard that you may become free? If it is an unjust law you would abolish, that law was written with your own hand upon your own forehead. You cannot erase it by burning your law books nor by washing the foreheads of your judges, though you pour the sea upon them. And if it is a despot you would dethrone, see first that his throne erected within you is destroyed. For how can a tyrant rule the free and the proud, but for a tyranny in their own freedom and a shame in their won pride? And if it is a care you would cast off, that care has been chosen by you rather than imposed upon you. And if it is a fear you would dispel, the seat of that fear is in your heart and not in the hand of the feared. Verily all things move within your being in constant half embrace, the desired and the dreaded, the repugnant and the cherished, the pursued and that which you would escape. These things move within you as lights and shadows in pairs that cling. And when the shadow fades and is no more, the light that lingers becomes a shadow to another light. And thus your freedom when it loses its fetters becomes itself the fetter of a greater freedom.

There is a difference between working out and training,” he started.  “So far, you just work out.  You sweat a little and get a good amount of exercise.  Yes, you do get a little better, a little stronger and a little smarter, but mostly your skills are derived from your natural abilities.  Training is very different.  When you train, you have to push your body and your fighting spirit to the point of breaking every time. When you train, you have to go right up to the limits where your physical being and your spiritual self scream ‘no more.’ And at that barrier, which naturally evolved throughout your lifetime as protection against possible physical harm and mental anguish, you must force through or be forced through into a world of seemingly unreasonable pain in order to glimpse and then realize another level beyond your current abilities.  This must happen over and over again in order to truly progress on this journey.  And of course, the cruelty of all this is that the next level itself is illusory, as is the one after that, and the successive barriers you must force your way through will seem boundless.” “Even for the strongest person, training extracts a heavy and oftentimes damaging toll on your body and on your psychic health, which is why I rarely push my students that hard,” he continued.  “The harmful effects of such hard training is also why you need a trustworthy guide and teacher, someone who can catalyze your training but, more importantly, someone who can pull you from the abyss and show you that the white hot pressure to advance and constantly surpass your previous achievements is also an illusion in and of itself.

Don’t load yourself up too heavy. Even the strongest heart has a breaking point.

She could be made of steel, Malik. She could be the strongest person in the world. You can’t be certain without knowing what she saw. Even then, you don’t know anyone’s limit for what will or won’t break them, because it’s not you. It’s her experience. She’s the only one who knows what she can and can’t handle.

What if he broke me?” “He didn’t. Even Jace cannot accomplish the impossible.” “How can you be so sure?” “Because you’re the strongest person I know. Because even when I tried my hardest to break you, you ended up breaking me instead.” “I didn’t break you,” Kara replied, her brows twisted in confusion at his words. “Oh, you most certainly did,” Cade answered with an indescribable sadness in his tone.

A mother is always there for her son,’ she told me. ‘It doesn’t matter that he grows and steps into his power. Even the strongest warrior’s heart can break. His soul can still be crushed. Since I won’t be able to comfort you when the challenges before you feel too great, take this book and keep it as a guide.

#288. "There are some pains that run too deep for even the strongest to take without breaking.

Death is one of life’s biggest weakness, it's the one thing that will break even the strongest of people.

Even the strongest people break sometimes though. There are only so many times you can smash a bat into bone before the bone breaks.

My heart is like an iceberg, an ice shelf floating freely and only a small portion is visible to the human eye, but on fire. Beautiful and cold, yet warm, and even the strongest structure could break if experience didn’t teach there are depth and strength that hides so cleverly beneath the surface.

I used to play golf,” said Serge. “It’s a frightening game. Forget football or even NASCAR.” He whistled in awe. “Golf takes it to the brink.” “That bad?” “It’s the mental component. They try to hush it up, but the game can destroy the strongest men. Every year, dozens of ugly psychotic breaks. Frustration builds over a lifetime until a tee shot lands in the water of a sadistic island hole, and then a hedge-fund manager hurls all his clubs like tomahawks at the other guys in plaid knickers before stripping off all his clothes and making ‘snow angels’ in a sand trap, prompting a special unit from the pro shop to hustle him away through secret underground doors. Fortunately, I have the perfect emotional composition to excel at golf.

The greatest power over a man is his desire to please a particular woman. This is crucial to understand. So much in this life hangs on it. It is this inherent desire which gives that woman power to make or destroy him. Most men will never confess that they are influenced…easily influenced…by the women they prefer. Wives, lovers, mothers, daughters, or sisters. Many have no idea that they are. This knowledge is the source of the hetaera’s power. It is powerful, child. So subtle and powerful. It can and does influence men to murder. It causes men to forsake their sworn oaths and duties. Even mastons. These feelings can shatter mountains into broken pebbles. They can break down the strongest man. Remember this teaching. It will benefit you in the future as you ponder it.

Somethings we just can't fight; such as love. It's unexpected, unavoidable and can break down the strongest of beings. Even angels or no exception to it's power.

Our main problem over the past few days and weeks,’ he said, ‘has lain in trying to connect the various phenomena. In fact, there wasn’t any obvious connection until a jelly-like substance started to crop up. Sometimes it appeared in small quantities, sometimes in larger amounts, but always with the distinguishing characteristic that it disintegrated rapidly on contact with air. Unfortunately the discovery of the jelly only added to the mystery, given its presence in crustaceans, mussels and whales - three types of organism that could hardly be more different. Of course, it might have been some kind of fungus, a jellified version of rabies, an infectious disease like BSE or swine fever. But, if so, why would ships be disappearing or crabs transporting killer algae? There was no sign of the jelly on the worms that infested the slope. They were carrying a different kind of cargo - bacteria that break down hydrates and cause methane gas to rise. Hence the landslide and the tsunami. And what about the mutated species that have been emerging all over the world? Even fish have been behaving oddly. None of it adds up. In that respect, Jack Vanderbilt was right to discern an intelligent mind behind the chaos. But he overestimated our ability - no scientist knows anything like enough about marine ecology to be capable of manipulating it to that extent. People are fond of saying that we know more about space than we do about the oceans. It’s perfectly true, but there’s a simple reason why: we can’t see or move as well in the water as we can in outer space. The Hubble telescope peers effortlessly into different galaxies, but the world’s strongest floodlight only illuminates a dozen square metres of seabed. An astronaut in a spacesuit can move with almost total freedom, but even the most sophisticated divesuit won’t stop you being crushed to death beyond a certain depth. AUVs and ROVs are only operational if the conditions are right. We don’t have the physical constitution or the technology to deposit billions of worms on underwater hydrates, let alone the requisite knowledge to engineer them for a habitat that we barely understand. Besides, there are all the other phenomena: deep-sea cables being destroyed at the bottom of the ocean by forces other than the underwater slide; plagues of jellyfish and mussels rising from the abyssal plains. The simplest explanation would be to see these developments as part of a plan, but such a plan could only be the work of a species that knows the ocean as intimately as we do the land - a species that lives in the depths and plays the dominant role in that particular universe.

is nothing like that. In real life, it’s an age-old punishment used by the most brutal regimes in history to keep even the strongest men and women “in their place”: subjugated and helpless and humiliated and terrified. I’ve been in that place, and I’ve learned that it’s not difficult to break the body, or the mind, or even the spirit. Nobody is stronger than pain. Once you find yourself at the mercy of another’s calculated cruelty, you very quickly lose part of yourself. As soon as the body takes over, you become animal, unthinking, instinctive, desperately trying to escape, and the part of you that was you, the part that held your pride and your heart and your strength, is lost—at least for a while, and sometimes forever.

The good news was that the smoke, whatever its source, was not getting closer to us. The bad news was that it was moving towards Oban. We wasted no time rowing across the loch. The group we’d already sent over remained visible and clearly busy, though doing what was anybody’s guess from our vantage point in the birlinn. It was getting on past noon, and I hated the idea of leaving the birlinn behind. Crafting it had been a singularly powerful experience, one that I wasn’t sure was repeatable. The birlinn we’d made was unique. In the end, though, it was a boat. It wasn’t alive like the three hundred people we were trying to keep breathing. Not to mention the thousands in Oban who could die. I’d planned to take one of the oars to give a rower a break, but I must have looked haggard. When I’d gone to offer, the bloke with the oar had taken one look at me and said, “Naw, mate.” Sitting on a thwart next to Eilidh, I fervently wished for something to distract me from the radiating warmth on my left. Rowing would at least give me something to do that wasn’t thinking about that heat or second guessing all the decisions we’d made in the past few days. We could have taken the strongest of us and returned to Oban, leaving the other three hundred to take the slower route around the loch. Sure, that was a possibility. But if we’d done that, we’d have left them vulnerable, including the children. That wasn’t acceptable to me or to anyone else. Oban had the advantage of numbers and at least some preparation at this point; the people with us did not. There were any number of things we could be questioning, but if we sat here picking apart the instincts we’d followed, all we’d do was pick up an ulcer. We were still alive. That was all that mattered. I tuned back in to the birlinn to hear a couple of the rowers talking, both of them darting glances at me and Eilidh in the process. “. . . wrecked all of Sackington’s guns and stole his grenades,” one of them said, not really trying to be quiet. Eilidh zeroed in on him like a bloodhound catching a whiff of the quarry. “Yes. We did.” “Erm, he wasn’t saying it was a bad thing!” one of the rowers blurted out. “Yes, I was! We could have used those instead of hitting things with sticks, for fuck’s sake,” the other one said. “No offense.” “Mate, they don’t even work anymore,” I said, and when I could almost see his thoughts pivot to but there’s magic now, I sighed. “We happened to be present when someone figured out how to use their magic to fire a rifle at one of Bawbag’s simulacra. Not only did the bullet literally bounce right back, but it killed his daughter when it ricocheted, and his next shot was dead on. Can you guess what happened then?” “He died,” said the guy who had tried to reassure me they weren’t questioning that decision. He had sandy brown hair that was a mess of waves half stuck to his head with sweat from the exertion, and his muscles were bulging out of his shirt—guess he was getting those Strength increases. “Did he die?” the other bloke asked. “Aye, he might as well have just shot himself in the heart. Even swords bounced right off that damn thing—piercing it with the point seems to be the only thing even marginally successful, and that might be imbuing it with Purifire more than the actual poke.” “I know how to shoot a gun,” Eilidh said bluntly. “And amateurs with firearms tend to hurt much more than they help, let alone in a state of active combat. This isn’t the fucking Wild West.” She sounded Done with a capital D, and I didn’t blame her. To his credit, the bloke seemed to mull that over for a bit before nodding as if ceding the point. Whatever the Ascended Alliance knew about friendly fire of an arcane nature, that did not extend to human-made explosives. If

Al-Khwarizmi fell into the taboo that humans refused to fall into throughout their history, not because of their stupidity, nor their lack of attention to the presence of a number here that has an impact, but because they preferred not to deal with it at all unless they fully understood it, they ignored it rather than building the world around them on a wrong frame of reference. So, you have to ask now what if we decided to change the zero and give it its value that we know for sure, which is the unknown. We do not know it, we do not understand it, and not knowing is better than building everything on the wrong frame of reference Any number multiplied by zero equals an unknown The sum of any number with zero equals an unknown The result of any number divided by zero equals an unknown The result of subtracting any number with zero equals an unknown Are you starting to feel the problem and see the size of the unknown that is inside our calculations and our whole life! Infiltrating it without knowing anything about it! The clear is clear, that zero is not only divisible, but also summation, subtraction, and multiplication, because it is unknown, and no matter how much we try to patch the tables to fit the calculations, the division keeps breaking our back and telling us, you are wrong. Despite all this, our strongest strength remains, our winning ball, which has never failed us, is the power of creative adaptation. We are not like viruses, we settle in an environment that we drain and then move to others, nor like animals, we go into an environment and adapt to it and adapt ourselves according to its capabilities. That is why when we hit zero, we got creative and innovated, and decided to change the law of the entire universe, made it a hypothetical effect inspired by our imagination, and built the world on this basis. And the crazy thing is that everything around us is working perfectly. And what is even crazier, is that if we decide to change the effect of zero, so that one multiplied by zero equals twenty, then everything around us will reset, and it will work perfectly as well. Even if we decide to change all the math tables, this universe will mutate to suit our thinking.

Malcolm Gladwell goes so far as to say that attending the most highly selective schools can even harm you. In his best-selling book David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants, Gladwell explains that most kids shouldn’t attend the most prestigious schools they get into, because at every college it’s the top kids who get the most attention, resources, and opportunities that lead to greater success in grad school.12 Going to a place where you will be in the bottom half of the class not only means you won’t get goodies such as attention from faculty and access to select experiences in your chosen major, but it also damages your self-esteem, says Gladwell. If you want college to be the strongest possible springboard for what will come next in your life, Gladwell advises going to a college where you know you can be in the top 5 or 10 percent there. The only exceptions to this rule are students from underrepresented backgrounds for whom attending a name-brand school seems to provide a bump in after-college options regardless of where they rank in their college class.

Patriotism can be turned to good or ill purposes, but in most people it never dies. It’s a persistent attachment, like loyalty to your family, a source of meaning and togetherness, strongest when it’s hardly conscious. National loyalty is an attachment to what makes your country yours, distinct from the rest, even when you can’t stand it, even when it breaks your heart. This feeling can’t be wished out of existence. And because people still live their lives in an actual place, and the nation is the largest place with which they can identify—world citizenship is too abstract to be meaningful—patriotic feeling has to be tapped if you want to achieve anything big. If your goal is to slow climate change, or reverse inequality, or stop racism, or rebuild democracy, you will need the national solidarity that comes from patriotism.

even the strongest among us break down, burdened and buried by grief.

His divine power is active in his Word. Do not underestimate, then, how much the power of God can do in your life through the Bible. The voice of the Lord can break down even our strongest defenses, defuse our despair, free us from guilt, and lead us to him. Prayer:

God desires to heal you - Jehovah Rapha - God's nature is to heal, as can be seen through the life of Christ who came to heal and to save. God wants to heal you, but healing requires that you reach out and tough Him and that you allow Him to touch you. Matt 14:36 - All who touched him were healed. A spiritual touch - a touch in the deepest part of your soul where your strongest passions and emotions lie. Because your abuser wounded you in this tender place - you have built up a protective wall around this area to keep others out. The wall has successfully kept out those who would hurt you, but it has also kept out God, who longs to heal you. God is not like your abuser. He doesn't want something from you, He wants to give to you. He has gifts for you - joy, freedom, love,acceptance, and purpose. He wants to hold you and comfort you, but unlike your abuser, He will not touch you against your will. He will not force Himself upon you or demand that you love Him. So, He waits. He waits for you to turn to Him, waits for you to extend your hand and receive the gifts He longs to give. Oh friend, God's heart breaks over what your abuser did. But there is something that grieves Him even more, and it is this - You are afraid to treust Him. You do not love Him with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. Your focus is upon your suffering and doing everything you can to keep from being hurt again rather than trusting the One who loves you and wants to heal you. The choice is yours. If you choose to pour your emotions and energies into things other than God, God will respect your wishes. But if you choose Him, He wants nothing held back. Trust Him! He is trustworthy. pg 168-9

Second essay: ‘Guilt’, ‘bad conscience’ and related matters 1 To breed an animal with the prerogative to promise – is that not pre- cisely the paradoxical task which nature has set herself with regard to humankind? is it not the real problem of humankind? . . . The fact that this problem has been solved to a large degree must seem all the more sur- prising to the person who can fully appreciate the opposing force, forget- fulness. Forgetfulness is not just a vis inertiae, as superficial people believe, but is rather an active ability to suppress, positive in the strongest sense of the word, to which we owe the fact that what we simply live through, experience, take in, no more enters our consciousness during digestion (one could call it spiritual ingestion) than does the thousand-fold process which takes place with our physical consumption of food, our so-called ingestion. To shut the doors and windows of consciousness for a while; not to be bothered by the noise and battle with which our underworld of serviceable organs work with and against each other; a little peace, a little tabula rasa of consciousness to make room for something new, above all for the nobler functions and functionaries, for ruling, predicting, pre- determining (our organism runs along oligarchic lines, you see) – that, as I said, is the benefit of active forgetfulness, like a doorkeeper or guardian of mental order, rest and etiquette: from which we can immediately see how there could be no happiness, cheerfulness, hope, pride, immediacy, without forgetfulness. The person in whom this apparatus of suppression is damaged, so that it stops working, can be compared (and not just com- pared –) to a dyspeptic; he cannot ‘cope’ with anything . . . And precisely 35 On the Genealogy of Morality this necessarily forgetful animal, in whom forgetting is a strength, repre- senting a form of robust health, has bred for himself a counter-device, memory, with the help of which forgetfulness can be suspended in certain cases, – namely in those cases where a promise is to be made: conse- quently, it is by no means merely a passive inability to be rid of an impres- sion once it has made its impact, nor is it just indigestion caused by giving your word on some occasion and finding you cannot cope, instead it is an active desire not to let go, a desire to keep on desiring what has been, on some occasion, desired, really it is the will’s memory: so that a world of strange new things, circumstances and even acts of will may be placed quite safely in between the original ‘I will’, ‘I shall do’ and the actual dis- charge of the will, its act, without breaking this long chain of the will. But what a lot of preconditions there are for this! In order to have that degree of control over the future, man must first have learnt to distinguish between what happens by accident and what by design, to think causally, to view the future as the present and anticipate it, to grasp with certainty what is end and what is means, in all, to be able to calculate, compute – and before he can do this, man himself will really have to become reliable, regular, necessary, even in his own self-image, so that he, as someone making a promise is, is answerable for his own future!

Getting out his electro-whip, Alex leapt several meters backwards, and then struck out with his whip, which wrapped around Azazel’s left arm. Then he pressed a button on the handle. The whip coiled around the arm, tighter and tighter, until not even Azazel could pry it off, though that didn’t stop his opponent from trying. “What kind of weapon is this?!” “Ha-ha-ha! How do you like my electro-whip?” Alex couldn’t help but gloat. “It contains a pulse field generator that I can use to create a combination of different effects. Right now it’s being used as a magnet. Your adamantine suit might not be a known alloy to humanity, but it’s clearly made of similar ionic bonds, which means you’re now trapped.” His electro-whip didn’t just shock things. He could change the settings based on what effect he wanted, whether that was zapping people with electricity or bonding alloys together through magnetism. “So you say, but you seem to have forgotten something.” “What’s that?” “I am an Angelisian, and we’re well-known for being some of the strongest beings in the galaxy. Our physical strength is second to none. We can lift and throw several tons without breaking a sweat.” Azazel’s smile made Alex feel like someone had dropped a lead ball in his gut. “How much do you think you weigh?” “Um, about seventy-nine kilograms… oh crap!” “ARGG!” “WAAAAHHH!

A mother is always there for her son,’ she told me. ‘It doesn’t matter that he grows and steps into his power. Even the strongest warrior’s heart can break. His soul can still be crushed. Since I won’t be able to comfort you when the challenges before you feel too great, take this book and keep it as a guide. Above all, know this. There will be times when the world seeks to destroy you, Kingfisher. But you are stronger than you can ever know. You will not falter. And you will not face it all alone.

The load of to-morrow,” said Osler, “added to that of yesterday, carried to-day makes the strongest falter.”[5] It’s true, isn’t it? We feel overwhelmed by yesterday’s mistakes and underqualified for tomorrow’s opportunities. We feel so overwhelmed, so underqualified, that we’re tempted to quit before we even start. And that’s what many people do. Their lives are over before they even begin. They stop living and start dying. More than a century later, Osler’s words still echo. In a day of endless distractions, an age of ceaseless change, they ring true now more than ever. So many people are so overwhelmed by so many things! We’re paralyzed by things we cannot change—the past. We’re crippled by things we cannot control—the future. The solution? Osler’s age-old advice is as good a place to start as any: let go of “dead yesterdays” and “unborn to-morrows.”[6] The secret to Sir William Osler’s success is the solution to a thousand problems. Instead of fixating on things that lie dimly at a distance, concentrate on what lies clearly at hand. Simply put, focus on inputs rather than outcomes. If yesterday is history and tomorrow is mystery, win the day! When you win today, tomorrow takes care of itself. Do that enough days in a row and you can accomplish almost anything! How do you win the day? For starters, you have to define the win: What’s important now? Identify the lead measures that will produce the results you want. Establish daily rituals that will make your life more meaningful. Break bad habits by establishing good habits; then habit stack

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- a textbook of didactic clarity and compelling persuasiveness. - gloomy radiation. - all were determined to die of old age. - angelic arousal. - fundamental humanitarian feeling. - he felt forgotten, not with the reparable forgetfulness of the heart but with the hard and irrevocable forgetfulness, which he knew very well because it was the forgetfulness of death. - his dedication to work and his good judgment, when adjusting his interests, made him earn more money. - had defeated the devil in a duel. - recital of dignity, personal charm and good manners. - had been hardened by the thanklessness of his profession. - it was a (like) whirlwind of health. - relentless determination. - had been banished to the attic of her memory. - his radiant self-control. - looked like a miscarriage next to him. - he had well understood that the secret to a good old age was nothing more than an honest deal with solitude. - they realized that the smell of the beautiful Remedios continued to torment men beyond death, until their bones turned to dust - was a mark of caste, a stamp of immunity. - she saw the inconsolable eyes that sealed her heart like red-hot coals of compassion. - unable to give an answer that was not a masterpiece of simplicity - where even the loftiest birds of memory could not reach her. - there was an unbearable smell of rotten memories. - the corrosive war of eternal postponements. - sank into the miserable defeat of old age. - rigid discipline. - he was straight, serious and had a thoughtful tone, a Saracen sadness, he had a mournful autumn-colored glow on his face. - she was so clouded with resentment. - he thought his boldness was industriousness, his greed self-denial and his stubbornness perseverance. - she had discovered within her a thoughtful and righteous rage. - time tripped and had accidents and could break into pieces and leave an eternal piece of itself in a room. - Her heart, full of collected ashes, which had withstood the strongest blows of daily reality, was torn to pieces by the first attack of nostalgia. - his wife's decision came from a nostalgic delusion. - and the inhabitants, oppressed by memories. - for a man like him, imprisoned in written reality. - her will to resist was shattered by overwhelming impatience. - his mania for the written word was a mixture of true respect and gossipy irreverence. not even his own manuscripts were spared from this dualism. - boredom in love had unexplored possibilities, richer than lust.

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