Five Year Anniversary Quotes

Also, I was coming up on my five year anniversary of owning the house, and if there's anything I've learned in five years, it's this: if a piece of your house falls off and you don't know what to do with it, throwing it in the trash and forgetting about it is a perfectly viable option.

When a person you love dies, the calendar becomes a minefield. Anyone who has lost someone knows this. There is the loved one’s birthday. One’s own Birthday. Various national and religious holidays, if one is religious. All of these days are difficult in their own ways. But the anniversary is different. On the anniversary of the loved one’s death, you slip backward through time to this same day, one, five, ten years ago. You live it all over again, minute by minute.

Today...is the anniversary of when we first met. You were just born, and I was five years old.

Well, my dear sisters, the gospel is the good news that can free us from guilt. We know that Jesus experienced the totality of mortal existence in Gethsemane. It's our faith that he experienced everything- absolutely everything. Sometimes we don't think through the implications of that belief. We talk in great generalities about the sins of all humankind, about the suffering of the entire human family. But we don't experience pain in generalities. We experience it individually. That means he knows what it felt like when your mother died of cancer- how it was for your mother, how it still is for you. He knows what it felt like to lose the student body election. He knows that moment when the brakes locked and the car started to skid. He experienced the slave ship sailing from Ghana toward Virginia. He experienced the gas chambers at Dachau. He experienced Napalm in Vietnam. He knows about drug addiction and alcoholism. Let me go further. There is nothing you have experienced as a woman that he does not also know and recognize. On a profound level, he understands the hunger to hold your baby that sustains you through pregnancy. He understands both the physical pain of giving birth and the immense joy. He knows about PMS and cramps and menopause. He understands about rape and infertility and abortion. His last recorded words to his disciples were, "And, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world." (Matthew 28:20) He understands your mother-pain when your five-year-old leaves for kindergarten, when a bully picks on your fifth-grader, when your daughter calls to say that the new baby has Down syndrome. He knows your mother-rage when a trusted babysitter sexually abuses your two-year-old, when someone gives your thirteen-year-old drugs, when someone seduces your seventeen-year-old. He knows the pain you live with when you come home to a quiet apartment where the only children are visitors, when you hear that your former husband and his new wife were sealed in the temple last week, when your fiftieth wedding anniversary rolls around and your husband has been dead for two years. He knows all that. He's been there. He's been lower than all that. He's not waiting for us to be perfect. Perfect people don't need a Savior. He came to save his people in their imperfections. He is the Lord of the living, and the living make mistakes. He's not embarrassed by us, angry at us, or shocked. He wants us in our brokenness, in our unhappiness, in our guilt and our grief. You know that people who live above a certain latitude and experience very long winter nights can become depressed and even suicidal, because something in our bodies requires whole spectrum light for a certain number of hours a day. Our spiritual requirement for light is just as desperate and as deep as our physical need for light. Jesus is the light of the world. We know that this world is a dark place sometimes, but we need not walk in darkness. The people who sit in darkness have seen a great light, and the people who walk in darkness can have a bright companion. We need him, and He is ready to come to us, if we'll open the door and let him.

a Quarter Quell. They occur every twenty-five years, marking the anniversary of the districts’ defeat with over-the-top celebrations and, for extra fun, some miserable twist for the tributes. I’ve

My parents died years ago. I was very close to them. I still miss them terribly. I know I always will. I long to believe that their essence, their personalities, what I loved so much about them, are - really and truly - still in existence somewhere. I wouldn't ask very much, just five or ten minutes a year, say, to tell them about their grandchildren, to catch them up on the latest news, to remind them that I love them. There's a part of me - no matter how childish it sounds - that wonders how they are. "Is everything all right?" I want to ask. The last words I found myself saying to my father, at the moment of his death, were "Take care." Sometimes I dream that I'm talking to my parents, and suddenly - still immersed in the dreamwork - I'm seized by the overpowering realization that they didn't really die, that it's all been some kind of horrible mistake. Why, here they are, alive and well, my father making wry jokes, my mother earnestly advising me to wear a muffler because the weather is chilly. When I wake up I go through an abbreviated process of mourning all over again. Plainly, there's something within me that's ready to believe in life after death. And it's not the least bit interested in whether there's any sober evidence for it. So I don't guffaw at the woman who visits her husband's grave and chats him up every now and then, maybe on the anniversary of his death. It's not hard to understand. And if I have difficulties with the ontological status of who she's talking to, that's all right. That's not what this is about. This is about humans being human.

Hi, Commander. On the anniversary of what you did, I just wanted to say thank you. This is my daughter, Dalycia. I don’t know if you remember me or not, but I’m the woman you saved from that psycho, and this is the daughter I had six weeks later. Say hi, Dalycia. (Woman) Hi, Commander. Thank you for saving my mommy and me. I drew this for you to say thank you. See, it’s you saving us, and we’re all happy ‘cause we’re alive and the bad man isn’t. (Dalycia) (All of a sudden, he snarled in outrage and threw the frame against the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces.) Adron! (Livia) What? Did you think showing me that shit would make all of this okay? Did you think I’d look at them, then cry and say how grateful I am they live while I’m trapped like this? What about the children I wanted to have, Livia? I can’t even have sex without spending a month in the hospital, or dying from it. All I want is five fucking seconds where I’m not trying to breathe through absolute agony. Five seconds where I can move and not ache to the marrow of my bones. I’m only thirty-five years old, and all I have to look forward to is a future where I’ll slowly, painfully disintegrate into an invalid who can’t even wipe his own ass. Do you really think I’m okay with being dependent on you or anyone else? I was an assassin, and now I have less mobility than a withered-up hundred-year-old man. I’m nothing but a worthless piece of shit who should have died that night. And them telling me how grateful they are doesn’t make this okay with me. It never will. (Adron)

Ghost Dancers Rise: At the 500th anniversary of Columbus's landing, tribal leaders gathered in Washington, DC, for a ceremony in front of the Capitol. They could have dwelt on the catastrophes that were Columbus's legacy, but instead they closed the ceremony with these words: We stand young warriors In the circle At dawn all storm clouds disappear The future brings all hope and glory, Ghost dancers rise Five-hundred years.

Kristen? Do you think it’s weird Tucker showed up on the anniversary of the accident? I mean, it is, right?” She waited for me to continue, stirring her ice around her glass. “Tucker literally fell into my lap. And do you know what kind of dog he is? A Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever.” I ticked the long name off with a five-finger tap on the countertop. “A hunting dog, Kristen. Ducks.” Kristen knew better than anyone the significance of that. Duck hunting had been Brandon’s favorite sport. He’d fly out to South Dakota every year for it with Josh.

Germany had been united in empire for only eight years when Einstein was born in Ulm on March 14, 1879. He grew up in Munich. He was slow to speak, but he was not, as legend has it, slow in his studies; he consistently earned the highest or next-highest marks in mathematics and Latin in school and Gymnasium. At four or five the “miracle” of a compass his father showed him excited him so much, he remembered, that he “trembled and grew cold.” It seemed to him then that “there had to be something behind objects that lay deeply hidden.”624 He would look for the something which objects hid, though his particular genius was to discover that there was nothing behind them to hide; that objects, as matter and as energy, were all; that even space and time were not the invisible matrices of the material world but its attributes. “If you will not take the answer too seriously,” he told a clamorous crowd of reporters in New York in 1921 who asked him for a short explanation of relativity, “and consider it only as a kind of joke, then I can explain it as follows. It was formerly believed that if all material things disappeared out of the universe, time and space would be left. According to the relativity theory, however, time and space disappear together with the things.

But to make things even worse, this is the year of the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games, and that means it’s also a Quarter Quell. They occur every twenty-five years, marking the anniversary of the districts’ defeat with over-the-top celebrations and, for extra fun, some miserable twist for the tributes. I’ve never been alive for one, of course. But in school I remember hearing that for the second Quarter Quell, the Capitol demanded that twice the number of tributes be provided for the arena. The teachers didn’t go into much more detail, which is surprising, because that was the year District 12’s very own Haymitch Abernathy won the crown.

Heading into any one-year anniversary, our emotional climate shifts. We enter a new season of the heart.

Remember when we took that trip to Puglia?" He knows that I do. We'd gone for our anniversary a few years ago. We had stayed on the top floor of a small hotel impossibly cantilevered over an expanse of rocky shore. We'd eaten burrata, a Pugliese specialty, every morning for breakfast, with a slab of bread- arguably the best in Italy, still warm from baking overnight in the dying embers of the ancient oven. The cheese would arrive each morning on a tray outside our room, still warm, and wrapped in the customary thick blade of grass, swollen like a ripe piece of fruit.

two days of pay on the first-year anniversary grew to four weeks of pay by the tenth-year anniversary. Additionally, five-year employment anniversaries were celebrated with a cake, ten years with a monogrammed silver platter with the name Pepperidge Farm and the date inscribed on the bottom, and fifteen years with a monogrammed

MOO: In 2012 a cow named Darcy walked up to a McDonald’s drive-through window and just stood there. Her owner—Sandy Winn of Brush, Colorado—told police that Darcy had walked the half-mile to the McDonald’s because she “just likes attention.” MOO: Why did a cow climb five sets of stairs in an apartment building in Lesogorsk, Russia, in 2012? She was running away from an excited bull that was chasing her through a field. According to reports, the frightened cow “had to be lassoed and virtually dragged to the lobby while mooing in protest.” MOO: In 2011 a two-year-old boy named Tha Sophat got sick while staying at his grandfather’s farm in Thailand. He wouldn’t eat or drink, and his condition worsened…until he began suckling milk straight from the cow’s udder. The cow didn’t seem to mind, and after a month of nursing, Tha was better. “The neighbors say he will be ashamed when he grows up,” the grandpa told Reuters. “But his health is fine. He is strong and he doesn’t have diarrhea.

The news never meant anything to us on “SNL” because we always looked at it just to see how to satirize it. Nothing in our personal lives was sacred. We used all of it for material on the show. The most important thing was those ninety minutes live on Saturday night. So what if your whole world was falling apart as long as you could find a joke in it and make up a scene. Millions of Americans saw what we did, and it was a charmed time. We thought we were immortal, at least for five years. But that doesn’t exist anymore. Now real stuff happens.

Are you worried? Do you have many "what if" thoughts? You are identified with your mind, which is projecting itself into an imaginary future situation and creating fear. [...] All that you ever have to deal with, cope with, in real life — as opposed to imaginary mind projections — is this moment. Ask yourself what "problem" you have right now, not next year, tomorrow, or five minutes from now. What is wrong with this moment? You can always cope with the Now, but you can never cope with the future — nor do you have to. The answer, the strength, the right action or the resource will be there when you need it, not before, not after.

In the early years, the anniversary dinner had carried heavy undertones of sadness, but that wasn’t the case anymore. We all appreciated the chance to get together and celebrate a woman we’d all loved.

By our seventh anniversary, we had five kids and weren’t done yet. Raven was blessed with easy pregnancies and could run around until the moment of delivery. Oh, and did those deliveries become legend. When River was born, the whole crew was laughing their asses off in the waiting room because of Raven’s profanity-laced rants. Our twins came two years later. During their deliveries, a drinking game started with the crew and club guys. Every time Raven screamed a cuss word, Tucker told the guys at the bar and they’d take a shot of whiskey. Half of the guys were wasted by the time Savannah was born. As Avery joined her sister, the other half of the bar was just as drunk off their asses. The obstetrician nearly begged Raven to use pain meds. She refused of course. No one was telling her what to do. For Maverick’s birth, the hospital moved Raven to a room at the end of the hall and kept the other laboring mothers as far away as possible. Another change the third time around was how Raven refused to allow the club guys free fun based on her laboring pains. To play the drinking game, they had to donate a hundred dollars into the kids’ college fund. We figured at least one of our kids would want to do the education thing. The guys donated the money and got ready for Raven to let loose. In her laboring room, she even allowed a mic connected to overhead speakers at the bar. Despite knowing they were all listening, my woman didn’t disappoint. One particular favorite was motherfucking crustacean cunt. When Maverick’s head crowded, she also sounded a little bit like a graboid from Tremors. Hell, I think she did that on purpose because we’d watched the movie the night before. Raven was a born entertainer. That night, we added a few thousand dollars to the kids’ college fund, the guys had a blast getting wasted to Raven’s profanity, and I welcomed my second son. Unlike his angelic brother, Maverick peed on me an hour after birth. I knew that boy was going to be a handful.

Winant, a leading proponent of the social constructionist theory of race, offers an extreme evaluation of the implications of a totally raceless future: The five-hundred year domination of the globe by Europe and its inheritors is the historical context in which racial concepts of difference have attained their present status as fundamental concepts of human identity and inequality. To imagine the end of race is thus to contemplate the liquidation of Western civilization.83

Larry King Larry King is one of the premier figures in American broadcasting, and his show, Larry King Live, on CNN, is one of the longest-running television programs currently on the air. The summer of 2007 will mark his fiftieth anniversary in broadcasting. I first met Princess Diana at a party in Los Angeles. As at so many parties in LA, there were famous people from all walks of life--actors, broadcasters, executives, authors, politicians, journalists. But there was only one princess, and she stood out from the crowd, talking and smiling and taking the time to give each person some personal attention. I kept her in the corner of my eye, waiting for an opportunity to talk to her. But she was spending so much time with every guest! Eventually, I made my way over to where she stood, and waited for a chance to finally meet this illustrious lady. Her pictures did not do her justice. I had seen her many times on TV and in the papers, of course, but seeing her in person was a whole new experience. She was absolutely beautiful. Her face was radiant, animated and full of life. She had honesty in her eyes, which made her approachable, and she had this uncanny ability to make everyone around her comfortable. I have interviewed thousands of people in my career, and this is a quality that I’ve always known is essential for a broadcaster. But for Diana, it seemed to come completely naturally. Within the first five seconds of meeting her, I felt like we had been friends for years. It was a big party and she was the star. Everybody wanted to talk to her. Not a big surprise--after all, she had interesting things to say about so many different topics. I always respected her work with land mines and AIDS, I knew her importance to the fashion world, and her role as a princess in the Royal Family made her one of the hottest topics of the tabloids. Yet she chatted about her sons and her friends with everybody--Diana was an extraordinary woman with an unassuming air, and it was an absolute pleasure to be in her presence. When we were introduced, her eyes lit up and she grabbed my hand. She said, “Oh, you’re Larry from the telly!” We laughed and spoke for a little while about our families, and I was amazed at how well she remembered all of the little details I mentioned. After all of the people she had met that night, she was bright-eyed and curious about everything. My only regret from the first time we met was that we didn’t have a few more hours to talk! I blushed when she mentioned a few interviews I had done earlier in the year. I didn’t know she had seen me on CNN. It was a warm, friendly greeting that I will never forget.

Of the thirty percent of startups that survive past five years, most are not profitable until they reach their seventh anniversary. Successful companies that go public sell shares on average after they are more than eleven years old.

1. Great Work decays. Over time, Great Work decays into Good Work. As Great Work becomes comfortable and familiar as you master it, it no longer provides the challenge, stretch, or rewards it once did. Your Great Work of today won’t be your Great Work five years from now. The iPod syndrome kicks in. Remember how special iPods were when they first arrived on the scene? Now everyone has one, and they’re taken for granted. 2. Good Work has its attractions. Even as we hunger for more Great Work, we’re always drawn back to the comfort of Good Work. It’s a perpetual tension—the challenge, risk, and reward of the Great against the familiarity, efficiency, and safety of the Good. 3. Different years demand different responses. Some years are “stretch” years when you go for it; others are years to conserve your strength, gathering ideas and laying the groundwork for your next initiative. This ebb and flow reminds me of an anniversary card I once saw that read, “Thanks for 20 great years . . . 7 average years . . . and 2 absolute stinkers.

The only time we’re allowed to open this box before our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is if it’s an emergency.’ ‘What kind of emergency? Like…death?’ He shakes his head. ‘No a relationship emergency. Like…divorce.’ ‘Divorce?’ I hate that word. ‘Seriously?’ ‘I don’t see us needing to open his box for any other reason than to celebrate our longevity, Quinn. But, if one of us ever decides we want a divorce - if we’ve reached the point where we think that’s the only answer - we have to promise not to go through with it until we open this box and read these letters. Maybe reminding each other of how we felt when we closed the box will help change our minds if we ever need to open it early.’ ‘So this box isn’t just a keepsake. It’s also a marriage survival kit?’ Graham shrugs. ‘You could say that. But we have nothing to worry about. I’m confident we won’t need to open this box for another twenty-five years.

Szilard began explaining. “Five or ten minutes” later, he says, Einstein understood. After only a year of university physics, Szilard had worked out a rigorous mathematical proof that the random motion of thermal equilibrium could be fitted within the framework of the phenomenological theory in its original, classical form, without reference to a limiting atomic model—“and [Einstein] liked this very much.

When we're at my parent's anniversary party tonight, I want you to think about this moment. I want you to think about me driven to insanity by the sight of you in this dress. I want you to remember that I can't keep my hands and lips off of you. I want you to think about how I can't go five fucking seconds without seeing you smile. I want you to feel me.

Quick-fixes do not work. All lasting inner change requires time and effort. Persistence is the mother of personal change. I’m not saying that it will take years to make profound changes in your life. If you diligently apply the strategies I am sharing with you every day for only one month, you will be astonished at the results. You will begin to tap into the highest levels of your own capacity and enter the realm of the miraculous. But to reach this destination, you must not get hung up on the outcome. Instead, enjoy the process of personal expansion and growth. Ironically, the less you focus on the end result, the quicker it will come.” “How so?” “It’s like that classic story of the young boy who traveled far from his home to study under a great teacher. When he met the wise old man, his first question was, ‘How long will it take me before I am as wise as you?’ “The response came swiftly, ‘Five years.’ “‘This is a very long time,’ the boy replied. ‘How about if I work twice as hard?’ “‘Then it will take ten,’ said the master. “‘Ten! That’s far too long. How about if I studied all day and well into the night, every night?’ “‘Fifteen years,’ said the sage. “‘I don’t understand,’ replied the boy. ‘Every time I promise to devote more energy to my goal, you tell me that it will take longer. Why?’ “‘The answer is simple. With one eye fixed on the destination, there is only one left to guide you along the journey.

June 2021 the papers were cackling over Boris Johnson’s much anticipated biography Shakespeare: The Riddle of Genius, which had been announced with some fanfare in 2015 and slated for publication in 2016 to mark the four-hundred-year anniversary of Shakespeare’s death but which, five years later, had yet to materialize.

the young boy who traveled far from his home to study under a great teacher. When he met the wise old man, his first question was, ‘How long will it take me before I am as wise as you?’ “The response came swiftly, ‘Five years.’ “‘This is a very long time,’ the boy replied. ‘How about if I work twice as hard?’ “‘Then it will take ten,’ said the master. “‘Ten! That’s far too long. How about if I studied all day and well into the night, every night?’ “‘Fifteen years,’ said the sage. “‘I don’t understand,’ replied the boy. ‘Every time I promise to devote more energy to my goal, you tell me that it will take longer. Why?’ “‘The answer is simple. With one eye fixed on the destination, there is only one left to guide you along the journey.

The Milams later moved to Orange, Texas, but returned to Greenville after only a few years. On Easter Sunday, 1962, Juanita Milam and her five siblings hosted a fiftieth wedding anniversary dinner for her parents, Albert and Myrtle Thompson, at the Thompson home on Purcell Street. Myrtle died the following year while J. W. and Juanita were still living in Texas, but before Albert died in 1965, they returned to Mississippi to help care for him. They would make their home at 615 Purcell Street in Greenville, near the Thompsons, where J. W. would live out the rest of his life. The house was a converted black Methodist church.107

Securing publication of Saints, Slaves, and Blacks proved most challenging. Five different presses rejected the manuscript. Ultimately, Greenwood Press—a small academic press based in Westport Connecticut—accepted it. Once in print, the volume garnered minimal exposure due in part to limited promotion. Outrageously overpriced, the book’s primary market was university and public libraries. When its limited print run sold out, the volume went out of print—this occurring a mere five years following publication. Reissue of Saints, Slaves, and Blacks in a relatively inexpensive paperback edition is intended to make it available to a wider audience. Such a reprint is also timely in that 2018 marks the fortieth anniversary of the lifting of the priesthood and temple ban. The volume deserves republication for an even more important reason. When first published, Saints, Slaves, and Blacks provided a unique, albeit controversial, perspective relative to the origins of black priesthood denial. Its central thesis that the ban emerged largely as the byproduct of Mormon ethnic whiteness initially articulated in the Book of Mormon and Pearl of Great Price was provocative. Building on these scriptural proof-texts, nineteenth century Latter-day Saints viewed themselves as a divinely “chosen” lineage—the literal descendants of the House of Israel. They considered their “whiteness” emblematic, indeed proof, of their status as the Lord’s “favored people.” Conversely, Mormons utilized these same scriptures, along with the Old Testament, to prove that black people were members of a divinely cursed race, given their alleged descent from two accursed Biblical counter-figures—Ham, the misbehaving son of Noah, and Cain, humankind’s alleged first murderer. Physical proof of African-American accursed status was

The Nation of Islam is the best known Black Muslim group, though its actual numbers may be no more than 100,000. However, many blacks who are not, themselves, Muslims have great respect for the group’s leader, Louis Farrakhan. Users of the Internet arm of Black Entertainment Television, BET.com, chose him as the black “person of the year” for 2005. Mr. Farrakhan was elected over Oprah Winfrey, then-Senator Barack Obama, Robert L. Johnson, who started BET, and the victims of Hurricane Katrina. “An overwhelming percentage of our users agreed that Minister Farrakhan made the most positive impact on the Black community over the past year,” explained a BET spokesman. What did Mr. Farrakhan do to deserve that honor? He received heavy news coverage twice that year. Once was when he promoted the theory that whites blew up the New Orleans levees to destroy black neighborhoods. The other was when he organized a “Millions More Movement” on the National Mall to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the Million Man March. On that occasion, Michael Muhammad, National Youth Minister for the Nation of Islam declaimed: “We want to say to our young brothers of the Crips and the Bloods that we are one family. The real enemy doesn’t wear blue, but white, even when he’s butt naked.” Ayinde Baptiste of the Nation of Islam added: “We are at war here in America. . . . We need soldiers now. We need black male soldiers, we need black feminist soldiers, we need Crips and Bloods soldiers . . . soldiers in the prisons, soldiers in the streets.” The Congressional Black Caucus endorsed the event, and five black congressmen attended it.

Mortgages were short-term, usually for three to five years, and they were not amortized. In other words, people paid interest, but did not repay the sum they had borrowed (the principal) until the end of the loan’s term, so that they ended up facing a balloon-sized final payment. The average difference (spread) between mortgage rates and high-grade corporate bond yields was about two percentage points during the 1920s, compared with about half a per cent (50 basis points) in the past twenty years.

In the Philippines, formalizing home ownership was until recently a 168-step process involving fifty-three public and private agencies and taking between thirteen and twenty-five years.

Let us assume that on the first wedding anniversary, before the SOP was put in place, a long-time close friend of Draupadi asks her out of naughty friendly curiosity, which of her five husbands she favoured the most and which the least. Draupadi feigns anger at the question, but in a playful mood, tells her friend that she has a meticulous log of the number of nights she spent with each of her husbands through the year, though she has no intention of sharing the information with her! But as a tease, she is willing to share with her friend, the total number of nights spent by her with four of her husbands in five different combinations. In effect, she presents her friend with the following five equations: y + b + a + n = 304 b + a + n + s = 296 a + n + s + y = 294 n + s + y + b = 280 s + y + b + a = 310 Where y stands for the total number of nights spent with Yudhisthira, b for the number of nights spent with Bhima, a for the number of nights with Arjuna, n for the number of nights with Nakula, and s for the nights spent with Sahadeva.