Fs Quotes

Another werewolf thing. Like most animals, we spent a large part of our lives engaged in the three Fs of basic survival. Feeding, fighting and... reproduction.

as with any mystery, you have to address the four Fs.” No one dared ask. “Who the fuck, what the fuck, where the fuck and why the fuck,” Lamb continued

Bridget decided she should at least enjoy some of the advantages of having a pretend boyfriend, especially the 3 Fs. Flowers. Fine Dining. Fine-looking man. And threw in an N: No expectations.

I’m telling you, go hook up. It isn’t like you’ll ever see him again. Fun Florida Fling. Ha-ha, the three Fs!” I want to laugh, but I shake my head. “No way. That’s all I need. To have sex, get pregnant or get an STD, or worse, catch feelings for the dude. He’s obviously a player.

Holding your hand Was an art that even I could not understand. But I would have given all the time I had to master it.

it funny how in school, the best grade is an A, but in the breast department, you never want an A? You want the breasts that get bad grades? The Breast School dropouts? The ones that get Ds and Fs? Hilarious.

And I am forever grateful That you know every inch of me.

You saved me From the dangers of my mind, Your hand Was the only one That could reach me.

Baird liked to think of it as the three Fs.

During this time I quit attending classes at the university, and my grades rose from four Fs to three Bs and an A.

The major characteristics discoverable by the stranger in Mr F.'s Aunt, were extreme severity and grim taciturnity; sometimes interrupted by a propensity to offer remarks in a deep warning voice, which, being totally uncalled for by anything said by anybody, and traceable to no association of ideas, confounded and terrified the Mind.

You became the occupant of my mind, The beat of my heart, And the tranquility in my soul. You became my life, My solace, The best person I ever knew.

boy is getting all Ds and Fs in math so his parents send him to Catholic school. On his first report card, his parents are shocked to see their son getting straight As. When his parents ask him why, he says, “Well, when I went into the chapel and saw that guy nailed to a plus sign, I knew they were serious.

Resilient One of the very qualities I loved about you Was your bond with God, And how it was unwavering Even in the fiercest of storms. That no matter what happened, Your faith did not falter, and you accepted that you were never alone.

Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe to the relict of her late nephew. 'Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Flora tried in vain to soothe the excellent woman by explaining that they were going home to dinner. Mr F.'s Aunt persisted in replying, 'Bring him for'ard and I'll chuck him out o' winder!' Having reiterated this demand an immense number of times, with a sustained glare of defiance at Little Dorrit, Mr F.'s Aunt folded her arms, and sat down in the corner of the pie-shop parlour; steadfastly refusing to budge until such time as 'he' should have been 'brought for'ard,' and the chucking portion of his destiny accomplished.

when it is but it ain't Some of us love badly. Sometimes the love is the type of love that implodes. Folds in on itself. Eats its insides. Turns wine to poison. Behaves poorly in restaurants. Drinks. Kisses other people. Comes back to your bed at 4am smelling like everything outside. Asks about your ex. Is jealous of your ex. Thinks everyone a rival. Some of us love others badly, love ourselves worse. Some of us love horrid, love beastly. Love sick love anti light. Sometimes the love can’t go home at night, can’t sleep with itself, cannot contain itself, catches fire, destroys the stomach, strips buildings, goes missing. Punches. Smashes heirlooms. Tells lies. The best lies. F*s around. Writes poems, impresses people. Chases lovers into corners. Leaves them longing. Sea sick. Says yes. Means anything but. Tricks the body. Kills the body. Dances wild and walks away, smiling.

A good story, well told, makes you realize you were yearning for something you had no name for, something you didn’t even know you wanted.

The act of an apology Does not hold the power to instantly heal, But it gives enough momentum To start moving forward.

Little Dorrit that she had not seen Mr F.'s Aunt so full of life and character for weeks; that she would find it necessary to

You are half of me, A purer, gentler half. I am not whole when you Are not whole yourself.

You get a lot of A’s and B’s in school. In the stock market, you get a lot of F’s. And if you’re right six or seven times out of ten, you’re very good.

You bring me happiness, But you are not the cure For my sadness. That I must find On my own.

My love for you Never abandoned me, Even when you did.

I must constantly remind myself That no one is guaranteed tomorrow.

You changed in a way where we would no longer be close, and I changed where your life wasn't worth mine.

I am thankful for the ones that have seen the most of me, and stayed. I am thankful for the ones Who left Before knowing all of me.

It was marvelous that I found my best friend and soul mate all in the same person.

4 Fs: find ’em, feel ’em, fug ’em, and forget ’em.

At the earliest stage, the only people who can invest in you are three Fs: friends, family and fools.

Julia had a rule for managing husbands: feed them, flatter them, and, er, fornicate with them. (She usually used a different f-word when mentioning the last item of the Rule of the Three Fs.)

The goals installed in Homo sapiens, that problem-solving, social species, are not just the Four Fs. High on the list are understanding the environment and securing the cooperation of others.

Tucked in the P section was a pelican feather, forget-me-not blossoms pressed between two pages of the Fs, a dried mushroom under M. So many treasures were stashed among the pages, the book would not completely close.

Fs Are "Fabulous" Hey, Mom and Dad! I got my grades! And you'll be thrilled to hear the marks on our report cards are changed around this year. A bunch of kids were telling me this morning on the bus, that they had heard some teachers say that Fs are "fabulous." And Ds are proudly given out for work that's "dynamite." They're used to honor kids like me, whose brains are really bright. So C of course is super "cool"- I've got a few of those. I wish they could be Ds and Fs, but that's the way it goes. I'm pleased to see my teacher didn't give an A or B. I've worked too hard for one of those. Gosh, aren't you proud of me? I see you don't believe me. You think that I am lying? At least you will agree that I should get an A for trying!

Sometimes all we have left are prayers to God. Situations escape from our grasps, and we are left physically hopeless. The hope lies within our words, which are carried by the wind to the unknown. Maybe they enter someone else’s mind, or land in a pile of prayers, that mercilessly stack in front of God. They sit, waiting to be answered right away, in time, or never. The pleasure is not ours to know.

I’ve read all the briefing materials they sent. Do you have any insights beyond that?” “I’ve heard that the first physical training isn’t quite impossible, and that the integrative abilities the FS requires make advanced study oral exams seem extraordinarily simple-minded.

Carefully she took the paper off to find a secondhand Webster's dictionary. "Oh, Tate, thank you." "Look inside," he said. Tucked in the P section was a pelican feather, forget-me-not blossoms pressed between two pages of the Fs, a dried mushroom under M. So many treasures were stashed among the pages, the book would not completely close.

It is easy to forget how mysterious and mighty stories are. They do their work in silence, invisibly. They work with all the internal materials of the mind and self. They become part of you while changing you. Beware the stories you read or tell; subtly, at night, beneath the waters of consciousness, they are altering your world. —BEN OKRI

Trying to find inner peace within desperate situations is one of the most challenging situations we face... RIP Robin Williams

F@#$ing F#$%s things up

One of the only thoughts that can get me through a day Is that whatever happens is meant to happen, And for everything that leaves, There is always something better on the way.

Rouse You make me feel All the love That I have lost in my lifetime.

Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind

Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity,

I refuse to store All my joy in you. For if you ever leave, I would not know what to do.

your arms resemble a home for my soul.

My greatest fear is losing who I am—

You have to promise me That this is something We will work on. We will argue, we will fight, But we must make sure That it won’t be the end of us.

We are constantly reminded  that the good parts in life will always outshine the bad.

There’s no research that finds that failing grades motivate students, and plenty of research that has found the opposite—that a student who receives 0s and Fs becomes less motivated, not more motivated. Guskey (2009) found that “no studies support the use of low grades as punishment. Instead of prompting greater effort, low grades more often cause students to withdraw from learning.

oo-la: noun. That state of awesomeness. It is when your life is balanced and growing in the seven key areas of life; the 7 F’s of Oola (fitness, finance, family, field, faith, friends, and fun).

Like he took the word ‘nigga’ and gave it a whole new meaning—Never Ignorant Getting Goals Accomplished. And he said Thug Life meant—” “The Hate U Give Little Infants F---s Everybody,” I censor myself.

Meanwhile, the parasympathetic nervous system (PNS) arises from different midbrain/brain-stem nuclei that project down the spine to the body. In contrast to the SNS and the four Fs, the PNS is about calm, vegetative states. The SNS speeds up the heart; the PNS slows it down. The PNS promotes digestion; the SNS inhibits it (which makes sense—if you’re running for your life, avoiding being someone’s lunch, don’t waste energy digesting breakfast).

I was told that before Our souls are exhaled into our bodies We meet one another in a place which we cannot remember Any longer. When I met you, It was as if there was already An established comfort and familiarity Between us.

The sympathetic nervous system (SNS) mediates the body’s response to arousing circumstances, for example, producing the famed “fight or flight” stress response. To use the feeble joke told to first-year medical students, the SNS mediates the “four Fs—fear, fight, flight, and sex.” Particular midbrain/brain-stem nuclei send long SNS projections down the spine and on to outposts throughout the body, where the axon terminals release the neurotransmitter norepinephrine.

There are times when I wanted the worst for you, Hoping you would understand The roots of my thoughts. I needed you to feel the pain I held, But here I am Praying you never feel like I did. Hoping no one ever sees you Like the way you saw me.

Days after setting off the bomb, the duo murdered a young MIT police officer during their attempted escape, and two years earlier Tamerlan and another Muslim immigrant slit the throats of three Jewish men on the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attack—which I believe was also the work of immigrants. CNN headline after the attack: “Boston Bombing Shouldn’t Derail Immigration Reform.”32 Leaving aside the wanton slaughter, Dzhokhar and Tamerlan were tremendous assets to America. They were on welfare and getting mostly Fs in school. Good work, U.S. immigration service!

Ovšem, je to jasné: chceme-li stanovit skutečnou hodnotu funkce, musíme určit její limitu. A je jasné, že limitou včerejšího hloupého „rozplynutí ve vesmíru“ je smrt. Protože smrt je vlastně mé úplné rozplynutí ve vesmíru. Označíme-li tedy lásku L a smrt S, bude L = f(S), tj. láska a smrt…

As the non-AD/HD person continues on through life, the pieces continue to make sense. They don’t get A’s one day, and F’s the next; they aren’t called creative one day and lazy, unmotivated, and irresponsible the next. When people without these difficulties try to do something, their efforts usually pay off. In other words, there’s a direct relationship between the effort and the results.

On a spring day in 1988…a Massachusetts man who collected books about local history was rummaging through a bin in a New Hampshire antiques barn when something caught his eye. Beneath texts on fertilizers and farm machines lay a slim, worn pamphlet with tea-colored paper covers, titled Tamerlane and Other Poems, by an unnamed author identified simply as “a Bostonian.” He was fairly certain he had found something exceptional, paid the $15 price, and headed home, where Tamerlane would spend only one night. The next day, he contacted Sotheby’s, and they confirmed his suspicion that he had just made one of the most exciting book discoveries in years. The pamphlet was a copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s first text, written when he was only fourteen years old, a find that fortune-seeking collectors have imagined happening upon probably more than they’d like to admit. The humble-looking, forty-page pamphlet was published in 1827 by Calvin F.S. Thomas, a relatively unknown Boston printer who specialized in apothecary labels, and its original price was about twelve cents. But this copy, looking good for its 161 years, most of which were probably spent languishing in one dusty attic box after another, would soon be auctioned for a staggering $198,000.

accordingly led the way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over, with a perseverance worthy of a better cause. When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps, Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief.

The seven people murdered by Chechen immigrants Dzhokhar and Tamerlan Tsarnaev, who planted a bomb at the finish line of the Boston Marathon in 2013. In addition to the three people killed in the blast, including an eight-year-old boy, dozens of Americans suffered severe injuries in the marathon bombing and are still learning to live with prosthetics and other artificial devices to replace lost legs, feet, eyes, and hearing—all thanks to an immigration policy that allows other countries to dump their losers on us. Days after setting off the bomb, the duo murdered a young MIT police officer during their attempted escape, and two years earlier Tamerlan and another Muslim immigrant slit the throats of three Jewish men on the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attack—which I believe was also the work of immigrants. CNN headline after the attack: “Boston Bombing Shouldn’t Derail Immigration Reform.”32 Leaving aside the wanton slaughter, Dzhokhar and Tamerlan were tremendous assets to America. They were on welfare and getting mostly Fs in school. Good work, U.S. immigration service!

I could see right past her fake laugh and smile, Seeing that she was still in love. She was stuck in the past, Thinking about all the memories that she held of him, Only to know that he wasn't there anymore. He broke her ever so dearly, But she was still longing for his touch, Not mine. I wasn't the one that was for her, I was a person she wouldn't see herself with. She already made up her mind. Her laugh was shallow and her eyes cried of sorrow. She would not try to keep this going, I could see it. For she was talking to me, but thinking of him.

I guess you’ll have to try to do something with F’s moon now. Presumably it’s dead. Or even try E.” He looked up at it, big in the blue sky. “Well, no. It’s too big. Too heavy.” Two minutes later: “Maybe you can just keep living on the ship, and stock up on whatever you run out of, from here and from E. Terraform F’s moon if you can. Or maybe you can resupply and get to another system entirely. I seem to recall there’s a G star just a few more light-years out.” Long silence. Then: “But you know, I bet they’re all like this one. I mean, they’re either going to be alive or dead, right? If they’ve got water and orbit in the habitable zone, they’ll be alive. Alive and poisonous. I don’t know. Maybe they could be alive and we live with them and the two systems pass each other by. But that doesn’t sound like life, does it? Living things eat. They have immune systems. So that’s going to be a problem, most of the time anyway. Invasive biology. Then on the dead worlds, those’ll be dry, and too cold, or too hot. So they’ll be useless unless they have water, and if they have water they’ll probably be alive. I know

Therefore Flora said, though still not without a certain boastfulness and triumph in her legacy, that Mr F.'s Aunt was 'very lively to-day, and she thought they had better go.' But Mr F.'s Aunt proved so lively as to take the suggestion in unexpected dudgeon and declare that she would not go; adding, with several injurious expressions, that if 'He'--too evidently meaning Clennam--wanted to get rid of her, 'let him chuck her out of winder;' and urgently expressing her desire to see 'Him' perform that ceremony. In this dilemma, Mr Pancks, whose resources appeared equal to any emergency in the Patriarchal waters, slipped on his hat, slipped out at the counting-house door, and slipped in again a moment afterwards with an artificial freshness upon him, as if he had been in the country for some weeks. 'Why, bless my heart, ma'am!' said Mr Pancks, rubbing up his hair in great astonishment, 'is that you? How do you do, ma'am? You are looking charming to-day! I am delighted to see you. Favour me with your arm, ma'am; we'll have a little walk together, you and me, if you'll honour me with your company.' And so escorted Mr F.'s Aunt down the private staircase of the counting-house with great gallantry and success. — Little Dorrit, Charles Dickens

...just when you think there isn't any left inside to give, an indestructable inner strength is borne...

Most of its functions involve what some researchers call the “four Fs”: fighting, feeding, fleeing, and … reproductive behavior.

There is no such thing as just a story. A story is always charged with meaning...And we can be sure that if we know a story well enough to tell it, it carries meaning for us. —ROBERT FULFORD

this point the value in f would be a map whose keys are strings and whose values are themselves stored as empty interface values: map[string]interface{}{        “Name”: “Wednesday”,        “Age”: 6,        “Parents”: []interface{}{            “Gomez”,            “Morticia”,        }, } To access this data we can use a type assertion to access f’s underlying map[string]interface{}: m := f.(map[string]interface{}) We can then iterate through the map

My father let me think about this and then asked me what I’d do the next time a test came around. How would I prepare for it? It occurred to me that if I knew I really couldn’t earn an A, what was the point of killing myself? I told my father, and he agreed. In fact, he told me that soon the entire class would be getting Cs, and then Ds. And eventually Fs. Socialism at work.

the basic four “F”s of survival—feeding, fighting, fleeing, and mating—it

The reason that the little things are more important than the big ones, turns out to be very simple: one can fake the big things in one’s behaviour, but not the little things. The little things lack the three “f’s”: feigning, fabrication, fakeness. Plus the most important “c”: contrivance.

As tecnologias digitais criam o ambiente propício para uma nova forma de bricolagem, ou "colagem livre", como Brown chama-a. Muitos podem adicionar ou transformar as criações de outros. O melhor exemplo de larga escala desse tipo de criação até agora é o software livre ou software de código aberto (free software/open-source software FS/OSS). O FS/OSS é um tipo de software no qual o código fonte3 é compartilhado. Qualquer um pode obter uma cópia da tecnologia que permite que os programas FS/OSS funciona. E qualquer um que tenha interesse em aprender como uma certa tecnologia FS/OSS funciona pode brincar com o código. Essa oportunidade cria uma "plataforma de aprendizado completamente nova", como descreve Brown. "Assim que você começa a trabalhar nela, você (...) libera uma colagem livre na comunidade, de forma que outras pessoas possam olhar no seu código, brincar com ele, testá-lo, verem o que podem fazer para o melhorar". Cada atividade dessas é uma forma de aprendizado. "O código aberto tornou-se uma plataforma importante de aprendizado".

Ki yi a hankali - Be careful.

Some words are like a debt - until you say them you are never truly free.

Spoken words had more weight than those that lay dormant as thoughts

Enchant I had fallen for you, But never realized that I had done so. Everything about you was mesmerizing, Like a summer’s sunset, Or a full moon on a clear night. A perfect, beautiful distraction To whatever I had felt.

I am overwhelmed by how much My thoughts toy with me. Surrounded by love and support, Yet believing That I am utterly alone.

How maddening children are! When I look back to the past, what do I remember? Silly little things about local sewing women, the bread twists I made in the kitchen, the smell of Colonel F.'s breath--and what do I forget? A spectacle that somebody paid a great deal of money for me to see and remember

You all got F’s!” Professor Sebastian thunders, getting wound up again.

This battle is constant, And I fear one day I may lose, but that day is not today.

I became so scared of the future, That I forgot about the present. I became so worried of judgement, That I completely changed myself To someone who I was not. I became so scared of the fear That I lost focus on life itself.

The sun will rise through the ashes Of the night, And it will bring a new feeling for us. We will know that all the struggles Only made us stronger.

Throughout time, I slowly learned To love who I was, So I would not crave it from anyone.

Elongate The night is all I have at times, And I desperately try to make it last as much as I can. I always feel like this is my final night on this earth To just bask in its lifespan. It never ends up being my last night, And I wake dreading the mornings Even more so.

Toxicity I staunchly believed That my heart Was the purist Out of everyone I had encountered. But no one thinks they are Ever the bad guy. Just the misunderstood.

TRAILHEAD/ACCESS POINTS Little Scraggy Trailhead on FS Rd 550: Drive southwest from Denver on US Hwy 285 for approximately 32 miles to Pine Junction (it has a traffic light). Turn left (southeast) on Jefferson County Rd 126 (Pine Valley Road) and proceed through the hamlets of Pine and Buffalo Creek. Continue 4 miles past the bridge over the South Platte River in Buffalo Creek to the intersection with FS Rd 550. This intersection is also 1 mile past Spring Creek Road. Turn right (west) on FS Rd 550 and drive 0.1 mile to the parking area. The Colorado Trail trailhead is at the northwest end of the parking area. To park you must pay a fee. Rolling Creek Trailhead: See Segment 4 on page

TRAIL DESCRIPTION Segment 3 begins at the Little Scraggy Trailhead next to the interpretive display at the northwest end of the parking area, mile 0.0 (7,834 feet). Head west on the trail. The CT and side trails in Segment 3 are part of the Buffalo Creek trails network popular with mountain bicyclists. At mile 0.6 (7,855), the trail crosses FS Rd 550, then rolls before dropping slightly to a small intermittent stream at mile 1.3 (7,813) and, beyond, a small campsite on the left side of the trail. The trail crosses the Shingle Mill Trail at mile 1.9 (7,795), then crosses another small intermittent stream with marginal camping at mile 2.1 (7,746). At mile 2.8 (7,709), where there’s an abandoned jeep trail, cross a stream, then cross another stream at mile 3.4 (7,760). Cross Tramway Creek at mile 5.1 (7,797), where there are some good campsites, and take a left at the Tramway Trail at mile 5.6 (7,681). Intersect the Green Mountain Trail and take a right at mile 6.3 (7,645). Cross a small stream at mile 6.4 (7,592). From here, the trail descends slightly to an intersection at mile 7.0 (7,516) with a trail that leads to Buffalo Creek Campground, a fee area about a quarter-mile north. Go straight through this intersection and continue on to another intersection at mile 7.5 (7,441), this time following the CT to the right.

At mile 7.6 (7,405), cross Meadows Group Campground Road, then go through a gate and veer left at mile 7.7 (7,364). (For Buffalo Creek Trailhead go right 0.2 mile.) After a nice walk along Buffalo Creek to a bridge, cross it and FS Rd 543 at mile 8.0 (7,391). Turn left at an intersection with Redskin Creek Trail at mile 8.3 (7,448). At mile 9.1 (7,900) there is a dry campsite. Ahead is a rifle range south of the trail and it’s common to hear shots; stay on the trail. The trail climbs to mile 9.6 (7,930), where it crosses the road to Buffalo Creek Gun Club. At mile 11.9 (8,127), cross a small stream where there’s good camping. After a short but steep climb, arrive at FS Rd 560 (Wellington Lake Road) and Rolling Creek Trailhead, the end of Segment 3 at mile 12.2 (8,279).

The sky awfully resembles human emotion. Rain, fog, sunlight, and serenity, Mesmerizing in all of its shades. It is the art of god, Like you and I.

TRAILHEAD/ACCESS POINTS South Platte River Trailhead: From Denver, drive southwest on US Hwy 285 for about 20 miles to the mountain town of Conifer. One-quarter mile past the end of town, exit the highway to your right. At the stop sign turn left, proceed under the highway, turn right, proceed a few feet to the stop sign, and turn left. This is Jefferson County Rd 97, better known as Foxton Road. Proceed about 8 miles on Foxton Road to a stop sign at an intersection with Jefferson County Rd 96. Turn left on 96 and go 5.5 miles to the boarded-up South Platte Hotel. Cross the bridge and the road becomes Douglas County Rd 97. Seven-tenths of a mile on, you will see the 141-foot-long Gudy Gaskill Bridge on the right. This is the South Platte River Trailhead, the start of Segment 2 of The Colorado Trail. This trailhead also can be reached from the south via Woodland Park and north on CO Hwy 67 to Deckers (a one-store town). Follow the river via Douglas County Rds 67/97 to the trailhead. Little Scraggy Trailhead on FS Rd 550: See Segment 3 on page 80.

TRAIL DESCRIPTION Segment 2 begins by crossing the South Platte River on the Gudy Gaskill Bridge, mile 0.0 (6,117 feet), the last water source for over 10 miles. Due to private property, there is no camping along the river. At the end of the bridge, the trail makes right turns and goes under the bridge along the river. Soon after, the trail veers right, leaving the river, and begins climbing steadily up several switchbacks. At mile 1.1 (6,592), pass an abandoned quartz mine and enter the Buffalo Creek Fire area. Note how the forest is beginning to regenerate. At mile 2.5 (6,841), the trail passes a distinct outcrop of pink granite and continues through rolling terrain. There are several good campsites along this stretch of the trail, including a site between boulders at the top of a ridge at mile 5.2 (7,745). From this spot, the Chair Rocks are visible to the west. Raleigh Peak (8,183) is about a mile to the southeast and Long Scraggy Peak (8,812) is about 4 miles to the south. After a slight downhill, The Colorado Trail crosses Raleigh Peak Road at mile 6.0 (7,691). A dry campsite can be found to the left of the trail at mile 6.6 (7,684). At mile 7.3 (7,613), cross an old jeep road and continue through the burned area. Approaching mile 10.1 is a metal building on the right, the unmanned fire station with emergency water spigot on the northeast corner. Turn left at mile 10.1 (7,622), where the trail parallels Jefferson County Rd 126 for 0.3 mile. Cross Jefferson County Rd 126 at mile 10.4 (7,675) and follow the Forest Service dirt road as it bends to the south. Here at mile 10.7 (7,712) a dry campsite can be found. Segment 2 ends when the trail reaches a large parking area at the Little Scraggy Trailhead on FS Rd 550 at mile 11.5 (7,834). There is a toilet and an information display here. This trailhead is a Forest Service fee area. Camping is not allowed in the parking area, but is permissible outside this area in the vicinity of The Colorado Trail.

Greed is merely a species of nearsightedness.

​There was a moment where the bindings loosened. ​I found that out when I began to love and be happy for myself, ​but they would tighten as soon  ​as I once again lost hope.  ​There is a flower sprouting within me, though. ​One which refuses to wither, ​as it knows that it will one day see the sun again ​without a worry in the world.

Who Will We Become? I read endless stories of loved ones returning after many years apart. So long after that they do not recognize each wrinkle or gray hair that appears. And they are filled with regret at the fact that they missed the opportunity of memories being created.

F.S. Nariman rightly found some similarity between the decision of the ADM Jabalpur and that of Dred Scott, rendered more than a century ago in 1857 by a 6:2 majority of the American Supreme Court. The majority in Dred Scott held that a black person could never be a citizen of the US. A strong criticism of this view by Abraham Lincoln got national attention and ultimately helped him win the presidential election, which changed history. In both the cases, powerful dissenting opinions brought about far-reaching changes in these two democracies.

Love is too weak a word for what I feel. I luuurve you, you know, I loave you, I luff you, two F’s, yes I have to invent, of course I do, don't you think I do?

mobilization of manpower, he promptly asked Congress for the measure not only on the ground of mobilization but also to assure the fighting men that the nation was making its total effort and to warn the enemy that he could not get a negotiated peace. The President also asked Congress for legislation to use the services of the four million 4-F’s. The President’s budget for fiscal 1946 proposed only a moderate decline from the prodigious spending of 1945—a clear indication of the administration’s expectation of a long, hard war against Japan. The President’s message on the state of the union ran to 9,000 words; it was the longest such message he had ever sent Congress. It was as though he wanted a culminating speech that would cover all that he

According to the economic story, you're free to enter and exit the world of markets as you please. As a buyer, you're free to choose whether to buy something or not. If you want something and can afford to pay for it, it's yours. If nothing pleases you, you can "vote with your dollar" and buy nothing. In practice, if you're less mobile than others in the world of markets somehow, perhaps because you're a child or a senior, or are poor, or have learning disabilities or mental health issues, you don't have the same access to the market as others do who are more independent Instead, you'll likely find it hard to identify your choices and make the best choice, which you need to be able to do for the market to operate efficiently, or you may not have enough money to enter the market to begin with. Sometimes your "best choice" isn't much of a choice at all; if your two options are to starve or to buy bread at extortion rates from the only seller in town, your "freedom" to enter or exit the market doesn't amount to much.

When you conform to the monoculture's version of who you are and what the world is like, you lose your freedom along with your ability to be truly innovative in terms of your own life. Being able to draw on many different stories, not just the economic one, allows you to creatively and authentically meet the challenges that face you in your life. The monoculture, determinedly single-minded, insists that economic values and assumptions can be used to solve your problems, whether those problems are spiritual, political, intellectual, or relational.

Loren looked at Christ on the cross behind the Mother Superior’s head. She remembered an old joke, one she heard when she first got here. A boy is getting all Ds and Fs in math so his parents send him to Catholic school. On his first report card, his parents are shocked to see their son getting straight As. When his parents ask him why, he says, “Well, when I went into the chapel and saw that guy nailed to a plus sign, I knew they were serious.” Mother