Gif Quotes

وجه الطفل الذي يحمل ملامح أبيه وأمه بالتساوي.. تنظر له للحظة فترى أمه .. تنظر له للحظة أخرى فترى أباه.. كأنها صورة كمبيوتر من طراز GIF تتغير ببطء شديد.

Ve haf vays of making you gif us your DNA sample.

You say often you wish a library; here I gif you one; for between these two lids (he meant covers) is many books in one. Read him well, and he will help you much; for the study of character in this book will help you to read it in the world, and paint it with your pen.

Ah! Thou gifest me such hope and courage, and I haf nothing to gif back but a full heart and these empty hands," cried the Professor, quite overcome. Jo never, never would learn to be proper, for when he said that as they stood upon the steps, she just put both hands into his, whispering tenderly, "Not empty now," and, stooping down, kissed her Friedrich under the umbrella.

I took the jacket off, changed my T-shirt for a dark gray tank top, slipped on the tangle of the back sheath, and put the jacket on again. Thugs are us. Great. Just add a super-tight ponytail and loads of mascara, and I’d be ripe to play a supervillain’s evil mistress. Ve haf vays of making you gif us your DNA sample.

Grace before Glutton. For what we are, gifs a gross if we are, about to believe.

The point is to be in the moment, not miss the moment while trying to capture it.

I dig into my Chinese food with my fork, pretending not to listen – but if I were a GIF, I’d be the Michael Jackson eating popcorn in a movie theatre one, so engrossed am I.

What the hell am I looking at?” he barked. “It’s a nope GIF. You’ve never seen a nope GIF? There are hundreds on the Internet.” She smiled. “We literally never have to have this conversation again. You’ll bring it up again, and I’ll just send you a GIF. Subject closed.

A vida real sofre de uma séria falta de GIFs de gatinhos se abraçando.

Gmorning. Did you also forget to get the lifetime warranty for your peace of mind? Saaaaame Here I got some home remedy sh*t *opens bag full of creams, alcolado, encouragement, distractions, this gif of a baby panda* Gnight. Did you also forget to get the lifetime warranty for a good night's sleep? Saaaaame Here I got some Chicken Soup For The Soul type sh*t *opens bag full of lavender sh*t, dreams, alcolado, deep breaths, flights of fantasy, this bunny at a piano*

It's too bad GIFs are silent, because I recorded some original saxophone music to accompany my newest masterpiece. It sounds like ducks quacking on the moon, and if you've got an empty elevator that needs space to be filled, it's now FOR SALE.

You say often you wish a library. Here I gif you one, for between these lids (he meant covers) is many books in one. Read him well, and he will help you much, for the study of character in this book will help you to read it in the world and paint it with your pen.

Almost everything in social life is produced by rare but consequential shocks and jumps; all the while almost everything studied about social life focuses on the “normal,” particularly with “bell curve” methods of inference that tell you close to nothing. Why? Because the bell curve ignores large deviations, cannot handle them, yet makes us confident that we have tamed uncertainty. Its nickname in this book is GIF, Great Intellectual Fraud.

Er schuilt een gif in vergiffenis.

I minimize the chat window, catching only a gif Millie sent of Kristen Bell pretending her middle finger is a tube of lipstick, and peek at my calendar.

And I've told you before are you deaf I've fallen in love with a gif

People used to read books and watch movies. Now people read memes and tweets and watch GIFs. I'm currently writing something about ducks that I hope you'll say is an instant classic six seconds into the experience.

Almost everything in social life is produced by rare but consequential shocks and jumps; all the while almost everything studied about social life focuses on the "normal," particularly with "bell curve" methods of inference that tell you close to nothing. Why? Because the bell curve ignores large deviations, cannot handle them, yet makes us confident that we have tamed uncertainty. Its nickname in this book is GIF, Great Intellectual Fraud.

We publicized it. We capitalized on it. We exploited it for ratings or whatever, for stories, with our memes and GIFs and tweeting and all that. We jump on the train. We show their pictures on live TV. We make clever hashtags. We find ways to, like, absolve ourselves from responsibility or say we’ve helped out with a retweet or something. We’ve helped because we’ve mentioned an injustice in passing to our neighbor and we both got to shake our heads.

The internet is always on, interaction always available, but it could not guarantee I would be able to interact with someone I liked and understood, or who (I thought) liked and understood me. I’d gotten used to using people I’d never met, or met a few times, to muffle the sound of time passing without transcendence or joy or any of the good emotions I wanted to experience during my life, and I knew the feeling was mutual, and that was the comfort in it. It was compared to white noise so often for a reason: so many people, talking, mumbling, murmuring, muttering, suggesting, gently reminding, chiming in, jumping in, just wanting to add, just reminding, just asking, just wondering, just letting that sink in, just telling, just saying, just wanting to say, just screaming, just *whispering*, in all lowercase letters, in all caps, with punctuation, with no punctuation, with photos, with GIFs, with related links, Pay attention to me!

Nothing is fair, except that we try to make it so. That’s the point of humans, maybe, to fix the things the gifs haven’t managed.

The Bay Area traffic is so slow, it's like waiting for a GIF to load.

I” in this case being “sunset dot gif

Beware of geeks bearing gifs.

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I am deliriously in love with GIF reviews. That is all.

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She reblogged a couple gif sets of that guy from Gilmore Girls that she says I remind her of, so that’s a good thing, right?

He paused and rubbed his beard. Good God, she’d play a gif of that over and over, if she could.

When he ran a review of his team’s Slack usage, he found that the most popular feature was a plug-in that inserts animated GIFs into the chat conversations.

And you’re in these circles of people sending gifs and heart emojis . . . This medium is stifling.

Wha Is That At My Bower-Door 1783 Wha is that at my bower-door? O wha is it but Findlay! Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here: Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay; What mak' ye, sae like a thief? O come and see, quo' Findlay; Before the morn ye'll work mischief: Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. Gif I rise and let you in- Let me in, quo' Findlay; Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;" Indeed will I, quo' Findlay; In my bower if ye should stay- Let me stay, quo' Findlay; I fear ye'll bide till break o' day; Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. Here this night if ye remain- I'll remain, quo' Findlay; I dread ye'll learn the gate again; Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. What may pass within this bower- Let it pass, quo' Findlay; Ye maun conceal till your last hour: Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.

I'm about to make an absurd BearPaw Duck Farm meme. To make a proper marketing GIF, there's only one rule: No matter what flavor you are hoping to achieve, you can never sprinkle in too much saxophone.

In 2019, almost overnight, I went from being a middle-school teacher from Traverse City, Michigan, to becoming a person strangers looked to for guidance, reassurance, and the perfect reaction GIF on Twitter.

Ty and Livvy were the last to come say good-bye to Jules; Livvy embraced him fiercely, and Ty gave him a soft, shy smile. Julian wondered where Kit was. He'd been glued to Ty's and Livvy's sides the whole time they'd been in London, but he appeared to have vanished for the family farewell. "I've got something for you," Ty said. He held out a box, which Julian took with some surprise. Ty was absolutely punctual about Christmas and birthday presents, but he rarely gave gifs spontaneously. Curious, Julian popped open the top of the box to find a set of colored pencils. He didn't know the brand, but they looked pristine and unused. "Where did you get these?" "Fleet Street," said Ty. "I went out early this morning." An ache of love pressed against the back of Julian's throat. It reminded him of when Ty was a baby, serious and quiet. He hadn't been able to go to sleep for a long time without someone holding him, and though Julian had been very small himself, he remembered holding Ty while he fell asleep, all round wrists and straight black hair and long lashes. He'd felt so much love for his brother even then it had been like an explosion in his heart. "Thanks. I've missed drawing," Julian said, and tucked the box into his duffel bag. He didn't fuss; Ty didn't like fuss, but Julian made his tone as warm as he could, and Ty beamed. Jules thought of Livvy, the night before, the way she'd kissed his forehead. Her thank-you. This was Ty's.

I recently made my directorial debut in the category of duck documentary—in GIF format. I hope viewers don’t think my cinematic masterpiece goes on too long, because the extended version comes in at just over six seconds—which might be pushing the limits of modern attention spans.

Friedrich, why didn't you..." "Ah, heaven, she gifs me the name that no one speaks since Minna died!" cried the Professor, pausing in a puddle to regard her with grateful delight. "I always call you so to myself––I forgot, but I won't unless you like it." "Like it? It is more sweet to me than I can tell. Say 'thou', also, and I shall say your language is almost as beautiful as mine." "Isn't 'thou' a little sentimental?" asked Jo, privately thinking it a lovely monosyllable. "Sentimental? Yes. Thank Gott, we Germans believe in sentiment, and keep ourselves young mit it. Your English 'you' is so cold, say 'thou', heart's dearest, it means so much to me," pleaded Mr. Bhaer, more like a romantic student than a grave professor.

Door intimiteit zijn we met elkaar verbonden en de onzichtbare banden zijn bevrijdende boeien. De verbondenheid is gebiedend: ze vereist exclusiviteit. Delen is verraden. Maar het is niet zo dat we slechts een enkele persoon mogen liefhebben, en aanraken. Wat te doen? Regie voeren over de verschillende intimiteiten? Een penibele boekhouding voeren over onderwerpen, woorden, gebaren? Over gedeelde kennis en over geheimen? Dat zou geruisloos druppelend gif zijn.

Mr. Bhaer saw the drops on her cheeks, ... The sight seemed to touch him very much, for suddenly stooping down, he asked in a tone that meant a great deal, "Heart's dearest, why do you cry?" Now, if Jo had not been new to this sort of thing she would have said she wasn't crying, had a cold in her head, or told any other feminine fib proper to the occasion. Instead of which, that undignified creature answered, with an irrepressible sob, "Because you are going away." "Ach, mein Gott, that is so good!" cried Mr. Bhaer, managing to clasp his hands in spite of the umbrella and the bundles, "Jo, I haf nothing but much love to gif you. I came to see if you could care for it, and I waited to be sure that I was something more than a friend. Am I? Can you make a little place in your heart for old Fritz?" he added, all in one breath. "Oh, yes!" said Jo, and he was quite satisfied, for she folded both hands over his arm, and looked up at him with an expression that plainly showed how happy she would be to walk through life beside him, even though she had no better shelter than the old umbrella, if he carried it.

As a waiter served their medium-rare steaks and, on multicolored rice, cooked into fetal positions, eight medium-large shrimp, Paul realized with some confusion that he might have overreacted. Staring at the herbed butter, flecked and large as a soap sample, on his steak, he was unsure what, if he had overreacted, had been the cause. It occurred to him that, in the past, in college, he would have later analyzed this, in bed, with eyes closed, studying the chronology of images—memories, he’d realized at some point, were images, which one could crudely arrange into slideshows or, with effort, sort of GIFs, maybe—but now, unless he wrote about it, storing the information where his brain couldn’t erase it, place it behind a toll, or inadvertently scramble its organization, or change it gradually, by increments smaller than he could discern, without his knowledge, so it became both lost and unrecognizable, he probably wouldn’t remember most of this in a few days and, after weeks or months, he wouldn’t know it had been forgotten, like a barn seen from inside a moving train that is later torn down, its wood carried elsewhere on trucks.

The call of self-expression turned the village of the internet into a city, which expanded at time-lapse speed, social connections bristling like neurons in every direction. At ten, I was clicking around a web ring to check out other Angelfire sites full of animal GIFs and Smash Mouth trivia. At twelve, I was writing five hundred words a day on a public LiveJournal. At fifteen, I was uploading photos of myself in a miniskirt on Myspace. By twenty-five, my job was to write things that would attract, ideally, a hundred thousand strangers per post. Now I’m thirty, and most of my life is inextricable from the internet, and its mazes of incessant forced connection—this feverish, electric, unlivable hell.

Yes, I know I can, for we love one another, and that makes all the rest easy to bear. I have my duty, also, and my work. I couldn't enjoy myself if I neglected them even for you, so there's no need of hurry or impatience. You can do your part out West, I can do mine here, and both be happy hoping for the best, and leaving the future to be as God wills." "Ah! Thou gifest me such hope and courage, and I haf nothing to gif back but a full heart and these empty hands," cried the Professor, quite overcome. Jo never, never would learn to be proper, for when he said that as they stood upon the steps, she just put both hands into his, whispering tenderly, "Not empty now," and stooping down, kissed her Friedrich under the umbrella

Pie?" I narrowed my eyes at her, and then down at the container in her hands, where there were chocolate hand pies lined up in neat rows. The So Sorry Blondies were all gone by then, devoured between me and Paul and the rest of the dive team, and the memory of their deliciousness was too fresh for me to resist another Pepper Evans creation. I took one of the mini pies with a wary hand, just as she pulled out her phone, tapped it a few times, and smirked. I stopped chewing. "Did you just tweet?" I asked, my mouth full of chocolate. Pepper swept her bangs back with her fingers, and this time the gesture was calculated and breezy. "Did I?" I scowled into my phone screen, lowering it under my desk so Mrs. Fairchild wouldn't see. This one was just a GIF of Regina George from Mean Girls--- "Why are you so obsessed with me?" "At least your pie is better than your tweets," I mumbled. But the smirk on Pepper's face only deepened. "Those are from the Big League Burger bargain menu, by the way." My mouth dropped open. Pepper turned her eyes back to her textbook, burying her smirk in it. "Enjoy.

Moses. Men and Vows NUMBERS 30 Moses spoke to  f the heads of the tribes of the people of Israel, saying, “This is what the LORD has commanded. 2 g If a man vows a vow to the LORD, or  h swears an oath to bind himself by a pledge, he shall not break his word.  i He shall do according to all that proceeds out of his mouth. Women and Vows 3“If a woman vows a vow to the LORD and binds herself by a pledge, while within her father’s house in her youth, 4and her father hears of her vow and of her pledge by which she has bound herself and says nothing to her, then all her vows shall stand, and every pledge by which she has bound herself shall stand. 5But if her father opposes her on the day that he hears of it, no vow of hers, no pledge by which she has bound herself shall stand. And the LORD will forgive her, because her father opposed her. 6“If she marries a husband, while under her  j vows or any thoughtless utterance of her lips by which she has bound herself, 7and her husband hears of it and says nothing to her on the day that he hears, then her vows shall stand, and her pledges by which she has bound herself shall stand. 8But if, on the day that her husband comes to hear of it, he opposes her, then he makes void her  j vow that was on her, and the thoughtless utterance of her lips by which she bound herself.  k And the LORD will forgive her. 9(But any vow of a widow or of a divorced woman, anything by which she has bound herself, shall stand against her.) 10And if she vowed in her husband’s house or bound herself by a pledge with an oath, 11and her husband heard of it and said nothing to her and did not oppose her, then all her vows shall stand, and every pledge by which she bound herself shall stand. 12But if her husband makes them null and void on the day that he hears them, then whatever proceeds out of her lips concerning her vows or concerning her pledge of herself shall not stand. Her husband has made them void, and  l the LORD will forgive her. 13Any vow and any binding oath to afflict herself, [1] her husband may establish, [2] or her husband may make void. 14But if her husband says nothing to her from day to day, then he establishes all her vows or all her pledges that are upon her. He has established them, because he said nothing to her on the day that he heard of them. 15But if he makes them null and void after he has heard of them, then  m he shall bear her iniquity.” 16These are the statutes that the LORD commanded Moses about a man and his wife and about a father and his daughter while she is in her youth within her father’s house.

He that ay has livit fre May nocht knaw weil the propirte The anger, na the wrechit dome That is couplit to foul thraldome. Bot gif he had assayit it, Then all par coeur he sould it wit, And sould think freedome mair to prys Than all the gold in warld that is.

Moments.gif | Memories.ppt | Secrets.rar | Complains.docx | Celebrations.avi | Failures.xls | Relationships.temp | Regrets.pdf | Life.exe

It’ll happen sooner than you think. Today was as much blowback as you’re gonna get, I bet.” “Great, then you can expect amazing GIFs of squirrels acting out romance novel covers as soon as next week.” “You’re so weird, Rachel.

Il passa sa chemise par-dessus sa tête sans défaire les derniers boutons. Par les hormones dans mes ovaires. Enfin peu importe le temple corporel dans lequel vivaient les saintes hormones. Kyros qui enlevait sa chemise n’était pas un spectacle fait pour nous, pauvres mortels. Je devais en faire un gif à enregistrer dans ma banque d’images spéciale plaisir personnel au plus vite.

Il passa sa chemise par-dessus sa tête sans défaire les derniers boutons. Par les hormones dans mes ovaires. Enfin peu importe le temple corporel dans lequel vivaient les saintes hormones. Kyros qui enlevait sa chemise n’était pas un spectacle fait pour nous, pauvres mortels. Je devais en faire un gif à enregistrer dans ma banque d’images spéciale plaisir personnel au plus vite.

The GIF butts in her House, smell like Angola.

like a GIF carved into the wall

Het profetisch getuigenis van de kerk in een woedecultuur is om mensen te zijn die weten hoe we samen moeten huilen over de pijn en onrechtvaardigheid in de wereld en over de realiteit van onze eigen zonde en gebrokenheid. We moeten leren om te luisteren naar de angst en het verdriet onder de woede die mensen spuwen door politiek venijn en digitaal gif.

[Princess Diaries Eyebrows GIF.]

There were a lot of things to love about Dean, but there were things that drove her crazy, too. He giggled incessantly at GIFs of people falling over. His memory had more holes than a sieve. He couldn’t name a single political figure, not even the Prime Minister. He thought, for some unknown reason, there were seventy-two weeks in a year. He’d made her a million cups of tea but he could never remember how she liked it (Irish breakfast with milk and one sugar). Once he went to the shops to buy her dishwashing liquid, and he returned with flowers, a Boston bun, and a packet of double A batteries. If they were driving anywhere, he broke off mid-conversation to point out interesting-looking dogs. . .

When something is impossible to explain, you post the GIF of the guy with the hair saying, "ALIENS." It's just what you do.

Hoe lang zal het gebied waarin jij ademt nog stil en leefbaar zijn? Zal niet ook hier wanneer de Randstad rot in vuil brak water een woekering van grijze torens kiemen die dag en nacht het grommen van machines uitzenden zal in lucht vol gif en roet?

turns out patty’s a party animal, writes another, along with a GIF of Kristen Wiig dressed like a drunk Cinderella on an old episode of Saturday Night Live.

Oh dear, will no one think of the gifs?

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Once they were all finally gone, I turned around and noticed Adeena and Elena looking like the "Jessica Fletcher eating popcorn" gif as they shared a bucket of popcorn while enjoying the drama. "OK, I get that we're at a corn festival, but how did you get the popcorn so fast? Do you travel with props for moments like this?" Adeena winked. "You know how dedicated I am when it comes to a bit. But no, your sweet boyfriend left when things started getting heated and returned with snacks for us." Jae turned red as he held out a cone full of cornick from my aunt, a disk of corn tempura from our friend Yuki's booth, and other yummy corn-related snacks. "It was getting uncomfortable, and I figured I might as well make myself useful. I know what happens when you all get hungry, so I figured I'd grab food for you before it gets too crowded." "He's a keeper, all right," Elena said, grinning at him as she dipped the corn tempura disk into the accompanying sauce.

To ovaries before brovaries,” Grace said, chiming her glass against Esme’s. “Ovaries before brovaries,” Esme agreed and they both took a sip.

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I thumbed through the outfits and my hands grazed leather. A black leather jacket. I could dimly recall wearing it at some point. Must’ve been during my “Oh look, I’m tough!” days. I slipped it on and looked in the bedroom mirror. I looked like a bravo. And it was hot. Oh well. It was better than nothing. I took the jacket off, changed my T-shirt for a dark gray tank top, slipped on the tangle of the back sheath, and put the jacket on again. Thugs are us. Great. Just add a super-tight ponytail and loads of mascara, and I’d be ripe to play a supervillain’s evil mistress. Ve haf vays of making you gif us your DNA sample. I settled for my usual braid. Having rebraided by hair, I paused, considered the arsenal available to me, put on thin wristbands loaded with silver needles, and took nothing else except Slayer. To get clear of two hundred enraged shapechangers I’d need a case of grenades and air support. There was no reason to weigh myself down with extra weapons. Then again, maybe I should take a knife. One knife, as a backup. Okay, two. And that’s it. Armed and dressed to kill—or rather to die quickly but in style—I went to get the wolf-man and together we took the gloomy staircase down to the street.

In order to be able to fulfill mission, mission, you need to understand the unique gift incorporated within you

By force-marching his exhausted men through the unknown, rain-swept wilderness of the German-infested Teutoburg Forest, this guy had just made a brain-explodingly boneheaded mistake so amazing in its incompetence that it makes the Roman consuls at Cannae look like a conjoined triplet made out of Napoleon Bonaparte, Alexander the Great, and that dude from Total Recall who had the baby coming out of his stomach. In terms of career moves, marching three legions into the Teutoberg was the Classical Age equivalent of coauthoring an academic paper with the Unabomber or asking Charles Manson to write you a letter of recommendation for law school. Unsurprisingly, this came back to bite him in the ass. We don’t know exactly how many Germans were hiding in the woods, watching the column of imperial invaders trudge past. The Germans didn’t bother to write anything down more detailed than “killed sum d00ds 2day lulz,” and the only Romans who managed to run screaming out of this forest alive were the ones who knew better than to sit there and try to count how many GWAR fans were currently trying to brutally dismember them with axes. Let’s just say it was probably a crapload, and that when these long-haired death metal freaks unleashed a bloodcurdling shout and started charging through the forest like a bunch of gigantic mutant Ewok-Wookies ambushing the Imperial Stormtroopers on the Forest Moon of Endor it wasn’t exactly the sort of hilarious laugh riot you might see in an animated GIF involving unicorns, rainbows, and cartoon kitties with Pop-Tarts where their bodies are supposed to be. Bellowing like madmen, these balls-out, frothing-at-the-mouth, beer-swilling sausage fiends went Leeroy Jenkins toward the enemy, blitzkrieging out of the woods from every side seemingly at the same time, their ferociousness magnified not only by their savage blood rage, but by the fact that some of the dudes had taken to painting their entire bodies black with mud to help them hide in the dark forest like how Schwarzenegger hid from the Predator’s infrared vision. It was so damned terrifying that it took every ounce of Roman discipline to not simply spontaneously combust into blood vapor on the spot.

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Iedere ochtend, als ik wakker word, denk ik dat die dag mijn leven echt gaat beginnen, ik heb het idee dat ik nauwelijks ouder ben dan zestien en dat die man die zoveel tragische en droevige dingen kent en die gisternacht in mijn bed is ingeslapen een vreemde voor mij is, dat hij ver van mij afstaat en ik begrijp zijn geestelijke vermoeidheid en zijn droefheid niet. En iedere nacht bij het inslapen voel ik me alsof ik een heel lang leven achter de rug heb en alsof alles wat mij daarvan rest afschuw is en de last van lange jaren. En dan wordt het dag en naarmate die ten einde loopt, dringt dit gif van geestelijke vermoeidheid steeds dieper en dieper in mij door.

A good start is to keep an accurate record of each and every expenditure that your family makes each month. Or ask your accountant to help you set up a system for tabulating and categorizing these expenditures. Then work with her to develop a budget. The goal is to enable you to set aside for investing purposes at least 15 percent of your pretax income each year. By the way, this “15 percent method” is Mr. Gif-ford’s simple strategy for becoming affluent. CAR-SHOPPING

In a pie chart of Nick’s personality, Dad Jokes would be, like, seven of the eight slices. He responds to every text in our family group chat with a GIF from a comedic film that is usually Elf: Buddy the Elf jumping up and down, yelling, “Santa’s coming!” if you’re excited; Buddy the Elf bent over a rabid raccoon—“Does somebody need a hug?”—if you’re sad about something. He’ll make the occasional exception, though. Like, if you texted him that your plane had been hijacked, he’d probably send you the scream face from Home Alone.

My great-grandfather said that all dates began with the same custom. The two people on the date would take turns verbally listing all the TV shows they liked. If they both liked the same show, they’d exchange memes from it. But here’s the thing: GIFs did not exist yet. So instead of texting the other person a funny moment from the show, you would say out loud, “Do you remember the part when…,” and then you would perform the meme yourself, using your face and body to imitate what an actor had said and done. Exchanging memes in person was much scarier than doing it by text, because when you text someone a meme and they don’t respond, you can tell yourself that maybe they liked it but just didn’t have time to text you back. But when you performed a meme with your body and the other person didn’t like it, you would be able to tell, because instead of laughing they would just kind of sadly look away and say, “Yeah, I remember that part.” And you would have to just keep on walking to the restaurant.

De liefde was een sluipend, traag gif, de liefde was geniepig en leugenachtig, de liefde was een sluier die over de ellende van de wereld was geworpen, de liefde was klef en onverteerbaar, ze was een spiegel waarin je kon zijn wat je niet was, ze was een spook dat hoop verspreidde waar allang geen hoop meer bestond, een schuilplaats waar je je toevlucht dacht te vinden en uiteindelijk toch alleen jezelf vond, ze was een vage herinnering aan een andere liefde, de mogelijkheid van een redding, die uiteindelijk toch op een genadeklap leek, ze was een oorlog zonder winnaars, een kostbaar juweel midden tussen de scherven waaraan je je sneed, ja, in die tijd was de liefde dat, Brilka. (Het Achtste Leven, pg 494)

I want to show you a body. They are sitting on a rock that is covered in moss. The body is holding a knife and wearing Doc Martens with flowers on the sides and they are whittling something out of dead wood. They are whittling a 3d model of a pulsating blob GIF out of dead wood. It has too many dimensions, and so they are struggling to get it right. As the knife separates the layers of woodskin they are softly chanting the word “caress,” because this is the future, and the word has become a war cry, or a weapon. The knife slips and cuts a minuscule chip out of the brown wood and of their brown thumb. They are smiling and they are bleeding all over it. There is a body and they are sitting on a rock. Let them narrate this story for you, this story of the future.

De wereld wordt al jaren vergiftigd, maar niet door een gif dat je kunt zien, ruiken of proeven. De Angeli Terrae zijn er meesters in om mensen tegen elkaar op te zetten - en haat is uiteindelijk wele malen dodelijker dan welke chemische stof ook. Die sijpelt in de kieren en scheuren van de samenleving en bijt ze steeds verder uit, tot ze zijn uitgegroeid tot onoverbrugbare ravijnen. Het doet jarenlang zijn werk en het geniepige is dat niemand meer weet wie ermee is begonnen. Er is geen schuldige. Iedereen is schuldig. Dus niemand.

As far as I was concerned, presents were the best part of Christmas. Not in a greedy Scrooge way, it didn’t really matter to me what was inside the presents, what mattered was the fact someone had taken the time, effort, and their hard-earned cash to go out and pick something with you in mind, wrap it up and give it to you as a token of their affection. A present was confirmation that you mattered, that you were loved, whether it was a bottle of bubble bath or a diamond ring. Not that anyone had ever given me a diamond ring, but obviously that was still something of a sore subject. Gift-giving was one of my love languages (along with physical affection, acts of service and a never-ending exchange of cat gifs) and Christmas gifts were the best kinds of gifts, because everyone gave and received at the same time. It was impossible to be unhappy when you were handing out and unwrapping presents, that was an indisputable scientific fact. Probably.

must’ve looked like one of those shoving-popcorn-in-mouth GIFs as I leaned forward, eager to learn more about this sordid tale.

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When I bury my head in my locker and check my phone, I see that even my Granny has sent me a WTF, dude?! gif.

Gift-giving was one of my love languages (along with physical affection, acts of service and a never-ending exchange of cat gifs) and Christmas gifts were the best kinds of gifts, because everyone gave and received at the same time. It was impossible to be unhappy when you were handing out and unwrapping presents,

People often ask me how I survived to achieve such greatness (And by greatness I simply meant to be better than one was yesterday), and I have avoided sharing my shield until this very moment. But this was how. And now I gif you the fallen warrior's shield (even though you always had it), so you, too, can write your own poetry like I have done, and so you, too, can overcome and be who you are supposed to be.

If we pray for the gift of wisdom we may know by God's grace what manner of praying people to avoid. Yes, I do avoid some of them. I flee as from the plagues of Egypt.

Once upon a time, in the glory days of the early internet, when UX wasn’t even an afterthought, websites were clunky, confusing and about as user-friendly as a cactus. Have any of you ever seen those fonts or animated gifs from the early inter- net? A sight to be seen.

My six-year-old got hold of my phone My apologies, Reverend. My six-year-old got hold of my phone and sent you 142 poop emojis. Please know that this in no way reflects my opinion of you or the Church. (Although it does make me wonder if there is a god.) To my father-in-law, Lou. No grandparent should ever receive a GIF of Fabio not wearing pants dancing suggestively with the words Let’s get it on! I was sure I had deleted that. To my boss, Gary. Did you happen to receive a photo of a baboon’s ass with a note reading Found this picture of you? I sent that one.

My friend Meera sent a gif of a luxurious-looking long-haired cat holding a Martini in its paw with the message “cannot wait for tonight, birthday gal!!!!!,” which meant she would certainly be in bed before eleven. This is what happens when people with children get too worked up for a night out—they tire themselves out with anticipation,

You know, when you’re healthy, you’ll laugh the gifs right in their faces. But when you’re convalescing, sweet hell, you are a miserable bastard.

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The delibarate placing of the highest intellectual gifs and achievement at the service of the lowest human instincts is a phenomenon with which the twentieth century is acquainted on a scale never previously attained. And whether the instinct be fear (the main defensive one) or revenge possessed (the main offensive ones) makes little difference in the end, so readily do they pass into one another. It is no recent discovery that brain as well as brawn is esential to the efficient figher. The Trojan Horse is the perennial symbol of that truth, and it is appropriate that Shakespeare put on the lips of Ulysses an encomium on the “still and mental parts” of war. But it remained for war in our time to effect the total mobilization of those still and mental parts. The ideological warfare that precedes and precipitates the physical conflict (cold war as it has significantly come to be called); the propaganda that prepares and unifies public opinion; the conscription, in a dozen spheres, of the nation’s brains; the organization of what is revealingly known as the intelligence service; but most of all the practical absorption of science into the military effort; these things, apart from the knowledge and skill required for actual fighting, permit us to define modern war, once it is begun, as an unreserved dedication of the human intellect to death and destruction.

The deliberate placing of the highest intellectual gifs and achievement at the service of the lowest human instincts is a phenomenon with which the twentieth century is acquainted on a scale never previously attained. And whether the instinct be fear (the main defensive one) or revenge possessed (the main offensive ones) makes little difference in the end, so readily do they pass into one another. It is no recent discovery that brain as well as brawn is esential to the efficient figher. The Trojan Horse is the perennial symbol of that truth, and it is appropriate that Shakespeare put on the lips of Ulysses an encomium on the “still and mental parts” of war. But it remained for war in our time to effect the total mobilization of those still and mental parts. The ideological warfare that precedes and precipitates the physical conflict (cold war as it has significantly come to be called); the propaganda that prepares and unifies public opinion; the conscription, in a dozen spheres, of the nation’s brains; the organization of what is revealingly known as the intelligence service; but most of all the practical absorption of science into the military effort; these things, apart from the knowledge and skill required for actual fighting, permit us to define modern war, once it is begun, as an unreserved dedication of the human intellect to death and destruction.

Poppy elbowed his ribs. Michael Jackson's eating pocorn GIF played in my head. I stifled a smile. This was surprisingly entertaining.

Everyone has an idiot relative who'll tell you across the dinner table that 'the blacks' don't really understand civilisation and aren't suited to it, or that 'the Jews' control the media and that's why only some dishrag newspaper or flashing GIF website knows the real story. Consciousness, I once read in a book, is a complexly convoluted loop of information that can observe itself. What does it say about a person, then, if they cannot manage the trick?

The smell of bacon sizzling and the sound of eggs hitting hot pans were drowned out by the sonorous diner conversations happening all over the restaurant. Some were laughing at their own jokes in one of the center tables. A couple wordlessly broke up, using the diner napkins to dry their tears, sitting in one of the red with white upside down triangle detailed booths. There were also some teenagers arguing about the pronunciation of gif on the counter table, sitting on the red high chairs.

First of all, if you have any images you have in JPG, GIF or  PNG format that you want spiders to notice and index, you will need to include them  in the HTML by assigning them alt attributes and giving the search engine a  description of the image.

Dear Superwoman, Even if they count you out, count yourself blessed for being alive. There are countless things you can still achieve.

It’s fitting that my first Grammy would be for ‘Queen’ since I wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for all the incredible women who kept pushing me forward.” I find Bristol sitting where I left her, pride and love shining in the eyes that never leave my face. I can already see the Coming to America GIFs that will be everywhere if I call her my queen, so I force myself to stop short of that. She would be fine if I didn’t say a word about her. Hell, she’d probably prefer it after all the media shit-storms we’ve been through, but there’s no way this moment even happens without her. “It’s for you, Bris,” I say softly, even though my words are amplified throughout Staples and in millions of homes. “You’re the best thing in my life. None of this would mean anything without you.

He was walking over toward the West Side, aimlessly at first, and then at times with the longing to do something to save those mistaken men from themselves forming itself into a purpose. Was not that what she meant when she bewailed her woman's helplessness? She must have wished him to try if he, being a man, could not do something; or if she did not, still he would try, and if she heard of it she would recall what she had said and would be glad he had understood her so. Thinking of her pleasure in what he was going to do, he forgot almost what it was; but when he came to a street-car track he remembered it, and looked up and down to see if there were any turbulent gathering of men whom he might mingle with and help to keep from violence. He saw none anywhere; and then suddenly, as if at the same moment, for in his exalted mood all events had a dream-like simultaneity, he stood at the corner of an avenue, and in the middle of it, a little way off, was a street-car, and around the car a tumult of shouting, cursing, struggling men. The driver was lashing his horses forward, and a policeman was at their heads, with the conductor, pulling them; stones, clubs, brickbats hailed upon the car, the horses, the men trying to move them. The mob closed upon them in a body, and then a patrol-wagon whirled up from the other side, and a squad of policemen leaped out and began to club the rioters. Conrad could see how they struck them under the rims of their hats; the blows on their skulls sounded as if they had fallen on stone; the rioters ran in all directions. One of the officers rushed up toward the corner where Conrad stood, and then he saw at his side a tall, old man, with a long, white beard, who was calling out at the policemen: "Ah, yes! Glup the strikerss—gif it to them! Why don't you co and glup the bresidents that insoalt your lawss, and gick your Boart of Arpidration out-of-toors? Glup the strikerss—they cot no friendts! They cot no money to pribe you, to dreat you!" The officer lifted his club, and the old man threw his left arm up to shield his head. Conrad recognized Lindau, and now he saw the empty sleeve dangle in the air over the stump of his wrist. He heard a shot in that turmoil beside the car, and something seemed to strike him in the breast. He was going to say to the policeman: "Don't strike him! He's an old soldier! You see he has no hand!" but he could not speak, he could not move his tongue. The policeman stood there; he saw his face: it was not bad, not cruel; it was like the face of a statue, fixed, perdurable—a mere image of irresponsible and involuntary authority. Then Conrad fell forward, pierced through the heart by that shot fired from the car. March heard the shot as he scrambled out of his car, and at the same moment he saw Lindau drop under the club of the policeman, who left him where he fell and joined the rest of the squad in pursuing the rioters. The fighting round the car in the avenue ceased; the driver whipped his horses into a gallop, and the place was left empty. March would have liked to run; he thought how his wife had implored him to keep away from the rioting; but he could not have left Lindau lying there if he would. Something stronger than his will drew him to the spot, and there he saw Conrad, dead beside the old man.

He's clearly not suited to the public rigors of this role. Encouraging the delusions of a mentally ill---" Johnny had finally reached his limit. "That's it." Releasing Rosie, he walked to the door and pulled it open. "Your Highness. Lancier. Get out." Sylvie couldn't repress an instinctive snort at the look on the duchess's face. Every affronted, outraged GIF in history had just come to life in this room. If the Prince of Wales never had a child, it was possible that the Duchess of Albany could one day become Queen Consort. At the very least, she would hopefully much sooner become Johnny's mother-in-law. He did not give one single shit. "Out," he said again, his entire demeanor brooking no opposition. The duchess was the most stereotypical type of bully. When faced with a dose of her own medicine, she retreated. With a malevolent glare at the offspring who'd foisted this man on her.

Je kunt gif innemen en er prachtig uitzien. Er is een oleanderpijlstaart noordwaarts over de Alpen gevlogen om ons dat te komen vertellen.

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