Guts And Determination Quotes

Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts. That's what little girls are made of; the heck with sugar and spice.

Gold medals aren't really made of gold. They're made of sweat, determination, and a hard-to-find alloy called guts.

Red flags are moments of hesitation that determine our destination.

She knows her timing, always knows. The time to strike or the time to starve. Her eyes as a clock, she watches she waits she learns, and in the second she blinks, she changes her mind just like that.

Courage is like magic, courage vanishes crisis.

I love you sons of bitches. You’re all I read any more. You're the only ones who’ll talk all about the really terrific changes going on, the only ones crazy enough to know that life is a space voyage, and not a short one, either, but one that’ll last for billions of years. You’re the only ones with guts enough to really care about the future, who really notice what machines do to us, what wars do to us, what cities do to us, what big, simple ideas do to us, what tremendous misunderstanding, mistakes, accidents, catastrophes do to us. You're the only ones zany enough to agonize over time and distance without limit, over mysteries that will never die, over the fact that we are right now determining whether the space voyage for the next billion years or so is going to be Heaven or Hell.

Never be afraid to offer a smile; sure the risk is that a few foolish people may misinterpret your kindness as weakness, but the reward in their error be that at least they cannot blame you because you did show your teeth.

Feelings do not always determine truth, but they can sometimes tell you what is true.

She thought of running through the forest on her birthday, the fierce desire deep in her gut to live. That’s what she felt from the sentinel, from the Wilderwood it was attached to. A deep, reckless determination to live.

Only two hours earlier she was telling me how great I was because I could cook eggs. Now my egg-making means I'm a homicidal maniac. Now I might wipe out random people at a mall because I don't smile enough. Why are the adults in my life so determined to bring me down when I'm feeling good? I find myself thinking that it would be nice to be able to fix my life the way I'm fixing the patio. I wonder, is there enough terracotta-colored cement to fill the hole where my father should be? Or where my mother's spine should be? Or where my guts should be?

You have your God, I have my guts.

The microbiome affects our mood, libido, metabolism, immunity, and even our perception of the world and the clarity of our thoughts. It helps determine whether we are fat or thin, energic or lethargic. Put simply, everything about our health-how we feel both emotionally and physically-hinges on the state of our microbiome.

We don’t have a pedigree, but we have big hearts, determination, and guts. The Carney family is grounded and there’s a lot of love.

Sometimes you have to go through hell to create your own paradise.

I understood that every virtue I associated with manhood—toughness, persistence, determination, reliability, honesty, integrity, guts—my mother exemplified.

Change does not surface when you are not ready to be the catalyst. Your reaction matters, not your inaction.

Gold metals aren't really made of gold. They're made of sweat, determination, and a hard-to-find-alloy called guts!

I’ve experienced a lot in my life. I’ve been in bloody battles. I’ve been with friends who were killed. I’ve seen terrible things done to man and beast, but I’ve never felt afraid. “I’ve been troubled. I’ve also been uneasy and tense. I’ve been in mortal danger, but I’ve never experienced that cold-sweat kind of fear, the kind that eats a man alive, brings him to his knees, and makes him beg. In fact, I always prided myself on being above that. I thought that I’d suffered through and seen so much that nothing could scare me anymore. That nothing could bring me to that point.” He brushed a brief kiss on my neck. “I was wrong. When I found you and saw that…that thing trying to kill you, I was enraged. I destroyed it without hesitation.” “The Kappa were terrifying.” “I wasn’t afraid of the Kappa. I was afraid…that I’d lost you. I felt an unquenchable, gut-wrenching, corrosive fear. It was unbearable. The most agonizing part was realizing that I didn’t want to live anymore if you were gone and knowing there was nothing I could do about it. I would be stuck forever in this miserable existence without you.” I heard every word he said. It pierced through me, and I knew I would have felt the same way if our places had been reversed. But I told myself that his heartfelt declaration was just a reflection of the tense pressure we’d been under. The little love plant in my heart was grasping at each wispy thought, absorbing his words like sweet drops of morning dew. But I chastised my heart and shoved the tender expressions of affection elsewhere, determined to be unaffected by them. “It’s okay. I’m here. You don’t need to be afraid. I’m still around to help you break the curse,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. He squeezed my waist and whispered softly, “Breaking the curse didn’t matter to me anymore. I thought you were dying.” I swallowed and tried to be flippant. “Well, I didn’t. See? I lived to argue with you another day. Now don’t you wish it had gone the other way?” His arms stiffened and he threatened, “Don’t ever say that, Kells.” After a second of hesitation, I said, “Well, thank you. Thank you for saving me.” He pulled me close, and I allowed myself a minute, just a minute, to lie back against him and enjoy it. I had almost died after all. I deserved some kind of reward for surviving, didn’t I?

The business of America is business," said Calvin Coolidge. Now the business of America is regulation. It is necessary for once free people to take back responsibility for their own affairs. Ultimately, judge-made law and bureaucrat-made regulations and dancing with the czars strike at the compact between citizen and state. By sidestepping the consent of the governed, as regulators do, or expressing open contempt for it, as judges do, the governing class delegitimizes itself. When government is demanding the right to determine every aspect of your life, those on the receiving end should at least demand back that our betters have the guts to do so by passing laws in legislatures of the people's representatives.

Isn't it only fair that I should get to choose how I'll die? I wouldn't die like my father did, passive and quiet while the cancer ate him alive. At least my mother did things her own way. I'd never thought to admire her before for that. At least she had guts. At least she took matters into her own hands.

You don’t have to like me. In fact, you probably wouldn’t, even if it wasn’t for Mia. I’m not a likeable person. I’m rude. Stubborn. Sarcastic. Snarky. I only have respect for the people who’ve earned it—you haven’t. My cat, who has no patience for anyone other than Jesse and would protect him against even his own pack mates, would sure like to claw open your gut and watch you bleed. It’s actually hard to hold her back. And, to be honest, I don’t particularly want to.” “I wouldn’t object if your cat did,” Shaya muttered. “So if you’re determined to dislike me, Fern, fine—I can’t say I care if you do or you don’t.

Rape, Peabody was sure, just as she was sure it had to have been brutal. And she’d have been young. Before the job. Peabody had studied Eve’s career with the NYPSD like a template, but there’d been no report of a sexual assault on Dallas. So it had been before, before the Academy. When she was a teenager, or possibly younger. In automatic sympathy, Peabody’s stomach roiled. It would take guts, and balls, to face that, to revisit whatever had happened every time you walked into a scene that reverberated with sexual violence. But to use it, instead of being used by it, that took more, Peabody determined. It took what she could only define as valor.

It takes guts to be married to someone who, in times of crisis, may be more available to strangers than to his or her own family. It takes determination to stay home alone at night, fortitude to go to a party by yourself, persistence to be both mother and father, and spunk to say what you really think. It might even take courage for you to read this book.

Zuckerberg says that Facebook is committed “to continue improving our tools to give you the power to share your experience” with others.8 Yet what people might really need are the tools to connect to their own experiences. In the name of “sharing experiences,” people are encouraged to understand what happens to them in terms of how others see it. If something exciting happens, the gut instinct of Facebook users is to pull out their smartphones, take a picture, post it online, and wait for the “likes.” In the process they barely notice what they themselves feel. Indeed, what they feel is increasingly determined by the online reactions. People estranged from their bodies, senses, and physical environment are likely to feel alienated and disoriented. Pundits often blame such feelings of alienation on the decline of religious and national bonds, but losing touch with your body is probably more important. Humans lived for millions of years without religions and without nations; they can probably live happily without them in the twenty-first century too. Yet they cannot live happily if they are disconnected from their bodies. If you don’t feel at home in your body, you will never feel at home in the world.

I love you sons of bitches,” Eliot said in Milford. “You’re all I read any more. You’re the only ones who’ll talk about the really terrific changes going on, the only ones crazy enough to know that life is a space voyage, and not a short one, either, but one that’ll last for billions of years. You’re the only ones with guts enough to really care about the future, who really notice what machines do to us, what wars do to us, what cities do to us, what big, simple ideas do to us, what tremendous misunderstandings, mistakes, accidents and catastrophes do to us. You’re the only ones zany enough to agonize over time and distances without limit, over mysteries that will never die, over the fact that we are right now determining whether the space voyage for the next billion years or so is going to be Heaven or Hell.

You have to be determined on your quest for the fulfilment you need, and while you struggle, living and searching, carry a determined face, heart and spirit more than your inner perseverance. When you're earnestly searching for a job or something valuable in thriving on this life, let determination be your mindset. Have that creativity, resourceful spirit, inquisitive behaviour and resilience matching your gut to succeed in your search.

You know those particular stand out beauties you see once in a blue moon walking by themselves down the high street on a Saturday afternoon or sitting on a park bench all alone during their lunch break in the middle of summer, who immediately catch your eye, looking utterly bored out of their minds and just begging for some single handsome stranger to come and distract them away for twenty minutes or so from their mundane and repetitive daily worlds. That special girl who right away tugged so hard on your heart strings that your blood turned to ice and your soul melted to its very core because you knew she was completely your type without even having spoken to her. All you had to go on was a gut feeling and that special crazy something about her that spoke to every inch of your fibre and being and said this girl is the one for you, my friend, if you would only step up to the damn plate, put all your fears of public rejection, humiliation and inhibitions behind you and gather the courage, will power and determination to go and get her. That rare, radiant and beautiful Angel who caught a glimpse of you, too, and smiled back at you in turn while you were within their proximity but, alas, you had absolutely nothing to say to them in that moment. Nothing. No simple magic words, no charming chat up line, just a blank frozen mind and a stuttering tongue. But in reality, just to say one word, utter one stupid, tiny, silly little insignificant syllable would surely have been a million times better than saying nothing at all and living a life full of regret of not acting in the moment. And then poof, just like that, she's gone forever, out of sight, but never out of your mind.

Individual free choices” can only be the expression of an “individual free will”. The notion of an “individual free will” generating “individual free choices” creates a much needed consequence: personal accountability. Personal accountability is vital for a primitive, immature human organization based on reprehension or praise. The permanent interaction of a unique inherited Nature (and maybe a unique “soul”) with a unique nurture (environment), will always determine all our “individual free choices”, from cradle to grave. It is impossible for the individual to be sentient before birth and choose these two or three unique factors. The logic of holding someone personally accountable for a “non-chosen” choice eludes me. The notion of individual free will can at best be a “gut felt” illusion, but can never have logical relevance. What sort of human (and divine!) organization can be based on the consequence of a “gut felt” illusion? -Our current one; primitive, illogical, unstable and permanently conflictual. Be it for all individual choices or all differences, the definitive ban of the illusionary notion of personal accountability is the missing step that will lead to human maturity. How’s your “gut” now?

I remember sitting here," he said, "and watching you over there." He pointed, but I didn't have to look. Before Cameron and I got close, I spent a lot of lunches the same way, starting off eating and reading on my special bench on the other side of the yard, followed by walking the perimeter of the playground, balancing on the small cement curb that separated the blacktop from the landscaping, around and around and around, hoping I looked busy and like it didn't matter that I had no friends. I sat next to Cameron on the bench. "What did you think when you used to watch me?" He leaned his head against the building. "That I understood you. That you'd understand me." "Do you remember the first time you talked to me? Because I don't. I've been trying to remember for years and I can't get it." "You don't remember? Wasn't me that talked to you. You talked to me." I scooted forward on the bench and looked at him. "I did?" "You walked right across the yard here at recess," he said, pointing. "Came straight up to me." He laughed. "You looked so determined. I was scared you were gonna kick me in the shins or something." I didn't remember this at all, any of it. "You said you were starting a club," he continued. "Asked me if I wanted to join." "Wait..." Something was there, at the very edge of my memory, coming into focus. "Do you remember if it happened to be May Day?" "That the one with the pole and all the ribbons?" "Yes!" "Yep. All the girls had ribbons in their hair but you." Jordana wouldn't let me wear ribbons. She said my hair was too greasy and I might give someone lice, and somehow I submitted to her logic. "I do remember," I said softly. "I haven't thought of that in forever. I kept thinking that you were the one to make friends with me first." "Nope." He smiled. "You started this whole thing. I wanted to, but you were the one with the guts to actually do it." "I think of myself as being a coward, and a baby, scared all the time." He got quiet. We watched kids in the schoolyard playing basketball. "You're not," he finally said. "You know that." He got up suddenly. "Let's go. We got one more stop.

Did you know that in 90% of cases, hypothyroidism is an autoimmune disease? Did you know that autoimmune thyroid disease is linked to a gluten intolerance? Hashimoto’s and Graves’ disease are most likely caused by a gluten intolerance. What happens is that the molecular structure of gliadin (the protein in gluten) resembles the thyroid gland. If you don’t have a healthy intestinal lining, you can create holes; enter leaky gut syndrome. To review, leaky gut happens because food leaks into the bloodstream, and since your blood doesn’t know what the substances are, it puts your immune system into overdrive to kill the foreign substance (this is why I have my clients get a thyroid “antibody” test; it helps determine if there is a food allergy).

As soon as we arrived home, I told Bliss I was going to take a shower. Sundays were a two-show day, so I certainly needed it. I let her go in first to brush her teeth. I waited for the water to turn on, then leapt into action. I found Hamlet’s feathered cat toy (the only reason she would ever willingly get close to Bliss), and hid it underneath the bed. Then I went to the closet and found the suit coat pocket where I’d hidden the ring. I popped open the box to look at it one more time. It wasn’t much. I was only an actor, after all. But Bliss wasn’t one to wear much jewelry any way. It was simple and sparkling, and I hoped she would love it as much as I loved her. A popping sensation filled my gut like those silly candy rocks that Bliss loved. What if I was pushing her too fast? No. No, I’d thought this out. It was the best way. I opened the top drawer of the nightstand, and slid the ring box toward the back. The water in the bathroom shut off, and I went back to the closet, shucking my shirt. I tossed it in the hamper at the same time Bliss walked in the room. She came up behind me and placed a hand on my bare back. She pressed a small kiss on my shoulder and asked, “Get Hamlet for me before you shower?” I smiled, and nodded. Bliss was so determined to make Hamlet like her that she played with the cat for at least half an hour before bed every night. Hamlet would stick around for as long as Bliss waved that feathered toy in the air, but the minute Bliss tried to touch her, she was gone. I found Hamlet in the kitchen, hiding underneath the kitchen table. I reached a hand down, and she butted her head against my fingers, purring. I picked her up at the same time that Bliss asked, “Babe, have you seen the cat toy?” I walked into the room, and deposited Hamlet on the bed. She hunkered down and eyed Bliss with distrust. “Where did you see it last?” I asked her. “I thought I’d left it on the dresser, but I can’t find it. “ I petted Hamlet once to keep her calm, then placed a quick kiss on Bliss’s cheek. “I don’t know, honey. Are you sure you didn’t leave it somewhere else?” She sighed, and started looking in other spots around the room. I turned and hid my smile as I left. I nipped into the bathroom and turned the shower on. I waited a few seconds, went back in the hallway.

Isydoris shot Azhrael an incredulous glare and whispered in dismay, “You are going to have a man gutted alive for spreading gossip?!” “No, of course not. Gutting him alive is not enough. I have also ordered them to cut out his tongue,” he joked in a calm tone, then turned deadly serious. “Nobody speaks ill of my woman.” Isydoris shook her head in numb disbelief. “But what would be the point of such barbaric punishment? This man will die, and people will continue to talk. Even you cannot silence every malicious tongue in the empire.” “Watch me,” he proclaimed with firm determination. “My sweet, it remains to be seen what I cannot accomplish by the sheer force of my will. I do not care how much blood needs to be spilled, but the commoners will learn to utter your name with caution and respect. I shall settle for nothing less.

Let go.” “Make me let you go.” She looked at Arin. Whatever he saw in her eyes loosened his hands. “Kestrel,” he said more quietly, “I have been whipped before. Lashes and death are different things.” “I won’t die.” “Let Irex set my punishment.” “You’re not listening to me.” She would have said more, but realized that his hands still rested on her shoulders. A thumb was pressing gently against her collarbone. Kestrel caught her breath. Arin startled, as if out of sleep, and pulled away. He had no right, Kestrel thought. He had no right to confuse her. Not now, when she needed a clear mind. Everything had seemed so simple last night in the close dark of the carriage. “You are not allowed,” Kestrel said, “to touch me.” Arin’s smile was bitter. “I suppose that means we are no longer friends.” She said nothing. “Good,” he said, “then you can have no reason for fighting Irex.” “You don’t understand.” “I don’t understand your godforsaken Valorian honor? I don’t understand that your father would probably rather see you gutted than live with a daughter who turned away from a duel?” “You have very little faith in me, to think that Irex would win.” He raked a hand through his short hair. “Where is my honor in all this, Kestrel?” They locked eyes, and she recognized his expression. It was the same one she had seen across the Bite and Sting table. The same one she had seen in the pit, when the auctioneer had told Arin to sing. Refusal. A determination so cold it could blister the skin like metal in winter. She knew that he would stop her. Perhaps he would be cunning about it. Maybe he would go to the steward behind her back, tell him of the theft and challenge, and ask to be brought before the judge and Irex. If that plan didn’t suit Arin, he would find another. He was going to be a problem.

There is a sort of subdued pandemonium in the air, a note of repressed violence, as if the awaited explosion required the advent of some utterly minute detail, something microscopic but thoroughly unpremeditated, completely unexpected. In that sort of half-reverie which permits one to participate in an event and yet remain quite aloof, the little detail which was lacking began obscurely but insistently to coagulate, to assume a freakish, crystalline form, like the frost which gathers on the windowpane. And like those frost patterns which seem so bizarre, so utterly free and fantastic in design, but which are nevertheless determined by the most rigid laws, so this sensation which commenced to take form inside me seemed also to be giving obedience to ineluctable laws. My whole being was responding to the dictates of an ambience which it had never before experienced; that which I could call myself seemed to be contracting, condensing, shrinking from the stale, customary boundaries of the flesh whose perimeter knew only the modulations of the nerve ends. And the more substantial, the more solid the core of me became, the more delicate and extravagant appeared the close, palpable reality out of which I was being squeezed. In the measure that I became more and more metallic, in the same measure the scene before my eyes became inflated. The state of tension was so finely drawn now that the introduction of a single foreign particle, even a microscopic particle, as I say, would have shattered everything. For the fraction of a second perhaps I experienced that utter clarity which the epileptic, it is said, is given to know. In that moment I lost completely the illusion of time and space: the world unfurled its drama simultaneously along a meridian which had no axis. In this sort of hair-trigger eternity I felt that everything was justified, supremely justified; I felt the wars inside me that had left behind this pulp and wrack; I felt the crimes that were seething here to emerge tomorrow in blatant screamers; I felt the misery that was grinding itself out with pestle and mortar, the long dull misery that dribbles away in dirty handkerchiefs. On the meridian of time there is no injustice: there is only the poetry of motion creating the illusion of truth and drama. If at any moment anywhere one comes face to face with the absolute, that great sympathy which makes men like Gautama and Jesus seem divine freezes away; the monstrous thing is not that men have created roses out of this dung heap, but that, for some reason or other, they should want roses. For some reason or other man looks for the miracle, and to accomplish it he will wade through blood. He will debauch himself with ideas, he will reduce himself to a shadow if for only one second of his life he can close his eyes to the hideousness of reality. Everything is endured – disgrace, humiliation, poverty, war, crime, ennui – in the belief that overnight something will occur, a miracle, which will render life tolerable. And all the while a meter is running inside and there is no hand that can reach in there and shut it off. All the while someone is eating the bread of life and drinking the wine, some dirty fat cockroach of a priest who hides away in the cellar guzzling it, while up above in the light of the street a phantom host touches the lips and the blood is pale as water. And out of the endless torment and misery no miracle comes forth, no microscopic vestige of relief. Only ideas, pale, attenuated ideas which have to be fattened by slaughter; ideas which come forth like bile, like the guts of a pig when the carcass is ripped open.

Everyone has an inner warrior. It’s a silent voice--not a nagging in your head, but a warm, strong, gut feeling of perusing and persevering. It comes in the moments of stillness when you switch off your mind and let your instincts take over. In Amber’s case, her head was telling her that she couldn’t win DWTS with a wrecked knee. It made sense to her intellectually, but her passion overrode her brain. It led her to defy the odds, and prove--especially to herself and me--that she was fierce and fearless. Her win inspired me, and it inspired millions of people who watched her claim that Mirror Ball trophy. It’s simply a question of unleashing that warrior. If you can control your mind, you can control your life. So in moments when you’re feeling helpless, hopeless, overwhelmed (you fill in the blank here!), that’s when you have to let the warrior out. Inside each of us is an abundant reserve of strength, determination, and courage. All you have to do is let it loose.

Now, using her limited artistic skills, she drew a picture of the earth and colored the ocean blue and the land green. “Who can tell me where we come from?” The assignment had come to Amisha after she and Ravi had a discussion with the boys about karma and the universe’s determination of their place. Jay had asked, in his innocence, what crime Ravi had committed in his previous life to be born an untouchable in this one. Amisha started to scold, but Ravi had assured her it was fine, and yet neither had the answer as to why one was born into his station in life. “God?” one student answered. “Evolution. We came from apes,” another answered. “And how do we live our life?” Amisha saw their confusion and tried to explain. “Once we are born, are we still controlled by the person or event that made us? Are we puppets?” The students shook their heads no. “Then how do we make our decisions?” “Our hearts.” Neema’s answer was tentative, sounding more like a question. Amisha nodded her approval, offering encouragement. “Our gut,” a boy in the front added. “What feels right.” “Our soul?” Amisha asked the boy. At his nod, she said, “Excellent—all of you.” Amisha made sure the class was focused before continuing. “The heart and soul work on emotions. They don’t always stop to think about what is right or wrong, only what they want and need. So where do they get their direction?” “From the brain.” The answer came from the back of the room. “Correct. Our minds guide us toward what is acceptable for us to create, protect, or destroy. And where does the brain get its intellect?” Amisha searched the room for an answer. At first the class was quiet, the children glancing at one another to see if anyone had the answer. Finally, a student near the front answered, “From what we learn or have been taught. By knowledge?” “Excellent. But even with our brains, heart, and soul guiding us, can we do anything we want? Do we have the freedom to make our own choices?” When the class murmured no, she asked, “Why not?” “Our parents,” a student threw out, making everyone laugh. “The Raj,” a girl in the front whispered. “Rules,” Neema said. Thrilled that the students were interested, Amisha said, “I want all of you to write about creating something you want, destroying something you don’t need, and protecting what is vital. But you must explain how your heart, your soul, and your mind feel about each event.

Jane, the captain, and the colonel begged out of cards, sat by the window, and made fun of Mr. Nobley. She glanced once at the garden, imagined Martin seeing her now, and felt popular and pretty--Emma Woodhouse from curls to slippers. It certainly helped that all the men were so magnificent. Unreal, actually. Austenland was feeling cozier. “Do you think he hears us?” Jane asked. “See how he doesn’t lift his eyes from that book? In all, his manners and expression are a bit too determined, don’t you think?” “Right you are, Miss Erstwhile,” Colonel Andrews said. “His eyebrow is twitching,” Captain East said gravely. “Why, so it is, Captain!” the colonel said. “Well observed.” “Then again, the eyebrow twitch could be caused by some buried guilt,” Jane said. “I believe you’re right again, Miss Erstwhile. Perhaps he does not hear us at all.” “Of course I hear you, Colonel Andrews,” said Mr. Nobley, his eyes still on the page. “I would have to be deaf not to, the way you carry on.” “I say, do not be gruff with us, Nobley, we are only having a bit of fun, and you are being rather tedious. I cannot abide it when my friends insist on being scholarly. The only member of our company who can coax you away from those books is our Miss Heartwright, but she seems altogether too pensive tonight as well, and so our cause is lost.” Mr. Nobley did look up now, just in time to catch Miss Heartwright’s face turn away shyly. “You might show a little more delicacy around the ladies, Colonel Andrews,” he said. “Stuff and nonsense. I agree with Miss Erstwhile, you are acting like a scarecrow. I do not know why you put on this act, Nobley, when around the port table or out in the field you’re rather a pleasant fellow.” “Really? That is curious,” Jane said. “Why, Mr. Nobley, are you generous in your attentions with gentlemen and yet taciturn and withdrawn around the fairer sex?” Mr. Nobley’s eyes were back on the printed page, though they didn’t scan the lines. “Perhaps I do not possess the type of conversation that would interest a lady.” “You say ‘perhaps’ as though you do not believe it yourself. What else might be the reason, sir?” Jane smiled. Needling Mr. Nobley was feeling like a very productive use of the evening. “Perhaps another reason might be that I myself do not find the conversation of ladies to be very stimulating.” His eyes were dark. “Hm, I just can’t imagine why you’re still unmarried.” “I might say the same for you.” “Mr. Nobley!” cried Aunt Saffronia. “No, it’s all right, Aunt,” Jane said. “I asked for it. And I don’t even mind answering.” She put a hand on her hip and faced him. “One reason why I am unmarried is because there aren’t enough men with guts to put away their little boy fears and commit their love and stick it out.” “And perhaps the men do not stick it out for a reason.” “And what reason might that be?” “The reason is women.” He slammed his book shut. “Women make life impossible until the man has to be the one to end it. There is no working it out past a certain point. How can anyone work out the lunacy?” Mr. Nobley took a ragged breath, then his face went red as he seemed to realize what he’d said, where he was. He put the book down gently, pursed his lips, cleared his throat. No one in the room made eye contact. “Someone has issues,” said Miss Charming in a quiet, singsongy voice. “I beg you, Lady Templeton,” Colonel Andrews said, standing, his smile almost convincingly nonchalant, “play something rousing on the pianoforte. I promised to engage Miss Erstwhile in a dance. I cannot break a promise to such a lovely young thing, not and break her heart and further blacken her view of the world, so you see my urgency.” “An excellent suggestion, Colonel Andrews,” Aunt Saffronia said. “It seems all our spirits could use a lift.

colonize the gut may determine our interactions with the environment, protecting us from or predisposing us to the development of allergy and autoimmunity. They may protect us from or predispose us to becoming obese or diabetic. They may inhibit or intensify inflammation in the body. They may interact with artificial sweeteners to cause insulin resistance and weight gain in some individuals. They may even influence mental function and emotional wellness. I first heard about this new view of the microbiome from one

Some people learn a language out of gut-wrenching determination born of necessity. Most, however, who enter a lifetime of fluency, do so because at some point in time they learn to love it.

A few years ago, we engaged a team of experts to determine the “secret sauce” that propelled those rare leaders, organizations, and movements to success. They discovered five principles that are consistently present when transformational breakthroughs take place. To spark this sort of change, you must: 1. Make a Big Bet. So many people and organizations are naturally cautious. They look at what seemed to work in the past and try to do more of it, leading to only incremental advances. Every truly history-making transformation has occurred when people have decided to go for revolutionary change. 2. Be bold, take risks. Have the guts to try new, unproven things and the rigor to continue experimenting. Risk taking is not a blind leap off a cliff but a lengthy process of trial and error. And it doesn’t end with the launch of a product or the start of a movement. You need to be willing to risk the next big idea, even if it means upsetting your own status quo. 3. Make failure matter. Great achievers view failure as a necessary part of advancing toward success. No one seeks it out, but if you’re trying new things, the outcome is by definition uncertain. When failure happens, great innovators make the setback matter, applying the lessons learned and sharing them with others. 4. Reach beyond your bubble. Our society is in thrall to the myth of the lone genius. But innovation happens at intersections. Often the most original solutions come from engaging with people with diverse experiences to forge new and unexpected partnerships. 5. Let urgency conquer fear. Don’t overthink and overanalyze. It’s natural to want to study a problem from all angles, but getting caught up in questions like “What if we’re wrong?” and “What if there is a better way?” can leave you paralyzed with fear. Allow the compelling need to act to outweigh all doubts and setbacks. These five principles can be summarized in two words: Be Fearless.

People—Minnie—might have turned this into “We grew up together,” but it was nothing so proprietary as that she would have claimed. It was the most basic of connections they had, that was all—coming from the same place; ending up here. It was simply that she recognized Philippa. She had known her forever. Knew that there were certain knolls, certain elms and certain oaks along certain roads, certain bends in those roads, certain graveyards and plays of light Philippa had known as well. That’s all she would’ve claimed. If anyone had asked her what growing up there was like in the ’70s and ’80s, she would have said that the overarching principle, which she had been able to see only lately, in reflection, was a randomness. A randomness that had vanished, that this town, with its strivy parents—slotting in the schools and the lessons and the vacations and the camps; this kitchen; gut jobs; chain stores; the Internet—seemed determined to eliminate.

Life will punch you in the gut, but it doesn't mean you should stop breathing.

Food is not just a source of energy or calories. Food is information. It contains instructions that affect every biological function of your body. It is the stuff that controls everything. Food affects the expression of your genes (determining which ones get triggered to cause or prevent disease) and influences your hormones, brain chemistry, immune system, gut flora, and metabolism at every level. It works fast, in real time with every bite. This is the groundbreaking science of nutrigenomics.

The Stress-Busting Effects of Exercise The anti-inflammatory effect is one way that exercise protects us from depression, but exercise does something else to protect us, and it comes back to how we react to everyday stressors. Remember the sixth sense, the vagus nerve? Well, the vagus nerve does more than give us a gut instinct. It’s also part of the parasympathetic nervous system (PNS) that determines our reactivity to stressors. Although 80 percent of the messages from the vagus nerve go from the body to the brain, giving rise to the sixth sense, the other 20 percent go from the brain to the body to neutralize stress. It’s the yin to the sympathetic yang. The sympathetic nervous system (SNS) dominates during stress; it’s always anxious to speed things up and insists you have one of two options: fight or flight. But the PNS knows how to slow things down (rest, digest), and it is especially good at bringing the body back to its homeostatic happy place after a stressful event.

I'm so friggin' sorry, Dex. I never wanted any of this. I don't want any of you guys to get hurt. I don't even want to see my friggin' dad. Or get a fucking gun put up to my face. I don't—I don't—” It took every single inch of determination I had inside of my gut to keep from letting the broken words turn into a fractured cry. "I need to go back home to look for my dad.

An emerging field of study has begun to evaluate the extent to which this gut flora impacts food choice, establishing a fascinating link between microorganisms and the foods we pine for. In other words, there’s evidence to support a microbial basis for craving. To illustrate, a team of Swiss researchers determined that people who crave chocolate actually harbor different types of microbial colonies in their gut than those who are indifferent to chocolate. And there’s evidence to suggest that this may indeed be the case for many other types of food as well.*6 But what does this mean? Certain microbiologists, including my friend Compton Rom, submit that there is in fact a very direct and causal connection between our intestinal microbial ecology and the way we think. That, in fact, these microbes message our brains, effectively telling us what to eat. Turns out, it’s our microbes that hold sway over our cravings.

Mama Story: Hayley, age 30 When Hayley came to Christa, she suffered from polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS), an endocrine system disorder that can cause ovaries to collect a small amount of fluid, resulting in prolonged menstrual periods and elevated testosterone levels that can cause excessive hair growth and acne. She also had chronic constipation, burned-out adrenal glands, low energy, poor diet, leaky gut, and emotional distress. She had wanted to get pregnant at some time in her thirties but it seemed a far-flung hope since PCOS is a well-known cause of female infertility. Some consider it the leading cause. After an extensive stool panel, we determined she had an intestinal parasite wreaking havoc on her hormones and causing most of her physical and emotional problems. We eliminated the parasite and healed her leaky gut, which dramatically improved her digestion and energy levels and supported her adrenal glands and hormone production. She then got pregnant and miscarried. With wonderful support from her family and friends, she worked through the difficult emotional struggle and mourning period that followed. After further testing, we then discovered she had the MTHFR genetic mutation, which impeded her ability to convert folate and thwarted her detoxification pathways. She then did a liver cleanse and rebuilding process and took methylated B vitamins. Hayley now has a healthy baby boy!

Was there anything in it?” she asked, not bothering to wipe the tear tracing the rim of her nose. “Our summer here, all those long walks and even longer conversations? When you kissed me that night, did it mean anything to you?” When he did not answer, she took three paces in his direction. “I know how proud you must be of those enigmatic silences, but I believe I deserve an answer.” She stood between his icy silence and the heated aura of the fire. Scorched on one side, bitterly cold on the other— like a slice of toast someone had forgotten to turn. “What sort of answer would you like to hear?” “An honest one.” “Are you certain? It’s my experience that young ladies vastly prefer fictions. Little stories, like Portia’s gothic novel.” “I am as fond of a good tale as anyone,” she replied, “but in this instance, I wish to know the truth.” “So you say. Let us try an experiment, shall we?” He rose from his chair and sauntered toward her, his expression one of jaded languor. His every movement a negotiation between aristocratic grace and sheer brute strength. Power. He radiated power in every form— physical, intellectual, sensual— and he knew it. He knew that she sensed it. The fire was unbearably warm now. Blistering, really. Sweat beaded at her hairline, but Cecily would not retreat. “I could tell you,” he said darkly, seductively, “that I kissed you that night because I was desperate with love for you, overcome with passion, and that the color of my ardor has only deepened with time and separation. And that when I lay on a battlefield bleeding my guts out, surrounded by meaningless death and destruction, I remembered that kiss and was able to believe that there was something of innocence and beauty in this world, and it was you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Almost. Warm breath caressed her fingertips. “Do you like that answer?” She gave a breathless nod. She was a fool; she couldn’t help it. “You see?” He kissed her fingers. “Young ladies prefer fictions.” “You are a cad.” Cecily wrenched her hand away and balled it into a fist. “An arrogant, insufferable cad.” “Yes, yes. Now we come to the truth. Shall I give you an honest answer, then? That I kissed you that night for no other reason than that you looked uncommonly pretty and fresh, and though I doubted my ability to vanquish Napoleon, it was some balm to my pride to conquer you, to feel you tremble under my touch? And that now I return from war, to find everything changed, myself most of all. I scarcely recognize my surroundings, except . . .” He cupped her chin in his hand and lightly framed her jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “Except Cecily Hale still looks at me with stars in her eyes, the same as she ever did. And when I touch her, she still trembles.” Oh. She was trembling. He swept his thumb across her cheek, and even her hair shivered. “And suddenly . . .” His voice cracked. Some unrehearsed emotion pitched his dispassionate drawl into a warm, expressive whisper. “Suddenly, I find myself determined to keep this one thing constant in my universe. Forever.” -Cecily & Luke

I first met this young client when he was eight years old. He was very shy with a calm disposition. He had been diagnosed with a sensory processing disorder and his parents had hired a special tutor. His mother and father were already clients of mine, and his mother was very conscientious with his diet. She was most concerned about his extreme fatigue, how difficult it was to get him up in the morning, and how difficult it was for him to fall asleep. He was also falling asleep at school. In addition, she was concerned he was having difficulty remembering his schoolwork. With sensory processing disorder, children may have difficulty concentrating, planning and organizing, and responding appropriately to external stimuli. It is considered to be a learning disorder that fits into the autism spectrum of disorders. To target his diet and nutritional supplementation, I recommended a comprehensive blood panel, an adrenal profile, a food sensitivity panel, and an organic acids profile to determine vitamin, mineral, and energy deficiency status. His blood panel indicated low thyroid function, iron deficiency, and autoimmune thyroid. His adrenal profile indicated adrenal fatigue. His organic acids test indicated low B vitamins and zinc, low detoxification capacity, and low levels of energy nutrients, particularly magnesium. He was also low in omega-3 fatty acids and sensitive to gluten, dairy, eggs, and corn. Armed with all of that information, he and I worked together to develop a diet based on his test results. I like to involve children in the designing of their diet. That way they get to include the foods they like, learn how to make healthy substitutions for foods they love but can no longer eat, and learn how to improve their overall food choices. He also learned he needed to include protein at all meals, have snacks throughout the day, and what constitutes a healthy snack. I recommended he start with a gut restoration protocol along with iron support; food sensitivities often go hand in hand with leaky gut issues. This would also impact brain function. In the second phase of his program, I added inositol and serotonin support for sleep, thyroid support, DHA, glutathione support (to help regulate autoimmunity), a vitamin and mineral complex, fish oils, B-12, licorice extract for his adrenals, and dopamine and acetylcholine support to improve his concentration, energy, and memory. Within a month, his parents reported that he was falling asleep easily and would wake up with energy in the morning. His concentration improved, as did his ability to remember what he had learned at school. He started to play sports in the afternoon and took the initiative to let his mom know what foods not to include in his diet. He is still on his program three years later, and the improvements

tiny seed of doubt sprouting inside her gut. Could this life-altering affair be nothing more than a one-sided mirage? She couldn’t keep her journalistic instincts from attempting to connect dots. She recalled every possible aversion of her lover’s eyes, each word of affirmation that may not have been as sincere and heartfelt as the previous. And now this. Karina released an audible breath and brought her hand to her head. She felt the sharp edge of her one-quarter-karat, pear-shaped diamond engagement ring, and thought about Reinaldo, her Brazilian husband of the last ten years. There had been some good times … moments she’d always remember. But as she recalled the hikes up Pikes Peak, the mountainous bike rides, and games of pool while drinking a few beers, she admitted that Reinaldo had been nothing more than a friend—a convenient friend at that. But one who had helped her produce two kids, two adorable little rug rats. Would they ever look at Mommy the same way, if they found out who the real Karina was? When they found out. Karina couldn’t let her insecurities question her new path in life—a path she’d ignored far too long. Determined to make this relationship work, her mind sharpened, and she leaned over the side of the bed and snatched her smartphone from the back pocket of her khakis. No sweet text messages. She licked her lips, then scrolled to her contacts and tapped the cell number. “Hi, Karina. Miss me already?” the voice on the other end asked. Karina couldn’t help but smile. “I just wanted to hear your voice again before I packed up my things and strolled back into my old life.” “I know what you mean,” Karina’s lover said. “You don’t have a spouse and two kids,” Karina said with a tone more harsh than she’d intended. “Oh, sorry.” “Not a problem. I get it. I really do.” A wave of emotion overcame Karina. A single tear bubbled out of the corner of her eye and she sniffled. “Are you okay, dear?” “I …” “You can tell me, Karina. We share everything.” “I just wanted our evening together to be special. You mean so much to me … how I see myself. How I see our future.” “I’m so sorry my work got in our way. Just know that you hold a special place in my heart.” Karina could hear sincerity, which warmed her heart. “I love you.” “I love you too, Karina.” Muffled sounds broke Karina’s concentration. Was that another person’s voice? “What was that noise? Where are you?” Tension rippled up her spine. “Oh, I just walked in my door. I’m exhausted, dear. Let’s make plans for early next week. We can both relax and have some fun at my new place. We can talk about our future.” The pressure in Karina’s head eased. They kissed into

What sort of answer would you like to hear?” “An honest one.” “Are you certain? It’s my experience that young ladies vastly prefer fictions. Little stories, like Portia’s gothic novel.” “I am as fond of a good tale as anyone,” she replied, “but in this instance, I wish to know the truth.” “So you say. Let us try an experiment, shall we?” He rose from his chair and sauntered toward her, his expression one of jaded languor. His every movement a negotiation between aristocratic grace and sheer brute strength. Power. He radiated power in every form—physical, intellectual, sensual—and he knew it. He knew that she sensed it. The fire was unbearably warm now. Blistering, really. Sweat beaded at her hairline, but Cecily would not retreat. “I could tell you,” he said darkly, seductively, “that I kissed you that night because I was desperate with love for you, overcome with passion, and that the color of my ardor has only deepened with time and separation. And that when I lay on a battlefield bleeding my guts out, surrounded by meaningless death and destruction, I remembered that kiss and was able to believe that there was something of innocence and beauty in this world, and it was you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Almost. Warm breath caressed her fingertips. “Do you like that answer?” She gave a breathless nod. She was a fool; she couldn’t help it. “You see?” He kissed her fingers. “Young ladies prefer fictions.” “You are a cad.” Cecily wrenched her hand away and balled it into a fist. “An arrogant, insufferable cad.” “Yes, yes. Now we come to the truth. Shall I give you an honest answer, then? That I kissed you that night for no other reason than that you looked uncommonly pretty and fresh, and though I doubted my ability to vanquish Napoleon, it was some balm to my pride to conquer you, to feel you tremble under my touch? And that now I return from war, to find everything changed, myself most of all. I scarcely recognize my surroundings, except . . .” He cupped her chin in his hand and lightly framed her jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “Except Cecily Hale still looks at me with stars in her eyes, the same as she ever did. And when I touch her, she still trembles.” Oh. She was trembling. He swept his thumb across her cheek, and even her hair shivered. “And suddenly . . .” His voice cracked. Some unrehearsed emotion pitched his dispassionate drawl into a warm, expressive whisper. “Suddenly, I find myself determined to keep this one thing constant in my universe. Forever.” She swallowed hard. “Do you intend to propose to me?” “I don’t think so, no.” He caressed her cheek again. “I’ve no reason to.” “No reason?” Had she thought her humiliation complete? No, it seemed to be only beginning. “I’ll get my wish, Cecy, whether I propose to you or not. You can marry Denny, and I’ll still catch you stealing those starry looks at me across drawing rooms, ten years from now. You can share a bed with him, but I’ll still haunt your dreams. Perhaps once a year on your birthday—or perhaps on mine—I’ll contrive to brush a single fingertip oh-so-lightly between your shoulder blades, just to savor that delicious tremor.” He demonstrated, and she hated her body for responding just as he’d predicted. An ironic smile crooked his lips. “You see? You can marry anyone or no one. But you’ll always be mine.” “I will not,” she choked out, pulling away. “I will put you out of my mind forever. You are not so very handsome, you know, for all that.” “No, I’m not,” he said, chuckling. “And there’s the wonder of it. It’s nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you. I know you, Cecily. You may try to put me out of your mind. You may even succeed. But you’ve built a home for me in your heart, and you’re too generous a soul to cast me out now.” She shook her head. “I—” “Don’t.” With a sudden, powerful movement, he grasped her waist and brought her to him, holding her tight against his chest. “Don’t cast me out.” His

Healthy levels of estrogen help you feel good. Too much estrogen can make you feel as anxious and irritable as a wet cat. Estrogen withdrawal makes you feel depressed and confused. It’s the rise and drop in estrogen that drastically affects your mood, and the more erratic your particular fluctuation is, the more upset it can make you. These problems become worse during perimenopause and menopause, when estrogen levels wane. There are three different kinds of estrogen: estrone (oestrone), estradiol (oestradiol), and estriol (oestriol). According to my friend and colleague Dr. James LaValle, author of the Metabolic Code, estrone is the estrogen to worry about. Estrone can make you more prone to cancer. Your liver, gut, and adrenal health determine what types of hormones are made. Depending

SYMMETRY BREAKING The preferential direction fixed by this spontaneous symmetry breaking will now determine which among the elementary particles will share in the strong interaction and which will not. The gist is that the spontaneous symmetry breaking sees to it that, in addition to gravity, the one unified force that knew no preferential direction in the abstrat space of particle properties is now split into two distinguishable forces-the strong force and the electroweak force. The symmetry that broke down in this phase transition is what we call GUT symmetry. Formally speaking, GUT symmetry breaking, which permits us to tell the difference between the strong force and the electroweak force, is equivalent to symmetry breaking in the ferromagnet. As one direction in space is spontaneously chosen as a preferential one, a field emerges and, simply by differing from zero, points in some given direction, breaking the previous symmetry. In the ferromagnet, this field is the magnetization; in our cooling universe, it is the Higgs field.

With a curt nod, Vane strode in. And stopped dead. Patience was in the hall, waiting- the sight literally stole his breath. As his gaze, helplessly, slid over her, over the soft green merino pelisse, severely cut and snugly fitted, its upstanding collar framing her face, over the tan gloves and half boots, over the pale green skirts peeking beneath the pelisse's hem, Vane felt something inside him tighten, click, and lock. Breathing was suddenly more difficult than if someone had buried a fist in his gut. Her hair, glinting in the light streaming in through the door, was coiffed differently, to more artfully draw attention to her wide golden eyes, to the creaminess of her forehead and cheeks, and the delicate yet determined line of her jaw. And the soft vulnerability of her lips.

Sometimes gut instinct is what determines the direction we should take.

You see, I'm not like Paul [Simonon] or the others, I had a chance to be a 'good, normal person' with a nice car and a house in the suburbs – the golden apple or whatever you call it. But I saw through it. I saw it was an empty life. I only saw my father once a year (after being sent to boarding school). He was a real disciplinarian who was always giving me speeches about how he had pulled himself up by the sweat of his brow: a real guts and determination man. What he was really saying to me was, 'If you play by the rules, you can end up like me'. And I saw right away I didn't want to end up like him. Once I got out on my own, I realized I was right. I saw how the rules worked and I didn't like them. [-- LA Times interview]

Studies are currently under way to determine if gut microbial changes are associated with positive mind-based interventions, such as hypnosis and meditation, and if these changes lead to symptom improvements in such disorders as irritable bowel syndrome.

Your Intuition Listening to your sixth sense, that inner voice, can be one of your most important self-defense skills. If you sense that something is wrong, it is. That gut feeling you get when something is not exactly right is an alert, even if you can’t determine exactly what that something is, but you need to learn to listen to that alarm, however vague it may be. Color Code System of Awareness Colonel Jeff Cooper developed the Color Code system that’s used by most military and police organizations to differentiate different levels of awareness: White: unaware, not paying attention. Yellow: attentive, but relaxed. Orange: focus is directed, there is an immediate potential threat. Red: there is a definite threat. Your Environment Know as much as possible ahead of time about the area you’ll be visiting. If you’re forewarned about dangerous areas, you’ll be less likely to traverse them. In areas you frequent (such as where you live and work), think about places where someone could try to hide. Are the areas well lit? When inside a building, know where the exits are located. When outside, know the fastest path toward other people. Recognize changes in your physical environment. Are the lights out? Is there an unusual object in your parking spot that wasn’t there when you parked? (It could be a potential ploy used by an attacker to distract your attention.) It’s also a good idea to change your routine from time to time. Being a creature of habit can give someone the advantage of predicting where you are at specific times. Have you thought about what things in your everyday environment you might be able to use as a weapon or shield? A pen? A chair? Be aware that common objects can be used to strike or protect you from being struck. Peripheral vision is a great tool. It encompasses all that’s visible to the eye outside the central area of focus (i.e., your side vision). With mindful practice of this vision, it can become a natural resource of observation. Here’s an exercise to help develop your awareness skills: Start by sitting in your living room. Look forward and, without turning your head, start naming off what you see to the side of you. This will be relatively simple due to the fact that you’re already familiar with the items in your home. The next time you’re in a restaurant or another less-familiar place, do the same exercise. Look forward and name what the people around you are doing or wearing by using your peripheral vision. Before you know it, you’ll pick up on things you never previously noticed and, more importantly, the more you practice using your peripheral vision, the more automatic it will become. Become more in touch with what you see. We often look to see where we are, but don’t actually see much of what we look at. Let’s go back to the restaurant exercise. Once you sit down, try to recall what you saw from the time you entered until the time you sat down.

Your destiny isn’t determined by the number of times you stumbled or made wrong turns. Your destiny is not determined by how many times you failed. Instead, your destiny is determined by how many times you rose up, dusted yourself off, and moved forward in your life. Despite your uncertainties. Despite your hardships. Despite your losses, grief, and disappointments.

There seems to be tremendous fear of telling our stories and being willing to vulnerably take ownership of them. There are many things that are now ready to be said. It is time to heal what has been asking for medicine. Rehabilitation of the voice can begin by taking a thorough inventory of what is resting on the heart. Determining whether the matter found there is heavy, light, or neutral provides a moment of pause for considering what is liable to happen when an attempt is made to interpret it for the understanding of others. Fear usually speaks right up, and loudly. Silent resentment takes the place of naming expectations. Defensiveness abounds. Caustic inner dialogue makes turmoil of the gut. The body eventually tells the story of what has been relegated to the basement of the psyche with an assortment of symptoms and ailments.

The researchers determined that an Asian man would have to earn a staggering $247,000 more in annual income to be as attractive to the average white woman as he would if he were white.

Your identity is a filtering screen limiting your awareness to a fraction of your reality. What you or your cultures believe to be true is provisional and depends on a specific perspective. What your eyes, ears, and other physical senses perceive is not the whole picture but one determined by your core beliefs and prevailing societal assumptions. What you live through and the knowledge you infer from experience is subjective. Intuitive knowing, unmediated by mental constructs--what inner eye, heart, and gut tell you--is the closest you come to direct knowledge (gnosis) of the world, and this experience of reality is partial too.

Intestinal permeability test. The classic method of determining whether someone has an increase in intestinal permeability (leaky gut) is through the lactulose-mannitol test, which is a urine test that involves swallowing a solution of lactulose and mannitol. Lactulose is a larger sugar molecule, and if someone has a healthy gut, this molecule shouldn’t be absorbed. Therefore, if someone does this test and has large amounts of lactulose in the urine, then this usually confirms that the person has a leaky gut.

TO HEAL THE GUT, LIGAMENTS, TENDONS, AND SKIN: The peptide BPC-157 may promote speedier recovery from ligament tear reconstruction and rotator cuff tendon injuries. As we’ve already mentioned, this peptide has shown outstanding results in treating debilitating gut problems. I found that out firsthand after my bout with mercury poisoning, which does brutal things to the body. BPC-157 was one of the tools I used to help rebuild my gut, and it was extraordinarily effective. 5. TO INCREASE MUSCLE MASS, STRENGTHEN BONES, REVITALIZE SKIN, AND RESTORE YOUTHFUL METABOLISM: The two peptides sermorelin and tesamorelin mimic the action of growth hormone–releasing hormone (GHRH), a hotbed for new drug development. GHRHs stimulate the pituitary gland to secrete natural growth hormone. They’re a lot cheaper than synthetic human growth hormone (HGH)—and, unlike HGH, can be legally prescribed off-label. What’s the downside? If you take growth hormone or these peptides, you should be aware that growth hormone elevates levels of insulin-like growth factor-1, which has been shown in some studies to have “a modest association” with cancer risk.9 So it’s critical that you work closely with your physician to determine what options are best based on your symptoms, blood work, and careful monitoring.

That hunting by fire was still practiced by the natives on a large scale, and it had been his lot to stumble on six baby elephants, victims of a fire from which only fully grown animals had managed to escape thanks to their size and speed? That whole herds of elephants sometimes escaped from the blazing savanna with bums up to their bellies, and that they suffered for weeks? Many a night he had lain awake in the bush listening to their cries of agony. That the contraband traffic in ivory was still practiced on a large scale by Arab and Asiatic merchants, who drove the tribes to poaching? Thirty thousand elephants a year— was it possible to think for a moment of what that meant, without shame? Did she know that a man like Haas, who was the favorite supplier of the big zc^s, saw half the young elephants he captured die under his eyes? The natives, at least, had an excuse: they needed proteins. For them, elephants were only meat. To stop them, they only had to raise the standard of living in Africa: this was the first step in any serious campaign for the protection of nature. But the whites? The so-called “civilized” people? They had no excuse. They hunted for what they called “trophies,” for the excitement of it, for pleasure, in fact. The flame that attracted him so irresistibly burned him in the end. He was the first to recognize the enemy and to cry tally-ho, and he had gone on the attack with all the passion of a man who feels himself challenged by everything that makes too-noble demands upon human nature, as if humanity began somewhere around. thirty thousand feet above the surface of the earth, thirty thousand feet above Orsini. He was determined to defend his own height, his own scale, his own smallness. "Listen to me,” he said. "All right, you're a priest A missionary. As such, you've always had your nose right in it I mean, you have all the sores, all the ugliness before your eyes all day long. All right. All sorts of open wounds— naked human wretchedness. And then, when you’ve well and truly wiped the bottom of mankind, don’t you long to climb a hill and take a good look at something different, and big, and strong, and free?”“When I feel like taking a good look at something different and big and strong and free,” roared Father Fargue, giving the table a tremendous bang with his fist, “it isn't elephants I turn to, it's God I” The man smiled. He licked his cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. “Well, it isn't a pact with the Devil I'm asking you to sign. It's only a petition to stop people from killing elephants. Thirty thousand of them are killed each year. Thirty thousand, and that's a .small e.stimate. You can’t deny it . . . And remember—'* there was a spark of gaiety in his eyes— “and remember. Father, remember: they haven’t sinned.” He was stabbing me in the back, aiming straight at my faith. Original sin, and the whole thing— you know all that better than I do. You know me. I’m a man of action: give me a good case of galloping syphilis and I'm all right. But theory . . . this is between ourselves. Faith, God— I've got all that in my heart, in my guts, but not in my brain. I’m not one of the brainy ones. So I tried offering him a drink, but he refused.” The Jesuit’s face lit up for a moment, and its wrinkles seemed to disappear in the youthfulness of a smile. Fargue suddenly remembered that he was rather frowned upon in his Order; he had several times been forbidden to publish his scientific papers; it was even whispered that his stay in Africa was not entirely voluntary He had heard tell that Father Tassin, in his writings, represented salvation as a mere biological mutation, and humanity, in the form in which we still know it, as an archaic species doomed to join other vanished species in the obscurity of a prehistoric past. His face clouded over: that smacked of heresy.

Fate and Future (The Sonnet) Fate and future both are servant to the determined, For they are nothing but creation of human determination. Yet most of humanity remain oblivious to this simple fact, For they’re born and raised in a society run by indoctrination. Reason and questions are seen as treason against heritage, Submission and guilt are praised as honorable righteousness. Calling ignorance as righteousness doesn't make one righteous, You are righteous when you have the guts to mend mistakes. Ignorance is part of life, so is our drive for self-aggrandizing, It's human to make mistakes, what's not, is their glorification. Acknowledge your mistakes, biases, ignorance and prejudice, We start to rise when we acknowledge our degradation. Our ancestors were primitive humans with unused goodness. If we die primitive like they did, why live in the first place!

Tim and Kathy valued a good work ethic—Kathy was proud that she could gut and clean a chicken in under four minutes—and they were determined to instill their values on their children. “No one in this family gets a free ride,” Kathy would say. “The boys have to learn that the only way to succeed is by working.

say why they felt the way they did.[22] This is “skilled intuition,” not garden-variety gut feelings, which are unreliable. It is a powerful tool available only to genuine experts—that is, people with long experience working in their domain of expertise.[23]

I think I wasted it. The time in my life when I was meant to be carefree. Here, now, I am praying to be anesthetized. To either go completely numb, or to feel more than only the decimating weight of most everything. I am strong, but strength fades. I've used it all up. I can no longer bear to feel like I must fight for every single moment of rest and peace. Of joy and hope. I wake up exhausted because, even asleep, I am tormented by my dreams. By these fictitious memories of you. Every morning, I wake up aching. As if I'd been kicked in the gut. One can only fight it for so long. Anyone would bruise. No matter how determined you are to be strong, to be alright, to hold yourself together. Anyone would ache. No matter how hard you fight it, you will spend your day with your pain. As it follows you around, like a constant reminder. As if you could forget. Anyone would grow tired.

General Tips for Better-than-Average Lie-Detecting Sit back and let the other person volunteer information, rather than pulling it out of them. Don’t let on what you know too early—or at all. Stay relaxed and causal. What you are observing is not the person themselves, but the person as they are in a quasi-interrogational situation with you. So don’t make it seem like an inquisition, otherwise you may simply be watching them feel distressed about the situation itself. Don’t worry about individual signs and clues like touching the nose, looking up to the right or stuttering. Rather, look at how the person responds in general to shifts in the conversation, especially at junctures where you believe they may be having to concoct a story on the fly. Listen for stories that seem unusually long or detailed—liars use more words, and they may even talk more quickly. Take your time. It may be a while before you uncover a deception. But the longer the other person talks, the more chance they have of slipping up or getting their story tangled. Watch primarily for inconsistencies—details of the story that don’t add up, emotional expressions that don’t fit the story, or abrupt shifts in the way the story is told. Being chatty and then all of a sudden getting quiet and serious when you ask a particular question is certainly telling. Always interpret your conversation in light of what you already know, the context, and other details you’ve observed in your interactions with this person. It’s all about looking at patterns, and then trying to determine if any disruptions in that pattern point to something interesting. Don’t be afraid to trust your gut instinct! Your unconscious mind may have picked up some data your conscious mind hasn’t become aware of. Don’t make decisions on intuition alone, but don’t dismiss it too quickly, either. Takeaways Casual observation of body language, voice and verbal cues can help with understanding honest people, but we need more sophisticated techniques to help us detect liars. Most people are not as good at spotting deception as they think they are. Bias, expectation and the belief that we can’t or shouldn’t be lied to can get in the way of realizing we’re being deceived. Good lie detection is a dynamic process that focuses on the conversation. Use open ended questions to get people to surrender information voluntarily, and observe. Look out for overly wordy stories that are presented all at once, inconsistencies in the story or emotional affect, delays or avoidance in answering questions, or inability to answer unexpected questions. Liars are easier to spot when lying is spontaneous—try not to allow the liar any time to prepare or rehearse a script, or else ask unexpected questions or plant a lie yourself to watch their response and gain a baseline against which to compare the possible lie. Increasing cognitive load can cause a liar to fumble their story or lose track of details, revealing themselves in a lie. Keep drilling for detail and be suspicious if details don’t add up, if emotion doesn’t match content, or if the person is deliberately stalling for time. Look out for specific signs that a person is cognitively overloaded. One example is that the liar will display less emotions while speaking than they or an average person normally would in their situation. These emotions will instead leak through in their body language. Most commonly, this manifests in more frequent blinking, pupil dilation, speech disturbances, and slips of tongue. Spotting liars is notoriously difficult, but we improve our chances when we focus on strategic and targeted conversations designed to make the liar trip up on his own story, rather than trying to guess hidden intentions from body language alone.

Your microbiome—that is, the composition of the bacteria in your gut—also influences how many calories certain foods actually deliver. It is often claimed that our gut contains about 300,000 billion bacteria, about ten times as many bacteria as there are cells in our body. However, a recent study estimates the number of gut bacteria to be about 40,000 billion, by and large the same amount as the number of human cells that make up our body. Anyhow, the composition of the gut microbiome can determine how much food (calories) we absorb. Some Japanese people have bacteria in their intestines that are specialized in breaking down seaweed. Thus, the seaweed is better absorbed and will deliver more energy in the form of calories than it would for Europeans who do not have this type of bacteria in their gut.

America is great because the people who came before us and built this country were imperfect. And they knew it. Their obvious imperfections gave them humility. That is why they envisioned a country where no single imperfect person---or small group of imperfect people---would have all the power. Instead, all of us---imperfect as we all are---would come together and work on problems together and figure things out together. While each and every one of us is imperfect, the final result of that democratic, constitutional process would achieve the most perfect solutions possible. America did not just happen. It wasn't an accident. We are here not because of one king, one group of powerful oligarchs, one race, or one set of ancestral boundaries. America is the most powerful, prosperous country in the world because we, the people, have worked together through a democratic, constitutional process. These gifts of freedom, self-determination, and individual liberty were not easily won. That took guts, blood, and vision. Brave people, guided by great purpose, fought for these gifts. For them, the future was never certain. Nothing was guaranteed. Yet they gambled everything, risked their lives, and put their fortunes on the line for the principles they believed in. The result of their daring efforts was the single greatest experiment in freedom and self-governance in human history.

I gather my grub and sit behind my desk. He moves a chair, situated too far for his liking, and presses it very close to the front of my desk. He extricates a long envelope, squished in his side pocket, and proudly slaps it in front of me on my desk. “My grades,” he announces, “from camp.” His voice has moved to a preadolescent octave of excitement, and I scurry to join him at the parade. “De veeeras,” as I relieve the transcript from its container. Looney straightens his back and hops a little in the chair. “Straight A’s,” he says. “Seeeerrriioo?” I say. “Me la rallo,” he says. “Straight A’s.” Like a kid fumbling with wrapping on a present, I get the transcript out and extend it open. And, sure enough, right there before my eyes: 2 Cs; 2 Bs; 1 A. And I think, Close enough. Not the straightest A’s I’ve ever seen. I decide not to tell Looney he’s an “unreliable reporter” here. “Wow, mijo,” I tell him, “Bien hecho. Nice goin’.” I carefully refold the transcript and put it back in the envelope. “On everything I love, mijo,” I say to him, “if you were my son, I’d be the proudest man alive.” In a flash, Looney situates his thumb and first finger in his eye sockets, trembling, and wanting to stem the flow of tears, which seem to be inevitable at this point. Like the kid with the fingers in the dike, he’s shaking now and desperate not to cry. I look at this little guy and know that he has been returned to a situation largely unchanged. Parents are either absent at any given time or plagued by mental illness. Chaos and dysfunction is what will now surround him as before. His grandmother, a good woman, whose task it is now to raise this kid, is not quite up to the task. I know that one month before this moment I buried Looney’s best friend, killed in our streets for no reason at all. So I lead with my gut. “I bet you’re afraid to be out, aren’t you?” This seems to push the Play button on Looney’s tear ducts, and quickly he folds his arms on the front of my desk and rests his sobbing head on his folded arms. I let him cry it out. Finally, I reach across the desk and place my hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay.” Looney sits up with what is almost defiance and tends to the wiping of his tears. “I . . . just . . . want . . . to have a life.” I am taken aback by the determination with which he says this. “Well, mijo,” I say to him, “who told you that you wouldn’t have one?

In March 2015, the World Health Organization determined that the herbicide glyphosate is “probably carcinogenic to humans.” A more recent study found a 41 percent increase in non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma in those with high exposure to glyphosate.

Inequality among siblings goes all the way to the gut: we are born with different microbes inside us, outnumbering our cells ten to one. Some of them affect our chances of becoming obese in later life and others affect how well we digest our dinner. What we eat is constantly changing the composition of our microbiota, but, equally, the nature of the microbes inside us determines how well we respond to the food we eat.

I will see you in judgment someday, Amaram,” Dalinar said. “Once this is done.” “As I said you could.” “I wish that I could trust your word.” “I stand by what I was forced to do, Brightlord,” Amaram said, stepping forward. “The arrival of the Voidbringers only proves I was in the right. We need practiced Shardbearers. The stories of darkeyes gaining Blades are charming, but do you really think we have time for nursery tales now, instead of practical reality?” “You murdered defenseless men,” Dalinar said through gritted teeth. “Men who had saved your life.” Amaram stooped, lifting Oathbringer. “And what of the hundreds, even thousands, your wars killed?” They locked gazes. “I respect you greatly, Brightlord,” Amaram said. “Your life has been one of grand accomplishment, and you have spent it seeking the good of Alethkar. But you—and take this with the respect I intend—are a hypocrite. “You stand where you do because of a brutal determination to do what had to be done. It is because of that trail of corpses that you have the luxury to uphold some lofty, nebulous code. Well, it might make you feel better about your past, but morality is not a thing you can simply doff to put on the helm of battle, then put back on when you’re done with the slaughter.” He nodded his head in esteem, as if he hadn’t just rammed a sword through Dalinar’s gut.

was slowly waking up and I noticed that I was half submerged in water. I could hear the waves, as they were my wake up call. Groggily I had opened my eyes, finding the sand in front of me. It took me a while to remember what happened but my head was pounding and I want nothing more than to go back to sleep. I dropped my head back on the damp sand; eagerly waiting for sleep but there’s this weird feeling in my gut. All of a sudden, images started to play in my mind. There was a storm while I was out fishing. I had read the weather reports before going out and they had promised a clear day which meant a time for me to go out to sea. I had checked the night before and relied too much on the current season, summer, that there were be little to no chance of storms. With all the waves tumbling about, I didn’t even know where I was heading nor could I remember if I had a certain destination after my boat floated further into the sea. I shook the grim thoughts away; there was no point on thinking about what has already happened. I slowly dragged my arms to push myself off the shore. My body was sore all over and I noticed a lot of debris around me. With no technology to turn to, I couldn’t even determine what island I’ve washed ashore unto. Blinking away the traces of sleep, I made my way to the dry portion of land hoping to get some help as long as I continue walking. It’s a good thing that nothing was broken or was I badly injured from the experience. I did have a bruise here and there but I’m sure that they’ll fade soon. Now, it’s best if I get some dry clothes and something good to eat. I looked at the position of the sun. If I had to guess, it’s almost lunch time. That and the loud noises from my stomach would be a good measure of time. I had a painful time walking so I took one of the bigger debris from the boat and used it to aid me in my walking. The whole place was a sight to behold. It looked far too lush compared to the forests back home. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I mean, this was a good dream but I’d rather be home and eating some grilled fish. The thought of grilled fish got my stomach rumbling even more.

VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S COMMENTS Third Update: According to a report from Elwin, Mr. Sencen was involved in the recent destruction in the Healing Center—but apparently it happened during a skill lesson that went awry. For that reason, I’m simply noting the incident here, rather than creating a disciplinary report. It should also be noted that Mr. Sencen brought Miss Foster to the Mentors’ private cafeteria for butterblasts. —Magnate Leto VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S COMMENTS DISRUPTING LUNCHTIME According to a report from Lady Galvin, a number of prodigies began emitting unpleasant gaseous noises midway through the lunch break and had to race to various bathrooms. No proof has been recovered, but the general consensus is that Mr. Sencen slipped Gurgle Gut into their lunches. 5 out of 10 One week of detention assigned. As far as I can surmise, every prodigy affected by Mr. Sencen’s prank had recently been gossiping about (or hassling) Mr. and Miss Vacker about their eldest brother—which is why I’m limiting his detention to a week. I cannot allow such behavior to go unpunished. But I refuse to deny the motivation. —Magnate Leto Update: Foxfire has been placed on an extended hiatus after the traumatic events during the Celestial Festival. Sessions will resume as soon as the Council determines that it is safe to do so. —Magnate Leto

Some people learn a language out of gut-wrenching determination born of necessity. Most, however, who enter a lifetime of fluency, do so because at some point in time they learn to love it. They fall in love with the sounds. The language sounds beautiful to them. And if that love is complete, they fall in love with its original signifiers. They come to love the people—the food, the faces, the plans, the practices, the songs, the poetry, the happiness, the sadness, the ambiguity, the truth—and they love the place, that is, the circled earth those people call their land, their landscapes, their home. Speak a language, speak a people. God speaks people, fluently

I have hope that a human woman can give birth to a female child. I have long suspected that it is so. I believe something has happened to our women to prevent this, and with a human woman, the chances will be far greater that she can carry to full term and deliver a healthy female.” “The male determines the sex,” Mikhail pointed out. “We have tried to produce females but have failed.” “But we have tried with Carpathian women,” Gregori pointed out. “If you believe this to be true, why have you waited to test your theory?” Mikhail asked suspiciously. Why would Gregori even be thinking along those lines when they all knew the few human women they’d attempted to turn had become mad and could not be saved? The continuation of their species was of the utmost importance--yes--but not at the cost of experimenting on a human being. “Because I also believe a true ritual mating with an ordinary human woman would drive her insane. I do not believe it can be done and had despaired of ever seeing it happen until you successfully converted Raven. I had to ask myself why it worked with her and not with any others. She is your true lifemate, that much is evident, but what else is different about her that allowed it to be so? She is psychic, Mikhail. She possesses extraordinary psychic ability. It is my belief that she carries the genetic makeup to allow us to convert her. In all the world there is perhaps a handful of these women.” “Do you base your belief on Raven alone?” Mikhail asked softly. The terrible nagging in his gut wouldn’t quite leave. Experimenting on a woman was certainly an unforgiveable crime, and one he could never tolerate. Gregori’s silver eyes narrowed, glittered. For a moment there was arctic cold, even icy death, reflected there, as if he were all too aware of Mikhail’s concerns. The black emptiness was growing in Gregori, a dark stain spreading over his soul. He made no effort to hide it from Mikhail. It was as if he wanted to show Mikhail just how desperate the situation was becoming. Keeping his gaze steady on his prince’s, Gregori answered the charge. “I have done many dark, ugly, unforgivable things, but I would never use a female for experimental purposes.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Although we both know others have tried and failed, I have not yet managed to sink that low.” “Nor would you,” Mikhail said with more confidence than he felt.

Our lives are, in so many ways, shaped by the microorganisms that live on us, inside us, and around us. The estimated forty trillion bacteria in our gut, for example, help us digest everything we eat. Disturbing the healthy bacteria that colonize our gut can lead to dangerous blood infections. Today, to diagnose blood infections like those or lung infections like pneumonia, we take a sample of blood or sputum and grow the accompanying bacteria in a lab under special conditions. Eventually, the bacteria are stained and inspected under the microscope and exposed to various antibiotics to determine which ones can kill them. This process takes days. Meanwhile, we treat the patient with our “best guess” antibiotics. In the future, we will sequence those bacteria immediately and map their DNA to

In dieting and in stocks, it is the gut and not the head that determines the results.

Your body and your gut are great barometers to help determine where you need to set boundaries. Pay attention to when you feel wiped out, disrespected, ignored, or taken advantage of by someone.

You must understand that this "infernal thing" is what Logan has always been... A determinedly violent individual... plummeling his way through a purposeless life.... one day distinguished from the next only by the changing patterns of bruises and blood from last night's drunken fights. But then, inexplicably, the wounds are healed and gone before noon and his first beer. I doubt if he even suffered hangovers. All his years Logan has endured this--suffering a destiny that tore at him from his guts outward... battling a fate decreed him by nature!

Wherever we stop is the summit. Iwas climbing Trail Ridge Road through the Rocky Mountains, determined to make the Continental Divide, when two sharp feelings pierced me almost at once. I, who have never had any trouble with heights, felt rushes of fear as I drove on narrow stretches 12,000 feet up. I was also filled with the irrevocable truth that everything-there-is is wherever we are. This all made me stop and walk the tundra above the treeline. There, I was overcome with the sudden truth that I could go no farther, and that I had no need to go any farther. Can it be that this journey through the mountains mirrors the journey through our lives? Is our suffering like the dizzying, gut-wrenching narrow passes through these ancient rocks? Do we simply move on until we can't, and in accepting our humanity, does the peak come to us? What an unlikely truth. I traveled as far as I could manage, and there on the bare scalp of the Earth, I realized that where I can go no further is my destination. This is the wearing of heart that no one can escape. Despite all our noble efforts to reach some treasured peak—be it a dream of wealth or love—we carry the summit within. And it is always the effort and exhaustion—the very journey itself—that opens the view which is everywhere. For the summit is not so much arrived at as we are worn open to it. I felt the truth of arriving at wherever my human limitations had left me, knew somehow it was enough, and I let out a cry like a vapor. We are as bare as these crags being worn by endless wind, and, regardless of the maps we carefully draw and pass down, we arrive at what we've always had when we use up everything we've saved. In this way we are brought to humility. Once accepting our frail humanity, we can see how stubbornly fragile living things are. We can see how it takes just a thin lick of water down a mountain crack to strengthen a root and a bare lick of love through our stony hearts to blossom a soul.

Create a clear explanation: Ask an expert & novice to craft it: Expert knows too much (curse of knowledge) and novice sees it with fresh eyes. Offer verbal snapshots that penetrate the mind and the gut in an instant then linger, leaving a bright after image. Whoever most vividly characterizes a situation usually determines how others see it, talk about it, and make decisions about it.