Handcrafted Quotes

I’m not a fake person; I’m carefully and genuinely handcrafted.

It´s like watching someone do a triple backflip dismount and land on two feet, solid, arms splayed in the air. I know I could never do it, don´t even know where I would begin to learn, but some people are built for it. He was handcrafted to leave, had practiced on other women since adolescence. I was one of an unnumbered series.

Claire Waverley has started a successful new venture, Waverley’s Candies. Though her handcrafted confections—rose to recall lost love, lavender to promote happiness and lemon verbena to soothe throats and minds—are singularly effective, the business of selling them is costing her the everyday joys of her family, and her belief in her own precious gifts.

I dropped a kiss on her shoulder and wondered if anyone had ever done this before. Wondered if any fucker out there had this with his girl. A woman who was handcrafted for him. Perfection, forged in hell

I’ve made some things for you, Constant Reader; you see them laid out before you in the moonlight. But before you look at the little handcrafted treasures I have for sale, let’s talk about them for a bit, shall we? It won’t take long. Here, sit down beside me. And do come a little closer. I don’t bite. Except... we’ve known each other for a very long time, and I suspect you know that’s not entirely true. Is it?

In the quiet, unexpressed, unwrestled-through disappointments, Satan is handcrafting his most damning weapons against us and those we love. It’s his subtle seduction to get us alone with our thoughts so he can slip in whispers that will develop our disappointments into destructive choices.

The earth sometimes rewards humans who do good works for the planet. Look out for unexpected windfalls of produce from the earth such as baskets of fruit or vegetables given to you unexpectedly, nature handcrafts, or a bunch of flowers picked from a beloved garden. These are all signs that the gifts not only came from the giver but from Mother Earth herself. - Fairy of the woods

She took out her wand— yes, you heard me— handcrafted according to her Pottermore-assigned wand as 14.5 inches long, made of vine wood with unicorn hair core. I’d asked her what her craftsman had used instead of unicorn hair, because unicorns weren’t real. She’d just laughed at me like I was silly and naïve. So I left it alone.

There’s no better time to become the human being you know you can be and handcraft the life of your most exuberant desires than now.

The Bible says, “We are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works.”1 Our English word poem comes from the Greek word translated “workmanship.” You are God’s handcrafted work of art. You are not an assembly-line product, mass produced without thought. You are a custom-designed, one-of-a-kind, original masterpiece.

People don't live on the Disc any more than, in less hand-crafted parts of the multiverse, they live on balls. Oh, planets may be the place where their body eats its tea, but they live elsewhere, in worlds of their own which orbit very handily around the centre of their heads

People don’t live on the Disc any more than, in less hand-crafted parts of the multiverse, they live on balls. Oh, planets may be the place where their body eats its tea, but they live elsewhere, in worlds of their own which orbit very handily around the centre of their heads.

Because enchantment, by my definition, has nothing to do with fantasy, or escapism, or magical thinking: it is founded on a vivid sense of belongingness to a rich and many-layered world; a profound and whole-hearted participation in the adventure of life. The enchanted life presented here is one which is intuitive, embraces wonder and fully engages the creative imagination – but it is also deeply embodied, ecological, grounded in place and community. It flourishes on work that has heart and meaning; it respects the instinctive knowledge and playfulness of children. It understands the myths we live by; thrives on poetry, song and dance. It loves the folkloric, the handcrafted, the practice of traditional skills. It respects wild things, recognises the wisdom of the crow, seeks out the medicine of plants. It rummages and roots on the wild edges, but comes home to an enchanted home and garden. It is engaged with the small, the local, the ethical; enchanted living is slow living.

She opened her eyes once again and let them drift across the scene laid out before her like a page from a storybook. Inky blackness hung above them as though painted in impasto in an opaque Prussian Blue. The impression it gave was of a sky hand-crafted out of felt with a pearl of a moon and a generous dusting of diamonds sprinkled on for the stars. A night dreams were made of.

Many of us can maybe sometimes imagine sounds, or have some musical ideas. But to have them consistenly building whole works, and to have the means of transforming something that's in your ear into handcrafted written notes that give back what you heard and what you felt - I find it just utterly miraculous.

You were not mass-produced like a Toyota. You are an original. Not a copy! You were handcrafted and handmade by God, who took his time to create you, making you “wonderfully complex.” You’re unique. You’re special. You’re one of a kind. There is no one else quite like you, dead or alive, in the whole world. Nor will there ever be.

star charts this time, but rendered in calligraphy and gold and silver leaf, stunning juxtapositions of the technological future and the hand-crafted past.

In a world stolen by whites, anything non-white is inferior.

Binary paths belong in bygone past, all things civilized are non-binary.

Vagina is the epitome of resilience.

God never grows two people the same way. God is a hand-crafter, not a mass-producer.

I went to the mosque, went to the church, nowhere did I find a trace of divinity. Then I came and stood in front of you, all that is divine manifested in font of me.

Causing goodness must be the cause of goodness.

If the change you cause doesn't cause change, then what is the point of it all anyway!

Life is like a handcrafted tapestry and every conscious entity in the entire universe is seated at the loom, tying their knots of experience into the overall design.

It might be extremely dorky to point out, but who you are is singular. It’s science. No one else in existence has your point of view or exact genome (identical twins and clones, look for inspiration elsewhere, please). That is why we need people to share and help us understand one another better. And on a bigger level than just taking a selfie. (Not hating on selfies, but a few is enough. You look good from that angle; we get it.) We need the world to hear more opinions, give glimpses into more diverse subcultures. Are you REALLY into dressing your cat in handcrafted, historically authentic outfits? No problem, there are people out there who want to see that! Probably in excruciating detail!

you asked me to sing for you, and through my toothy smile I had to admit that I only sound pretty with the capo tuned on 2nd. watching me meticulously handcraft one from miscellaneous hotel souvenirs, I sang to you a song I wrote about someone once before you.

The Chorus Line: The Birth of Telemachus, An Idyll Nine months he sailed the wine-red seas of his mother's blood Out of the cave of dreaded Night, of sleep, Of troubling dreams he sailed In his frail dark boat, the boat of himself, Through the dangerous ocean of his vast mother he sailed From the distant cave where the threads of men's lives are spun, Then measured, and then cut short By the Three Fatal Sisters, intent on their gruesome handcrafts, And the lives of women also are twisted into the strand. And we, the twelve who were later to die by his hand At his father's relentless command, Sailed as well, in the dark frail boats of ourselves Through the turbulent seas of our swollen and sore-footed mothers Who were not royal queens, but a motley and piebald collection, Bought, traded, captured, kidnapped from serfs and strangers. After the nine-month voyage we came to shore, Beached at the same time as he was, struck by the hostile air, Infants when he was an infant, wailing just as he wailed, Helpless as he was helpless, but ten times more helpless as well, For his birth was longed-for and feasted, as our births were not. His mother presented a princeling. Our various mothers Spawned merely, lambed, farrowed, littered, Foaled, whelped and kittened, brooded, hatched out their clutch. We were animal young, to be disposed of at will, Sold, drowned in the well, traded, used, discarded when bloomless. He was fathered; we simply appeared, Like the crocus, the rose, the sparrows endangered in mud. Our lives were twisted in his life; we also were children When he was a child, We were his pets and his toythings, mock sisters, his tiny companions. We grew as he grew, laughed also, ran as he ran, Though sandier, hungrier, sun-speckled, most days meatless. He saw us as rightfully his, for whatever purpose He chose, to tend him and feed him, to wash him, amuse him, Rock him to sleep in the dangerous boats of ourselves. We did not know as we played with him there in the sand On the beach of our rocky goat-island, close by the harbour, That he was foredoomed to swell to our cold-eyed teenaged killer. If we had known that, would we have drowned him back then? Young children are ruthless and selfish: everyone wants to live. Twelve against one, he wouldn't have stood a chance. Would we? In only a minute, when nobody else was looking? Pushed his still-innocent child's head under the water With our own still-innocent childish nursemaid hands, And blamed it on waves. Would we have had it in us? Ask the Three Sisters, spinning their blood-red mazes, Tangling the lives of men and women together. Only they know how events might then have had altered. Only they know our hearts. From us you will get no answer.

Facebook is not just injurious to health, it's now a full-on humanitarian crisis.

Bullets don't kill bigotry, only education does that.

Algorithm without humanity is mental holocaust.

Brain thrives on assumptions, that ain't the problem, trouble begins when all thought ends at assumption.

Even the deaf can hear the music of life, yet those with ears hear nothing. Even the blind can see the beauty of heart, yet those with eyes are busy with shopping.

Only kafir is one without kindness.

I'm not a fake person. I'm carefully and genuinely hand-crafted.

If a tradition endorses hate and mistrust, it’s the tradition that we must reject not people.

Everything is beautiful when you are with me, 'cause you are my ecstasy.

Grow a vagina.

If you are looking for explanation in love, you are not really in love.

You are the ink, pen and paper, your life is your own decision.

Cutting edge on the outside, stoneage on the inside, that’s how we spend our life as imitation humans.

Better a kindhearted fool than a heartless tool.

He stared at me, unreadable for a moment. "I've had women try to save me before," he said idly. "Then that means I'll be yesterday's trash soon on that part of the equation, but we will still be friends." He smiled with a far truer lift of his cheeks. "Don't be foolish. I told you before. I'd never let you go." He touched my chin, tilting it up toward him. "I could remove the danger, you know. Lock you in a room—a tower—" "My hair isn't long enough," I said automatically. "But you would spin me gold. So many things better than gold. Truer." His gaze dropped to my lips. "I would keep you in the finest of materials, handcrafted with only you in mind. The finest paints, in a tower so high that you would have no cares.

People who have nothing to prove offer practical baby gifts: sturdy cotton rompers made to withstand the cycle of vomit and regular washing. People who are competing for the titles of best-loved aunts and uncles - people like my sisters and me - send satin pants and delicate hand-crafted sweaters accompanied by notes reading "P.S. The fur collar is detachable.

It is never about survival, not any more, if it were, we didn't have to move out of jungle. We moved out of our Mother Nature's basement, so we could build a kind world for ourselves.

Thandi looks at the rag dolls and the coasters and key chains and handcrafted jewelry that Delores delicately places inside the basket. How would visitors know the real stories behind the faces of the wooden masks they'd buy to have on walls; the rag dolls they'd use to decorate unused furniture in their houses; the figurines they'd place on mantels that they can marvel at and then quickly forget?

The helpless, forgotten, discriminated and destitute, are my brothers and sisters, and I won't stop, till I lift them up to take their rightful place upon the fabric of society, with my last blood drop.

I’ve made some things for you, Constant Reader; you see them laid out before you in the moonlight. But before you look at the little handcrafted treasures I have for sale, let’s talk about them for a bit, shall we? It won’t take long. Here, sit down beside me. And do come a little closer. I don’t bite. Except… we’ve known each other for a very long time, and I suspect you know that’s not entirely true. Is it?

Somebody once asked me why I bother with an offering, since a god can presumably obtain almost anything he desires. This is like belittling a handcrafted present that a child makes for a parent. Of course the parent could have made or purchased something much nicer, but he or she will be delighted with the gift nevertheless. It is the act of giving that is appreciated, and the worth of the gift is directly proportionate to the effort put into it.

In front of the reviewing stand, she presented Joseph with a twenty-six-star, handcrafted silk American flag, sewn for the occasion by the ladies of Nauvoo. Then the officers, the honored guests, and the twenty members of the Legion marching band assembled for the procession to the temple site. Joseph had assigned special places on the reviewing stand to the Sauk Indian chief Keokuk and his entourage, who had crossed over from Iowa to partake in the festivities.

Simon Koertig took no pleasure from the act of murder. That wasn’t true, exactly. He took tremendous pleasure from the art of murder. Of honing his skills, refining his craft, pursuing his quarry, and staging their perfect and elegant demise. Some murders were quick and brutally simple, others long and drawn-out affairs, but they were all handcrafted and beautiful acts. The relationship between executioner and victim, he believed, was more sacred than the bond between lovers.

With no small amount of trepidation, we walked alone past a colony of black-faced monkeys we’d been told were extremely dangerous. We avoided eye contact and certainly didn’t take pictures. And dearly wished our old Sherpa bag-carrying matey was nearby. We visited Gandhi’s tomb. We saw saris being printed and hand-knotted carpets being fabricated and negotiated a decent price for a small hand-crafted rug of Mughal design that, as long as we keep the certificate of authenticity safe, should appreciated in value. We witnessed poverty beyond poverty, with ‘untouchables’ so poor that they are actually outside the caste system, and who can’t even afford to live in the unsanitary slums described as 'unfit for human habitation.

No power should be taken for granted and used recklessly, even a knife is super lethal in the hands of an innocent toddler. That's why new parents childproof the home before childbirth, how do we peopleproof a planet so they don't hurt each other!

I kept flashing back to an argument I used to have with my ex. Every time I vented about work, he rushed to hand-craft a solution, which was an irritating habit. All you want to do is fix me, I spat at him once. But I never thought to ask - Why do I have such a high tolerance for being broken?

Doctor's Sonnet A doctor is one who's gentle as a bird, A doctor is one who's brave as a soldier, A doctor is one who's amusing as a clown, A doctor is one who's caring as a mother. Treating the sick is not a comfort job, It is a difficult life without leisure and lure. If all you want are wealth and tranquility, Trade in your medical license for a liquor store. The world is filled with doctors most cold, Many don't practice medicine but self-centricity. Instruments and intellect don't make a doctor, Without warmth all pills lose their efficacy. Healthcare means aid first talk rules later. Better a kindhearted fool than a heartless monster.

Scents of raspberry and apricot teased her nose. With a deft hand, she nestled each silky delicacy with care into a cardboard box. Celina had grown up with the aroma of chocolate wafting through her home. As a young woman, her mother had studied at a chocolaterie in Paris before the war, and she had taught Celina how to make handcrafted praliné or truffles, the molded or rounded chocolates filled with delectable centers, such as caramelized nut paste of noisettes or amandes. For her, Celina often chose apricot, cherry, salted caramel, cream liqueurs- or any other filling that might catch her fancy. Lately, she had been experimenting with the delicate flavor of green tea she'd found in San Francisco's Chinatown.

Before drawing any affirmative conclusions let us first note the absence of the concept of imitation as a general pastoral or moral guideline. There is in the New Testament no Franciscan glorification of barefoot itinerancy. Even when Paul argues the case for celibacy, it does not occur to him to appeal to the example of Jesus. Even when Paul explains his own predilection for self-support there is no appeal to Jesus' years of village artisan. Even when the Apostle argues strongly the case for his teaching authority, there is no appeal to the rabbinic ministry of Jesus. Jesus' trade as a carpenter, his association with fishermen, and his choice of illustrations from the life of the sower and the shepherd have through Christian history given momentum to the romantic glorification of the handcrafts and the rural life; but there is none of this in the New Testament, which testifies throughout to the life and mission of a church going intentionally into the cities in full knowledge of the conflicts which awaited here there. That the concept of imitation is not applied by the New Testament at some of those points where Franciscan and romantic devotion has tried most piously to apply it, is all the more demonstration of how fundamental the thought of participation in the suffering of Christ is when the New Testament church sees it as guiding and explaining her attitude to the powers of the world. Only at one point, only on one subject - but then consistently, universally - is Jesus our example: in his cross.

Now we're going to one of the coolest places in Florence." "Where's that?" "A pharmacy." "You're taking the princess to a drugstore?" "I said a pharmacy. Climb on." Profumo Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella is a pharmacy only in the ancient sense of the word. As soon as I saw and smelled what "pharmacy" it was, I recognized it as the origin of the exquisitely wrapped, handcrafted soaps, colognes, potpourris, and creams I had seen in their shop on New York's Lower East Side. But nothing could compare with seeing them in the frescoed chapel where thirteenth-century Dominican friars had first experimented with elixirs and potions. Centuries-old apothecary jars and bottles sat on the shelves of carved wooden cupboards that swept almost to the top of a high, vaulted ceiling. I walked slowly around the room, taking it all in, as Danny spoke to a smartly dressed salesgirl. "What an incredible place!" I sighed, walking over to stand beside him. "It's so beautiful." "Pretty special," he agreed, putting his hand high on my back and turning to the salesperson. "I think mimosa," he told her. "A very good choice, I think," she said, dabbing a small amount of mimosa eau de cologne on my wrist and then my neck with a delicate applicator. Danny bent forward so he could smell my neck, then stood back. He drew his eyebrows together and put his hands on his hips. "I definitely think that's you. First, you get this oddly enticing tart kick, then you detect the sweetness. It's a subtle sweetness- not overpowering, but definitely there." "Hilarious," I said sarcastically and kicked him playfully in the shin. "Then you get the kick again," he winced, rubbing his leg.

As we leave our youth, there’s a pull toward complacency. We can start to coast, settle for what’s familiar and lose the juicy desire to expand our frontiers. We adopt the paradigm of a victim. We make excuses and then recite them so many times we train our subconscious mind to think they are true. We blame other people and outer conditions for our struggles, and we condemn past events for our private wars. We grow cynical and lose the curiosity, wonder, compassion and innocence we knew as kids. We become apathetic. Critical. Hardened. Within this personal ecosystem the majority of us create for ourselves, mediocrity then becomes acceptable. And because this mindset is running within us each day, the viewpoint seems so very real to us. We truly believe that the story we are running reveals the truth—because we’re so close to it. So, rather than showing leadership in our fields, owning our crafts by producing dazzling work and handcrafting delicious lives, we resign ourselves to average.

Lover off The Street (A Sonnet) Beauty and bliss are all around, When my feet walk alongside yours. Life reaches the pinnacle of being, When I'm annihilated for a smile of yours. Climbed plenty hills, trotted plenty jungle, Nowhere did I find a drop of sanity. Then I stood crazy before your radiance, And I got drenched in beams of serenity. I am but a naïve lover off the street, Without a single trace of intellect. The only thing that I've learnt in life is, In your happiness lies my upliftment. Business is measured by how much we receive, Life is realized when we stand hellbent to give.

Kee Li Tong was one of my favorite chocolatiers in New York. Years earlier, I had a fleeting addiction to her otherworldly crème brûlée truffle, a dainty yet dangerous homemade bonbon that you have to pop into your mouth whole, or suffer the consequences of squirting eggy custard all over your blouse. Now, I discovered, she was handcrafting macarons in wild and wonderful flavors like blood orange, sesame, and rose. How did she create her recipes? What inspired her expanded repertoire? And how did hers compare to Paris's best? Emboldened as I was by my new French history lessons, I asked Kee in her Soho boutique: why macarons? "Because they're so pretty!" Kee laughed. "They're so dainty. I think it's the colors." And, standing as we were above the glass display case, I had to agree. Her blueberry macarons were as bright as the September sky. The lotus flower was the kind of soft pink that's the perfect shade of blush. Kee's favorite flavor, passion fruit, was a snappy corn husk yellow. These were surrounded by greens (lulo and jasmine green tea) and purples (lavender, which was dotted with purple sugar crystals) and some neutral shades as well (white truffle oil and mint mocha).

Facebook Sonnet Facebook is not just injurious to health, It's now a full-on humanitarian crisis. If you think it's just a harmless bad habit, You're fanning the flames of social necrosis. Social media ought to make people social, Not make pavlov's dogs out of humanity. Yet all that facebook actually does today, Is drive society towards clinical insanity. Social media is not necessarily bad, So long as it doesn't feed on our stability. Yet facebook has devised the perfect algorithm, To learn, pump and monetize human instability. Facebook is the definition of what AI must be not. Algorithm without humanity is mental holocaust.

Vagina Power (The Sonnet) There's nothing special about growing balls, In fact, man-sack is the definition of weakness. If you wanna grow something, grow a vagina, For vagina is the epitome of resilience. There's an organism that goes through hell, Quite regularly, yet stands strong and brave. It is the source of all creation everywhere, Yet all through history it's been kept as slave. No love can surpass the love of a mother, No care can surpass a sister's care. Yet a society run by balls and bananas, Makes a hooker out of our mothers and sisters. Worship of balls is but a prehistoric mania. There will be no balls without a vagina.

Did It Ever Occur to You That Maybe You’re Falling in Love? BY AILISH HOPPER We buried the problem. We planted a tree over the problem. We regretted our actions toward the problem. We declined to comment on the problem. We carved a memorial to the problem, dedicated it. Forgot our handkerchief. We removed all “unnatural” ingredients, handcrafted a locally-grown tincture for the problem. But nobody bought it. We freshly-laundered, bleached, deodorized the problem. We built a wall around the problem, tagged it with pictures of children, birds in trees. We renamed the problem, and denounced those who used the old name. We wrote a law for the problem, but it died in committee. We drove the problem out with loud noises from homemade instruments. We marched, leafleted, sang hymns, linked arms with the problem, got dragged to jail, got spat on by the problem and let out. We elected an official who Finally Gets the problem. … We watched carefully for the problem, but our flashlight died. We had dreams of the problem. In which we could no longer recognize ourselves. We reformed. We transformed. Turned over a new leaf. Turned a corner, found ourselves near a scent that somehow reminded us of the problem, In ways we could never Put into words. That Little I-can’t-explain-it That makes it hard to think. That Rings like a siren inside.

Blitzen!” Junior suddenly appeared. He crutched toward me with his rocket-powered walker and a lot of friends. “Get him, boys!” “Ha! Eat light, Junior!” I unleashed the power of the mini bed. Sadly, instead of a turn-you-to-stone laser beam, a weak glow enveloped Junior like a soft blanket. The charge had run out. A thin crust formed around him. It was nowhere near as dramatic as instant petrification, but it was startling enough to make the other dwarves pause. And that made me think about how I looked to them. A dwarf who handcrafts a weapon that I know what it’s like to be petrified. It stinks. So I had every intention of cutting Alviss free on his next pass-by and then dipping him in the river to restore him. But before I could, the stalactite attached to the rope broke. Alviss’s momentum carried him over the cliff edge. He landed with a splash in the water below. “Oops.” I peered down, then waved my hand dismissively. “Ah, he’ll be fine.” “Blitzen!” Junior suddenly appeared. He crutched toward me with his rocket-powered walker and a lot of friends. “Get him, boys!” “Ha! Eat light, Junior!” I unleashed the power of the mini bed. Sadly, instead of a turn-you-to-stone laser beam, a weak glow enveloped Junior like a soft blanket. The charge had run out. A thin crust formed around him. It was nowhere near as dramatic as instant petrification, but it was startling enough to make the other dwarves pause. And that made me think about how I looked to them. A dwarf who handcrafts a weapon that petrifies other dwarves? Not cool. “Listen!” I yelled. “My argument is with Junior, not you. When he decrustifies, tell him I want to talk.” I put the mini bed on the ground and showed them my empty hands while slowly backing away. It would have been a very powerful moment if I hadn’t backed off the cliff into the river. As I thrashed through the churning water toward shore, three things occurred to me. One, Junior would never, ever forgive me. Two, my cashmere hoodie was ruined. And three . . . Mimir owed me a lot more than a quarter.

Greetings and welcome to The Keltic Woodshop. Established since November of 2003 in Kansas City, Missouri, The Keltic Woodshop specializes in custom cabinetry, furniture, and unique fine wood products in a personalized old fashioned handcrafted way. We are a small shop that strives towards individual attention and detail in every item produced. The Keltic Woodshop of Kansas City specializes in the following products: Custom Cabinets and Furniture: We use worldwide exotic woods. Our custom cabinets and furniture contains Russian Birch, Brazilian Cherry, African Mahogany, Asian Teak, Knotty Pine, Walnut, Red Oak, White Oak, and Bolivian Rosewood just to name a few. Custom orders are available. Handmade Walking Sticks: Our walking sticks include handcrafted, lightweight, strong, durable, handpainted, handcarved, Handapplied finishes and stains, Alaskan Diamond Willow, Hedgeapple, Red Oak, Memosa, Spalted Birch, and Spalted Ash. Custom Made Exotic Wood Display Cases: These are handmade from hardwoods of Knotty Pine, Asian Teak, African Mahogany, Sycamore, Aniegre, African Mahogany, and Black Cherry. We will do custom orders too. Pagan and Specialty Items: We have Red Oak and White Oak Ritual Wands with gems, Washington Driftwood Healing Wands with amethyst, crystaline, and citrine points, handpainted Red Oak and Hedgeapple Viking Runes for devination. We can make custom wood boxes for your tarot cards. Customer satisfaction is our highest priority. If you are looking for unusual or exotic lumbers, then we are the shop you've been searching for. The Keltic Woodshop stands behind and gurantees each item with an owner lifetime warranty on craftsmanship of the product with a replacement, repair, or moneyback in full, no questions asked, policy. We want you happy and completely satisfied with any product you may purchase. We are not a production shop so you will find joinery of woods containing handcut dovetails, as well as mortise and tenon construction. Finishes and stains are never sprayed on, but are applied personally by hand for that quality individual touch. the-tedswoodworking.com

realised that I am a Tree Nazi and the children do it All wrong, so mostly I shout at them for the first ten minutes until they lose interest and bugger off and I can rearrange the baubles they have clearly put in stupid places (i.e., move their handcrafted glitter- and snot-caked monstrosities to the back of the tree, out of sight, so my tasteful glass John Lewis and White Company decorations are front and centre).

It’s easy for you to tell what it’s a photo of, but to program a function that inputs nothing but the colors of all the pixels of an image and outputs an accurate caption such as “A group of young people playing a game of frisbee” had eluded all the world’s AI researchers for decades. Yet a team at Google led by Ilya Sutskever did precisely that in 2014. Input a different set of pixel colors, and it replies “A herd of elephants walking across a dry grass field,” again correctly. How did they do it? Deep Blue–style, by programming handcrafted algorithms for detecting frisbees, faces and the like? No, by creating a relatively simple neural network with no knowledge whatsoever about the physical world or its contents, and then letting it learn by exposing it to massive amounts of data. AI visionary Jeff Hawkins wrote in 2004 that “no computer can…see as well as a mouse,” but those days are now long gone.

This manifests in two ways. First, many senior developers start writing the infrastructure that other developers use, rather than using existing (often open source) software. We once worked with a client who had once been on the cutting edge of technology. They built their own application server, web framework in Java, and just about every other bit of infrastructure. At one point, we asked if they had built their own operating system, too, and when they said, “No,” we asked, “Why not?!? You built everything else from scratch!” Upon reflection, the company needed capabilities that weren’t available. However, when open-source tools became available, they already owned their lovingly hand-crafted infrastructure. Rather than cut over to the more standard stack, they opted to keep their own because of minor differences in approach. A decade later, their best developers worked in full-time maintenance mode, fixing their application server, adding features to their web framework, and other mundane chores. Rather than applying innovation on building better applications, they permanently slaved away on plumbing.

chose their low prices over my painfully handcrafted selection of cookies, cupcakes, and pastries. Thus the ever growing pile of bills on my kitchen table. And I thought going into business for myself at age twenty-five was going to be glamorous. Now she was here. I bristled as she approached with bull-like intensity, her eyes focused on my table, waiting for her to cast more disparaging comments. She pointed to a fresh baked pie on my table. "I'll have a slice of that." My face stretched into a wide smile. "Really?" Her coin purse paused in midair. "Are you trying to turn away a customer?

The apprentice system is a mainstay in the working life of Italians, but this particular movement was as political as it was artistic, born of the need to lift the Italians out of poverty after the war. The movement spread, thus the proliferation of handcrafted Italian goods, some of which still exist today. For the families who trained together, and opened their own businesses, branding was born.

A piano is like no other instrument, or any item for that matter, you will purchase. As a musical instrument it should be pleasing to the touch and the ear, and as a piece of furniture—a large one at that—it can enhance the elegance or warmth of a room. A piano is a marvel of both old-fashioned handcrafting and high-tech ingenuity. It has so many intricate, moving parts that your head may spin when trying to learn how it works, let alone when buying one.

He was dressed in a dark gray suit handcrafted by his favorite tailor in Milan.

Regardless of the recent hunger for handcrafted foods, they remain a niche market within the grocery store. America simply didn’t have many centuries during which a unique food heritage created by small pre-industrial farms might take hold. Add to that the evolving technology to process food on a commercial scale, and the large buildings we created to store and distribute these goods—the American supermarket—and you end up with a culinary tradition that consists of Mrs. Paul’s fish sticks, Swanson’s TV dinners, Birds Eye frozen peas, and Kraft Singles.

But she needed to remember to take the bedspread off first. The Amish might not appreciate it if they got semen stains on their handcrafted quilt. Or maybe they would appreciate it? She’d never met an Amish person. They could be kinky motherfuckers, too. Who knew?

M3 is covered by handcrafted well selected high quality microfiber leather. The inside is a high density wooden cabinet, which avoids the sound distortion and provides bright rich sound tones and excellent sound pefromace.

The Pearl of Russia was one of fifty jeweled eggs handcrafted over a period of three decades for Tsars Alexander III and Nicholas II. Each year they’d given them as Easter presents to their wives and mothers.

Todo amador es un luchador.

Wanna study a superpower, study America. Wanna study dysfunctional power, still study America. Wanna study spirituality, study India. Wanna study rotten spirituality, still study India. Wanna study pride and loyalty, study good old Britannia. Wanna study primeval pride and loyalty, still study Britannia. Wanna study statehood, study People's Republic of China. Wanna study the horrors of statehood, still study China.

Let me burn to ashes time and time again, so I may remove the shadows from your life's lane.

Yanındayım, her zaman yanında olacağım. Seni birakden önce, hayatı bırakacağım.

The liquor store sells you the same divinity, that the holy store sells you for even higher price. We'll be born again when we abolish such divinity, by baptizing the soil of society with our sacrifice.

If I have ten days to live, I'll spend one day gathering strength, so I can spend the rest nine days, helping and lifting the fallen.

Cruelty kills no cruelty, only kindness does it, fighting fire with fire turns the world to ashes. Bullets don't kill bigotry, only education does that, set your heart on fire, let all bask in your effulgence.

Sonnet of Science Science is but a bridge of time, it can, Either take us forward or dump us in prehistory. Science alone does not ensure our advancement, Unless it's practiced with warmth and accountability. Sheer reason without any sentiment is, As dangerous as sheer sentiment without any reason. In order to forge a world fit for humans, We must break the ice between reason and emotion. Problem is that we like picking sides, Either we are too emotional or too rational. A civilized human ought to be none of that, A civilized human acts upon the need of the situation. So I say o mighty human, be not an intellectual moron. Science is a means of service, not intellectual gratification.

Sonnet of Rulers The only people who'll rule the world, Are the ones who want to rule not a being. The only people to inherit the earth, Are the ones who want to inherit nothing. The only people who win hearts, Are those who give all without question. The only people who become family to all, Are those who walk without assumption. The only people who never die, Are those who happily die for others. The only people who are the happiest, Are those who have no trace of selfish desires. Selfishness is synonym for suffering and misery. Joy is just a byproduct of service to humanity.

Facts and Belief (The Sonnet) No belief is worth losing your humanity over, No intellect is worth losing your kindness over. Facts, faith, reason, religion all come later, First and foremost we must humanize our behavior. If a belief or intellect makes you a better person, More power to your belief or intellect I say. But if they become a hindrance to your humanity, Throw it immediately like poison far, far away. Beliefs have cast shadows of wars throughout history, Facts have provided weapons for those wars. Then again beliefs have taught us to love our neighbor, Facts have helped us fight calamity and disorders. Let all beliefs and facts be guided by a warm heart. Warmth alone will make our world fit for human birth.

Hero Worship (The Sonnet) We used to worship the sun and the moon, We used to worship stones and trees. Then reason grew stronger along with imagination, So our worship shifted from elements to entities. Some of them were real and some fully fictitious, We just needed an excuse to externalize our divinity. Even today we keep inventing fictitious characters, Despite knowing they are fiction we pledge our loyalty. It seems like we are always holding out for a hero, Outside our very own everyday, ordinary psyche. Fiction is healthy so long as we grow no dependency, Real heroes are just humans standing unbent on duty. Enough with worship of fiction from comics and scriptures! It's time to be the hero and take the world on our shoulders.

Sonnet of Life Lessons Rich is not the one who's got a lot of dough, But one whose touch make others forget their woe. Happy is not the one who's always chasing pleasure, But one who forgets all pleasure helping another grow. Success is not about getting recognition, Success is about achieving excellence beyond norm. Achievement is not when you reach a certain goal, But when your goal lifts others beyond your home. Destiny is not a script written by a superman, But one you write yourself with your labor and sweat. Sanctity is not what priests sell you at the church, But how you behave with others outside the church gate. Nobody can give you lessons of life packed in a few lines. If you know to help another, your heart knows all the lines.

Sonnet of Intolerance Intolerance and religion don't go together, If they do, you are a far cry from being religious. Intolerance and science don't go together, If they do, such science is just modern hogwash. Intolerance and philosophy don't go together, If they do, you are a dickhearted intellectualist. Intolerance and humanism don't go together, If they do, you are a far cry from being humanist. Intolerance and intellect don't go together, If they do, such intellect is all blade, no handle. Intolerance and wisdom don't go together, If they do, you are but a sophisticated vandal. Anything that is civilized helps abolish intolerance, If it doesn't, it is yet another prehistoric nuisance.

Sonnet of Holy Water A new day starts with a new you, And I ain't talkin' about born again nonsense. A bigot baptized a thousand times is still a bigot, A human helping another is Christ himself. There is no second coming, there’s no reincarnation, Except when we go from selfishness to kindness. We are the messiahs and saviors of our people, Nobody's gonna fall from the sky to lift the helpless. The liquor store sells you the same divinity, That the holy store sells you for even higher price. We'll be born again when we abolish such divinity, By baptizing the soil of society with our sacrifice. The tears of joy someone sheds because of you, Are the only holy water to build the world anew.

Even if one person falls behind, It is the fall of all humankind.

Togetherness is another name for progress, together forever, either as lovers or ashes.

Fall, fall and fall again, to fall without stopping is rising.

Yes I am greedy, not for wealth and possession, I am greedy to see sunshine on teary faces.

Art is a mirror of time that shows, what's been, is and could be. Science is a bridge of time, that helps us build the future to be.

I am an addiction most dangerous, keep children away from my works. If you want them to grow up self-centric, make sure they never hear my words.

When a belief diminishes your humanity, it's the belief that you must reject, not humanity.

No belief is worth losing your humanity over, no intellect is worth losing your kindness over.

Love is more than a memory, love is an existence.