Harman Quotes

Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo.

Bir gün, belki on sene oluyor, bir hocam bana: "Zekanı mirasyedi gibi harcıyorsun!" demişti. Doğru... Zekamı har vurup harman savurdum ve nihayet iflas ettim... Hiçbir şeyim kalmadı... Ben zekayı radyum gibi bitip tükenmez bir cevher sanıyordum...

I say, 'Get me some poets as managers.' Poets are our original systems thinkers. They contemplate the world in which we live and feel obligated to interpret, and give expression to it in a way that makes the reader understand how that world runs. Poets, those unheralded systems thinkers, are our true digital thinkers. It is from their midst that I believe we will draw tomorrow's new business leaders." --Sidney Harman, CEO Multimillionaire of a stereo components company

إن الناس دائما قادرون على اضفاء تفاسير متنوعة على الأفكار الدينية التى يعتنقونها، تعتمد على موقعهم المادي وعلاقتهم بالآخرين والصراعات التى ينخرطون فيها.

Philosophy is not in the business of explaining anything. Actual occasions explain what happened, not philosophy.

Everything's better with bacon and red wine!

There's talk he's become emotionally unhinged.

The dream was floating off satisfactorily on an inner sea.

What really lies beneath our feet at each moment is not a usefulness, but an inaccessible netherworld that we can use because it is there. It is the Empire of the Capital X.

Healing, "recovering," from a death is also a form of estrangement, a further loss.

Honey, I usually get $300, but I like you, so I'll just take $200.

No matter who they are or what they’ve done, when you hear someone’s story you see him or her differently.

The Old Ones say you can feel your spirit during a Vision Quest.

He's been injecting the anti-aging hormone into his wife.

This madman must be stopped.

What is an organization actually, even in organization theory, even in the most classical sense in management, if not a serial redescription which starts again (and it’s true) every morning.

Discretion is a polite word for hypocrisy. Tea Party Teddy

It’s funny how beauty rides the back of pain . 

To create something does not mean to see through to its depths; we do not drain our children to the dregs by begetting them, but set them loose in the world like wild dogs, beyond our control and often beyond our knowledge.

And here I want to interject and say that Heidegger is an absolute occasionalist and has no theory of time despite “time” being included in the title Being and Time

He could still remember how the first sip of wine made him feel.

She pulled off the highway and quickly changed into the burkha.

Midwives aren't soft. We're warriors.

At any minute your life can change. Remember this. Between one breath and another, the song can stop and everything can be different.

In a world where people die for fame, we introverts crave isolation.

Don't wanna ever take your shoes off in coconut land. Never know when you're gonna have to run.

But it was not merely her choice to be a witness of the dirty work on Tier 1A. It was her role. As a woman she was not expected to wrestle prisoners into stress positions or otherwise overpower them, but rather just by her presence, to amplify their sense of powerlessness. She was there as an instrument of humiliation...The MPs knew very little about their prisoners or the culture they came from, and they understood less. But at Fort Lee, before they deployed, they were given a session of “cultural awareness training,” from which they’d taken away the understanding—constantly reinforced by MI handlers—that Arab men were sexual prudes, with a particular hang-up about being seen naked in public, especially by women. What better way to break an Arab, then, than to strip him, tie him up, and have a "female bystander," as Graner describer Harman, laugh at him? American women were used on the MI block in the same way that Major David DiNenna spoke of dogs—as "force multipliers." Harman understood. She didn’t like being naked in public herself. To the prisoners, being photographed may have seemed an added dash of mortification, but to Harman, taking pictures was a way of deflecting her own humiliation in the transaction—by taking ownership of her position as spectator.

But no soldier above the rank of sergeant ever served jail time. No civilian interrogators ever faced legal proceedings. Nobody was ever charged with torture, or war crimes, or any violation of the Geneva Conventions. Nobody ever faced charges for keeping prisoners naked,or shackled. Nobody ever faced charges for holding prisoners as hostages. Nobody ever faced charges for incarcerating children who were accused of no crime and posed no known security threat. Nobody ever faced charges for holding thousands of prisoners in a combat zone in constant danger of their lives. Nobody ever faced charges for arresting thousands of civilians without direct cause and holding them indefinitely, incommunicado, in concentration camp conditions. Nobody ever faced charges for shooting and killing prisoners who were confined behind concertina wire. And nobody has ever been held to account for murdering al-Jamadi in the Tier 1B shower, although Sabrina Harman initially faced several charges for having photographed him there.

In symbolic terms, Great Cthulhu should replace Minerva as the patron spirit of philosophers, and the Miskatonic must dwarf the Rhine and the Ister as our river of choice. Since Heidegger’s treatment of Hölderlin resulted mostly in pious, dreary readings, philosophy needs a new literary hero.”44

A philosophical thought is not supposed to be impervious to all criticism; this is the error Whitehead describes of turning philosophy into geometry, and it is useful primarily as a way of gaining short-term triumphs in personal arguments that no one else cares (or even knows) about anyway. A good philosophical thought will always be subject to criticisms (as Heidegger’s or Whitehead’s best insights all are) but they are of such elegance and depth that they change the terms of debate, and function as a sort of “obligatory passage point” (Latour’s term) in the discussions that follow. Or in other words, the reason Being and Time is still such a classic, with hundreds of thousands or millions of readers almost a century later, is not because Heidegger made “fewer mistakes” than others of his generation. Mistakes need to be cleaned up, but that is not the primary engine of personal or collective intellectual progress.

My own view is that, since we have it and since it gives such pleasure to so many, especially around the world, it would be folly to get rid of it. The backside of whom are we going to lick when we send a letter in the Republic of Britain? William Hague? Harriet Harman? An elected British President will not glamourize the heads of state of other countries when they come on a state visit. Compared to carriages, crowns, orbs and ermine, an entry-level Jaguar and Marks & Spencer suit offer no edge over other nations when vying for trade advantages. By definition half the country will despise a Labour President or a Conservative one, and you can bet your bottom dollar that politicians will ensure that, if we do become a republic, there will be little other choice than the major parties. Which, at the time of writing, might include UKIP. Lovely.

I love you enough not to care if you hate me.

Maria, it sounds like he was insane. Rational people don't intentionally addict people. I feel sorry for those poor people who were unsuspecting victims.

Perhaps the only limits to the human mind are those we believe in. —Willis Harman

Grief takes about a year,” Mrs. Kelly once told a young mother who had lost her son. “You have to get through each holiday, each new season. You will cry at Christmas and New Year’s and Mother’s Day and Thanksgiving. You will suffer with the first daffodil, the first falling red leaves, the first snow . . . Each occasion, each new season will rip your heart out; then, when there’s nothing left, you’ll get better.” She was right, and she knew from experience.

Nancy Cartwright here in this School has written the funniest paper on scientific method ever, by taking the average advice from all the books about scientific method, and they are extreme banalities

The social sciences are obsessed by epistemological questioning in a way that no science, no real science is. You never have a chemistry class that starts with the methodology of chemistry; you start by doing chemistry. And the problem is that since the social sciences don’t know what it is to be scientific, because they know nothing about the real sciences, they imagine that they have to be listing endless numbers of criteria and precautions before doing anything. And they usually miss precisely what is interesting in natural sciences which is [LAUGHS] a laboratory situation and the experimental protocol!

الأهم بالنسبة لهذه الإصلاحية الإسلامية هو تغيير أخلاقيات المجتمع، بدلاً من تغيير المجتمع نفسه. وليس الأهم هو إعادة بناء المجتمع الإسلامي (الأمة) من خلال تحويل المجتمع، ولكن بفرض أشكال معينة من السلوك داخل المجتمع القائم، وعدوها ليس الدولة أو الطغاة المحليين، ولكن قوى خارجية يعتقدون أنها تقضى على القيم الدينية وهى في نظر الدعوة "اليهودية والصليبية" و"الشيوعية"و"العلمانية" ويتضمن الجهاد للتعامل مع هؤلاء صراعاً لفرض الشريعة. فهى معركة لدفع الدولة الحالية لفرض نمط معين من الثقافة على المجتمع، بدلا من كونها معركة للإطاحة بالدولة.

Denham Harman had not, in 1945, read an article about aging in his wife’s Ladies’ Home Journal and developed a theory that free radicals and antioxidants are at the heart of human aging. Harman’s idea was never anything more than a hunch, and subsequent research proved it to be wrong, but nonetheless the idea has taken hold and will not go away. The sale of antioxidant supplements alone is now worth well over $2 billion a year.

Most of my life I’ve felt I was dreaming. Now and then I wake up, sometimes for months, sometimes for minutes. I’m a character in a play, and I can’t tell if I’m making it up or if a great puppeteer is making me dance.

Harman was right: those pictures were worse. But, leaving aside the fact that photographs of death and nudity, however newsworthy, don't get much play in the press, the power of an image does not necessarily reside in what it depicts. A photograph of a mangled cadaver, or of a naked man trussed in torment, can shock and outrage, provoke protest and investigation, but it leaves little to the imagination. It may be rich in practical information while being devoid of any broader meaning. To the extent that it represents any circumstances or conditions beyond itself, it does so generically. Such photographs are repellent in large part because they have a terrible reductive sameness. Except from a forensic point of view, they are unambiguous, and have the quality of pornography. They are what they show, nothing more. They communicate no vision and, shorn of context, they offer little, if anything, to think about, no occasion for wonder. They have no value as symbols. Of course, the dominant symbol of Western civilization is the figure of a nearly naked man being tortured to death⁠—or more simply, the torture implement itself, the cross. But our pictures of Christ's savage death are the product of religious imagination and idealization. In reality, with his battered flesh scabbed and bleeding and bloated and discolored beneath the pitiless Judean desert sun, he must have been ghastly to behold. Had there been cameras at Calvary, would twenty centuries of believers have been moved to hang photographs of the scene on their altarpieces and in their homes, or to wear an icon of a man being executed around their necks as as an emblem of peace and hope and human fellowship? Photography is too frank to allow for the notion of suffering as noble and ennobling...

Brutality is boring. Over and over, hell night after hell night, the same old dumb, tedious, bestial routine: making men crawl; making men groan, hanging men from the bars; shoving men; slapping men; freezing men in the showers; running men into walls; displaying shackled fathers to their sons and sons to their fathers. And if it turned out that you'd been given the wrong man, when you were done making his life unforgettably small and nasty, you allowed him to be your janitor and pick up the other prisoners' trash. There was always another prisoner, and another. Faceless men under hoods: you stripped them of their clothes, you stripped them of their pride. There wasn't much more you could take away from them, but people are inventive: one night some soldiers took a razor to one of Saddam's former general in Tier 1A and shaved off his eyebrows. He was an old man. "He looked like a grandfather and seemed like a nice guy," Sabrina Harman said, and she had tried to console him, telling him he looked younger and slipping him a few cigarettes. Then she had to make him stand at attention facing a boom box blasting the rapper Eminem, singing about raping his mother, or committing arson, or sneering at suicides, something like that⁠—these were some of the best-selling songs in American history. "Eminem is pretty much torture all in himself, and if one person's getting tortured, everybody is, because that music's horrible," Harman said. The general maintained his bearing against the onslaught of noise. "He looked so sad," Harman said. "I felt so bad for the guy." In fact, she said, "Out of everything I saw, that's the worst." This seems implausible, or at least illogical, until you think about it. The MI block was a place where a dead guy was just a dead guy. And a guy hanging from a window frame or a guy forced to drag his nakedness over a wet concrete floor⁠—well, how could you relate to that, except maybe to take a picture? But a man who kept his chin up while you blasted him with rape anthems, and old man shorn of his eyebrows whose very presence made you think of his grandkids--you could let that get to you, especially if you had to share in his punishment: "Slut, you think I won't choke no whore / til the vocal cords don't work in her throat no more!..." or whatever the song was.

But by that time Lady Harman had acquired the habit of reading and the habit of thinking over what she read, and from that it is an easy step to thinking over oneself and the circumstances of one's own life. The one thing trains for the other.

It isn't a natural thing to keep on worrying about the morality of one's material prosperity. These are proclivities superinduced by modern conditions of the conscience. There is a natural resistance in every healthy human being to such distressful heart-searchings.

The thought came over me: am I to spend all the best part of my life in this wretched bondage, forcibly suppressing my rage at the idleness, the apathy and the hyperbolical & most asinine stupidity of those fat-headed oafs, and on compulsion assuming an air of kindness, patience & assiduity? Must I from day to day sit chained to this chair, prisoned with in these four bare walls, while these glorious summer suns are burning in heaven & the year is revolving in its richest glow & declaring at the close of every summer day [that] the time I am losing will never come again?

Her breath hitched when he slid a thick finger into her wet heat. Slow. Firm. Agonizingly delicious. "You're so wet," he murmured. "It really did turn you on." "You turn me on." She arched against him, pleasure rippling through her core. Sam pushed another finger inside, angling to brush against her sweet spot. "I thought you needed me, like right now," she panted as he palmed her breast through her clothes. "I need to give you pleasure first." His heated gaze trapped her, made her insides tighten. "So you're a gentleman sex beast." She wrapped her arms around his neck, ran her fingers through the softness of his hair. His shoulders were so broad, his neck corded with muscle. But unlike Harman's steroid-enhanced physique, Sam's perfect body was real. "I don't feel like a gentleman." His voice was deeper than normal, thick and hoarse. He teased her nipple to a peak through her clothes. "The things I want to do to you right now are as far from gentlemanly as you can get.

The Kraken was somewhat obsessed with posture. As for Lily, she barely gave it a second thought. In her opinion it was better to read books than balance them. That’s what they were designed for, after all. And if you wanted to wear something on your head there was a perfectly good item designed for that too: it was called a hat.

Humanity increased its degree of control over nature, but at the price of most people becoming subject to control and exploitation by privileged minority groups.

Let no one who loves be called altogether unhappy. Even love unreturned has its rainbow - James Matthew Barrie

Our love was perfect. We were not.

We think our problems are so big, but the universe is so much bigger and everyone on this planet has problems; it’s part of being alive.

Have my moments, Doll, have my moments.

You found us, and then lied to us so you could get a job?

Mom and dad probably told you I've been arrested. I'm innocent. I want you to know that.

I never touched a brown hand before today, but my daddy told me that there isn’t no difference. He said we’re all the same under the skin, same blood, same heart.

One of the broadest claims of this book is that there will be no further progress in philosophy or the arts without an explicit embrace of the autonomous thing-in-itself.

We are only on this earth, as far as we know, one time, and we deserve to be happy. It’s our job to be happy.

The only path of escape he could conceive as yet for Lady Harman lay through the chivalry of some other man. That a woman could possibly rebel against one man without the sympathy and moral maintenance of another was still outside the range of Mr. Brumley's understanding. It is still outside the range of most men's understandings -- and of a great many women's.

The convention of not answering back allows able women a scornful superiority, flashing out in looks, in suppression of comment, withheld speech; quellingly disdainful, devastatingly critical, but always held in check. This pent-up power, secretly triumphant because unrealised, is the incendiary device at the heart of Jane Eyre, and of all Charlotte Brontë’s works.

The thing they wanted they called the Vote, but that demand so hollow, so eyeless, had all the terrifying effect of a mask. Behind that mask was a formless invincible discontent with the lot of womanhood. It wanted, — it was not clear what it wanted, but whatever it wanted, all the domestic instincts of mankind were against admitting there was anything it could want.

This self-reliance, this direct dealing with the world, seemed to him, even in the height of his concern, unwomanly, a deeper injury to his own abandoned assumptions than any he had contemplated.

Lots of people wrote to the magazine to say that Marilyn vos Savant was wrong, even when she explained very carefully why she was right. Of the letters she got about the problem, 92% said that she was wrong and lots of these were from mathematicians and scientists. Here are some of the things they said: 'I'm very concerned with the general public's lack of mathematical skills. Please help by confessing your error.' -Robert Sachs, Ph.D., George Mason University ... 'I am sure you will receive many letters from high school and college students. Perhaps you should keep a few addresses for future columns.' -W. Robert Smith, Ph.D., Georgia State University... 'If all those Ph.D.'s were wrong, the country would be in very serious trouble.' -Everett Harman, Ph.D., U.S. Army Research Institute

If, of course, to serial and redescription you add… how would I put it, punctual? …Or the key with which they maintain their subsistence. And in that sense serial redescription seems to be a very good definition for the social sciences as well as for philosophy. We accompany the task of the entities in their survival, so to speak, and their maintaining their subsistence in a very, very practical manner.

What importance should be given to details, in developing a subject?-- Remorselessly sacrifice everything that does not contribute to clarity, verisimilitude, and effect. Accentuate everything that sets the main idea in relief, so that the impression be colourful, picturesque. It's sufficient that the rest be in its proper place, but in half-tone. That is what gives to style, as to painting, unity, perspective, and effect. - Constantin Georges Romain Héger, teacher to Charlotte Brontë

who having learnt the art of self-tormenting, are diligently and zealously employed in creating an imaginary world, which they can never inhabit, only to make the real world, with which they must necessarily be conversant, gloomy and insupportable.

We have done much in the last few years to destroy the severe limitations of Victorian delicacy, and all of us, from princesses and prime-ministers' wives downward, talk of topics that would have been considered quite gravely improper in the nineteenth century. Nevertheless, some topics have, if anything, become more indelicate than they were, and this is especially true of the discussion of income, of any discussion that tends, however remotely, to inquire, Who is it at the base of everything who really pays in blood and muscle and involuntary submissions for your freedom and magnificence? This, indeed, is almost the ultimate surviving indecency.

And she wanted to be free. It wasn't Mr. Brumley she wanted; he was but a means — if indeed he was a means — to an end. The person she wanted, the person she had always wanted — was herself. Could Mr. Brumley give her that? Would Mr. Brumley give her that? Was it conceivable he would carry sacrifice to such a pitch as that?...

لا يوجد تحرك أوتوماتيكي من معرفة حدود الحركة الإصلاحية الإسلامية إلى الاتجاه نحو السياسة الثورية، بل تؤدى حدود الإصلاحية إما إلى جماعات وعصابات إرهابية تحاول التحرك دون قاعدة جماهيرية، أو في اتجاه الهجوم الرجعي على ضحايا مشكلات النظام. ولأن كلا الاتجاهين يعبر عن نفسه بنفس اللغة الدينية، يوجد غالباً سيادة لاتجاه على آخر. فمن يريد الهجوم على النظام والامبريالية يهاجمون الأقباط والبربر والنساء المتبرجاء، ومن لديهم كراهية غريزية للنظام ككل يقعون في فخ الرغبة في التفاوض حول الشريعة من خلال الدولة. وعندما توجد انقسامات بين المجموعات المتصارعة -أحياناً ما تكون عنيفة لدرجة أنهم يشرعون في قتل بعضهم البعض كمرتدين عن الإسلام الحقيقي- يعبر عنها بطرق تخفى الأسباب الاجتماعية الحقيقية وراءها.

Slade placed his pistol on the table next to his chair. "Sid down, Doll. This might take awhile," he said, as he took a deep breath. "I gots a proposition for ya'. Does 100 G's interest you? Sure might help keep them debt collectors you got at bay. Plus, might be able to finish up yer' master's degree without havin' to work your ass off to pay the bills.

Their mouths crashed together. Tongues tangled. He kissed her as if he wanted to consume her, devour her alive. Fierce kisses, hard kisses, desperate, wanting kisses. He tasted like chocolate and smelled like sin. "Sam..." She pulled away. "I can't breathe." "Neither can I." Her wrapped his arms around her and drew her in for another hungry kiss. Hot, hard, and wet, melting her to the side of the Jeep. His tongue worked past her lips to plunge into her mouth, every stroke tugging at things low and deep in her belly. Her hands moved to his chest, sliding over his pecs and the ripple of abs beneath his shirt. Harman was perfect but Sam was real, his body hard from his fight training, muscles thick from use. He hissed out a breath when her fingers grazed the top of his belt, his infamous self-control giving way to her curious hands. "What are we doing?" he murmured as he drew her earlobe into his mouth, his five-o'clock shadow rough against her sensitive skin. "I don't know, but don't stop." "No chance of that." He shifted against her, his arousal as evident from his ragged breaths as the growing hardness pressed against her hips. When he thrust a thick thigh between her legs, she rocked against him, reckless and wanton in her need for release. She was dying, burning, her body on fire. She'd never felt anything like the toxic combination of anger and lust that pounded through her veins. It made her head spin, drove logic away.

Most of my life I’ve felt was dreaming. Now and then I wake up, sometimes for months, sometimes for minutes. Tonight I’m awake, and I lie thinking about the recent events and the people whose lives have crossed mine like veins in an old woman’s hands. Their faces float past…the twisted and the lame...the strong…the loving…for we are all twisted and lame, strong and loving.

Bağnazlık tuhaf şeydi. Bağnaz olmak için haklı olduğunuza iyice emin olmanız gerekir, insanın kendisini tutması kadar başka hiçbir şey bu kesinliği, haklılığı sağlayamaz. İnsanın kendini olayların üstüne çıkarması, sapkınlığın düşmanıdır. Ölmek hiçbir şeydi. El Sordo'nun ölümle ilgili bir korkusu yok­tu, ne de ölümle ilgili bir görüntü vardı kafasında. Ama yaşamak, bir tepenin yamacında rüzgarla salınan bir buğday tarlasıydı. Yaşamak, gökyüzünde dolanan bir atmacaydı. Tahılın savrulduğu, samanların uçuştuğu harman yerinde, tozlar içinde duran toprak bir testideki suydu yaşamak. Bacaklarının arasındaki bir attı yaşamak; bir baca­ğının altındaki karabinaydı, bir tepeydi, bir koyaktı, bir dereydi ke­narında, vadinin uzak kıyısında, tepelerin ötesindeki ağaçların uzan­dığı.

The herb ephedra has been used in China and India for five thousand years as a stimulant for cold and flu sufferers. Later known as Mormon tea, ephedra is now synthesized as pseudoephedrine and is found in many marketed cold remedies. (Unfortunately, it's also a key ingredient in the illicit manufacture of highly addictive and destructive methamphetamine.) Quinine, from the bark of the rain forest tree, Cinchona ledgeriana, is an effective preventive to malaria, one of the greatest killers of humanity, with up to one million deaths per year. The heart drug, dioxin, is synthesized from the foxglove flower. Aspirin's principle ingredients were recognized in willow bark by Hippocrates around 400 BCE. It was named and marketed by Bayer in 1899 and is still one of the biggest selling drugs in the world.

Researchers at Shanghai Jiao Tong University in China, Saga University in Japan, and the University of California, Davis, proposed creating an artificial inorganic leaf modeled on the real thing. They took a leaf of Anemone vitifolia, a plant native to China, and injected its veins with titanium dioxide-a well-known industrial photocatalyst. By taking on the precise branching shape and structure of the leaf's veins, the titanium dioxide produced much higher light-harvesting ability than if ti was used in a traditional configuration. The researchers found an astounding 800 percent increase in hydrogen production as well. The total performance was 300 percent more active than the world's best commercial photocatalysts. When they added platinum nanoparticles to the mix, it increased activity by a further 1,000 percent.

When Crimsworth praises Frances’s devoir and counsels her to cultivate her faculties, she replies not in words, but with a smile ‘in her eyes...almost triumphant,’ which seems to mean the following: ‘I am glad you have been forced to discover so much of my nature; you need not so carefully moderate your language. Do you think I am myself a stranger to myself? What you tell me in terms so qualified, I have known fully from a child.’ No words are uttered; that would be unseemly, and, the author implies, somewhat redundant.

She had learnt many things since the days of her first rebellion, and she knew now that this matter of the man friend and nothing else in the world is the central issue in the emancipation of women. The difficulty of him is latent in every other restriction of which women complain. The complete emancipation of women will come with complete emancipation of humanity from jealousy — and no sooner. All other emancipations are shams until a woman may go about as freely with this man as with that, and nothing remains for emancipation when she can.

Do you want children in your arranged marriage?" Layla frowned, trying to wrap her head around the sudden change of conversation. "That's a very personal question. but, yes. I want to have kids. At least three, so if the first one is a boy and the second is a girl, she won't feel like she's in a competition she can never win because she doesn't have a penis." Sam lowered his window and drew in a breath of air. "Shocked you, didn't I? Was it the word penis or the revelation that I would want children with a man I don't love?" "I'm beginning to realize there is no end to your ability to surprise me." Layla tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "Why did you ask me about kids? Are you worried I might be pregnant after our almost-kiss? Like some kind of immaculate conception?" A laugh escaped him, a short chuckle that disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. "Harman is a professional bodybuilder. That means steroids. Prolonged use of anabolic steroids can have significant effects including reduced sperm count, infertility, genital atrophy, erectile dysfunction, and shrunken testicles." "So you saw my penis and raised me a pair of shrunken testicles? I fold. You win. I dub thee Master of the Game.

Leaves are also teaching scientists about more effective capture of wind energy. Wind energy offers great promise, but current turbines are most effective when they have very long blades (even a football field long). These massive structures are expensive, hard to build, and too often difficult to position near cities. Those same blades sweep past a turbine tower with a distinctive thwacking sound, so bothersome that it discourages people from having wind turbines in their neighborhoods. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service also estimates that hundreds of thousands of birds and bats are killed each year by the rotating blades of conventional wind turbines. Instead, inspired by the way leaves on trees and bushes shake when wind passes through them, engineers at Cornell University have created vibro-wind. Their device harnesses wind energy through the motion of a panel of twenty-five foam blocks that vibrate in even a gentle breeze. Although real leaves don't generate electrical energy, they capture kinetic energy. Similarly, the motion of vibro-wind's "leaves" captures kinetic energy, which is used to excite piezoelectric cells that then emit electricity. A panel of vibro-wind leaves offers great potential for broadly distributed, low noise, low-cost energy generation.

The reality [of what life was like for the whole of our species for at least 90 percent of its history] was very different to the traditional Western image of such people as uncultured 'savages', living hard and miserable lives in 'a state of nature', with a bitter and bloody struggle to wrest a livelihood matched by a 'war of all against all', which made life 'nasty, brutish and short'. People lived in loose-knit groups of 30 or 40 which might periodically get together with other groups in bigger gatherings of up to 200. But life in such 'band societies' was certainly no harder than for many millions of people living in more 'civilised' agricultural or industrial societies. One eminent anthropologist has even called them 'the original affluent society'. ...An early Jesuit missionary noted of another hunter-gathering people, the Montagnais of Canada, 'The two tyrants who provide hell and torture for many of our Europeans do not reign in their great forests--I mean ambition and avarice...not one of them has given himself to the devil to acquire wealth'. ...Richard Lee is quite right to insist: "It is the long experience of egalitarian sharing that has moulded our past. Despite our seeming adaptation to life in hierarchical societies, and despite the rather dismal track record of human rights in many parts of the world, there are signs that humankind retains a deep-rooted sense of egalitarianism, a deep-rooted commitment to the norm of reciprocity, a deep-rooted...sense of community.

The corollary of new crimes that only some people can commit is to exempt others from punishment for standard crimes—indeed, to pro vide a license to kill. Harriet Harman, deputy leader of the British Labour Party and Minister for Women, proposes allowing women to kill their “intimate partners” with impunity if they kill while “claiming past, or fear of future, abuse from male partners.” Murder would thus be condoned if a woman claimed to have suffered “conduct which caused the defendant to have a justifiable sense of being seriously wronged.” How the dead (and unproven) “abusers” could establish their innocence is not discussed in the proposal. “Effectively, what Harman and the ultra-feminist lobby want is a licence for women to kill,” writes Erin Pizzey, a long-time advocate for domestic violence victims, who has reacted in horror at the hijacking of the movement by ideological extremists. “Women can murder as long as their sense of victimhood is sufficiently powerful. . . . Rather than reducing violence, Harriet Harman’s proposals could become a charter for domestic chaos, as vengeful women believe they can butcher partners they come to loathe, inventing incidents of abuse or exaggerating fears of assault.” Robert Whelan of the Civitas think-tank accused the government of introducing “gang law” into the legal system. Lyn Costello of Mothers Against Murder and Aggression described the changes as “utter madness.” “We need clear laws, not more grey areas. . . . Unless there are really exceptional circumstances, such as self-defence or protecting yourself or family, then there is no excuse for killing someone, and it should be murder.

Christianity had not started off as the ideology of an empire. Virtually nothing is known about its supposed founder, Jesus of Nazareth. There is not even any definite proof he was a historical rather than a mythical figure. Certainly the proof is not to be found in the Christian New Testament. It claims his birth was in Bethlehem in the Roman province of Judaea, where his family had gone for a census during the time of Augustus. But there was no census at the time stated and Judaea was not a Roman province at the time. When a census was held in AD 7 it did not require anyone to leave their place of residence. Similarly, the New Testament locates Jesus’s birth as in the time of King Herod, who died in 4 BC. Roman and Greek writers of the time make no mention of Jesus and a supposed reference by the Jewish-Roman writer Josephus is almost certainly a result of the imagination of medieval monks.100

He perceived too in these still hours how little he had understood her hitherto. He had been blinded, — obsessed. He had been seeing her and himself and the whole world far too much as a display of the eternal dualism of sex, the incessant pursuit. Now with his sexual imaginings newly humbled and hopeless, with a realization of her own tremendous minimization of that fundamental of romance, he began to see all that there was in her personality and their possible relations outside that. He saw how gravely and deeply serious was her fine philanthropy, how honest and simple and impersonal her desire for knowledge and understandings. There is the brain of her at least, he thought, far out of Sir Isaac's reach. She wasn't abased by her surrenders, their simplicity exalted her, showed her innocent and himself a flushed and congested soul. He perceived now with the astonishment of a man newly awakened just how the great obsession of sex had dominated him — for how many years? Since his early undergraduate days. Had he anything to put beside her own fine detachment? Had he ever since his manhood touched philosophy, touched a social question, thought of anything human, thought of art, or literature or belief, without a glancing reference of the whole question to the uses of this eternal hunt? During that time had he ever talked to a girl or woman with an unembarrassed sincerity? He stripped his pretences bare; the answer was no. His very refinements had been no more than indicative fig-leaves. His conservatism and morality had been a mere dalliance with interests that too brutal a simplicity might have exhausted prematurely. And indeed hadn't the whole period of literature that had produced him been, in its straining purity and refinement, as it were one glowing, one illuminated fig-leaf, a vast conspiracy to keep certain matters always in mind by conspicuously covering them away? But this wonderful woman — it seemed — she hadn't them in mind! She shamed him if only by her trustful unsuspiciousness of the ancient selfish game of Him and Her that he had been so ardently playing.... He idealized and worshipped this clean blindness. He abased himself before it.

Her mind escaped between them, and went exploring for itself through the great gaps they had made in the simple obedient assumptions of her girlhood. That question originally put in Paradise, "Why shouldn't we?" came into her mind and stayed there. It is a question that marks a definite stage in the departure from innocence. Things that had seemed opaque and immutable appeared translucent and questionable. She began to read more and more in order to learn things and get a light upon things, and less and less to pass the time. Ideas came to her that seemed at first strange altogether and then grotesquely justifiable and then crept to a sort of acceptance by familiarity. And a disturbing intermittent sense of a general responsibility increased and increased in her. You will understand this sense of responsibility which was growing up in Lady Harman's mind if you have felt it yourself, but if you have not then you may find it a little difficult to understand. You see it comes, when it comes at all, out of a phase of disillusionment. All children, I suppose, begin by taking for granted the rightness of things in general, the soundness of accepted standards, and many people are at least so happy that they never really grow out of this assumption. They go to the grave with an unbroken confidence that somewhere behind all the immediate injustices and disorders of life, behind the antics of politics, the rigidities of institutions, the pressure of custom and the vagaries of law, there is wisdom and purpose and adequate provision, they never lose that faith in the human household they acquired amongst the directed securities of home. But for more of us and more there comes a dissolution of these assurances; there comes illumination as the day comes into a candle-lit uncurtained room. The warm lights that once rounded off our world so completely are betrayed for what they are, smoky and guttering candles. Beyond what once seemed a casket of dutiful security is now a limitless and indifferent universe. Ours is the wisdom or there is no wisdom; ours is the decision or there is no decision. That burthen is upon each of us in the measure of our capacity. The talent has been given us and we may not bury it.

Timeline 1795 Daniel McInnis, John Smith, Anthony Vaughan 1804-05 The Onslow Company 1849-50 The Truro Company 1861-65 The Oak Island Association 1866-67 The Eldorado Company of 1866 (a.k.a. The Halifax Company) 1878 Mrs. Sophia Sellers accidentally discovers the Cave-In Pit 1893-99 The Oak Island Treasure Co. (Frederick Blair) 1909-11 The Old Gold Salvage Company (Captain Henry Bowdoin) 1931 William Chappell 1934 Thomas Nixon 1935-38 Gilbert Hedden 1938-44 Professor Edwin Hamilton 1951 Mel Chappell and Associates 1955 George Green 1958 William and Victor Harman 1959-65 Robert Restall 1965-66 Robert Dunfield 1969-2006 Triton Alliance (David Tobias and Dan Blankenship) 2006 Oak Island Tours Inc. (Marty Lagina, Rick Lagina, Craig Tester, Alan J. Kostrzewa, and Dan Blankenship)

Insecurities and social media are killing relationships. Show off is conquering love.

The truth lies in the fact that nothing is permanent in this world. Not even love! Not even you.

Paint the canvas of your life with joy because it is you who is responsible for your happiness.

you have extra rooms. I’ve studied it out.

would

reinventing

There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face.

Acquiring a dog may be the only time a person gets to choose a relative.

Yes. There are a variety of reasons that we as humans age, one of which is oxidant stress from free radical formation. Known as the Free Radical Theory of Aging, this explanation was first proposed by Denham Harman in the 1950s. Other theories include unchecked inflammation, glycation, cell membrane and DNA damage. Interestingly, they are interrelated as I will explain. Every cell in our body requires energy for a variety of processes. The production of such cellular energy or ATP (adenosine triphosphate) is occurring at the molecular level, unbeknownst to you, billions of times per second, in cellular structures known as mitochondria. Through a complex series of chemical reactions, electrons are ultimately transferred to oxygen, driving the formation of ATP molecules. No oxygen, no electron receptor, death ensues. (Note: Cyanide poisons this so-called “electron transport chain” often times resulting in death.) This process of ATP generation is imperfect.

the quintessential small town mortuary owner. When

To treat an object primarily as part of a network is to assume it can be reduced to that set of qualities and relations that it manifests in this particular network.

he was worried there might be a problem with the ferry the following day, and he wanted to make sure he’d be able to attend the funeral.

The clock ticks. There's rain on the tin roof. Wade finds some music on his cell phone...............I throw a log on the fire and the flames shoot up. We are slipping into the timeless waters of childbirth, where there are waves and then rest. Waves and then rest.

Love is friendship set to music.

Harman’s entire world

Sidney Harman, another highly successful CEO who was largely self-educated (he co-founded Harman Kardon), expressed the point well in his memoir, Mind Your Own Business: “Writing is not the simple transfer of fully formed intellectual inventory from brain to paper… Writing is discovery. It is, as Dylan Thomas said, ‘the blank page on which I read my mind.