Heroes Key Quotes

Wisdom's daughter walks alone—” “Ella!” Frank stood suddenly. “Maybe it's not the best time—” “The Mark of Athena burns through Rome,” Ella continued, cupping her hands over her ears and raising her voice. “Twins snuff out the angel's breath, Who holds the key to endless death. Giants' bane stands gold and pale, Won with pain from a woven jail.

That's what heroes did. They ran straight toward danger and didn't ever give up.

Courage is more exhilarating than fear and in the long run it is easier. We do not have to become heroes overnight. Just a step at a time, meeting each thing that comes up, seeing it is not as dreadful as it appeared, discovering we have the strength to stare it down.

Wisdom's daughter walks alone. The Mark of Athena burns through Rome. Twins snuff out the angel's breath, Who holds the key to endless death. Giant's bane stands gold and pale, Won through pain from a woven jail.

God! I hated this business of being grown-up. I hated having to make decisions where I didn't know what was behind the door. I wanted a world where heroes and villains were clearly labeled. Where ominous music comes on-screen so you can't possibly mistake him. Where someone asks you to choose between playing with the beautiful princess in the fragrant garden and being eaten by the hideous monster in the foul-smelling pit. Not exactly a difficult one, now is it? Not something that you would agonize over, or that would make you lose a night's sleep?

The problem of the hero is to pierce himself (and therewith his world) precisely through that point; to shatter and annihilate that key knot of his limited existence.

Don’t leave out the key adjectives in there. Kill one low-ranked, disappointing brother in order to save the long-lost hero with a bright future. That makes the equation a bit easier.

The heroes of the past are untouchable, protected forever by the fortress door of time - unless some mysterious stranger magically turns up with a key.

A key element in everyone’s hero’s journey is the “decision point,” the moment when, often following a crisis, the hero is confronted by a major choice, a crossroad, a life redirection, a safe or a risky option. Choose one path and your life changes in a certain way, choose another and you veer off into an alternate reality.

Percy stared at his jelly donut. He had a rocky history with Nico di Angelo. The guy had once tricked him into visiting Hades's palace, and Percy had ended up in a cell. But most of the time, Nico sided with the good guys. He certainly didn't deserve slow suffocation in a bronze jar, and Percy couldn't stand seeing Hazel in pain. "We'll rescue him," he promised her. "We have to. The prophecy says he holds the key to endless death.

Keep the fights clean and the sex dirty. -Keys to a healthy relationship

That was what made the story so epic: the player, the hero, had to suffer mightily en route to his final triumph. Schwartz knew that people loved to suffer, as long as the suffering made sense. Everybody suffered. The key was to choose the form of your suffering. Most people couldn't do this alone; they needed a coach. A good coach made you suffer in a way that suited you. A bad coach made everyone suffer in the same way, and so was more like a torturer.

Gender equality is not a belief, it is not an idea - it is a key element of the society that will define whether we the humans shall march ahead towards glory and advancement, or sink into the abyss of an existential doom.

Ah, Mademoiselle Oddlow - trouble is all around. But heroes are rare.

Anakin: "Hi Tahiri." Tahiri: "Hi, yourself, great hero-from-the-stars who's too good to keep in touch with his best friend." Anakin: "I've—" Tahiri: "Been busy. Right." ―Anakin Solo and Tahiri Veila

The Five Keys 1.Always be involved in her life 2.Respect and honor her mom. 3.Treasure every moment with her. 4.Pray for her every day. 5.Be her hero.

I want to bang you like a screen door in a hurricane.

I have to stop this cascade of memories, or at least take them out of their drawer only for a moment, have a brief look, and put them back. I know how to do it now: I have to take the key to acting and apply it to my life. There is no other way to survive except to be in the moment. Just as my accident and its aftermath caused me to redefine what a hero, I've had to take a hard look at what it means to live as fully as possible in the present. How do you survive in the moment when it's bleak and painful and the past seems so seductive?

Chaos is not noise, it’s signal; disorder is not a mistake, it’s a design element. If we view these periods as aberrations, we risk their becoming missed opportunities. If we view them as openings, we just might open up to them. Transitions are not going away; the key to benefiting from them is to not turn away. Don’t shield your eyes when the scary parts start; that’s when the heroes are made.

If there were a way of putting an end to himself by some purely mental act he would put an end to himself at once, without further ado. His mind is full of stories of people who bring about their end - who methodically pay bills, write goodbye notes, burn old love letters, label keys, and then, once everything is in order, don their Sunday best and swallow down pills they have hoarded for the occasion and settle themselves on their neatly made beds and compose features for oblivion. Heroes all of them, unsung, unlauded. I am resolved not to be of any trouble.

Jack knelt at the floor in front of her. “You did so great. Cutting off the power was the smartest thing anyone could’ve done in that situation.” She wiped her eyes. “Right, I’m such a hero. You dove off a thirty-five-foot staircase. I turned off a light switch.” “It . . . was a very key light switch.

The Mark of Athena burns through Rome,” Ella continued, cupping her hands over her ears and raising her voice. “Twins snuff out the angel’s breath, Who holds the key to endless death. Giants’ bane stands gold and pale, Won through pain from a woven jail.

Dave, the key to life and the key to all your problems is this: money in the bank calms nerves!

The key is, no matter what story you tell, make your buyer the hero.

Gun safety rules: Do not piss off the woman holding the gun.

I hated this business of being grown-up. I hated having to make decisions where I didn't know what was behind the door. I wanted a world where heroes and villains were clearly labeled.

And GUESS WHO ordered your guards to chain up Clay?” Tsunami demanded. She flung an accusing talon toward Shark. “COMMANDER SHARK! Of all the dragons who should obey you in everything! Is that not UTTERLY SHOCKING?” “It is,” Coral said. Tsunami thought she might be grinding her teeth, but she hid it well. “I find it quite hard to believe.” “Imagine the distress the poor guards felt,” Tsunami said, “when I explained to them that you would never have ordered those chains on Clay. To have to choose between their commander and their queen! Naturally they chose you, of course. That’s why they gave me the key to Clay’s chains. Because they understood that’s what you would have wanted them to do. Right?” Queen Coral gave Tsunami an appraising glance. Beside her, Blister was eating her soup with an amused expression. “Very good,” Coral said slowly. “It sounds like those guards are practically heroes.” “And Shark —” Tsunami prodded her. “To the dungeon with him as well,” the queen said with a wave. Shark didn’t protest like Lagoon had. He snarled at the guards who approached him, shot Tsunami a look full of hatred, and headed off to the dungeon without another word. Splendid,

Just as creativity enables us to envision novel solutions to tough problems, it can also enable us to develop original paths around rules, all the while allowing us to reinterpret information in a self-serving way. Putting our creative minds to work can help us come up with a narrative that lets us have our cake and eat it too, and create stories in which we’re always the hero, never the villain. If the key to our dishonesty is our ability to think of ourselves as honest and moral people while at the same time benefitting from cheating, creativity can help us tell better stories—stories that allow us to be even more dishonest but still think of ourselves as wonderfully honest people.

The Ancient Egyptians postulated seven souls.” Top soul (Vicarious), and the first to leave at the moment of death, is Ren the Secret name. This corresponds to my Director. He directs the film of your life from conception to death. The Secret Name is the title of your film. When you die, that's where Ren came in. Second soul (Jambi), and second one off the sinking ship, is Sekem: Energy, Power. LIGHT. The Director gives the orders, Sekem presses the right buttons. Number three (Wings/Days) is Khu, the Guardian Angel. He, she or it is third man out...depicted as flying away across a full moon, a bird with luminous wings and head of light. The sort of thing you might see on a screen in an Indian restaurant in Panama. The Khu is responsible for the subject and can be injured in his defense - but not permanently, since the first three souls are eternal. They go back to Heaven for another vessel. The four remaining souls must take their chances with the subject in the land of the dead. Number four (The Pot) is Ba, the Heart, often treacherous. This is a hawk's body with your face on it, shrunk down to the size of a fist. Many a hero has been brought down, like Samson, by a perfidious Ba. Number five (L.C., Lost Keys, Rosetta Stoned) is Ka, the double, most closely associated with the subject. The Ka, which usually reaches adolescence at the time of bodily death, is the only reliable guide through the Land of the Dead to the Western Lands. Number six (Instension) is Khaibit, the Shadow, Memory, your whole past conditioning from this and other lives. Number seven (Right in Two) is Sekhu, the Remains

The flashy, publicity-seeking type of adventurer can grab the headlines and be a hero in the eyes of the public, but he simply can’t deliver the goods in high command. On the other hand, the slow, methodical, ritualistic person is absolutely valueless in a key position.

I spoke softly. “The cops will eat you alive, Benjamin Blue. You have to go.” Ben tensed, ready to argue. “Detective Hawfield died. This is going to get serious. It’s way too much heat for you. Please be sensible.” Ben hesitated. Then his shoulders slumped. “Maybe you’re right.” Deep breath. “But you’re taking away the other possibility, too.” “I don’t understand.” I glanced over my shoulder at the approaching vehicle. “What other possibility?” He smiled wanly. “Ben Blue, The Hero. That kinda would’ve been nice.” I paused, at a loss for words. My heart broke for him. “But that’s okay.” Ben dug keys from his pocket. “After all, we’re Virals, not heroes. And that’s fine. Plus, I’m not really the hero type.” He turned to leave. Impulsively, I grabbed Ben’s arm. Pulled him close. Smashed my lips against his. The kiss only lasted a second, but also an eternity. Then I stepped back and shoved Ben toward the Explorer. “Of course you’re the type.” I was grateful the darkness hid my blushes. “Now go.” Ben stared, stricken, thunderstruck. Hi and Shelton watched, wide-eyed with shock. “Weirdest birthday ever,” Hi whispered.

I've always hated the notion, in life or in fiction, that the human personality is a puzzle to be solved, that we are a single flashback away from understanding why this person is cruel to her children, why that man has a dreamy, downcast look. A human being is not a lock and the past is not a key.

He tugged on Cinders’ reins and guided her to Nerissa’s right. If looks could kill, he’d be as melted as a candle placed on a hunk of red-hot iron. Something about him just rubbed her the wrong way, he supposed. It wouldn’t the first time someone disliked him, and he doubted it would be the last.

On Turgenev: He knew from Lavrov that I was an enthusiastic admirer of his writings; and one day, as we were returning in a carriage from a visit to Antokolsky's studio, he asked me what I thought of Bazarov. I frankly replied, 'Bazaraov is an admirable painting of the nihilist, but one feels that you did not love him as mush as you did your other heroes.' 'On the contrary, I loved him, intensely loved him,' Turgenev replied, with an unexpected vigor. 'When we get home I will show you my diary, in which I have noted how I wept when I had ended the novel with Bazarov's death.' Turgenev certainly loved the intellectual aspect of Bazarov. He so identified himself with the nihilist philosophy of his hero that he even kept a diary in his name, appreciating the current events from Bazarov's point of view. But I think that he admired him more than he loved him. In a brilliant lecture on Hamlet and Don Quixote, he divided the history makers of mankind into two classes, represented by one or the other of these characters. 'Analysis first of all, and then egotism, and therefore no faith,--an egotist cannot even believe in himself:' so he characterized Hamlet. 'Therefore he is a skeptic, and never will achieve anything; while Don Quixote, who fights against windmills, and takes a barber's plate for the magic helmet of Mambrino (who of us has never made the same mistake?), is a leader of the masses, because the masses always follow those who, taking no heed of the sarcasms of the majority, or even of persecutions, march straight forward, keeping their eyes fixed upon a goal which is seen, perhaps, by no one but themselves. They search, they fall, but they rise again and find it,--and by right, too. Yet, although Hamlet is a skeptic, and disbelieves in Good, he does not disbelieve in Evil. He hates it; Evil and Deceit are his enemies; and his skepticism is not indifferentism, but only negation and doubt, which finally consume his will.' These thought of Turgenev give, I think, the true key for understanding his relations to his heroes. He himself and several of his best friends belonged more or less to the Hamlets. He loved Hamlet, and admired Don Quixote. So he admired also Bazarov. He represented his superiority admirably well, he understood the tragic character of his isolated position, but he could not surround him with that tender, poetical love which he bestowed as on a sick friend, when his heroes approached the Hamlet type. It would have been out of place.

Soon you shall be landing In the battleground, ensure you have the right weapons to fight the enemy; ensure you know your enemy and what he is capable of; take them unprepared to gain the victory and stand with your head held high; show it to the world the cause you have been fighting for, deception is the key, challenge your enemy when it is least expected; break them mentally before breaking them physically. You are a soldier; your enemy is a soldier and you are facing the best, both sides have a lot of similarities only variation lies in the cause. Cause is driver for the battle; cause is binding comrades together and even if the victory is gained the cause stays undefeated. You stand defeated for your strategy, tactics and leaders but never for the cause, it’s still alive, it shall always be alive with the men who have sacrificed their lives, with the men who are still alive. They stand defeated with the physical strength but not for the cause they have believed in and you can never take it away from them. Fight for a cause and you shall stay invincible. A war story is always biased towards one side and it’s hard to narrate a true war story. We choose and make our heroes from what we have read, heard and believed in. If we know the cause both sides are standing for, it will become difficult to take sides. Always respect your enemy, respect for the fact they are standing neck to neck with you, respect them for the courage they have shown to defend the other side, their land, respect them for whatever you have earned the respect for from your men, from your country and from your people. Powerful strategies, tactics, weapons, leaders are allies to the war, they support but never claims victory all my themselves Greatest wars won always had the greater cause. Rebel without a cause is never a rebel just an aimless person whose fate lies in the defeat.

And if it does not seem possible to see between the myths, the heroes, the propaganda, the hindsight and the tall tales, then do not panic: this is the way the house of history is built, and you are already locked inside. The door has no key, and what you thought windows are simply finely drawn pictures, blurred from the touch of too many fingers.

KEY POINT: Write down a number of possible options for the hero’s weaknesses and change.

KEY POINT: To be a true choice, your hero must either select one of two positive outcomes or, on rare occasions, avoid one of two negative outcomes (as in Sophie’s Choice).

There’s another key aspect to this splitting: people with BPD also split themselves, often into victim or hero—or into someone capable or someone incompetent.

If you're not the hero of your talent story, you simply become a player in one you didn't choose.

On the last contraction, the intern started shoving his hand up my woman’s vagina, and I was about to lose my shit when Channing yelled, “Get out of my cunt, you big handed heifer!

I did not know how to help her; I was not the hero for whom she waited, the man whose touch could dissolve the wall around her and set her free.

I like your dick and I cannot lie. My orgasm is the reason why.

To see people who will notice a need in the world and do something about it. . . . Those are my heroes. —FRED ROGERS

To my father, my teacher, my role model and hero. You are the best father ever, and I am proud to be your son. Thank you showing me how to be a successful husband, father and professional.

She’s not a mere duplicate of the male version, as many female heroes tend to be characterized, simply adopting the masculine narrative, nor is she a hyper-sexualized object using seduction as the source of her strength. Olivia is not overly emotional, but she’s sensitive when the occasion arises. Because she plays such an even-keeled, reasonable character (one long-criticized for being “wooden”), her moments of vulnerability, anger, or lust are that much more compelling. Though she is “haunted” as Peter says (“Over There, Part 2”), she is not vengeful or hateful. In fact this may be a key reason why fans were so completely underwhelmed by her character in season 1: Olivia’s no drama queen. She tries her best to be impartial, honest, and painstakingly reasonable.

No. I just love research and I remember most of what I read. Most kids watch superhero shows and wish to be the hero or the one who falls in love with the hero. Me? I always wanted to be the researcher who found out the key that solved the mystery. Like Alfred to Batman—

No key on this fucker, but everything did appear in my pack. Much like everything else about you, this makes no gods damn sense. At all. Answers soon or I start killing your beetles while you sleep.” “What? No, seriously, they won’t taste right if you kill them,” Runner whined.

She talks with wolves, without knowing what sort of beasts they are: Where have you been all my life? they ask. Where have I been all my life? she replies. We know! We know! And we know wolfishness when we see it! Look out, we shout at her silently, thinking of all the smart things we would do in her place. But trapped inside the white pages, she can’t hear us, and goes prancing and warbling and lolloping innocently towards her doom. (Innocence! Perhaps that’s the key to stupidity, we tell ourselves, who think we gave it up long ago.) If she escapes from anything, it’s by sheer luck, or else the hero: this girl couldn’t tear her way out of a paper bag.

The Renaissance did not break completely with mediaeval history and values. Sir Philip Sidney is often considered the model of the perfect Renaissance gentleman. He embodied the mediaeval virtues of the knight (the noble warrior), the lover (the man of passion), and the scholar (the man of learning). His death in 1586, after the Battle of Zutphen, sacrificing the last of his water supply to a wounded soldier, made him a hero. His great sonnet sequence Astrophel and Stella is one of the key texts of the time, distilling the author's virtues and beliefs into the first of the Renaissance love masterpieces. His other great work, Arcadia, is a prose romance interspersed with many poems and songs.

In all my time as an activist, I've never seen a single instance where the people instigating abuse, even in the worst possible cases, thought they were the 'bad guys'. There is always a righteous undertone. Dehumanization works its mental magic, and turning the target into a 'villain' provides the attacker with the chance to be a 'hero'. You can rationalize doing all kinds of things to a symbol that you would never do to a human. The campaign becomes a false battle between good and evil, and tormenting someone is seen as a struggle over something much larger than either of you. That's the key ingredient in the magic trick that, in the abusers' minds, turns screaming at a game developer's father through a telephone into defending an entire artistic medium from censorship.

The gates were doing something to him already, because as he raised his hand to wave back at his parents, Mitchell felt ten years old again, tearing up, choked with feeling for these two human beings who, like figures from myth, had possessed the ability throughout his life to blend into the background, to turn to stone or wood, only to come alive again, at key moments like this, to witness his hero’s journey. Lillian

Here are some key attributes of the voice in my head. I suspect they will sound familiar. • It’s often fixated on the past and future, at the expense of whatever is happening right now. The voice loves to plan, plot, and scheme. It’s always making lists or rehearsing arguments or drafting tweets. One moment it has you fantasizing about some halcyon past or Elysian future. Another moment you’re ruing old mistakes or catastrophizing about some not-yet-arrived events. As Mark Twain is reputed to have said, “Some of the worst things in my life never even happened.” • The voice is insatiable. The default mental condition for too many human beings is dissatisfaction. Under the sway of the ego, nothing is good enough. We’re always on the hunt for the next dopamine hit. We hurl ourselves headlong from one cookie, one promotion, one party to the next, and yet a great many of us are never fully sated. How many meals, movies, and vacations have you enjoyed? And are you done yet? Of course not. • The voice is unrelievedly self-involved. We are all the stars of our own movies, whether we cast ourselves as hero, victim, black hat, or all three. True, we can get temporarily sucked into other people’s stories, but often as a means of comparing ourselves to them. Everything ultimately gets subordinated to the one plotline that matters: the Story of Me.

The paradox of creation, the coming of the forms of time out of eternity, is the germinal secret of the father. It can never be quite explained. Therefore, in every system of theology, there is an umbilical point, an Schillies tendon, which the finger of mother life has touched, and where the possibility of perfect knolwege has been imparted. The problem of the hero is to pierce himself (and therewith his world) precisely through that point; to shatter and annhilate the key knot of his limited existence. The problem of the hero going to meet the father is open to his soul beyon terror to such a degree that he will be ripe to understand how the sickening and insane tragedies of this vast and rutheless comsmos are completely validated in the majesty of Being. The hero transcends life with its peculiar blind spot and for a moment rises to glimpse of the source. He beholds the face of the father, understands - and the two are atoned.

Before this grief, mountains must bend down And rivers stop, But prison locks are strong, And behind them are the labor-camp bunks And the deadly tedium. For others the fresh breeze is blowing, For others the extravagant sun sets — For us everything is the same, we know nothing, We hear only the keys and their hateful grinding. Only the soldiers' stiff steps. We get up as for early Mass in the city, The savaged city, and coming We meet ourselves, the dead, the unbreathing. The sun is low, the Neva misty, It is only in the distance that hope is singing. The sentence . . . and at once tears, Now everything has been taken, The rest of life, torn from her heart, Knocked backwards by a hoodlum And yet she walks . . . stumbles . . . alone . . . Where are they now, unwilling friends Of years in Hell? What visions do they see in Siberian snow-storms? What hallucinations in the circle of the moon? I send them this goodbye and wish them well.

Now give me the key to Augie’s handcuffs.” Jacobson draws back. “Sir?” I don’t repeat myself. A president doesn’t have to. I just meet his eyes. Jacobson was Special Forces, just as I was a long time ago, but that’s where our similarities end. His intensity is not born of discipline or devotion to duty so much as it is a way of life. He doesn’t seem to know another way. He’s the type who falls out of bed in the morning and bangs out a hundred push-ups and stomach crunches. He is a soldier looking for a war, a hero in search of a moment of heroism. He hands me the key. “Mr. President,

The Roman general wanted to spare Archimedes, because he was so valuable—sort of like the Einstein of the ancient world—but some stupid Roman soldier killed him.” “There you go again,” Hazel muttered. “Stupid and Roman don’t always go together, Leo.” Frank grunted agreement. “How do you know all this, anyway?” he demanded. “Is there a Spanish tour guide around here?” “No, man,” Leo said. “You can’t be a demigod who’s into building stuff and not know about Archimedes. The guy was seriously elite. He calculated the value of pi. He did all this math stuff we still use for engineering. He invented a hydraulic screw that could move water through pipes.” Hazel scowled. “A hydraulic screw. Excuse me for not knowing about that awesome achievement.” “He also built a death ray made of mirrors that could burn enemy ships,” Leo said. “Is that awesome enough for you?” “I saw something about that on TV,” Frank admitted. “They proved it didn’t work.” “Ah, that’s just because modern mortals don’t know how to use Celestial bronze,” Leo said. “That’s the key. Archimedes also invented a massive claw that could swing on a crane and pluck enemy ships out of the water.” “Okay, that’s cool,” Frank admitted. “I love grabber-arm games.” “Well, there you go,” Leo said. “Anyway, all his inventions weren’t enough. The Romans destroyed his city. Archimedes was killed.

I always thought of myself as a humanities person as a kid, but I liked electronics,” he said. “Then I read something that one of my heroes, Edwin Land of Polaroid, said about the importance of people who could stand at the intersection of humanities and sciences, and I decided that’s what I wanted to do.” It was as if he were suggesting themes for his biography (and in this instance, at least, the theme turned out to be valid). The creativity that can occur when a feel for both the humanities and the sciences combine in one strong personality was the topic that most interested me in my biographies of Franklin and Einstein, and I believe that it will be a key to creating innovative economies in the twenty-first century.

He already knew he could coach. All you had to do was look at each of your players and ask yourself: What story does this guy wish someone would tell him about himself? And then you told the guy that story. You told it with a hint of doom. You included his flaws. You emphasized the obstacles that could prevent him from succeeding. That was what made the story epic: the player, the hero, had to suffer mightily en route to his final triumph. Schwartz knew that people loved to suffer, as long as the suffering made sense. Everybody suffered. The key was to choose the form of your suffering. Most people couldn’t do this alone; they needed a coach. A good coach made you suffer in a way that suited you. A bad coach made everyone suffer in the same way, and so was more like a torturer.

They came to the treasure chest, they asked for the keys. They realized Volund’s skill when they peered inside. The boys saw many ornaments, all of them made of gold and gems. Volund said, “Come back alone, just you two, the day after tomorrow. I will give all this gold to you if you do. Don’t tell the ladies, don’t tell the men— don’t tell anyone at all that you’re meeting with me. Early on the appointed day, one boy said to the other: “Let’s go see the rings.” So the two boys came and asked for the keys. They realized Volund’s skill when they peered inside. He cut off the heads of those young boys, he hid their bodies under his bellows. But he took their skulls and scalped them, set them with silver, and sent them as cups to Nithuth. And from the eyes of those young boys he made jewels for their mother.

Successive generations of Americans, both soldiers and civilians, made the killing of Indian men, women, and children a defining element of their first military tradition and thereby part of a shared American identity. Indeed, only after seventeenth- and early-eighteenth-century Americans made the first way of war a key to being a white American could later generations of ‘Indian haters,’ men like Andrew Jackson, turn the Indian wars into race wars.” By then, the Indigenous peoples’ villages, farmlands, towns, and entire nations formed the only barrier to the settlers’ total freedom to acquire land and wealth. Settler colonialists again chose their own means of conquest. Such fighters are often viewed as courageous heroes, but killing the unarmed women, children, and old people and burning homes and fields involved neither courage nor sacrifice. So

Sometimes the hero and the leader can fuse in the same individual. But often this does not happen. A hero does not need followers, a leader cannot be imagined without those he leads. A hero sacrifices himself, while a leader may not succumb to this magnificent impulse. A hero must be courageous, a leader does what must be done, even risk being perceived as cowardly sometimes. A hero inspires the storytellers, a leader lives on in the hearts of his followers. A hero is concerned with what the Gods will think of him, a leader is concerned with protecting and nurturing his people and his land. A hero will not leave the moral high ground, even if it hurts his people, while a leader will step down from the moral high ground if need be, and even sacrifice his own soul for the good of the people he leads. A hero will fight the enemy against insurmountable odds and embrace death with a flourish. A leader will respond calmly and deny the enemy a key strategic advantage in a battle.

Therefore, we are led to the conclusion that growth in the spiritual life (and this is surprising to capitalists) takes place not by acquisition of something new. It isn’t like the acquisition of new information, which some call “spiritual capitalism.” In reality our growth is hidden. It is accomplished by the release of our current defense postures, by the letting go of fear and our attachment to self-image. Thus, we grow by subtraction much more than by addition. It’s not a matter of more and better information. The wisdom traditions say that information itself is not the key. Once our defenses are out of the way and we are humble and poor, truth is allowed to show itself. It is not acquired. It shows itself when we are free from ideology, fear, and anger. “I know” won’t get us anywhere. The truth is, I don’t know anything. Our real hero is Forrest Gump! Perhaps he was a metaphor for beginner’s mind. Only nonknowing is spacious enough to hold and not distort the knowing that is possible.

How does ANY male-identified person know he is a man? And does my answer really diverge greatly from how many men, trans or cisgender, would answer? Transgender people are often said to have a 'narrative' to their lives; we’re encouraged to see our journey toward recognizing our gender as a story with an articulable pattern. The truth is, though, that everyone’s gender is a story; it’s just that trans folks are more likely to be — perhaps I could say “are given the gift of having to be” — aware of it. The story of becoming a man, a woman, or a person of any other gender often follows aspects of that most instinctual of story arcs: the hero’s journey. For instance, my personal narrative was one of effort in seeking a transformative goal (a quest), assistance (tools provided by medicine, law, and intangible emotional support), and mentorship by those who went before me (guides). And my manhood was ultimately achieved through what could be considered rites of passage — which is to say a similar structure to communal cultural tales of how one achieves cisgender manhood. It’s simply some details that vary. I do see one key difference in how all this plays out, however: Trans men make this invisible process disconcertingly visible by flipping the variables. While a cisgender man may be born with certain inherent potentials to physically embody a manhood that others will acknowledge socially, he’s not necessarily imbued with the demanding drive, the internal compass, the awareness of the systems and tropes he’s drawing on, and the deep gratitude concerning the specific man he’ll be. It’s quite possible to reach cisgender manhood externally (for instance, by reaching a certain age or displaying changes in voice, facial hair, etc.) long before one reaches an internal sense of his own unique self — and, further, before one reaches a sense of how hard he’ll fight to be that self, no matter the costs or resistance. For trans men it’s often much the opposite case." - from "'But How Do You Know You're a Man?': On Trans People, Narrative, and Trust

In a Harvard Business Review article titled “Do Women Lack Ambition?” Anna Fels, a psychiatrist at Cornell University, observes that when the dozens of successful women she interviewed told their own stories, “they refused to claim a central, purposeful place.” Were Dr. Fels to interview you, how would you tell your story? Are you using language that suggests you’re the supporting actress in your own life? For instance, when someone offers words of appreciation about a dinner you’ve prepared, a class you’ve taught, or an event you organized and brilliantly executed, do you gracefully reply “Thank you” or do you say, “It was nothing”? As Fels tried to understand why women refuse to be the heroes of their own stories, she encountered the Bem Sex-Role Inventory, which confirms that society considers a woman to be feminine only within the context of a relationship and when she is giving something to someone. It’s no wonder that a “feminine” woman finds it difficult to get in the game and demand support to pursue her goals. It also explains why she feels selfish when she doesn’t subordinate her needs to others. A successful female CEO recently needed my help. It was mostly business-related but also partly for her. As she started to ask for my assistance, I sensed how difficult it was for her. Advocate on her organization’s behalf? Piece of cake. That’s one of the reasons her business has been successful. But advocate on her own behalf? I’ll confess that even among my closest friends I find it painful to say, “Look what I did,” and so I don’t do it very often. If you want to see just how masterful most women have become at deflecting, the next time you’re with a group of girlfriends, ask them about something they (not their husband or children) have done well in the past year. Chances are good that each woman will quickly and deftly redirect the conversation far, far away from herself. “A key type of discrimination that women face is the expectation that feminine women will forfeit opportunities for recognition,” says Fels. “When women do speak as much as men in a work situation or compete for high-visibility positions, their femininity is assailed.” My point here isn’t to say that relatedness and nurturing and picking up our pom-poms to cheer others on is unimportant. Those qualities are often innate to women. If we set these “feminine” qualities aside or neglect them, we will have lost an irreplaceable piece of ourselves. But to truly grow up, we must learn to throw down our pom-poms, believing we can act and that what we have to offer is a valuable part of who we are. When we recognize this, we give ourselves permission to dream and to encourage the girls and women

After moving his family from Yakima to Paradise, California, in 1958, he enrolled at Chico State College. There, he began an apprenticeship under the soon-to-be-famous John Gardner, the first "real writer" he had ever met. "He offered me the key to his office," Carver recalled in his preface to Gardner’s On Becoming a Novelist (1983). "I see that gift now as a turning point." In addition, Gardner gave his student "close, line-by-line criticism" and taught him a set of values that was "not negotiable." Among these values were convictions that Carver held until his death. Like Gardner, whose On Moral Fiction (1978) decried the "nihilism" of postmodern formalism, Carver maintained that great literature is life-connected, life-affirming, and life-changing. "In the best fiction," he wrote "the central character, the hero or heroine, is also the ‘moved’ character, the one to whom something happens in the story that makes a difference. Something happens that changes the way that character looks at himself and hence the world." Through the 1960s and 1970s he steered wide of the metafictional "funhouse" erected by Barth, Barthelme and Company, concentrating instead on what he called "those basics of old-fashioned storytelling: plot, character, and action." Like Gardner and Chekhov, Carver declared himself a humanist. "Art is not self-expression," he insisted, "it’s communication.

We are each of us the result of billions of years of the universe evolving toward its own splendor. And evolution builds: the very mitochondria that power our cells and give us life once existed as separate organisms that first infected our pre–pre–human ancestors and then became one with them. We each contain not only the slime mold and the worm, the fish and amphibian and reptile, but the pig and the ape and the barely human. If we look hard enough, we can discern hundreds of parts: kings and queens, warriors and troubadours, mages, bullies, and saints. And hustlers, adventurers, survivors, rebels, reactionaries, and rogues. And the part of us that wants to be more than human, or rather more fully human. I believe that we need to enlist all these separate selves into a single army of free companions who respect each other and love each other to the death. And who are willing to devote their lives to fight together in order to win a shared splendor. I will return to this theme of integration again and again, for it is key to everything. All of my characters struggle with themselves, and face as well external obstacles such as exploding stars or dragons or icy wastelands cold enough to freeze the breath. Maram, who writes poems glorifying his second chakra (the body’s sexual center), pants like a dog after every enticing woman he sees. Even as he resists his essential nobility and destiny as a hero, he insists that every man deserves at least one vice. When it is pointed out to him that he also drinks, gambles, gluttonizes, and whores, he declares that he is still trying to decide which vice will be his.

Key to the success of many with ADHD is finding the “right life” in which to live. This means a job in which their particular talents for nonlinear thinking and quick emergency response are prized, and a spouse who can appreciate, or at least learn to live with, an often uneven distribution of work within the relationship. Without these things, many with ADHD feel that they don’t really fit into the world, or that the face that they put forward in order to fit in is false. The other critical factor for the success of an ADHD spouse in a relationship is for both partners to continue to respect differences and act on that respect. Here’s what one woman with ADHD says about living a life in which others assume that “different” is not worthy of respect: I think [my husband] uses the ADD as an excuse to be bossy and stuff sometimes but I find it very upsetting and hard on my self esteem to have my disorder and learning disabilities used that way. We do have very different perspectives but reality is perspective. Just because I see things differently from someone else doesn’t make one wrong or right…how I experience life is colored by my perception, it is what it is. I hate how people try to invalidate my thoughts feelings and perceptions because they are different from theirs. Like telling me [since] they feel…different[ly] from me [that their feelings] should make me magically change! It doesn’t work that way. Even if my ADD makes me see or remember something “not right” it’s still MY reality. It is like those movies where the hero has something crazy going on where they experience reality differently from everyone else.

Revolt of solitary instincts against social bonds is the key to the philosophy, the politics, and the sentiments, not only of what is commonly called the romantic movement, but of its progeny down to the present day. Philosophy, under the influence of German idealism, became solipsistic, and self-development was proclaimed as the fundamental principle of ethics. As regards sentiment, there has to be a distasteful compromise between the search for isolation and the necessities of passion and economics. D. H. Lawrence's story, 'The Man Who Loved Islands', has a hero who disdained such compromise to a gradually increasing extent and at last died of hunger and cold, but in the enjoyment of complete isolation; but this degree of consistency has not been achieved by the writers who praise solitude. The comforts of civilized life are not obtainable by a hermit, and a man who wishes to write books or produce works of art must submit to the ministrations of others if he is to survive while he does his work. In order to continue to feel solitary, he must be able to prevent those who serve him from impinging upon his ego, which is best accomplished if they are slaves. Passionate love, however, is a more difficult matter. So long as passionate lovers are regarded as in revolt against social trammels, they are admired; but in real life the love-relation itself quickly becomes a social trammel, and the partner in love comes to be hated, all the more vehemently if the love is strong enough to make the bond difficult to break. Hence love comes to be conceived as a battle, in which each is attempting to destroy the other by breaking through the protecting walls of his or her ego. This point of view has become familiar through the writings of Strindberg, and, still more, of D. H. Lawrence. Not only passionate love, but every friendly relation to others, is only possible, to this way of feeling, in so far as the others can be regarded as a projection of one's own Self. This is feasible if the others are blood-relations, and the more nearly they are related the more easily it is possible. Hence an emphasis on race, leading, as in the case of the Ptolemys, to endogamy. How this affected Byron, we know; Wagner suggests a similar sentiment in the love of Siegmund and Sieglinde. Nietzsche, though not scandalously, preferred his sister to all other women: 'How strongly I feel,' he writes to her, 'in all that you say and do, that we belong to the same stock. You understand more of me than others do, because we come of the same parentage. This fits in very well with my "philosophy".

her that when he had first raised the idea, I hadn’t known he was sick. Almost nobody knew, she said. He had called me right before he was going to be operated on for cancer, and he was still keeping it a secret, she explained. I decided then to write this book. Jobs surprised me by readily acknowledging that he would have no control over it or even the right to see it in advance. “It’s your book,” he said. “I won’t even read it.” But later that fall he seemed to have second thoughts about cooperating and, though I didn’t know it, was hit by another round of cancer complications. He stopped returning my calls, and I put the project aside for a while. Then, unexpectedly, he phoned me late on the afternoon of New Year’s Eve 2009. He was at home in Palo Alto with only his sister, the writer Mona Simpson. His wife and their three children had taken a quick trip to go skiing, but he was not healthy enough to join them. He was in a reflective mood, and we talked for more than an hour. He began by recalling that he had wanted to build a frequency counter when he was twelve, and he was able to look up Bill Hewlett, the founder of HP, in the phone book and call him to get parts. Jobs said that the past twelve years of his life, since his return to Apple, had been his most productive in terms of creating new products. But his more important goal, he said, was to do what Hewlett and his friend David Packard had done, which was create a company that was so imbued with innovative creativity that it would outlive them. “I always thought of myself as a humanities person as a kid, but I liked electronics,” he said. “Then I read something that one of my heroes, Edwin Land of Polaroid, said about the importance of people who could stand at the intersection of humanities and sciences, and I decided that’s what I wanted to do.” It was as if he were suggesting themes for his biography (and in this instance, at least, the theme turned out to be valid). The creativity that can occur when a feel for both the humanities and the sciences combine in one strong personality was the topic that most interested me in my biographies of Franklin and Einstein, and I believe that it will be a key to creating innovative economies in the twenty-first century. I asked Jobs why he wanted me to be the one to write his biography. “I think you’re good at getting people to talk,” he replied. That was an unexpected answer. I knew that I would have to interview scores of people he had fired, abused, abandoned, or otherwise infuriated, and I feared he would not be comfortable with my getting them to talk. And indeed he did turn out to be skittish when word trickled back to him of people that I was interviewing. But after a couple of months,

The key to doing this is to start with the basic action and then go to the opposites of that action. This will tell you who your hero is at the beginning of the story (his weaknesses) and who he is at the end (how he has changed). The steps work like this: 1. Write your simple premise line. (Be open to modifying this premise line once you discover the character change.) 2. Determine the basic action of your hero over the course of the story. 3. Come up with the opposites of A (the basic action) for both W (the hero’s weaknesses, psychological and moral) and C (changed person).

You can complain about the small stuff, but it should be lighthearted, quippy, and avoid personal attacks. Being still is about having the ability to delay an emotional reaction and replace it with a preplanned response. The response is intentional and deliberate, not reactionary, and based on the qualities and attributes that you have already aspired to as part of your hero archetypes. You are choosing to sweat the small stuff, but you are choosing to do so with some grace, humor, and self-awareness. This isn’t easy. It can go wrong. It may take practice and keen observation of how people react to you. But don’t overthink it—just remember a few key principles. Incorporate humor and sarcasm when possible. Sarcasm is a uniquely American and British attribute, and I think we should embrace it. Smile. Don’t overdo it. Just sweat the small stuff enough to make sure the frustration valve is released a little bit.

Expecting anyone outside of you, no matter how dear they are to your heart, to carry the key to your happiness is a recipe for disaster. Eventually you and they will suffer. We will always need exposure to the inspiration, love, courage and support of others to find our own. We all need to feel loved, supported and connected to feel stronger within ourselves. We need a sense of community. But in the end, only you hold the key to freedom from bondage. Only you can face the villain within you and become the hero of your story.

If Bodhidharma is the ideal man, it is because his image is that of a hero who has broken the chains of illusion that enclose man in the world of emotions. The hammer that is used to break these chains is the practice of Zen.

To remain authentic to your soul’s mission is a titanic task. Committing to shining the Light in such a dark world is something that only heroes do. Use your talents to serve the Light, regardless of the key that will open the pass to higher realms and the new earth.

The colonel blew out a long breath. “I was here for about an hour before you awoke. And as I was studying your file and gazing upon a beaten, wayward soul with staggering potential, I was struck by the uncanny similarities between you and the young James T. Kirk. From the reboot movie.” Eric made a face. “The psych ward is on another floor, Colonel.” Thomison laughed. “Very good. I deserved that. But let me elaborate. The movie hit theaters in 2009, when you were only five. I take it you’ve never streamed it.” “Good guess.” “Then you missed out. Not only did you remind me of that Kirk when I got here, but I realized I was about to recreate my favorite scene from the movie. So I’ll make you a deal. I’m convinced you can make a mark. One more profound than you can imagine right now. Be a bigger hero even than your father. You were destined for greatness, and that got derailed. But you can still arrive there by a different route. So watch about ten minutes of the movie. The opening scene and then a scene a little later. If you do that, and still want me gone, you’ll never see me again.” “You’re kidding, right? What, will I be hypnotized?” “No. But I think you’ll be moved. It’s a reboot, so the timeline differs from the original, while keeping key elements. In this version, James T. Kirk is about to be born on the starship Kelvin while his father is the first officer. That’s when an unstoppable Romulan ship from the future travels back through time and alters the timeline forever.” The colonel paused. “Watch ten minutes. That’s all I ask.” Eric thought about this for a moment and sighed. “It won’t

Is there one main deed that your hero performs?

Unity of Action is a concept not well understood in either the film or theater industries, but this simple definition has held up well for me over the years: 1. A Single Action 2. A Single Hero 3. A Single Result You have one main action happening, one central person doing it, and one result springing from it. All the elements of the film serve the one main action, and the script revolves around it.

The key to happiness is to be more interested in the world than in yourself. This is also the definition of a hero.

What is a dream? According to Cinderella, 'A dream is a wish your heart makes.' It is instructive to note that our hero sings these words to a family of birds who wear kerchiefs and don't appear to have the power of language, revealing the first important thing you need to know about dreamers, which is, most of them need psychiatric evaluation.

It was Twoflower. Since early morning he had been like a monkey with the key to the banana plantation after discovering he was breathing the same air as the greatest hero of all time.

Carry individual items as opposed to whole lines. We wouldn’t try to carry a whole line of spices, or bag candy, or vitamins. Each SKU (a single size of a single flavor of a single item) had to justify itself, as opposed to riding piggyback into the stores just so we had a “complete” line. Depth of assortment now was of no interest. As soon as Fair Trade ended in 1978, we began to get rid of the hundred brands of Scotch, seventy brands of bourbon, and fifty brands of gin. And slowly (it was like pulling teeth) we dismantled the broad assortment of California boutique wines. No fixtures. By 1982, the store would have most of its merchandise displayed in stacks with very little shelving. This implied a lower SKU count: a high-SKU store needs lots of shelves. The average supermarket carries about 27,000 SKUs in 30,000 square feet of sales area, or roughly one SKU per square foot. Trader Joe’s, by 1988, carried one SKU per five square feet! Price-Costco, one of my heroes, carried about one SKU per twenty square feet. As much as possible I wanted products to be displayed in the same cartons in which they were shipped by the manufacturers. This was already a key element in our wine merchandising. Each SKU would stand on its own two feet as a profit center. We would earn a gross profit on each SKU that was justified by the cost of handling that item. There would be no “loss leaders.” Above all we would not carry any item unless we could be outstanding in terms of price (and make a profit at that price per #7) or uniqueness. By the end of 1977, we increased the size of the buying staff, adding one very key person, Doug Rauch, whom we hired out of the wholesale health food trade. Leroy, Frank Kono, Bob Berning, and Doug rolled out Five Year Plan ’77, which for purposes of this history I call Mac the Knife. Back in those days we had no idea how sharp that knife would become! We just wanted to survive deregulation. Everything now depended on buying. So here we go into the next chapter, Intensive Buying.

Then Annabeth was running along beside him, reaching out her hand. ‘Thank the gods!’ she called. ‘For months and months we couldn’t see you! Are you all right?’ Percy remembered what Juno had said – for months he has been slumbering, but now he is awake. The goddess had intentionally kept him hidden, but why? ‘Are you real?’ he asked Annabeth. He wanted so much to believe it that he felt like Hannibal the elephant was standing on his chest. But her face began to dissolve. She cried, ‘Stay put! It’ll be easier for Tyson to find you! Stay where you are!’ Then she was gone. The images accelerated. He saw a huge ship in a dry dock, workers scrambling to finish the hull, a guy with a blowtorch welding a bronze dragon figurehead to the prow. He saw the war god stalking towards him in the surf, a sword in his hands. The scene shifted. Percy stood on the Field of Mars, looking up at the Berkeley Hills. Golden grass rippled, and a face appeared in the landscape – a sleeping woman, her features formed from shadows and folds in the terrain. Her eyes remained closed, but her voice spoke in Percy’s mind: So this is the demigod who destroyed my son Kronos. You don’t look like much, Percy Jackson, but you’re valuable to me. Come north. Meet Alcyoneus. Juno can play her little games with Greeks and Romans, but in the end, you will be my pawn. You will be the key to the gods’ defeat. Percy’s vision turned dark. He stood in a theatre-sized version of the camp’s headquarters – a principia with walls of ice and freezing mist hanging in the air. The floor was littered with skeletons in Roman armour and Imperial gold weapons encrusted with frost. In the back of the room sat an enormous shadowy figure. His skin glinted with gold and silver, as

Soon the key word to describe it is the adjective ‘mass’. Thus there is mass culture and mass hysteria, mass tastes (or rather lack of taste) and mass paranoia, mass enslavement, and finally mass murder. The only hero on the world stage is the crowd, and the main feature of this crowd, this mass, is anonymity, impersonality, lack of identity, lack of a face.

The hero of myths and legends is fearless, yet every heroic story has an interlude in which the hero is powerless

Heart presence turns out to be the best atmosphere in which love can bud and blossom. Heart listening is also an essential component of the hero on the journey. We do not walk the path unless it is with a listening heart.

Robbins describes this process as “modeling” our heroes. The key is to be as precise as possible, picturing them in as much detail as we can.

Books, in their purest form, are vessels of knowledge, gateways to imagination, and catalysts for learning. They possess the incredible power to educate, inspire, and empower individuals, transcending boundaries of time, space, and culture. Books are not mere tools of manipulation or grooming; they are beacons of enlightenment, guiding us towards a deeper understanding of the world and ourselves. To claim that books groom or indoctrinate individuals is to undermine the inherent intelligence and discernment of humanity. Books are not puppet masters pulling the strings of our minds; they are companions on our journey, offering insights, perspectives, and narratives that expand our horizons and challenge our preconceived notions. In the realm of literature, we find the freedom to explore diverse ideas, to question authority, and to engage in critical thinking. It is through books that we encounter heroes who teach us about courage, compassion, and resilience. We discover worlds beyond our own, cultures we may never experience firsthand, and histories that shape our present. Books are a refuge for the marginalized, a voice for the silenced, and a catalyst for social change. They have the power to ignite revolutions, dismantle oppressive systems, and inspire generations to fight for justice. To accuse books of grooming is to ignore the countless individuals who have been transformed by the written word. From the abolitionist movements fueled by slave narratives to the civil rights movement propelled by the works of Martin Luther King Jr., books have consistently been at the forefront of societal transformation. They have the ability to challenge the status quo, dismantle stereotypes, and empower individuals to think critically and act conscientiously. In a world where disinformation and manipulation are rampant, books provide a sanctuary of truth, authenticity, and intellectual rigor. They encourage us to question, to seek evidence, and to seek multiple perspectives. Books cultivate empathy, broaden our understanding of diverse experiences, and foster a sense of connection that transcends borders. Therefore, let us not succumb to the fallacy that books groom or brainwash individuals. Instead, let us celebrate the power of literature to uplift, to enlighten, and to ignite the flames of curiosity. Let us embrace the freedom to read, to explore ideas that challenge us, and to engage in open dialogue that fosters understanding and unity. In the words of Frederick Douglass, 'Once you learn to read, you will be forever free.' Books are the keys that unlock the doors of knowledge, emancipation, and liberation. They are not tools of manipulation but instruments of empowerment. Let us cherish them, protect them, and ensure that their transformative power continues to shape our world for the better.

So often people make a choice—that choice is to obsess over the negative things people say about you or obsess over the positive. The problem with either of these approaches is that they both point to you being obsessed with yourself. Giving up that obsession is the key to happiness.

And speaking of your hero getting what they want: Why haven’t they? Why doesn’t Wade from Ready Player One just wake up one day and efortlessly collect all three keys to the Easter egg hidden in the Oasis? Why doesn’t Emma successfully set up Harriet with Mr. Elton in Emma? Because if they did, there would be no story. It would be too easy. There would be nothing left for the reader to root for. That’s why it shouldn’t be easy for your hero to get what they want. It should be hard. They should have to work for it

So what do you need to present a new character? Four keys elements: 1. Their physical attributes 2. Their personality 3. Their background 4. Their agenda

Time often sheds light on curious circumstances. Something we thought was a crazy miscalculation may, in fact, turn out to be the key component to the winning play.

There is no limit as to what we can learn. Through study, we can learn from the past. Experience can empower us to handle the present. For those who desire to learn of the future, dreams hold a subtle key. Not all things we see, as we sleep, should be cast aside as non-consequential rubbish. It is true that the mind can play many tricks…but it can also send you messages meant to be deciphered at a later date.

In a Harvard Business Review article titled “Do Women Lack Ambition?” Anna Fels, a psychiatrist at Cornell University, observes that when the dozens of successful women she interviewed told their own stories, “they refused to claim a central, purposeful place.” Were Dr. Fels to interview you, how would you tell your story? Are you using language that suggests you’re the supporting actress in your own life? For instance, when someone offers words of appreciation about a dinner you’ve prepared, a class you’ve taught, or an event you organized and brilliantly executed, do you gracefully reply “Thank you” or do you say, “It was nothing”? As Fels tried to understand why women refuse to be the heroes of their own stories, she encountered the Bem Sex-Role Inventory, which confirms that society considers a woman to be feminine only within the context of a relationship and when she is giving something to someone. It’s no wonder that a “feminine” woman finds it difficult to get in the game and demand support to pursue her goals. It also explains why she feels selfish when she doesn’t subordinate her needs to others. A successful female CEO recently needed my help. It was mostly business-related but also partly for her. As she started to ask for my assistance, I sensed how difficult it was for her. Advocate on her organization’s behalf? Piece of cake. That’s one of the reasons her business has been successful. But advocate on her own behalf? I’ll confess that even among my closest friends I find it painful to say, “Look what I did,” and so I don’t do it very often. If you want to see just how masterful most women have become at deflecting, the next time you’re with a group of girlfriends, ask them about something they (not their husband or children) have done well in the past year. Chances are good that each woman will quickly and deftly redirect the conversation far, far away from herself. “A key type of discrimination that women face is the expectation that feminine women will forfeit opportunities for recognition,” says Fels. “When women do speak as much as men in a work situation or compete for high-visibility positions, their femininity is assailed.” My point here isn’t to say that relatedness and nurturing and picking up our pom-poms to cheer others on is unimportant. Those qualities are often innate to women. If we set these “feminine” qualities aside or neglect them, we will have lost an irreplaceable piece of ourselves. But to truly grow up, we must learn to throw down our pom-poms, believing we can act and that what we have to offer is a valuable part of who we are. When we recognize this, we give ourselves permission to dream and to encourage the girls and women around us to do the same.

There are two key things that I’ve noticed nearly every successful person I admire does on a regular basis: They exercise, and they read voraciously. They

The ride is nearly at an end, the operator is helping the people below us off and then it’s our turn, and Travis breathes a huge sigh of relief. “It wasn’t that bad was it?” I tease him. He looks over my face before grinning. “It could have been worse.” “Oh really?” I ask. The Ferris Wheel starts again, but the operator must have pressed the wrong key because our seat suddenly drops a foot down before smoothly coming to a stop in front of him. Travis is plastered all over me: his legs stretched across the floor, his left arm across my chest, and he has the most adorable, panicked look on his face. And I can’t help it, I throw my head back and laugh. It was a foot. He dropped a foot when he was five feet off the ground to begin with, and he now looks like a cat when you try and throw it in the bath. And he gave me a hard time about the spiders. “Smile!” I hear someone yell and see a bright flash. “I was worried about you,” Travis says, fighting the grin on his face. “My hero,” I say, putting my hand on his chest before standing up and getting off of the ride.

Scott doesn’t suspect anything, right?” I ask. “Are you kidding? He knows pretty much everything,” Travis says as if there was ever a doubt. “What? Did you tell him?” I accuse. “Etty, he’s turning thirty. He’d have to be a moron to not know there is going to be a party. You always order food from the same place, and we both live in a shoe box, so your parents’ house is the only place that could fit more than five people. It didn’t take Einstein.” I chew on my bottom lip. “We will have to do something spontaneous,” I say, nodding my head. “Slow down,” he says, holding up his hands. “Don’t go crazy. The party we planned is fine.” Why does everyone always say that to me? Like they think I go overboard on everything. Which is so untrue. Everything I plan is with love, and I am in complete control the whole time. It’s the plans that have a mind of their own. I mean, did I ask the magician to put my mom in that box for his ‘Disappearing Trick’ even though my mother’s claustrophobic? No. And after I calmed her down and she drank a bottle of wine I think even she appreciated that it was a pretty cool trick. And my dad fumbling with the keys to get her unlocked and punching out the magician− it was so romantic. Sadly, I did lose my security deposit on that one.

She grabbed up her cutlass and pointed it at him, accusingly. “You—” Her hand was trembling, and she saw humor dancing in his eyes as he looked at the jiggling sword tip. “You escaped. . .” “Aye.” He gave a lewd, suggestive wink. “Proud of me?” “Proud?” “Aye. Your pirate here is smarter than you give him credit for.” He tapped his temple and grinned. “I merely plucked the key from you when you lay senseless in my arms. You really didn’t expect me to berth on that filthy pallet, now, did you?

IT’S NOT THAT ANYONE CAN BE A HERO, BUT THAT A HERO CAN COME FROM ANYWHERE. BUT THE KEY IS THAT THEY HAVE TO HAVE SOMETHING INSIDE THEM. A SPARK. A SENSE OF MORALITY. A YEARNING.

Jase opened his door, stepped down, and leaned into her window. “Hungry?” Taking a big breath didn’t help when his sexy scent of cologne had hit her in the face. Hallelujah. “Yeah, I’m getting there.” “Let’s go. The cowboy just came to take you away.” He reached in and turned off the ignition, clasped her keys and opened the door. When she stepped out, he didn’t bother to move back any and they were close. This man was hot and not only his temperature. Whatever kind of chemistry radiated off him, soaked right into her.