I Am Not Funded Quotes

Gentlemen! I too have been a close observer of the doings of the Bank of the United States. I have had men watching you for a long time, and am convinced that you have used the funds of the bank to speculate in the breadstuffs of the country. When you won, you divided the profits amongst you, and when you lost, you charged it to the bank. You tell me that if I take the deposits from the bank and annul its charter I shall ruin ten thousand families. That may be true, gentlemen, but that is your sin! Should I let you go on, you will ruin fifty thousand families, and that would be my sin! You are a den of vipers and thieves. I have determined to rout you out, and by the Eternal, (bringing his fist down on the table) I will rout you out!

Pentru că au sâni rotunzi, cu gurguie care se ridică prin bluză când le e frig, pentru că au fundul mare şi grăsuţ, pentru că au feţe cu trăsături dulci ca ale copiilor, pentru că au buze pline, dinţi decenţi şi limbi de care nu ţi-e silă. Pentru că nu miros a transpiraţie sau a tutun prost şi nu asudă pe buza superioară. Pentru că le zâmbesc tuturor copiilor mici care trec pe lângă ele. Pentru că merg pe stradă drepte, cu capul sus, cu umerii traşi înapoi şi nu răspund privirii tale când le fixezi ca un maniac. Pentru că trec cu un curaj neaşteptat peste toate servitutile anatomiei lor delicate. Pentru că în pat sunt îndrăzneţe şi inventive nu din perversitate, ci ca să-ţi arate că te iubesc. Pentru că fac toate treburile sâcâitoare şi mărunte din casă fără să se laude cu asta şi fără să ceară recunoştinţă. Pentru că nu citesc reviste porno şi nu navighează pe site-uri porno. Pentru că poartă tot soiul de zdrăngănele pe care şi le asortează la îmbrăcăminte după reguli complicate şi de neînţeles. Pentru că îşi desenează şi-şi pictează feţele cu atenţia concentrată a unui artist inspirat. Pentru că au obsesia pentru subţirime a lui Giacometti. Pentru că se trag din fetiţe. Pentru că-şi ojează unghiile de la picioare. Pentru că joacă şah, whist sau ping-pong fără sa le intereseze cine câştigă. Pentru că şofează prudent în maşini lustruite ca nişte bomboane, aşteptând să le admiri când sunt oprite la stop şi treci pe zebră prin faţa lor. Pentru că au un fel de-a rezolva probleme care te scoate din minţi. Pentru că au un fel de-a gândi care te scoate din minţi. Pentru că-ţi spun „te iubesc” exact atunci când te iubesc mai puţin, ca un fel de compensaţie. Pentru că nu se masturbează. Pentru că au din când în când mici suferinţe: o durere reumatică, o constipaţie, o bătătură, şi-atunci îţi dai seama deodată că femeile sunt oameni, oameni ca şi tine. Pentru că scriu fie extrem de delicat, colecţionând mici observaţii şi schiţând subtile nuanţe psihologice, fie brutal şi scatologic ca nu cumva să fie suspectate de literatură feminină. Pentru că sunt extraordinare cititoare, pentru care se scriu trei sferturi din poezia şi proza lumii. Pentru că le înnebuneşte „Angie” al Rolling-ilor. Pentru că le termină Cohen. Pentru că poartă un război total şi inexplicabil contra gândacilor de bucătărie. Pentru că până şi cea mai dură bussiness woman poartă chiloţi cu înduioşătoare floricele şi danteluţe. Pentru că e aşa de ciudat să-ntinzi la uscat, pe balcon, chiloţii femeii tale, nişte lucruşoare umede, negre, roşii şi albe, parte satinate, parte aspre, mirându-te ce mici suprafeţe au de acoperit. Pentru că în filme nu fac duş niciodată înainte de-a face dragoste, dar numai în filme. Pentru că niciodată n-ajungi cu ele la un acord în privinţa frumuseţii altei femei sau a altui bărbat. Pentru că iau viaţa în serios, pentru că par să creadă cu adevărat în realitate. Pentru că le interesează cu adevărat cine cu cine s-a mai cuplat dintre vedetele de televiziune. Pentru că ţin minte numele actriţelor şi actorilor din filme, chiar ale celor mai obscuri. Pentru că dacă nu e supus nici unei hormonizări embrionul se dezvoltă întotdeauna într-o femeie. Pentru că nu se gândesc cum să i-o tragă tipului drăguţ pe care-l văd în troleibuz. Pentru că beau porcării ca Martini Orange, Gin Tonic sau Vanilia Coke. Pentru că nu-ţi pun mâna pe fund decât în reclame. Pentru că nu le excită ideea de viol decât în mintea bărbaţilor. Pentru că sunt blonde, brune, roşcate, dulci, futeşe, calde, drăgălaşe, pentru că au de fiecare dată orgasm. Pentru că dacă n-au orgasm nu îl mimează. Pentru că momentul cel mai frumos al zilei e cafeaua de dimineaţă, când timp de o oră ronţăiţi biscuiţi şi puneţi ziua la cale. Pentru că sunt femei, pentru că nu sunt bărbaţi, nici altceva. Pentru că din ele-am ieşit şi-n ele ne-ntoarcem, şi mintea noastră se roteşte ca o planetă greoaie, mereu şi mereu, numai în jurul lor.

Everyday I feel more and more like a full-fledged adult. Even though it was (metaphorically) only yesterday I was sloshing in the door at four a.m. after Dollar Beer Night, I find myself with a mortgage, four types of insurance, and a non-laundry-quarter-based retirement fund.

I would like to have an ample fund to spread the light of Republicanism, but I am willing to undergo the disadvantage to make certain that in the future we shall reduce the power of money in politics for unworthy purposes.

I hate Hollywood fund-raisers. I am so bored going to a twenty-five million dollar house to hear a mogul say, “Good news, everyone. Tonight we’ve raised almost twelve thousand dollars!” You paid your gay hustler more than that, you cheap thing. Why not spare all of us the canapés, small talk and crème brûlée and just write a damn check?

I am not convinced absence makes the heart grow fonder. Perhaps we should test the veracity of this axiom more thoroughly, you and I.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to her nephew upon his fourth request for an increase in funds.

Gentlemen, I have had men watching you for a long time and I am convinced that you have used the funds of the bank to speculate in the breadstuffs of the country. When you won, you divided the profits amongst you, and when you lost, you charged it to the bank. You tell me that if I take the deposits from the bank and annul its charter, I shall ruin ten thousand families. That may be true, gentlemen, but that is your sin! Should I let you go on, you will ruin fifty thousand families, and that would be my sin! You are a den of vipers and thieves.

This has always been a fatal flaw in U.S. real estate: the volume of development has been related to the availability of funds, not to demand.

Every time I see a USA rocket launch, I am reminded of the millions of disabled people that were denied their disability benefits in order to fund it.

Think of the difference as paying you back some of the funds I am certain Wickham is fleecing from you.

Being the highly trained investment mogul that I am, I could certainly find places to put that money where it would earn more. Or would it? Remember, personal finance is personal. I have come to realize that Sharon’s peace of mind bought with the oversized emergency fund is a great return on investment. Guys, this can be a wonderful gift to your wife. An Emergency Fund Can

If, by the virtue of charity or the funded Ennet House, you will acquire many exotic new facts. You will find out that once MA’s Department of Social Services has taken a mother’s children away for any period of time, they can always take them away again, D.S.S ., like at will, empowered by nothing more than a certain signature-stamped form. I.e. once deemed Unfit— no matter why or when, or what’s transpired in the meantime— there’s nothing a mother can do.(...)That a little-mentioned paradox of Substance addiction is: that once you are sufficiently enslaved by a Substance to need to quit the Substance in order to save your life, the enslaving Substance has become so deeply important to you that you will all but lose your mind when it is taken away from you. Or that sometime after your Substance of choice has just been taken away from you in order to save your life, as you hunker down for required A.M. and P.M. prayers , you will find yourself beginning to pray to be allowed literally to lose your mind, to be able to wrap your mind in an old newspaper or something and leave it in an alley to shift for itself, without you.(...)That certain persons simply will not like you no matter what you do. Then that most nonaddicted adult civilians have already absorbed and accepted this fact, often rather early on.(...)That evil people never believe they are evil, but rather that everyone else is evil. That it is possible to learn valuable things from a stupid person. That it takes effort to pay attention to any one stimulus for more than a few seconds.(...)That it is statistically easier for low-IQ people to kick an addiction than it is for high-IQ people.(...)That you will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realize how seldom they do.(...)That most Substance -addicted people are also addicted to thinking, meaning they have a compulsive and unhealthy relationship with their own thinking. That the cute Boston AA term for addictive -type thinking is: Analysis-Paralysis. That 99% of compulsive thinkers’ thinking is about themselves; that 99% of this self-directed thinking consists of imagining and then getting ready for things that are going to happen to them; and then, weirdly, that if they stop to think about it, that 100% of the things they spend 99% of their time and energy imagining and trying to prepare for all the contingencies and consequences of are never good.(...)That other people can often see things about you that you yourself cannot see, even if those people are stupid.(...)That certain sincerely devout and spiritually advanced people believe that the God of their understanding helps them find parking places and gives them advice on Mass. Lottery numbers.

Welsh Incident 'But that was nothing to what things came out From the sea-caves of Criccieth yonder.' What were they? Mermaids? dragons? ghosts?' Nothing at all of any things like that.' What were they, then?' 'All sorts of queer things, Things never seen or heard or written about, Very strange, un-Welsh, utterly peculiar Things. Oh, solid enough they seemed to touch, Had anyone dared it. Marvellous creation, All various shapes and sizes, and no sizes, All new, each perfectly unlike his neighbour, Though all came moving slowly out together.' Describe just one of them.' 'I am unable.' What were their colours?' 'Mostly nameless colours, Colours you'd like to see; but one was puce Or perhaps more like crimson, but not purplish. Some had no colour.' 'Tell me, had they legs?' Not a leg or foot among them that I saw.' But did these things come out in any order?' What o'clock was it? What was the day of the week? Who else was present? How was the weather?' I was coming to that. It was half-past three On Easter Tuesday last. The sun was shining. The Harlech Silver Band played Marchog Jesu On thrity-seven shimmering instruments Collecting for Caernarvon's (Fever) Hospital Fund. The populations of Pwllheli, Criccieth, Portmadoc, Borth, Tremadoc, Penrhyndeudraeth, Were all assembled. Criccieth's mayor addressed them First in good Welsh and then in fluent English, Twisting his fingers in his chain of office, Welcoming the things. They came out on the sand, Not keeping time to the band, moving seaward Silently at a snail's pace. But at last The most odd, indescribable thing of all Which hardly one man there could see for wonder Did something recognizably a something.' Well, what?' 'It made a noise.' 'A frightening noise?' No, no.' 'A musical noise? A noise of scuffling?' No, but a very loud, respectable noise --- Like groaning to oneself on Sunday morning In Chapel, close before the second psalm.' What did the mayor do?' 'I was coming to that.

Fewer than 5 percent of Danes attend church. In godless Denmark, the national government funds a high quality education for all children, rich and poor alike, while in God-fearing America, education is funded through local property taxes, so neighborhood and income dictate a child’s educational opportunities. Add in race and ethnicity factors to create a perfectly stratified school system segregated by educational opportunity.

For it is precisely how I feel, who have inherited not measurable wealth but, as we all do who care for it, that immeasurable fund of thoughts and ideas, from writers and thinkers long gone into the ground—and, inseparable from those wisdoms because demanded by them, the responsibility to live thoughtfully and intelligently. To enjoy, to question—never to assume, or trample. Thus the great ones (my great ones, who may not be the same as your great ones) have taught me—to observe with passion, to think with patience, to live always caringly. So here I am, walking on down the sandy path, with my wild body, with the inherited devotions of curiosity and respect.

Investment Owner’s Contract I, _____________ ___________________, hereby state that I am an investor who is seeking to accumulate wealth for many years into the future. I know that there will be many times when I will be tempted to invest in stocks or bonds because they have gone (or “are going”) up in price, and other times when I will be tempted to sell my investments because they have gone (or “are going”) down. I hereby declare my refusal to let a herd of strangers make my financial decisions for me. I further make a solemn commitment never to invest because the stock market has gone up, and never to sell because it has gone down. Instead, I will invest $______.00 per month, every month, through an automatic investment plan or “dollar-cost averaging program,” into the following mutual fund(s) or diversified portfolio(s): _________________________________, _________________________________, _________________________________. I will also invest additional amounts whenever I can afford to spare the cash (and can afford to lose it in the short run). I hereby declare that I will hold each of these investments continually through at least the following date (which must be a minimum of 10 years after the date of this contact): _________________ _____, 20__. The only exceptions allowed under the terms of this contract are a sudden, pressing need for cash, like a health-care emergency or the loss of my job, or a planned expenditure like a housing down payment or a tuition bill. I am, by signing below, stating my intention not only to abide by the terms of this contract, but to re-read this document whenever I am tempted to sell any of my investments. This contract is valid only when signed by at least one witness, and must be kept in a safe place that is easily accessible for future reference.

Through the Malala Fund, I decided to advocate for the education of Syrian refugees in Jordan. I went to the Syrian border and witnessed scores of refugees fleeing into Jordan. They had walked through the desert to get there with just the clothes on their backs. Many children had no shoes. I broke down and cried as I witnessed their suffering. In the refugee settlements most of the children were not going to school. Sometimes there was no school. Sometimes it was unsafe to walk to school. And sometimes children were working instead of being educated because their father had been killed. I saw many children on the roadside in this hot, hot weather, asking for work, such as carrying heavy stones, in order to feed their families. I just felt such pain in my heart. What is their sin, what have they done that they’ve had to migrate? Why are these innocent children suffering such hardship? Why are they deprived of school and a peaceful environment?

As I got her to explain to other people her evidence about the lack of effectiveness of funding formal education, one person got frustrated with our skepticism. Wolf’s answer to him was “real education is this,” pointing at the room full of people chatting. Accordingly, I am not saying that knowledge is not important; the skepticism in this discussion applies to the brand of commoditized, prepackaged, and pink-coated knowledge, stuff one can buy in the open market and use for self-promotion.

Everything I am is based on this ugly building on its lonely lawn—lit up during winter darkness; open in the slashing rain—which allowed a girl so poor she didn’t even own a purse to come in twice a day and experience actual magic: traveling through time, making contact with the dead—Dorothy Parker, Stella Gibbons, Charlotte Brontë, Spike Milligan. A library in the middle of a community is a cross be-tween an emergency exit, a life raft and a festival. They are cathedrals of the mind; hospitals of the soul; theme parks of the imagination. On a cold, rainy island, they are the only sheltered public spaces where you are not a consumer, but a citizen, instead. A human with a brain and a heart and a desire to be uplifted, rather than a customer with a credit card and an inchoate “need” for “stuff.” A mall—the shops—are places where your money makes the wealthy wealthier. But a library is where the wealthy’s taxes pay for you to become a little more extraordinary, instead. A satisfying reversal. A balancing of the power.

So I will commit to showing up with deep humility and doing the best I can. I will keep getting it wrong, which is the closest I can come to getting it right. When I am corrected, I will stay open and keep learning. Not because I want to be the wokest woke who ever woked. But because people’s children are dying of racism, and there is no such thing as other people’s children. Hidden racism is destroying and ending lives. It’s making police officers kill black men at three times the rate of white men. It’s making lawmakers limit funding for clean water and poison children. It’s making doctors allow black women to die during or after childbirth at three to four times the rate of white women. It’s making school officials suspend and expel black students at three times the rate of white students. It’s making judges incarcerate black drug users at nearly six times the rate of white drug users. And—because of my complicity in this system that dehumanizes others—it is dehumanizing me. The fact that the programmed poison of racism was pumped into us may not be our fault, but getting it out is sure as hell our responsibility.

I am your soul and all your souls. When I am gone you are dead. Past humanity is not only implicit in each new man born but is contained in him,[...] All humanity from its beginning to its end is already present but the beam has not yet played beyond you! [...] You are not the top of your people's line any more than your mother was when she had you inside her. When I leave you I take with me all that has made you what you are-I take all your significance and importance and all accumulation of human instinct and appetite and wisdom and dignity. You will be left with nothing behind you and nothing to give the waiting ones. Woe to you when they fund you out! Good Bye!

Suppose you are particularly rich and well-to-do, and say on that last day, 'I am very rich; I am tolerably well known; I have lived all my life in the best society, and, thank Heaven, come of a most respectable family. I have served my King and country with honour. I was in Parliament for several years, where, I may say, my speeches were listened to, and pretty well received. I don't owe any man a shilling: on the contrary, I lent my old college friend, Jack Lazarus, fifty pounds, for which my executors will not press him. I leave my daughters with ten thousand pounds a piece--very good portions for girls: I bequeath my plate and furniture, my house in Baker Street, with a handsome jointure, to my widow for her life; and my landed property, besides money in the Funds, and my cellar of well-selected wine in Baker Street, to my son. I leave twenty pound a year to my valet; and I defy any man after I am gone to find anything against my character.' Or suppose, on the other hand, your swan sings quite a different sort of dirge, and you say, 'I am a poor, blighted, disappointed old fellow, and have made an utter failure through life. I was not endowed either with brains or with good fortune: and confess that I have committed a hundred mistakes and blunders. I own to having forgotten my duty many a time. I can't pay what I owe. On my last bed I lie utterly helpless and humble: and I pray forgiveness for my weakness, and throw myself with a contrite heart at the feet of the Divine Mercy.' Which of these two speeches, think you, would be the best oration for your own funeral? Old Sedley made the last; and in that humble frame of mind, and holding by the hand of his daughter, life and disappointment and vanity sank away from under him.

After what happened when my last—and if I’m being completely honest, my only—real relationship imploded, my focus needs to be on my career. Sex and marriage and a family and all that can fall into place after I’m a top fund manager. Sometime in the mid-nineties, perhaps. But the eighties? The eighties are all about getting ahead in the rat race. And I am determined to be at the front of the pack. Of rats.

When my father died we did not have the funds to keep all three of us in school. The tuition is very expensive. My sisters are still in school and I am here to find work so they can stay there. Without a formal education there is no future for girls in Kathmandu. I would like to go back to school myself, but it is unlikely I will be able to. It is more important that my sisters attend school than it is for me.” Sun-jo

You’re so bright, Trav, and so intuitive about people. And you have … the gift of tenderness. And sympathy. You could be almost anything.” “Of course!” I said, springing to my feet and beginning to pace back and forth through the lounge. “Why didn’t I think of that! Here I am, wasting the golden years on this lousy barge, getting all mixed up with lame-duck women when I could be out there seeking and striving. Who am I to keep from putting my shoulder to the wheel? Why am I not thinking about an estate and how to protect it? Gad, woman, I could be writing a million dollars a year in life insurance. I should be pulling a big oar in the flagship of life. Maybe it isn’t too late yet! Find the little woman, and go for the whole bit. Kiwanis, P.T.A., fund drives, cookouts, a clean desk, and vote the straight ticket, yessiree bob. Then when I become a senior citizen, I can look back upon …” I stopped when I heard the small sound she was making. She sat with her head bowed. I went over and put my fingertips under her chin. I tilted her head up and looked down into her streaming eyes. “Please, don’t,” she whispered. “You’re beginning to bring out the worst in me, woman.” “It was none of my business.” “I will not dispute you.” “But … who did this to you?” “I’ll never know you well enough to try to tell you, Lois.” She tried to smile. “I guess it can’t be any plainer than that.” “And I’m not a tragic figure, no matter how hard you try to make me into one. I’m delighted with myself, woman.” “And you wouldn’t say it that way if you were.” “Spare me the cute insights.

I am profoundly antifeminist, because it's a phony movement. To begin with, it's Marxist-Leninist in origin. It wants to have its cake and eat it too. It wants "independence" for women―government-funded independence, supported by taxes. Extorted from whom? From men, whose equals they claim to be. But men did not get established in this country with the help of the government. If women want to be equal―and of course, potentially they are―then they should achieve it on their own, and not as a vicious parasitical pressure group.

Cea mai minunată femeie din lume este cea care te iubeşte cu adevărat şi pe care-o iubeşti cu adevărat. Nimic altceva nu contează. Odată, pe vremea liceului, umblam pe bulevard cu un prieten, doi puşti zăluzi şi frustraţi care dădeau note «gagicilor» şi vorbeau cu atât mai scabros cu cât erau, de fapt, mai inocenţi erotic. Ce fund are una, ce balcoane are alta... Femeile nu erau nimic altceva pentru noi decât nişte obiecte de lux, ca automobilele lustruite din vitrinele magazinelor «Volvo» sau «Maserati»: nu ne imaginam cu adevărat că vom avea şi noi una vreodată. Prin dreptul cinematografului Patria am zărit o tipă trăznitoare. Am rămas înlemniţi: ce pulpe în ciorapi de plasă neagră, ce fund rotund şi ce mijloc subţire, ce ţoale pe ea, ce plete de sârmă roşie, răsucită în mii de feluri... Ne-am învârtit în jurul ei ca s-o vedem şi din faţă: cum putea avea aşa pereche de ţâţe, aşa de perfecte cum numai în albumele de artă — care pe-atunci ne ţineau loc de Penthouse—mai văzuserăm? Pentru cine era o astfel de fiinţă, cum putea fi o noapte de sex cu ea? Până la urmă ne-am aşezat la coadă la bilete, fără s-o scăpăm din ochi şi fără să-ncetăm comentariile. Când, îl auzim pe unul, un tip destul de jegos care stătea şi el la coadă, mâncând seminţe, înaintea noastră: «E bună paraşuta asta, nu? V-ar place şi vouă, ciutanilor... Da' ascultaţi-mă pe mine, c-am fumat destule ca ea: cât o vedeţi de futeşă, să ştiţi că e pe undeva un bărbat sătul de ea până peste cap! Poa'să fie cea mai mişto din lume, poa'să fie şi Brijibardo, că tot i-e drag vreunuia de ea ca mie de nevastă-mea...» Am fost mult mai şocat de remarcile astea decât mi-aş fi imaginat. Cum să te plictiseşti de frumuseţea însăşi, de neatins şi de neconceput? De cea pentru care ţi-ai da şi pielea de pe tine? Ce ar putea dori un bărbat mai mult decât să-şi poată trece braţul în jurul mijlocului ei, să poată privi minute-n şir în ochii ei, să o întindă încetişor pe pat... Să o scoată din învelişul ei de dantelă mătăsoasă... De-aici încolo imaginaţia mea se bloca, nu-mi puteam închipui cum e să faci dragoste. De câte ori mă gândeam cum ar fi, vedeam doar un ocean roz care se răsuceşte asupra ta şi te sufocă... Am cunoscut apoi femei reale, femei imaginare, femei din vis, femei din cărţi, femei din reclame, femei din filme, femei din videoclipuri. Femei din revistele porno. Fiecare altfel şi fiecare cu altceva de oferit. M-am îndrăgostit de câteva şi de fiecare dată a fost la fel: primul semn că aş putea-o iubi a fost mereu că nu m-am putut gândi, văzând-o, «cât de futeşă e». Chiar dacă era. Bărbaţii au creierul impregnat de hormoni. Nici cel mai distins intelectual nu e altfel, până şi el, la orice vârstă, îşi imaginează cum ar face-o cu fata plictisită, necunoscută, de lângă el. Dar când cunoşti cea mai minunată femeie din lume, care e cea pe care o poţi iubi, semnul este, trebuie să fie, că nici pulpele, nici «balcoanele» nu se mai văd, de parcă hormonii sexului şi-ai agresivităţii s-ar retrage din creierul tău tumefiat şi l-ar lăsa inocent ca un creier de copil şi translucid ca o corniţă de melc. Facem sex cu un creier de bărbat, dar iubim cu unul de copil, încrezător, dependent, dornic de a da şi a primi afecţiune. Femeile minunate din viaţa mea, toate cele pe care le-am iubit cu adevărat şi care-au răspuns cu dragoste dragostei mele, au fost într-un fel necorporale, au fost bucurie pură, nevroză pură, experienţă pură. Senzualitatea, uneori dusă până foarte departe, nu a fost decât un ingredient într-o aventură complexă şi epuizantă a minţii. Pentru mine nu există, deci, «cea mai minunată» în sensul de 90-60-90, nici în cel de blondă, brună sau roşcată, înaltă sau minionă, vânzătoare sau poetă. Cea mai minunată este cea cu care am putut avea un copil virtual numit «cuplul nostru», «dragostea noastră».

Today I am convinced that, in general, a man should not publicly take part in politics before the age of 30-except for cases of extraordinary talent. Until then, a man's mental development will mostly consist in acquiring the necessary knowledge to serve as the groundwork of a general platform, one for which he can evaluate different political problems. One must first acquire a fund of general ideas-a worldview. Then he will have that mental equipment necessary for consistency and steadfastness in the formation of his political opinions. He will then be qualified to take part in politics.

Right now, I see the country of my birth moving backward. It has dumped the Paris Agreement, it’s close to dismantling the Environmental Protection Agency, and the United States Department of Agriculture is in very bad shape. The United States Department of Energy, which funded my lab for more than a decade to study greenhouse gases, has shut down most of its work on climate change, and NASA is under pressure to do the same. I left the United States in 2016 and moved to Norway because I believe that my laboratory will have more support here and because I am worried about the future of science in America.

Whether this propensity be one of those original principles in human nature of which no further account can be given; or whether, as seems more probable, it be the necessary consequence of the faculties of reason and speech, it belongs not to our present subject to inquire. It is common to all men, and to be found in no other race of animals, which seem to know neither this nor any other species of contracts. Two greyhounds, in running down the same hare, have sometimes the appearance of acting in some sort of concert. Each turns her towards his companion, or endeavours to intercept her when his companion turns her towards himself. This, however, is not the effect of any contract, but of the accidental concurrence of their passions in the same object at that particular time. Nobody ever saw a dog make a fair and deliberate exchange of one bone for another with another dog. Nobody ever saw one animal by its gestures and natural cries signify to another, this is mine, that yours; I am willing to give this for that. When an animal wants to obtain something either of a man or of another animal, it has no other means of persuasion but to gain the favour of those whose service it requires. A puppy fawns upon its dam, and a spaniel endeavours by a thousand attractions to engage the attention of its master who is at dinner, when it wants to be fed by him. Man sometimes uses the same arts with his brethren, and when he has no other means of engaging them to act according to his inclinations, endeavours by every servile and fawning attention to obtain their good will. He has not time, however, to do this upon every occasion. In civilised society he stands at all times in need of the cooperation and assistance of great multitudes, while his whole life is scarce sufficient to gain the friendship of a few persons. In almost every other race of animals each individual, when it is grown up to maturity, is entirely independent, and in its natural state has occasion for the assistance of no other living creature. But man has almost constant occasion for the help of his brethren, and it is in vain for him to expect it from their benevolence only. He will be more likely to prevail if he can interest their self-love in his favour, and show them that it is for their own advantage to do for him what he requires of them. Whoever offers to another a bargain of any kind, proposes to do this. Give me that which I want, and you shall have this which you want, is the meaning of every such offer; and it is in this manner that we obtain from one another the far greater part of those good offices which we stand in need of. It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest. We address ourselves, not to their humanity but to their self-love, and never talk to them of our own necessities but of their advantages. Nobody but a beggar chooses to depend chiefly upon the benevolence of his fellow-citizens. Even a beggar does not depend upon it entirely. The charity of well-disposed people, indeed, supplies him with the whole fund of his subsistence. But though this principle ultimately provides him with all the necessaries of life which he has occasion for, it neither does nor can provide him with them as he has occasion for them. The greater part of his occasional wants are supplied in the same manner as those of other people, by treaty, by barter, and by purchase. With the money which one man gives him he purchases food. The old clothes which another bestows upon him he exchanges for other old clothes which suit him better, or for lodging, or for food, or for money, with which he can buy either food, clothes, or lodging, as he has occasion.

For financial services: * Well, you know how it is almost impossible to save money now with the cost of living so high? Well, I show people how to use tax advantages to fund all their savings. * Well, you know how insurance is so expensive, but we need it? Well, I show families how to get inexpensive insurance so that they still have money to enjoy life. * Well, you know how hard it is to get out of debt? Well, I show people how to pay off their debts quickly so that they have more money to enjoy life. * Well, you know how we are all going to die? Well, I show people how to manage their money so that they can party and have a great time before they die. (Okay, am I going too far yet?)

I met my wife through Match.com. My profile said, 'I am a medical student with only one eye, an awkward social manner, and $145,000 in student loans.' She wrote back, 'You're just what I've been looking for.' She meant 'honest,' so let me be honest. Making money is not like what I thought it would be. This business kills the part of life that is essential, the part that has nothing to do with business. For the past two years, my insides have felt like they've been eating themselves. All the people that I respected won't talk to me anymore, except through lawyers. People want an authority to tell them how to value things, but they choose this authority not based on facts or results. They choose it because it seems authoritative and familiar. And I am not, nor ever have been, 'familiar.' So...so I have come to the sullen realization that I must close down the fund. Sincerely, Michael J. Burry, M.D.

I am interested in helping people to understand how to sell what it is they need to sell in a way that makes sense for both them and the investor.  Over the years what I have been astounded that many artists and business people who produce theatre works consistently do not know how to go about funding their projects and moving them from one point to the other.  There are many money sources around, but in many cases people who make theatre are not business minded to the point of developing the skills to mine money sources consistently.  Ask yourself what is the motivation of this potential investor. Is it for financial return, is it for tax credit, is it just to help? or do they want to become a part of the entertainment business?  OK once you have discovered this then you need to think in terms of how do you present your case. This is what has come to be known in the world of investment as your “pitch deck.

Waste of what?” “Of you! It seems degrading. Forgive me for saying that. I’ve seen those African movies. The lion makes a kill and then clever animals come in and grab something and run. You’re so bright, Trav, and so intuitive about people. And you have … the gift of tenderness. And sympathy. You could be almost anything.” “Of course!” I said, springing to my feet and beginning to pace back and forth through the lounge. “Why didn’t I think of that! Here I am, wasting the golden years on this lousy barge, getting all mixed up with lame-duck women when I could be out there seeking and striving. Who am I to keep from putting my shoulder to the wheel? Why am I not thinking about an estate and how to protect it? Gad, woman, I could be writing a million dollars a year in life insurance. I should be pulling a big oar in the flagship of life. Maybe it isn’t too late yet! Find the little woman, and go for the whole bit. Kiwanis, P.T.A., fund drives, cookouts, a clean desk, and vote the straight ticket, yessiree bob. Then when I become a senior citizen, I can look back upon …

What are we, people, living for? You know, what I can observe in our life is that all adults are mostly living for the reason to earn funds for being able to feed themselves and raise their kids; and then those kids grow up and living for the goal to feed themselves and their children… So this feels like an everlasting circle, isn’t it? I mean, shouldn’t each of us, humans, have some kinds of more interesting and important sense of life, except for just living for eating and feeding? Isn’t it sensless and way too primitive to live that way? I believe… I feel I am living for some greater reason, than just eating to grow up to feed the kids to grow up… How could it be right or “normal” that Lord, or the Universe, gave a human the precious gift of life for most of us just to live to eat and to raise kids, for them to only eat and grow their children, and nothing more than that? Could that way really be our gift back to God, in appreciation for what we got? Doesn’t such an existence seem useless and worthless without having some missions and goals of a higher level? Whether living like a “normal” appear to be not the most unworthy way to invest the time of your being?

The only word these corporations know is more,” wrote Chris Hedges, former correspondent for the Christian Science Monitor, National Public Radio, and the New York Times. They are disemboweling every last social service program funded by the taxpayers, from education to Social Security, because they want that money themselves. Let the sick die. Let the poor go hungry. Let families be tossed in the street. Let the unemployed rot. Let children in the inner city or rural wastelands learn nothing and live in misery and fear. Let the students finish school with no jobs and no prospects of jobs. Let the prison system, the largest in the industrial world, expand to swallow up all potential dissenters. Let torture continue. Let teachers, police, firefighters, postal employees and social workers join the ranks of the unemployed. Let the roads, bridges, dams, levees, power grids, rail lines, subways, bus services, schools and libraries crumble or close. Let the rising temperatures of the planet, the freak weather patterns, the hurricanes, the droughts, the flooding, the tornadoes, the melting polar ice caps, the poisoned water systems, the polluted air increase until the species dies. There are no excuses left. Either you join the revolt taking place on Wall Street and in the financial districts of other cities across the country or you stand on the wrong side of history. Either you obstruct, in the only form left to us, which is civil disobedience, the plundering by the criminal class on Wall Street and accelerated destruction of the ecosystem that sustains the human species, or become the passive enabler of a monstrous evil. Either you taste, feel and smell the intoxication of freedom and revolt or sink into the miasma of despair and apathy. Either you are a rebel or a slave. To be declared innocent in a country where the rule of law means nothing, where we have undergone a corporate coup, where the poor and working men and women are reduced to joblessness and hunger, where war, financial speculation and internal surveillance are the only real business of the state, where even habeas corpus no longer exists, where you, as a citizen, are nothing more than a commodity to corporate systems of power, one to be used and discarded, is to be complicit in this radical evil. To stand on the sidelines and say “I am innocent” is to bear the mark of Cain; it is to do nothing to reach out and help the weak, the oppressed and the suffering, to save the planet. To be innocent in times like these is to be a criminal.

Let’s assume for a moment that we are starting to write a novel using Fred’s goal of wanting desperately to be first to climb the mountain. The reader now forms his story question. But the story has to start someplace, and it has to show dynamic forward movement. Let’s further assume, then, that Fred comes up with a game plan for his quest. He decides that his first step must be to borrow sufficient money to equip his expedition. So he walks into the Ninth District Bank of Cincinnati, sits down with Mr. Greenback, the loan officer, and boldly states his goal, thus: “Mr. Greenback, I want to be first to climb the mountain. But I must have capital to fund my expedition. Therefore I am here to convince you that you should lend me $75,000.” At this point, the reader sees clearly that this short-term goal relates importantly to the long-term story goal and the story question. So just as he formed a story question, the reader now forms a scene question, which again is a rewording of the goal statement: “Will Fred get the loan?” Here is a note so important that I want to set it off typographically: The scene question cannot be some vague, philosophical one such as, “Are bankers nice?” or “What motivates people like Fred?” The question is specific, relates to a definite, immediate goal, and can be answered with a simple yes or no.

So I got lucky. But then again, it took me many hundreds of rejections to manage to find that luck. I am sure there is a lesson n that somewhere. Someone had taken a punt and had faith in me. I wouldn’t let them down, and I would be eternally grateful to them for giving me that chance to shine. Once DLE were on board, a few other companies joined them. It’s funny how, once one person backs you, somehow other people feel more comfortable doing the same. I guess most people don’t like to trailblaze. So before I knew it, suddenly, from nothing, I had the required funds for a place on the team. (In fact I was about £600 short, but Dad helped me out on that one, and refused to hear anything about ever being paid back. Great man.) The dream of an attempt on Everest was now about to become a reality. So many people over the years have asked me how to get sponsorship, but there is only one magic ingredient. Action. You just have to keep going. Then keep going some more. Our dreams are just wishes, if we never follow them through with action. And in life, you have got to be able to light your own fire. The reality of planning big expeditions is often tedious and frustrating. There is no glamour in yet another potential sponsor’s rejection letter, and I have often felt my own internal fire flickering close to snuff point. Action is what keeps it alight.

While I am free to speak my mind, Kelly, now 14, is not so fortunate. Kelly has yet to receive rehabilitation for her shattered personality and programmed young mind. The high tech sophistication of the Project Monarch trauma based mind-control procedures she endured, literally since birth, reportedly requires highly specialized, qualified care to aid her in eventually gaining control of her mind and life. Due to the political affluence of our abusers, all efforts to obtain her inalienable right to rehabilitation and seek justice have been blocked under the guise of so-called "National Security." As a result, Kelly remains warehoused in a mental institution in the custody of the state of Tennessee--a victim of the system—a system controlled and manipulated by our abusive government "leaders" a system where State Forms make no allowances to report military TOP SECRET abuses--a system that exists on federal funding directed by our perverse, corrupt abusers in Washington, D.C. She remains a political prisoner in a mental institution to this moment, waiting and hurting! Violations of laws and rights, Psychological Warfare intimidation tactics, threats to our lives, and various other forms of CIA Damage Containment practices thus far have remained unhindered and unchecked due to the National Security Act of 1947 AND the 1986 Reagan Amendment to same which allows those in control of our government to censor and/or cover up anything they choose.

You see,” she explained slowly, “I anticipated that you might send me away until you got over your anger, or that you’d live with me and retaliate in private-things that an ordinary man might do. But I never imagined you would try to put a permanent end to our marriage. And to me. I should have anticipated that, knowing what Duncan had told me about you, but I was counting too much on the fact that, before I ran away, you’d said you loved me-“ “You know damned well I did. And I do. For God’s sake, if you don’t believe anything else I’ve ever said to you, at least believe that.” He expected her to argue, but she didn’t, and Ian realized that she might be young, and inexperienced, but she was also very wise. “I know you did,” she told him, softly. “If you hadn’t loved me so deeply, I could never have hurt you as much as I did-and you wouldn’t have needed to put an end to the possibility I could ever do it again. I realized that was what you were doing, when I stood in your study and you told me you were divorcing me. If I hadn’t understood it, and you, I could never have kept fighting for you all this time.” “I won’t argue with your conclusion, but I will swear to you not to ever do anything like that again to you.” “Thank you. I don’t think I could bear it another time.” “Could you enlighten me as to what Duncan told you to make you arrive at all that?” Her smile was filled with tenderness and understanding. “He told me what you did when you returned home and discovered your family had died.” “What did I do?” “You severed yourself from the only other thing you loved-a black Labrador named Shadow. You did it so that you couldn’t be hurt anymore-at least not by anything over which you had control. You did essentially the same thing, although far more drastically, when you tried to divorce me.” “In your place,” Ian said, his voice rough with emotion as he laid his hand against her cheek, “I think I’d hate me.” His wife turned her face into his hand and kissed his palm. “Do you know,” she said with a teary smile, “how it feels to know I am loved so much…” She shook her head as if trying to find a better way to explain, and began again, her voice shaking with love. “Do you know what I notice whenever we are out in company?” Unable to restrain himself, Ian pulled her into his arms, holding her against his heart. “No,” he whispered, “what do you notice?” “I notice the way other men treat their wives, the way they look at them, or speak to them. And do you know what?” “What?” “I am the only wife,” she whispered achingly, “with the exception of Alex, whose husband adores her and doesn’t care if the whole world knows it. And I absolutely know,” she added with a soft smile, “that I am the only wife whose husband has ever tried to seduce her in front of the Hospital Fund Raising Committee.” His arms tightened around her, and with a groaning laugh, Ian tried, very successfully, to seduce his wife on the sofa.

The liberal notion that more government programs can solve racial problems is simplistic—precisely because it focuses solely on the economic dimension. And the conservative idea that what is needed is a change in the moral behavior of poor black urban dwellers (especially poor black men, who, they say, should stay married, support their children, and stop committing so much crime) highlights immoral actions while ignoring public responsibility for the immoral circumstances that haunt our fellow citizens. The common denominator of these views of race is that each still sees black people as a “problem people,” in the words of Dorothy I. Height, president of the National Council of Negro Women, rather than as fellow American citizens with problems. Her words echo the poignant “unasked question” of W. E. B. Du Bois, who, in The Souls of Black Folk (1903), wrote: They approach me in a half-hesitant sort of way, eye me curiously or compassionately, and then instead of saying directly, How does it feel to be a problem? they say, I know an excellent colored man in my town.… Do not these Southern outrages make your blood boil? At these I smile, or am interested, or reduce the boiling to a simmer, as the occasion may require. To the real question, How does it feel to be a problem? I answer seldom a word. Nearly a century later, we confine discussions about race in America to the “problems” black people pose for whites rather than consider what this way of viewing black people reveals about us as a nation. This paralyzing framework encourages liberals to relieve their guilty consciences by supporting public funds directed at “the problems”; but at the same time, reluctant to exercise principled criticism of black people, liberals deny them the freedom to err. Similarly, conservatives blame the “problems” on black people themselves—and thereby render black social misery invisible or unworthy of public attention. Hence, for liberals, black people are to be “included” and “integrated” into “our” society and culture, while for conservatives they are to be “well behaved” and “worthy of acceptance” by “our” way of life. Both fail to see that the presence and predicaments of black people are neither additions to nor defections from American life, but rather constitutive elements of that life.

From Life, Volume III, by Unspiek, Baron Bodissey: I am constantly startled and often amused by the diverse attitudes toward wealth to be found among the peoples of the Oikumene. Some societies equate affluence with criminal skill; for others wealth represents the gratitude of society for the performance of valuable services. My own concepts in this regard are easy and clear, and I am sure that the word ‘simplistic’ will be used by my critics. These folk are callow and turgid of intellect; I am reassured by their howls and yelps. For present purposes I exclude criminal wealth, the garnering of which needs no elaboration, and a gambler’s wealth which is tinsel. In regard, then, to wealth: Luxury and privilege are the perquisites of wealth. This would appear a notably bland remark, but is much larger than it seems. If one listens closely, he hears deep and far below the mournful chime of inevitability. To achieve wealth, one generally must thoroughly exploit at least three of the following five attributes: Luck. Toil, persistence, courage. Self-denial. Short-range intelligence: cunning, improvisational ability. Long-range intelligence: planning, the perception of trends. These attributes are common; anyone desiring privilege and luxury can gain the precursory wealth by making proper use of his native competence. In some societies poverty is considered a pathetic misfortune, or noble abnegation, hurriedly to be remedied by use of public funds. Other more stalwart societies think of poverty as a measure of the man himself. The critics respond: What an unutterable ass is this fellow Unspiek! I am reduced to making furious scratches and crotchets with my pen! — Lionel Wistofer, in The Monstrator I am poor; I admit it! Am I then a churl or a noddy? I deny it with all the vehemence of my soul! I take my bite of seed-cake and my sip of tea with the same relish as any paunchy plutocrat with bulging eyes and grease running from his mouth as he engulfs ortolans in brandy, Krokinole oysters, filet of Darango Five-Horn! My wealth is my shelf of books! My privileges are my dreams! — Sistie Fael, in The Outlook … He moves me to tooth-chattering wrath; he has inflicted upon me, personally, a barrage of sheer piffle, and maundering insult which cries out to the Heavens for atonement. I will thrust my fist down his loquacious maw; better, I will horsewhip him on the steps of his club. If he has no club, I hereby invite him to the broad and convenient steps of the Senior Quill-drivers, although I must say that the Inksters maintain a superior bar, and this shall be my choice since, after trouncing the old fool, I will undoubtedly ask him in for a drink. — McFarquhar Kenshaw, in The Gaean

Punishment is not care, and poverty is not a crime. We need to create safe, supportive pathways for reentry into the community for all people and especially young people who are left out and act out. Interventions like decriminalizing youthful indiscretions for juvenile offenders and providing foster children and their families with targeted services and support would require significant investment and deliberate collaboration at the community, state, and federal levels, as well as a concerted commitment to dismantling our carceral state. These interventions happen automatically and privately for young offenders who are not poor, whose families can access treatment and hire help, and who have the privilege of living and making mistakes in neighborhoods that are not over-policed. We need to provide, not punish, and to foster belonging and self-sufficiency for our neighbors’ kids. More, funded YMCAs and community centers and summer jobs, for example, would help do this. These kinds of interventions would benefit all the Carloses, Wesleys, Haydens, Franks, and Leons, and would benefit our collective well-being. Only if we consider ourselves bound together can we reimagine our obligation to each other as community. When we consider ourselves bound together in community, the radically civil act of redistributing resources from tables with more to tables with less is not charity, it is responsibility; it is the beginning of reparation. Here is where I tell you that we can change this story, now. If we seek to repair systemic inequalities, we cannot do it with hope and prayers; we have to build beyond the systems and begin not with rehabilitation but prevention. We must reimagine our communities, redistribute our wealth, and give our neighbors access to what they need to live healthy, sustainable lives, too. This means more generous social benefits. This means access to affordable housing, well-resourced public schools, affordable healthcare, jobs, and a higher minimum wage, and, of course, plenty of good food. People ask me what educational policy reform I would suggest investing time and money in, if I had to pick only one. I am tempted to talk about curriculum and literacy, or teacher preparation and salary, to challenge whether police belong in schools, to push back on standardized testing, or maybe debate vocational education and reiterate that educational policy is housing policy and that we cannot consider one without the other. Instead, as a place to start, I say free breakfast and lunch. A singular reform that would benefit all students is the provision of good, free food at school. (Data show that this practice yields positive results; but do we need data to know this?) Imagine what would happen if, across our communities, people had enough to feel fed.

Oh, by the way, security told me earlier that some guy showed up, claiming to be your assistant.” “Already? What time is it?” “It’s almost one o’clock,” he says. “Are you telling me you actually hired someone?” My heart drops. I shove past Cliff, ignoring him as he calls for me, wanting his question answered. I head straight for security, spotting Jack standing along the side with a guard, looking somewhere between disturbed and amused. “Strangest shit I’ve ever witnessed in Jersey,” Jack says, looking me over. “And that’s saying something, because I once saw a chimpanzee roller skating, and that was weird as fuck.” “I’m going to take that as a compliment, even though I know it isn’t one,” I say, grabbing his arm and making him follow me. It’s about a two-and-a-half hour drive to Bennett Landing, but I barely have two hours. “Please tell me you drove.” Before he can respond, I hear Cliff shouting as he follows. “Johnny! Where are you going?” “Oh, buddy.” Jack glances behind us at Cliff. “Am I your getaway driver?” “Something like that,” I say. “You ever play Grand Theft Auto?” “Every fucking day, man.” “Good,” I say, continuing to walk, despite Cliff attempting to catch up. “If you can get me where I need to be, there will be one hell of a reward in it for you.” His eyes light up as he pulls out a set of car keys. “Mission accepted.” There’s a crowd gathered around set. They figured out we’re here. They know we’re wrapping today. I scan the area, looking for a way around them. “Where’d you park?” I ask, hoping it’s anywhere but right across the street. “Right across the street,” he says. Fuck. I’m going to have to go through the crowd. “You sure you, uh, don’t want to change?” Jack asks, his eyes flickering to me, conflicted. “No time for that.” The crowd spots me, and they start going crazy, making Cliff yell louder to get my attention, but I don’t stop. I slip off of set, past the metal barricades and right into the street, as security tries to keep the crowd back, but it’s a losing game. So we run, and I follow Jack to an old station wagon, the tan paint faded. “This is what you drive?” “Not all of us grew up with trust funds,” he says, slapping his hand against the rusted hood. “This was my inheritance.” “Not judging,” I say, pausing beside it. “It’s just all very ‘70s suburban housewife.” “That sounds like judgment, asshole.” I open the passenger door to get in the car when Cliff catches up, slightly out of breath from running. “What are you doing, Johnny? You’re leaving?” “I told you I had somewhere to be.” “This is ridiculous,” he says, anger edging his voice. “You need to sort out your priorities.” “That’s a damn good idea,” I say. “Consider this my notice.” “Your notice?” “I’m taking a break,” I say. “From you. From this. From all of it.” “You’re making a big mistake.” “You think so?” I ask, looking him right in the face. “Because I think the mistake I made was trusting you.” I get in the car, slamming the door, leaving Cliff standing on the sidewalk, fuming. Jack starts the engine, cutting his eyes at me. “So, where to? The unemployment office?” “Home,” I say, “and I need to get there as soon as possible, because somebody is waiting for me, and I can't disappoint her.

Eram într-o frizerie. Tin minte fiecare amanunt...[..] În timp ce frizerul ma tundea, vedeam în oglinda, la garderoba, o femeie cam de patruzeci de ani, cu un aer simplu, modest îmbracata si cu ceva blînd si casnic în atitudini. Una din acele femei care nu trebuie sa fie nici frumoase, nici bine îmbracate, care au un fel de maternitate elementara si o blîndete resemnata si tacuta, traind între gesturi mici. Statea la garderoba, în aceeasi pozitie, fara nici o miscare, fara nici o vorba, privind în gol. De fapt, aveam impresia ca nici macar nu se gîndea.[..] La un moment dat am vazut-o cum se îmbraca, si-a luat o punga de plastic si era gata sa se îndrepte spre usa cînd s-a întîmplat ceva. Probabil, unul dintre frizerii care lucrau de partea cealalta, si mai spre fund, i-a zis ceva ce nu auzisem. Eu o vedeam numai pe ea. A stat cîteva clipe fara sa spuna nimic, privind fix spre partea din fund a frizeriei. Apoi deodata s-a congestionat si a început sa strige. Si pe masura ce striga, vocea ei se subtia, devenea tipat, pîna cînd tipatul s-a sfarîmat. Ea îsi dadea seama ca vocea n-o mai ajuta si tipa atunci si mai tare. Nu întelegeam nimic din ce spunea, dar tipatul acela nesigur, ca o lama de cutit care se frînge, suna atît de strident încît era înfricosator. Nu mai era un tipat omenesc. Era un tipat animalic plin de disperare si de neputinta. Nu stiu cît a durat astfel, dar parca nu se mai termina si simteam ca nu mai puteam sa suport. Si poate si mai mult m-a înfricosat faptul ca în acest timp nimeni din frizerie n-a întors privirea spre locul acela. Ca si cum tot ce vedeam si auzeam erau nascociri ale imaginatiei mele. Pentru ceilalti, femeia aceea tacea în continuare la garderoba ei sau plecase. Întelegeti? Tipatul ei nu exista. În zadar tipa, nimeni nu vroia s-o auda. Inclusiv eu, de fapt. Caci în tot acest timp nu m-am sculat de pe scaun sa ma întorc. L-am lasat pe frizer sa ma tunda mai departe. Si numai dupa ce femeia s-a dus undeva în spatele frizeriei, unde îsi lasau frizerii halatele, caci i se facuse rau, l-am întrebat pe cel care ma tundea: "Ce s-a întîmplat?" Ca si cum eu nu fusesem de fata sau ma gîndisem la altceva, nu fusesem atent. Frizerul mi-a explicat atunci ca femeia lucra acolo de mai multa vreme si fusese concediata, iar ea, neavînd din ce trai, venea totusi si-si facea treaba mai departe fara nici un salariu, multumindu-se cu ceea ce primea bacsis. Unul dintre frizeri îi aruncase o vorba grosolana, adaugînd ca nu era nevoie de ea acolo, de ce venea...Îi auzeam înca gemetele cînd am platit si am plecat cît am putut mai repede. Simteam ca trebuia sa ajung afara. Sa n-o mai aud pe femeia aceea gemînd. Si parca tipatul ei plutea în continuare ca un tais de pumnal în aerul frizeriei, desi ceea ce se petrecuse nu zdruncinase nici un detaliu. Rumoarea era aceeasi ca deobicei. "Criza de isterie, a zis unul. Am mai vazut noi de-astea."Atît. Întelegeti? Acesta a fost singurul comentariu pe care l-am auzit... [..]Tipatul dizgratios si disperat, aproape animalic, al acelei femei sfîsiase brutal tot ce tesusem eu cu grija ani de zile. Fericire? Lumina? Frumusete? Gogosi! Cacialma, domnilor. Nu exista decît tipatul si tacerea. Gemetele de animal înjunghiat si exclamatia: "Am mai vazut noi de-astea". Atunci am priceput prima oara ca traisem într-o minciuna aurita. [..] Mi-am dat seama ca tipetele exista, însa nu le auzim.Nu vrem sa le auzim. Sîntem surzi, iar cei care tipa se chinuiesc sa tipe si mai tare vazînd ca nimeni nu-i aude. Toti îsi vad de treburile lor mai departe, ca si cînd nimic nu s-ar fi întîmplat, iar tu te simti atunci ca o papusa dezarticulata.

I SPENT EIGHT YEARS at Blessed Sacrament School, far more than half my life by the time the last bell of eighth grade rang. Ted Shaw, a high school friend who later became the legal director of the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund, describes Catholic school as his salvation and damnation: it shaped his future and terrified his heart. I identify with this depiction. The Sisters of Charity helped to shape who I am, but there was much that I wouldn’t be sad to leave behind.

Bărbații nu se ceartă niciodată, pentru că le e lene. Ca să te cerți, trebuie să argumentezi, ca să argumentezi, tre’ să faci niște sinapse, ca să faci sinapse, tre’ să nu‑ți fie lene.Oferă‑i unui bărbat un milion de euro, ca să se certe cu altul. — Nu mai bine‑i rup falca? o să te întrebe. — Nu. Banii nu‑i iei decât dacă te cerți cu el. — N‑am nevoie de bani, tocmai am luat salariul, o să‑ți răspundă, în timp ce‑i trage adversarului un pumn în bot.Inițial, boxul și luptele greco‑romane au fost gândite ca niște lupte de idei între intelectuali.N‑a durat mult și comba‑ tanții s‑au luat la bătaie, și‑au dat borșul pe cămășuțele albe ca spuma, și‑au făcut franjuri papioanele și și‑au înfipt ochelarii în fund.Treptat, au fost înlocuiți cu intelectuali mai robuști, îmbrăcați numai în adidași și chiloți. Chiar și atunci când se hotărăsc să se certe, bărbații ajung să facă altceva. De exemplu, Gabriel Liiceanu s‑a enervat într‑o zi pe filozofie și a vrut să se ia‑n gură cu ea rău de tot. În loc să se certe, s‑a trezit scriind volumul Cearta cu filozofia, despre cum ar fi putut să se certe. Asta numai pentru că filozofia era de sex feminin și i‑a fost jenă s‑o bată

With the Clintons there is always a catch to the apologies for their progressive graspingness. At a time of record student debt, sky-rocketing tuition, and scandalous university perks, Hillary Clinton is now charging over $200,000 [5] for a brief run-of-the-mill “I am Hillary” speech — no landmark political announcements, no insights into foreign policy, nothing much other than standard liberal therapeutic boilerplate trading on her increased market value due to her recent tenure as chief foreign affairs officer of the United States. When these exorbitant fees were questioned by the liberal media, she seemed stunned that any would doubt her progressive fides, and cited her past caring for the poorer off. Then she backed off and assured us that the money went to “charity.” Of course, with the Clintons, we know there is always a nuance and tweak to follow. So next, the “charity” turned out to be the Clinton Foundation [6], which tends to fund the extravagant private jet travel of mostly Bill and Hillary and their appendages.

I ran into similar, though less dramatic events after moving to Yale Law School, where I spent two years as a Senior Research Scholar. Hawaii’s two Democratic U.S. Senators once contacted the law school to complain about testimony that I gave before the Hawaii state legislature. They blamed me for somehow single-handedly scuttling the new gun registration laws that were being considered. The associate dean of the law school called me up about the complaints and grilled me about my testimony. I am certain that neither of these incidents would have occurred if I had been on the other side the gun debate. Over the years, many academics have told me that they would have studied gun control if not for fear of damage to their careers. They didn’t want to run the risk of coming out on the wrong side of the debate. From my experience, that is understandable. Eventually, I was forced out of academia. There is only an abundance of funding for those researchers who support gun control. There is a war on guns. Just like with any war there are real casualties. Police are probably the single most important factor in reducing crime, but police themselves understand that they almost always show up at the crime scene after the crime has been committed. When the police can’t be there, guns are by far the most effective way for people to protect themselves from criminals. And the most vulnerable people are the ones who benefit the most from being able to protect themselves: women and the elderly, people who are relatively weaker physically, as well as poor blacks who live in high crime urban areas—the most likely victims of violent crime. When gun control advocates can’t simply ban guns outright, they impose high fees and taxes on guns. When the Northern Mariana Islands, a U.S. territory, had their handgun ban struck down as unconstitutional by a federal judge in March 2016, they passed a $1,000 excise tax on guns—a tax they hoped would serve as a model for the rest of the U.S.8 I hope that this book provides the ammunition people need for some of the major battles ahead. We must fight to keep people safe.

Am I the only person,” I asked a senior public servant, “who remembers that this is the way child care used to be funded?” “Probably,” was his sardonic reply.

I am a member of the Societe Meteorologique de France and of the American Meteorological Society. As a Professor of Climatology, my employer is the French Republic, which has adopted the official religion of 'climate change', to which I do not adhere. I am not beholden to any 'slush fund'. and my Laboratoire de Climatologie, Risques, Environnement (LORE),

In this post I am going to take a look at what an investor can do to improve a hedge fund investment through the use of dynamic capital allocation. For the purposes of illustration I am going to use Cantab Capital’s Aristarchus program – a quantitative fund which has grown to over $3.5Bn in assets under management since its opening with $30M in 2007 by co-founders Dr. Ewan Kirk and Erich Schlaikjer.

What Arnold didn’t know is that when Lauren Michaels called to tell me about her pregnancy, how quickly I made my way over to the bank and withdrew $100,000 in cash. I had my financial planner put it in a separate account. My rainy day fund created specifically for a day like today. His ass would seriously regret treating me like the pauper when I know I am a queen.

I am very fortunate to know T. Colin Campbell, PhD, professor emeritus of Cornell University and coauthor of the ground-breaking The China Study. I strongly recommend this book; it’s an expansive and hugely informative work on the effects of food on health. Campbell’s work is regarded by many as the definitive epidemiological examination of the relationship between diet and disease. He has received more than seventy grant years of peer-reviewed research funding (the gold standard of research), much of it from the National Institutes of Health (NIH), and he has authored more than 300 research papers. Dr. Campbell grew up on a dairy farm and believed wholeheartedly in the health value of eating animal protein. Indeed, he set out in his career to investigate how to produce more and better animal protein. Troublesome to his preconceived opinion about the goodness of dairy, Campbell kept running up against results that pointed to a different truth: that animal protein is disastrous to human health. Through a variety of experimental study designs, epidemiological evidence (studies of what affects the illness and health of populations), and observation of real-life conditions that had rational, biological explanations, Dr. Campbell has made a direct and powerful correlation between cancer and animal protein. For this book I asked Dr. Campbell to explain a little about how and why nutrition (both good and bad) affects cancer in our bodies.

I never use hedge funds because I am well aware of what drives future performance, and hedge funds start out with a great disadvantage in every major category: taxes, fees, risk management, transparency and liquidity.

Much has been made—mostly by spiteful critics—of Gates’s privileged upbringing and supposed million-dollar trust fund as the origin of his eventual business success. The truth is that he bootstrapped his business endeavors from day one. And even if he hadn’t, the world abounds with trust fund kids who created small fortunes by frittering away large ones.

I would add that I am not persuaded that international funds are a necessary component of an investor’s portfolio. Foreign funds may reduce a portfolio’s volatility, but their economic and currency risks may reduce returns by a still larger amount. The idea that a theoretically optimal portfolio must hold each geographical component at its market weight simply pushes me further than I would dream of being pushed. (I explore the pros and cons of global investing in Chapter 8.) My best judgment is that international holdings should comprise 20 percent of equities at a maximum, and that a zero weight is fully acceptable in most portfolios.

When you have identified your long-term objectives, defined your tolerance for risk, and carefully selected an index fund or a small number of actively managed funds that meet your goals, stay the course. Hold tight. Complicating the investment process merely clutters the mind, too often bringing emotion into a financial plan that cries out for rationality. I am absolutely persuaded that investors’ emotions, such as greed and fear, exuberance and hope—if translated into rash actions—can be every bit as destructive to investment performance as inferior market returns. To reiterate what the estimable Mr. Buffett said earlier: “Inactivity strikes us as intelligent behavior.” Never forget it.

After Steve’s death I received letters of condolence from people all over the world. I would like to thank everyone who sent such thoughtful sympathy. Your kind words and support gave me the strength to write this book and so much more. Carolyn Male is one of those dear people who expressed her thoughts and feelings after we lost Steve. It was incredibly touching and special, and I wanted to express my appreciation and gratitude. I’m happy to share it with you. It is with a still-heavy heart that I rise this evening to speak about the life and death of one of the greatest conservationists of our time: Steve Irwin. Many people describe Steve Irwin as a larrikin, inspirational, spontaneous. For me, the best way I can describe Steve Irwin is formidable. He would stand and fight, and was not to be defeated when it came to looking after our environment. When he wanted to get things done--whether that meant his expansion plans for the zoo, providing aid for animals affected by the tsunami and the cyclones, organizing scientific research, or buying land to conserve its environmental and habitat values--he just did it, and woe betide anyone who stood in his way. I am not sure I have ever met anyone else who was so determined to get the conservation message out across the globe, and I believe he achieved his aim. What I admired most about him was that he lived the conservation message every day of his life. Steve’s parents, Bob and Lyn, passed on their love of the Australian bush and their passion for rescuing and rehabilitating wildlife. Steve took their passion and turned it into a worldwide crusade. The founding of Wildlife Warriors Worldwide in 2002 provided Steve and Terri with another vehicle to raise awareness of conservation by allowing individuals to become personally involved in protecting injured, threatened, or endangered wildlife. It also has generated a working fund that helps with the wildlife hospital on the zoo premises and supports work with endangered species in Asia and Africa. Research was always high on Steve’s agenda, and his work has enabled a far greater understanding of crocodile behavior, population, and movement patterns. Working with the Queensland Parks and Wildlife Service and the University of Queensland, Steve was an integral part of the world’s first Crocs in Space research program. His work will live on and inform us for many, many years to come. Our hearts go out to his family and the Australia Zoo family. It must be difficult to work at the zoo every day with his larger-than-life persona still very much evident. Everyone must still be waiting for him to walk through the gate. His presence is everywhere, and I hope it lives on in the hearts and minds of generations of wildlife warriors to come. We have lost a great man in Steve Irwin. It is a great loss to the conservation movement. My heart and the hearts of everyone here goes out to his family. Carolyn Male, Member for Glass House, Queensland, Australia October 11, 2006

So since I tossed snow at you earlier, am I going to have to make a contribution to the Kate-have-a-good-time fund?” he asked. I angled my chin haughtily. “You might. It’ll cost you more, though, since you also tackled me to the ground.” “I’m strapped for cash. We might have to work it out in trade.” “What kind of trade?” He gave me a grin that made me think I was in deep trouble. “We’ll work something out. Maybe it’ll end up being a good time for us both.

I didn’t need you to be my superhero. I am fully capable of saving myself. I needed you to be my friend, my lover, my husband. I needed you to love me more than your fear of being abandoned again. And for the record, you were — you are — worth the risk. But this time? I’m walking away. Because I’m worth the risk, too.

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When politicians from their gilded perch in Washington cut funding for foreign aid programs, I am troubled. When they denigrate government workers, I am indignant. And when they send the men and women who volunteered for our armed forces to multiple tours of combat while asking nothing of sacrifice from the rest of us, I am angry. We either choose to be part of a community that stretches beyond ourselves, our material needs, and our creature comforts, or we do not. In our society, it is possible for the selfish and self-centered to live at the expense of the rest of the population. We live in an age where such attitudes are conspicuously apparent. Thankfully most people I have met have chosen to give back to their communities, in ways big and small. On a personal level, service may be considered a virtue. But in a democratic society such as ours, we must consider it a necessity.

Let me be clear, I am a feminist. But my aspirations are greater than hoping we can have more women as oil executives and hedge fund managers. As a woman, I support candidates who will create a system that provides dignity for all, rather than just changing the gender ratio of our oppressors.

Dear Past, Thank you for all the lessons. Dear Future, I am ready now.

In addition, siblings, particularly difficult siblings, can keep rather detailed balance sheets in their heads (or can keep actual balance sheets!). If one sibling had a lavish wedding paid for by the parents, and another sibling did not elect to get married, the unmarried sibling may demand the cash value of the wedding (or law school or a grandchild’s college fund—you get the idea).

I heard a man say he needed to lose weight before he could start running. Imagine that. Lose the weight so he could initiate the running habit. That’s like a writer who waits for inspiration to begin the book, or the manager who waits for a promotion to lead the field, or a startup that waits for full funding before launching a status quo–disrupting product. The flow of life rewards positive action and punishes hesitation.

If a marriage is valued at ten thousand, surely I might have a waltz for three hundred." Her fingers clenched into very determined-looking fists. "So you know about the debt." He nodded. "If I'd known the prize, I might have wagered a larger sum against your brother." "I am not for sale." Clearly he could argue with that, but from the abrupt horror in her grass green eyes, she'd realized that at the same moment she'd spoken. 'Horror.' He'd been forced into things he didn't relish by the lure of funds- or of having them cut off- but the blunt had been the reward for compliance. What was her reward? Marriage to Cosgrove?

In Georgia, beating back a 1949 challenge from black parents to equalize the schools, Governor Herman Talmadge had already proposed a constitutional amendment that would authorize the state legislature to scrap the public school system altogether and “channel state funds into tuition grants for [white] students attending private schools.” In other words, while threatening to scuttle public education and provide state-funded tuition for whites to attend segregated private academies, Talmadge, who had vowed, “as long as I am Governor, … Negroes will not be admitted to white schools,” never contemplated any educational alternatives for the 321,255 African American children in the state in 1950.

men thinks women are stupid about finance ,about science and politics. otherwise they think themselves super intelligent. no . I am not saying this from hate or anger ,I am saying this because I have seen such persons around me . if a woman weak in finance ,with a limited budget how they manage households ? or in crisis come up with reserved fund ? they understand loan ,as equal overdraft ,they understand where her signature can protect her respect where might insult . they just pretend to be stupid much time ,that their loved one may feel safe and can be relaxed that their tricks are still unknown . funny . like let them win

Este cu neputinţă să ne păstrăm pacea sufletească dacă nu veghem asupra minţii noastre, adică dacă nu vom depărta gândurile care nu-I plac lui Dumnezeu şi nu le vom păzi, dimpotrivă, pe cele plăcute lui Dumnezeu. Trebuie să priveşti cu mintea în inimă, ce anume lucrează acolo: lucruri de pace sau nu. Dacă nu, atunci vezi cu ce anume ai păcătuit. Pentru pacea sufletească trebuie să fii înfrânat, pentru că pacea se pierde şi din pricina trupului nostru. Nu trebuie să fii curios; nu trebuie să citeşti nici gazete, nici cărţi lumeşti, care pustiesc sufletul şi-i aduc urât şi tulburare. Nu osândi pe alţii, fiindcă adeseori se întâmplă că, fără să-l cunoaştem pe om, îl vorbim de rău, dar el prin mintea lui e asemenea unui înger. Nu te sili să cunoşti treburi străine, ci numai pe cele ale tale; nu te îngriji decât de ceea ce ţi s-a poruncit de "bătrâni" şi atunci, pentru ascultarea ta, Domnul te va ajuta cu harul Său, şi vei vedea în sufletul tău roadele ascultării: pacea şi rugăciunea neîncetată. În viaţa de obşte harul lui Dumnezeu se pierde înainte de toate pentru că n-am învăţat să iubim pe fratele nostru după porunca Domnului. Dacă fratele tău te întristează şi în clipa aceea primeşti un gând de mânie împotriva lui sau dacă-l osândeşti ori îl urăşti, vei simţi că harul te-a părăsit şi că pacea a pierit. Pentru pacea sufletească trebuie ca sufletul să se obişnuiască să iubească pe acela care l-a întristat şi să se roage de îndată pentru el. Sufletul nu poate avea pace, dacă nu va cere cu toată puterea de la Domnul darul de a iubi pe toţi oamenii. Domnul a zis: "Iubiţi pe vrăjmaşii voştri" [Mt 5,44], şi dacă nu-i vom iubi pe vrăjmaşi, nu va fi pace în suflet. Este neapărată nevoie să dobândim ascultare, smerenie şi iubire, altfel toate marile noastre nevoinţe şi privegheri vor fi doar spre pierzanie. Un "bătrân" a avut următoarea vedenie: un om căra apă într-un vas al cărui fund era spart; omul îşi dădea multă osteneală, dar toată apa se scurgea şi vasul rămânea gol. Aşa şi noi, trăim în nevoinţă [asceză], dar pierdem o singură virtute, şi pentru ea sufletul stă gol.

The year 388 saw an epidemic of mob attacks against synagogues all over the eastern empire including Alexandria, but especially fierce in Syria. At Callinicum on the Euphrates, the synagogue was burned to the ground by a crowd egged on by the local bishop. At first Theodosius responded with exemplary severity, ordering the synagogue to be rebuilt with the bishop’s own funds, but the decision provoked a storm of protest from clerics horrified that Christians would be forced into funding a place for the Jews. One of the horrified bishops, Ambrose of Milan, already incensed at the order of Magnus Maximus a year earlier which forced the rebuilding of a Roman synagogue, bearded the emperor with the impiety of his sentence, casting himself as the prophet Nathan to Theodosius’ erring David. With a nice sense of the histrionic (and a patrician education in classical rhetoric) Ambrose offered to substitute himself as the culprit, receive punishment and even martyrdom if necessary rather than have the Church pay any recompense to the Jews. ‘I am present,’ he declaimed to the emperor, ‘I am here. I proclaim that I set fire to the synagogue or ordered others to do so so that no building should be left standing where Christ is denied.

Oh. Liam." Madison cut her off, smirking when Liam walked out of the restroom behind her, still adjusting his tie. "Nice to see you again." Totally nonplussed, Liam smiled. "Madison." "Men's room closed?" "Not at all." He put an arm around Daisy's shoulder and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Just needed a little alone time with may fiancée." Madison's smile faded. "You're still engaged?" "Yes, we are." He held up Daisy's hand to show off the diamond ring he'd bought her to replace the Sharks ring he'd given her at the bus stop. "When you meet the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with, you don't let her go." Daisy slipped an arm through Liam's. "How's Orson?" "Orson?" Madison frowned as if she had no idea who Daisy was talking about. "Oh. He's gone. Maybe New York?" "I'm sorry to hear that." "I was sorry to hear that Organicare was going under." Madison's smirk returned. "I was wondering if you were interested in coming back to work for me. I need a senior software engineer and---" "Organicare isn't going under," Daisy said. "We've given the company a total overhaul and we've just secured our Series B funding. I've had interest from other investors and I'm here to meet some of them right now. So, if you'll excuse me..." "She's the CEO," Liam said, beaming. "She saved the company and now she's running the whole show." "Congratulations." Madison's voice was flat as she checked her watch. "You're right about the time. I've got a meeting in five minutes. I'd better go." "You didn't have to do that," Daisy said to Liam. "It was a little bit petty." "You enjoyed every second of it." Her lips tipped in a smile. "Okay. I did. She was like every mean girl in high school who mocked me, and now the tables have turned and not only am I running a company, I got the coolest guy in school.

My big-picture goals were all about creating liquidity by monetizing assets, fund-raising for opportunities on the horizon, and doing great deals.

Jacor was probably an asset I would have held for decades, but it was an investment through one of our private equity funds where we had promised investors a return of capital at the end of a predetermined period.

_____________ ___________________, hereby state that I am an investor who is seeking to accumulate wealth for many years into the future. I know that there will be many times when I will be tempted to invest in stocks or bonds because they have gone (or “are going”) up in price, and other times when I will be tempted to sell my investments because they have gone (or “are going”) down. I hereby declare my refusal to let a herd of strangers make my financial decisions for me. I further make a solemn commitment never to invest because the stock market has gone up, and never to sell because it has gone down. Instead, I will invest $______.00 per month, every month, through an automatic investment plan or “dollar-cost averaging program,” into the following mutual fund(s) or diversified portfolio(s): _________________________________, _________________________________, _________________________________. I will also invest additional amounts whenever I can afford to spare the cash (and can afford to lose it in the short run). I hereby declare that I will hold each of these investments continually through at least the following date (which must be a minimum of 10 years after the date of this contact): _________________ _____, 20__. The only exceptions allowed under the terms of this contract are a sudden, pressing need for cash, like a health-care emergency or the loss of my job, or a planned expenditure like a housing down payment or a tuition bill. I am, by signing below, stating my intention not only to abide by the terms of this contract, but to re-read this document whenever I am tempted to sell any of my investments. This contract is valid only when signed by at least one witness, and must be kept in a safe place that is easily accessible for future reference.

Nukes and Peace It takes hundreds of years of hard work to build a civilization, and yet with the press of a button we can destroy it all in a day. Let us not press the button my friend. In fact, if we must destroy something let us destroy the very button of destruction, both from outside and inside. Let us incapacitate every single button of death and destruction, be it technological or psychological, and redirect that energy towards creation and conservation. You see, destroying the nukes mean nothing. Destroy one, another will be built in its place in a matter of months. We have to nuke the hate in us first, so that we no longer feel the need for nukes against our own kind. However, for the sake of investigation, let us forget the common sense of peace, and talk defense strategy for a moment, in a way that might make sense to world leaders. You see, the best defense against a nuke is not another nuke, but a code. It is the best defense because it is exponentially less expensive. In a technologically advanced world, the most powerful nation is not the one with nuclear power, but the one with coding power. So, to the so-called leaders of the world I say - if you're still foolishly worried about your neighbor's nuclear capabilities, don't go about wasting billions of dollars on a nuclear program, just spend a fragment of those funds on post-launch warhead hacking. But then again, it would open up a new realm of problems at a different level, because any nation with exceptional wireless channel manipulation expertise can remotely take over the command of another nation's nuclear warheads. So, at the end of the day, so long as there is animosity among the nations of the world, between mind and mind, sustained by stupid borders and foul ideologies, there is no safe way out. I'll say it to you plainly. Wasting nuclear power on warheads is a barbaric use of a scientific revolution. Let me elaborate with some numbers. A single nuclear warhead contains nearly 4 kilograms of Plutonium-239, which in a nuclear power plant can produce sufficient heat to generate about 32 million kilowatt-hours of electricity, that is, 32 Gigawatt-hours (GWh). 1 GWh of electricity powers about 700,000 households for one hour, hence 32 GWh would power about 22.4 million households for one hour. Now, if we divide that number by the number of hours in a year, that is, 8760, we are confronted with an astounding revelation. It is that, the radioactive material from one nuclear warhead can power over two thousand households for a year (2557 to be exact). And that's just the radioactive material we are talking about. Many more resources are required to set up a nuclear program. The point is, instead of wasting such potent and precious resources on fancy, frivolous and fictitious geopolitical insecurities, let us redirect those resources to alleviate actual, real human suffering from society. Let us use them to empower communities rather than to dominate them - let us use them to elevate the whole of humankind, rather than to downgrade the parts that we do not like. Because by degrading others, we only degrade ourselves, whereas by lifting others, we rise ourselves. Remember, there is no world peace, so long as fear is off the leash.

How did you come to live in Amsterdam?” I ask her. “Did you study there?” She twists a strand of hair around her fingers, staring out over the rail and across the water. “No, I studied medicine in Algiers, then earned my doctoral degree in Italy. Then spent several years as a ship’s surgeon because I couldn’t find professional work on the continent.” She squints, counting the years backward in her head. “Then I was hired to assist at the Hortus Medicus—the botanical garden in Amsterdam that cultivates medicinal plants from around the world. They’re funded by the university, and most of the physicians do at least some of their training there. I started teaching as a substitute when the male professors were traveling or unwell, and eventually they gave me my own classes and let me do my own research.” “Do you speak Dutch?” I ask. She nods. “And Italian. And Arabic, and some of the Berber dialects, though not fluently.” “And you’re a doctor,” I say, trying to make it a statement rather than a question though the concept still seems outlandish, not because women don’t have the capacity for medical professions, but because I’ve simply never heard of any reaching such a recognized level of achievement. “A real doctor.” She gives me a half smile. “Improbable as it may seem, I am.” “Felicity Primrose Montague!” I exclaim. Monty throws back his head and laughs. Felicity rolls her eyes. “Oh good, now there are two of you.” “You’re incredible,” I say to her. She looks down at her hands, color rising in her cheeks. “That’s very kind, thank you.” “You are!” I say. “You’re a doctor! And a professor! At a university!” “It really is bloody impressive, Fel,” Monty adds. “And a pirate!” I say. “You’re like an adventure-novel heroine! I wish I could introduce you to my fiancée. She’d go mad over you.” “Is she interested in medicine or piracy?” Felicity asks. “Neither in particular,” I say. “But she’s very interested in women who cast off societal expectations and work for change despite the men who endeavor to stand in their way.

Monsieur l’Inspecteur: I am writing to inform you that the American Library houses more enemy aliens than an internment camp. To start with, there’s the arriviste American, Clara de Chambrun. She spends more time at the Library than she does at home like a good wife should. She devotes her days to soliciting funds from fancy socialite friends in order to sustain the Library. I doubt she declares this revenue. She does not like Germans (or “Huns” as she calls them) and flouts their regulations. Just because she’s a countess doesn’t mean that she needn’t follow the rules. I believe she smuggles books to Jewish readers. Who knows what else she is up to? She’s very evasive. Pay a visit and see for yourself. You’ll see she thinks she’s above the law. Signed, One who knows

From the very first deals we did at EGI, I have spread the opportunity—both the risks and the rewards. We co-invest, side by side, and I often provide a “promote” to my people, allowing them to share in profits on a portion of my invested capital. That means I put my money behind theirs (say $150,000 of my money to $30,000 of their money), and if our investments or funds achieve their minimum target metrics, my people get returns based on the aggregate ($180,000). In effect, we’re all invested in each other’s success. It’s not only about motivation; it’s a mandate to collaborate. Deal opportunities and challenges are discussed, questioned, and probed by the team at large because everybody has a piece of everybody else’s deal.

But by the end, we had raised over $1 billion. I think it was the largest fund of its kind at the time. We focused on turning around companies that had taken on excessive debt in the 1980s. We contributed our own capital in order to align our interests with those of our investors, and we didn’t charge fees on each acquisition like many leveraged-buyout firms did. Instead, we used the funds to share risk with our investors—and to share opportunities. We had a stated objective of holding our investments for ten to twelve years.

So I called Merrill Lynch and said, “I want to create an opportunity fund wherein investors put up cash to become my partners in the purchase of distressed real estate.” No one, including me, had done this kind of fund before, but they thought it was a great idea. They put up 5 percent of the first fund’s target and said they’d raise the balance of the capital. Six months later, we still had no commitments. Not one. So I took over the process and hit the road—from May 10 through June 30, 1989. I found that to raise money, I had to do it personally. I traveled with Merrill forty-two of those fifty-two days and did every single presentation—typically three to four a day in different cities.

I am mystified why the USA is sending massive amounts of very expensive weapons to Ukraine when it cannot adequately fund its own disability system!

Please reach out with any questions. I am always available to talk about your specific buying scenario, and give my recommendations to get you closed and funded!

Trance of Totem (The Sonnet) This is my decree to my soldiers of the future, Refrain from raising my giant lifeless structures! Use the funds to build schools and hospitals instead, Providing free/affordable education and healthcare. Keep me alive in your heart, not in dead statues, each one taller and more extravagant than the other, Just so self-absorbed snobs could take the perfect selfie, to declare an empty alliance with humanitarian behavior. If you must have symbollic momentos of me around, Keep them personal, humble and utterly non-extravagant. Always remember, I am honored with your acts of love, not with your thousand feet statues and chants unsapient. It's a sad state of affairs, when virtues gather moss upon the monuments of hypocrisy. Break your trance of totem poles, be the freedom you are meant to be!

Well, folks, you can see that those superscrapers came through the storm just fine. It’s too bad they’re mostly empty right now. I mean they’re residential towers supposedly, but they were always too expensive for ordinary people to afford. They’re like big granaries for holding money, basically. You have to imagine them all stuffed to the top with dollar bills. The richest people from all over the world own the apartments in those towers. They’re an investment, or maybe a tax write-off. Diversify into real estate, as they say. While also having a place to visit whenever you happen to want to visit New York. A vacation place they might use for only a week or two every year. Depends what they like. They usually own about a dozen of these places around the world. Spread their holdings around. So really these towers are just assets. They’re money. They’re like big tall purple gold bars. They’re everything except housing.... Now, here below us is Central Park. It’s a refugee camp now, you can see that. It’s likely to be that for weeks and months to come. Maybe a year. People will be sleeping in the park. Lots of tents already, as you see.... So you know what? I’m sick of the rich. I just am. I’m sick of them running this whole planet for themselves. They’re wrecking it! So I think we should take it back, and take care of it. And take care of each other as part of that. No more table scraps. You know that Householders’ Union that I was telling you about? I think it’s time for everyone to join that union, and for that union to go on strike. An everybody strike. I think there should be an everybody strike. Now. Today.... What I mean by a householders’strike is you just stop paying your rents and mortgages ... maybe also your student loans and insurance payments. Any private debt you’ve taken on just to make you and your family safe. The daily necessities of existence. The union is declaring all those to be odious debts, like some kind of blackmail on us, and we’re demanding they be renegotiated ... So, we stop paying and call that the Jubilee? ... That’s an old name for this kind of thing. After we start this Jubilee, until there’s a restructuring that forgives a lot of our debt, we aren’t paying anything. You might think that not paying your mortgage would get you in trouble, and it’s true that if it was just you, that might happen. But when everyone does it, that makes it a strike. Civil disobedience. A revolution. So everyone needs to join in. Won’t be that hard. Just don’t pay your bills! ... What will happen then is that the absence of those payments of ours will cause the banks to crash fast. They take our payments and use them as collateral to borrow tons more, to fund their own gambling, and they are way, way, way overextended. Overleveraged.... At that point they will be asking the government to bail them out. That’s us. We’re the government. At least in theory, but yeah. We are. So we can decide what to do then. We will have to tell our government what to do at that point. If our government tries to back the banks instead of us, then we elect a different government. We pretend that democracy is real, and that will make it real. We elect a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. That was the whole idea in the first place. As they used to tell us in school. And it’s a good idea, if we could make it real. It might never have been real, up till now. But now’s the time. Now’s the time, people!

Well, folks, you can see that those superscrapers came through the storm just fine. It’s too bad they’re mostly empty right now. I mean they’re residential towers supposedly, but they were always too expensive for ordinary people to afford. They’re like big granaries for holding money, basically. You have to imagine them all stuffed to the top with dollar bills. The richest people from all over the world own the apartments in those towers. They’re an investment, or maybe a tax write-off. Diversify into real estate, as they say. While also having a place to visit whenever you happen to want to visit New York. A vacation place they might use for only a week or two every year. Depends what they like. They usually own about a dozen of these places around the world. Spread their holdings around. So really these towers are just assets. They’re money. They’re like big tall purple gold bars. They’re everything except housing.... Now, here below us is Central Park. It’s a refugee camp now, you can see that. It’s likely to be that for weeks and months to come. Maybe a year. People will be sleeping in the park. Lots of tents already, as you see.... So you know what? I’m sick of the rich. I just am. I’m sick of them running this whole planet for themselves. They’re wrecking it! So I think we should take it back, and take care of it. And take care of each other as part of that. No more table scraps. You know that Householders’ Union that I was telling you about? I think it’s time for everyone to join that union, and for that union to go on strike. An everybody strike. I think there should be an everybody strike. Now. Today.... What I mean by a householders’strike is you just stop paying your rents and mortgages ... maybe also your student loans and insurance payments. Any private debt you’ve taken on just to make you and your family safe. The daily necessities of existence. The union is declaring all those to be odious debts, like some kind of blackmail on us, and we’re demanding they be renegotiated ... So, we stop paying and call that the Jubilee? ... That’s an old name for this kind of thing. After we start this Jubilee, until there’s a restructuring that forgives a lot of our debt, we aren’t paying anything. You might think that not paying your mortgage would get you in trouble, and it’s true that if it was just you, that might happen. But when everyone does it, that makes it a strike. Civil disobedience. A revolution. So everyone needs to join in. Won’t be that hard. Just don’t pay your bills! ... What will happen then is that the absence of those payments of ours will cause the banks to crash fast. They take our payments and use them as collateral to borrow tons more, to fund their own gambling, and they are way, way, way overextended. Overleveraged.... At that point they will be asking the government to bail them out. That’s us. We’re the government. At least in theory, but yeah. We are. So we can decide what to do then. We will have to tell our government what to do at that point. If our government tries to back the banks instead of us, then we elect a different government. We pretend that democracy is real, and that will make it real. We elect a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. That was the whole idea in the first place. As they used to tell us in school. And it’s a good idea, if we could make it real. It might never have been real, up till now. But now’s the time. Now’s the time, people!

Să nu mă-ntrebi de ce, de când, de unde, nici nu știu cum, nici n-am ce să ascund. Și ce-aș putea de ochii tăi ascunde când i-am băut cu sete pân' la fund? Nu știu ce-a fost, eu nu știu ce-o să fie, un secol lung, ori poate un minut, E încă proaspăt primul tău sărut, și ultima tăcere mai e vie.

I intend to achieve financial freedom and win over debt for a lifetime by consistently giving, saving, and never spending more money than I earn. I will know I’ve reached my goal when I have no unsecured debt; I have a $10,000 Contingency Fund; my Freedom Account is funded one year in advance; and I am consistently giving away 10 percent, saving 10 percent, and living on 80 percent of my income.

And there are also some trust-fund kids cosplaying poverty. I am coining the term blanketforters,

I always have enough money for every good work. There is abundance and no lack. My money multiplies every month and stays with me. I always have sufficient funds because I am a giver.

P3 - ten minutes of that movie, or indeed of any movie whose message is similarly dystopian about a post-aging world (Blade Runner), you will see that they set it up by insinuating, with exactly no justification and also no attempt at discussion (which is how they get away with not justifying it), that the defeat of aging will self-evidently bring about some new problem that we will be unable to solve without doing more harm than good. The most common such problem, of course, is overpopulation - and I refer you to literally about 1000 interviews and hundreds of talks I have given on stage and camera over the past 20 years, of which several dozen are online, for why such a concern is misplaced. The reason there are 1000, of course, is that most people WANT to believe that aging is a blessing in disguise - they find it expedient to put aging out of their minds and get on with their miserably short lives, however irrational must be the rationalizations by which they achieve that. Aubrey has been asked on numerous occasions whether humans should use future tech to extend their lifespans. Aubrey opines, "I believe that humans should (and will) use (and, as a prerequisite, develop) future technologies to extend their healthspan, i.e. their healthy lifespan. But before fearing that I have lost my mind, let me stress that that is no more nor less than I have always believed. The reason people call me an “immortalist” and such like is only that I recognize, and am not scared to say, two other things: one, that extended lifespan is a totally certain side-effect of extended healthspan, and two, that the desire (and the legitimacy of the desire) to further extend healthspan will not suddenly cease once we achieve such-and-such a number of years." On what people can do to advance longevity research, my answer to this question has radically changed in the past year. For the previous 20 years, my answer would have been “make a lot of money and give it to the best research”, as it was indisputable that the most important research could go at least 2 or 3x times faster if not funding-limited. But in the past year, with the influx of at least a few $B, much of it non-profit (and much of it coming from tech types who did exactly the above), the calculus has changed: the rate-limiter now is personnel. It’s more or less the case now that money is no longer the main rate-limiter, talent is: we desperately need more young scientists to see longevity as the best career choice. As for how much current cryopreservation technology will advance in the next 10-20 years, and whether it enough for future reanimation? No question about the timeframe for a given amount of progress in any pioneering tech can be answered other than probabilistically. Or, to put it more simply, I don’t know - but I think there's a very good chance that within five years we will have cryo technology that inflicts only very little damage on biological tissue, such that yes, other advances in rejuvenation medicine that will repair the damage that caused the cryonaut to be pronounced dead in the first place will not be overwhelmed by cryopreservation damage, hence reanimation will indeed be possible. As of now, the people who have been cryopreserved(frozen) the best (i.e. w/ vitrification, starting very shortly immediately after cardiac arrest) may, just possibly, be capable of revival by rewarming and repair of damage - but only just possibly. Thus, the priority needs to be to improve the quality of cryopreservation - in terms of the reliability of getting people the best preservation that is technologically possible, which means all manner of things like getting hospitals more comfortable with cryonics practice and getting people to wear alarms that will alert people if they undergo cardiac arrest when alone, but even more importantly in terms of the tech itself, to reduce (greatly) the damage that is done to cells and tissues by the cryopreservation process.

Shallow. Harmless. A little bit stupid. Crazy in love with you. Needs access to every part of the house. Let’s see . . . Who am I? Well, Roman’s trophy wife, of course. I am pretty, elegant, and extremely snobbish. I love wearing expensive clothes, just the best labels. I’m not really into dresses unless the occasion requires it. I much more prefer designer jeans, paired with silky blouses. The heels are a must.” She pauses, opens her eyes, and turns toward me. “Are heels a must, do you think?” She scrunches her tiny nose. “Of course they are. Damn it. I hate wearing heels.” She closes her eyes again and continues. “The heels are a must, and I have dozens of them. Roman loves when I wear them, he says they make my butt look amazing. I’m also very self-conscious about my height, and wearing heels all the time makes me forget how short I am. My favorite pastime is shopping, and I buy a ton of clothes. My husband has to allocate one driver specifically for me and my shopping sprees.” Another pause and she turns toward me again. “Roman, I’ll need funds to support her addiction with clothes. She is an impulse buyer.” “You’ll get anything you need,” I laugh. She’s completely nuts. “My husband is crazy about me, and he allows me to do whatever I want with the house, like rearrange furniture, so the vibe of the house works better with the earth vibrations. The house feels terribly cold, so I buy a bunch of indoor plants and spread them everywhere. I also tour every single room because I want to make sure the unobstructed energy flows, so I rearrange paintings and mirrors. I also hate the dining room table, it’s so overstated, and I decide to swap it with a sleek glass one I found in an interior design magazine.” Another pause. “This woman is expensive, Roman. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.” “I’ll manage.” “Your funeral.” She shrugs and continues. “My husband doesn’t like it when he’s interrupted, but of course, that doesn’t apply to me. I often come into his office just to check up on him and exchange a few kisses. It annoys his men so much. They wonder what he sees in me and why he allows me so much freedom, and then decide he’s thinking with his dick. I’m always around, and they hate it.

The paradox is that, as I became more authentic and discarded my agenda, people became more interested in investing in the fund. This was an unintended consequence of becoming less selfish and more honest about who I am.

The Transcendental Meditation Foundation, which taught me to meditate, conducted an experiment in Washington to evaluate the effects of concentrated meditation on that city’s crime figures. They got a group of people, ranging from a few hundred to a thousand, to meditate in a hotel, to see if this would impact the behavior of the wider community. From a cynical perspective, it was a bold experiment to embark upon. Why would a bunch of … I’m going to assume hippies, sitting still in a room thinking a word change the way a criminal outside in Washington would behave? In fact who funded this madness? It makes no material sense. “We are living in a material world and I am a material girl,” sang Madonna. And she’s right, it is and she is. Quantum physicist John Hagelin was one of the scientists behind this experiment. I’ve chatted to him about meditation and asked for neurological data that advances meditation beyond an esoteric practice for bearded wizards in the Himalayas. Transcendental Meditation, though, was actually brought to the West by a bearded wizard from the Himalayas. Known as the Maharishi, you might recognize him from “the sixties,” when he was at the epicenter of a countercultural explosion, perched cross-legged on a flower-strewn stage with the Beatles. The technique of TM that the Maharishi taught them is the type of meditation that I use. Hagelin describes it as a tool to get “beyond thought to the source of thought.” When scanned in a meditative state, the brain behaves in a tangibly distinct electrophysiological way. It’s a fourth state of consciousness. Awake, asleep, dreaming, and the meditative state. There is some distance to traverse, according to conventional thinking, between meditation producing unusual brainwaves and crime falling in a major metropolis as a result of a group of people practicing it. Over the course of the two-month experiment, crime fell by 23 percent. What’s more, the figure increased in tandem with the number of people practicing. John Hagelin said through meditation we can access “the unity beyond diversity.” That beyond the atomic, subatomic, nuclear, subnuclear, there is a unified field. The results of this experiment suggest that if a significant proportion of a population regularly meditated it will affect consciousness—beyond the people involved. Burglaries, street crime, and violence all fell as a result of the state of consciousness achieved by a group of people inwardly thinking a word until a state beyond thought was reached. That’s weird. It is irrefutable proof that beyond the world that we can currently measure with tools as yet inept for such an advanced task, there is a connection between the apparently separate consciousness of individuals. Consciousness exists beyond your head, between our heads, and it can manifest harmony. That is perilously close to affirmation of a Higher Power. My experiences of meditation began before bearded pajama time, which a friend of mine is encouraging me to describe as a mental breakdown.

What did we really achieve by replacing the orange-haired orangutan with a better alternative, if that better alternative ultimately fails as horribly as his predecessor, when things get really desperate. I may not be a US citizen, but I am a US taxpayer, and when tax dollars from my books on peace and justice are used to aid and fund genocide and war, I find it difficult to maintain respect for such new administration. Citizens of earth could end all wars in a year - boycott all tax-filing unless your governments cease all defense activities for good.

Well into adulthood, it is not unusual for parents who have the means to use trust funds and other financial incentives to purchase their children’s obedience, devotion, proximity, or anything they want, and to use wills and estates to exert that same control from beyond the grave.

I love libraries and am their huge supporter, speaking at them and raising funds whenever I can.

It is the public schools, however, which can be made, outside the homes, the greatest means of training decent self-respecting citizens. We have been so hotly engaged recently in discussing trade-schools and the higher education that the pitiable plight of the public-school system in the South has almost dropped from view. Of every five dollars spent for public education in the State of Georgia, the white schools get four dollars and the Negro one dollar; and even then the white public-school system, save in the cities, is bad and cries for reform. If this is true of the whites, what of the blacks? I am becoming more and more convinced, as I look upon the system of common-school training in the South, that the national government must soon step in and aid popular education in some way. To-day it has been only by the most strenuous efforts on the part of the thinking men of the South that the Negro’s share of the school fund has not been cut down to a pittance in some half-dozen States; and that movement not only is not dead, but in many communities is gaining strength. What in the name of reason does this nation expect of a people, poorly trained and hard pressed in severe economic competition, without political rights, and with ludicrously inadequate common-school facilities? What can it expect but crime and listlessness, offset here and there by the dogged struggles of the fortunate and more determined who are themselves buoyed by the hope that in due time the country will come to its senses?

My objective is to place these issues in their broader political context by exploring how the denial of Black reproductive autonomy serves the interests of white supremacy. I am also interested in the way in which the dominant understanding of reproductive rights has been shaped by racist assumptions about Black procreation. Three central themes, then, run through the chapters of this book. The first is that regulating Black women’s reproductive decisions had been a central aspect of racial oppression in America. Not only do these policies injure individual Black women, but they also are a principal means of justifying the perpetuation of a racist social structure. Second, the control of Black women’s reproduction has shaped the meaning of reproductive liberty in America. The traditional understanding of reproductive freedom has had to accommodate practices that blatantly deny Black women control over critical decisions about their bodies. Highlighting the racial dimensions of contemporary debates such as welfare reform, the safety of Norplant, public funding of abortion, and the morality of new reproductive technologies is like shaking up a kaleidoscope and taking another look. Finally, in light of the first two themes, we need to reconsider the meaning of reproductive liberty to take into account its relationship to racial oppression. While Black women’s stories are sometimes inserted as an aside in deliberations about reproductive issues, I place them at the center of this reconstructive project.