Inspirational Light Box Quotes

The animal merely makes a bed, which he warms with his body in a sheltered place; but man, having discovered fire, boxes up some air in a spacious apartment, and warms that, instead of robbing himself, makes that his bed, in which he can move about divested of more cumbrous clothing, maintain a kind of summer in the midst of winter, and by means of windows even admit the light and with a lamp lengthen out the day.

There is strange comfort in knowing that no matter what happens today, the Sun will rise again tomorrow.

The struggles we endure today will be the ‘good old days’ we laugh about tomorrow.

It's in those quiet little towns, at the edge of the world, that you will find the salt of the earth people who make you feel right at home.

Life's trials will test you, and shape you, but don’t let them change who you are.” ~ Aaron Lauritsen, ‘100 Days Drive

True friends don't come with conditions.

Without struggle, success has no value.

From this point forward, you don’t even know how to quit in life.” ~ Aaron Lauritsen, ‘100 Days Drive

Those who achieve the extraordinary are usually the most ordinary because they have nothing to prove to anybody. Be Humble.

At some point, you just gotta forgive the past, your happiness hinges on it.

Explore, Experience, Then Push Beyond.

The freedom of the open road is seductive, serendipitous and absolutely liberating.

If you didn't earn something, it's not worth flaunting.

It’s the ‘everyday’ experiences we encounter along the journey to who we wanna be that will define who we are when we get there.

There is no real light but just small sparks of happiness we should photograph to contain. But if we stop to photograph, we can’t enjoy them, the flash overexposes them and they disappear.

The high road of grace will get you somewhere a whole lot faster then the freeway of spite.

We love our partners for who they are, not for who they are not.

Travel is costly yes, but it pays dividends too.

I want to write stories that are different from the ones I've written so far, Junpei thought: I want to write about people who dream and wait for the night to end, who long for the light so they can hold the ones they love. But right now I have to stay here and keep watch over this woman and this girl. I will never let anyone-not anyone-try to put them into that crazy box- not even if the sky should fall or the earth crack open with a roar.

Be a team player, not a bandwagon jumper.

I began by saying that our history will be what we make it. If we go on as we are, then history will take its revenge, and retribution will not limp in catching up with us. We are to a large extent an imitative society. If one or two or three corporations would undertake to devote just a small fraction of their advertising appropriation along the lines that I have suggested, the procedure would grow by contagion; the economic burden would be bearable, and there might ensue a most exciting adventure--exposure to ideas and the bringing of reality into the homes of the nation. To those who say people wouldn't look; they wouldn't be interested; they're too complacent, indifferent and insulated, I can only reply: There is, in one reporter's opinion, considerable evidence against that contention. But even if they are right, what have they got to lose? Because if they are right, and this instrument is good for nothing but to entertain, amuse and insulate, then the tube is flickering now and we will soon see that the whole struggle is lost. This instrument can teach, it can illuminate; yes, and it can even inspire. But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends. Otherwise it is merely wires and lights in a box. There is a great and perhaps decisive battle to be fought against ignorance, intolerance and indifference.

This instrument can teach, it can illuminate; yes, and even it can inspire. But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends. Otherwise, it's nothing but wires and lights in a box.

People, places and experiences aren’t meant to be labeled and judged, they are meant to be loved and appreciated, since deep down inside, the nature we all share is love, light and happiness.

There is no such thing as loving a child too much.

The matrix is all about boxes. It exists to keep us living in boxes, and thinking in boxes, and doing the same thing everyone else is doing, all day, for the rest of our lives, because boxes, and patterns, and the status quo make humans easy to control.

I’ll try even when the odds are overwhelmingly against me. Only this time, strings will be pulled, bridges will be burned, and the worst of pandora’s box will see light of day.

The highway of grace will get you somewhere a whole lot faster then the freeway of spite.

Reality [...] at every level from photons to philosophical fancies to the consciousness of living organisms was fluid [...]. To break apart and confine this reality into separate categories created by the mind was foolish and futile, much like trying to capture a ray of light inside a dark wooden box. This urge to categorize was the true fall of man [...] the infinite became finite, good opposed evil, thoughts hardened into beliefs, one's joys and discoveries became dreadful certainties, man became alienated from what he perceived as other ways and other things, and, ultimately, divided against himself, body and soul. [...] Always seeking meaning, always making their lives safe and comfortable, human beings do not truly live.

Successes are those highlights of life we look back on with a smile. But it's the day to day grind of getting them that defines the laugh lines etched until the end of time. Enjoy each moment along the way

I am not light nor the absence of it. I am the broad spectrum. Everything that makes you think, want to touch, or taste. Don't box me into that life that you so desperately need to be black and white because that's not me; I won't fit. I am bold, brilliant, and beautiful, I will sparkle and shimmer every hue. Ever changing. Undefinable. So do not give me limits or make me try to fit. There is no containing subtle softness careening into the harsh and dominant, every faucet creating a reaction which will cause you to feel and know you are alive." - Kendal Waller

They intend to make people's very appetites the next weapon of uncountable destruction. They intend that your people will lust themselves into oblivion in front of little boxes of changing light. Addictive light. A light that makes you feel like you live a life, when all you really do is eat what the light tells you to eat and squirt pee and pump poo. And watch the changing light!

THE ANTHEM OF HOPE Tiny footprints in mud, metal scraps among thistles Child who ambles barefooted through humanity’s war An Elderflower in mud, landmines hidden in bristles Blood clings to your feet, your wee hands stiff and sore You who walk among trenches, midst our filth and our gore Box of crayons in hand, your tears tumble like crystals Gentle, scared little boy, at the heel of Hope Valley, The grassy heel of Hope Valley. And the bombs fall-fall-fall Down the slopes of Hope Valley Bayonets cut-cut-cut Through the ranks of Hope Valley Napalm clouds burn-burn-burn All who fight in Hope Valley, All who fall in Hope Valley. Bullets fly past your shoulder, fireflies light the sky Child who digs through the trenches for his long sleeping father You plant a kiss on his forehead, and you whisper goodbye Vain corpses, brave soldiers, offered as cannon fodder Nothing is left but a wall; near its pallor you gather Crayon ready, you draw: the memory of a lie Kind, sad little boy, sketching your dream of Hope Valley Your little dream of Hope Valley. Missiles fly-fly-fly Over the fields of Hope Valley Carabines shoot-shoot-shoot The brave souls of Hope Valley And the tanks shell-shell-shell Those who toiled for Hope Valley, Those who died for Hope Valley. In the light of gunfire, the little child draws the valley Every trench is a creek; every bloodstain a flower No battlefield, but a garden with large fields ripe with barley Ideations of peace in his dark, final hour And so the child drew his future, on the wall of that tower Memories of times past; your tiny village lush alley Great, brave little boy, the future hope of Hope Valley The only hope of Hope Valley. And the grass grows-grows-grows On the knolls of Hope Valley Daffodils bloom-bloom-bloom Across the hills of Hope Valley The midday sun shines-shines-shines On the folk of Hope Valley On the dead of Hope Valley From his Aerodyne fleet The soldier faces the carnage Uttering words to the fallen He commends their great courage Across a wrecked, tower wall A child’s hand limns the valley And this drawing speaks volumes Words of hope, not of bally He wipes his tears and marvels The miracle of Hope Valley The only miracle of Hope Valley And the grass grows-grows-grows Midst all the dead of Hope Valley Daffodils bloom-bloom-bloom For all the dead of Hope Valley The evening sun sets-sets-sets On the miracle of Hope Valley The only miracle of Hope Valley (lyrics to "the Anthem of Hope", a fictional song featured in Louise Blackwick's Neon Science-Fiction novel "5 Stars".

You may think this a strange story, but it is not. There are people whose lives are every bit as unusual as Bobby Box's--I can promise you that. Not all of them end as well, of course. For many people, the world is a place of sadness and sorrow, which is a great pity, as we have only one chance at life, and it is very bad luck if things do not go well. But even if you think they are not going well, you can still wish, as Bobby Box did. And sometimes those wishes will come true, as his did, and the world will seem filled with light and happiness. That can happen, you know. So never give up hope; never think things are so bad that they can never get better. They can get better, and they do. And if you have the chance to make things easier for another person, never miss it. Stretch out your hand to help them, to cheer them up, to wipe away their tears. Stretch out your hand as that man and that woman did to Bobby Box. Stretch out your hand and see what happens.

In 1995, when Steve Jobs was trying to convince us that we should go public, one of his key arguments was that we would eventually make a film that failed at the box office, and we needed to be prepared, financially, for that day. Going public would give us the capital to fund our own projects and, thus, to have more say about where we were headed, but it would also give us a buffer that could sustain us through failure. Steve’s feeling was that Pixar’s survival could not depend solely on the performance of each and every movie. The underlying logic of his reasoning shook me: We were going to screw up, it was inevitable. And we didn’t know when or how. We had to prepare, then, for an unknown problem—a hidden problem. From that day on, I resolved to bring as many hidden problems as possible to light, a process that would require what might seem like an uncommon commitment to self-assessment.

These are some mighty men about to hit the stage," an unseen announcer screamed through the PA system. "With an average height of six-foot-four, a massive weight of three hundred thirty pounds - all of it rock-solid muscle - they are nationally ranked power lifters, some of whom bench-press over six hundred pounds! And they're not here to brag on their muscles, but to brag on Jesus." The eight members of the Power Team ran up to the stage on thunderous feet, wearing red, black, and blue warm-up suits, weight belts, and boxing shoes. To a man, they were as big as a semitrailer truck. They pumped their fists in the air and stood before us bouncing lightly on the balls of their feet, ready to kick some religious butt. "Fasten your seat belts. If God is for you, who can be against you?" "Woo! Woo! Woo!" the audience screamed, instantly ready to rock and roll. We were less than an hour into the first night of a six-night revival, and already it seemed that Sin was going down in a terminal headlock, and Grand Junction would never be the same.... I had heard about the Power Team not from Christian friends, but from a succession of potheads - quintessential late-night cable TV channel surfers. To the stoned, there is nothing more entertaining than the sudden, near hallucinatory vision of this troupe of power-lifting missionaries led by former Oral Roberts University football star John Jacobs.... [My nephew] bought a comic book in which John Jacobs and the Power Team defeat a lisping South American drug lord. From that and an orientation video, we learned that the Team conducts seventy crusades each year, saves close to a million souls here and abroad - notably in Russia - and consists of "world-class athletes who inspire people to follow Christ - and to move away from drugs, alcohol, and suicide." (At the same time, we were pressured not to let our long-distance dollars go to support "nudity, profanity, or the Gay Games." We could avoid this by signing up with Lifeline, a Christian long-distance provider.)" People Who Sweat: Ordinary People, Extraordinary Pursuits, pp. 126-8.

It’s a blessing and a curse, being in this place of comfortable marital security. On one hand, you’ve got someone who will come right out and tell you if you have broccoli in your teeth or if you neglected to apply enough deodorant, somebody who will lie to you and tell you that you don’t need a face-lift and that he can see the triceps muscles you’ve been working diligently to unearth, somebody who’s seen you naked on numerous occasions without laughing or cringing or running screaming into the next room. On the other hand, you also have evenings out that look like this: [Sitting at a stoplight on the way to dinner.] ME: What are you doing? JOE: I’m trying to [yank] pull out [tug] this three-inch [rip] nose hair. Where did it come from, anyway? Damn it, I can’t get it. Hey, your fingers are smaller, and you have nails. Can you grab it? ME: You want me to pull your nose hair out? JOE: Well, I can’t sit there at dinner with it just hanging out like this. You didn’t notice it before we left? ME: I was very busy trying to squeeze into these Spanx, thank you very much. I think I have manicure scissors in the glove box. [Finds scissors, hands them to Joe. The light turns green.] JOE: Hold the wheel while I do this. ME: I don’t think this is such a great idea. [Joe sticking scissors tips up his nose and snipping randomly; Jenna gripping steering wheel with white knuckles.] JOE: Shit, I can’t see it without my cheaters. You do it. ME: Honey, I would rather not stick scissors up your nose while you’re driving. I’ll do it when we get to the restaurant. And, of course, I did, because it turned out Joe forgot his reading glasses* (which always makes for a fun and romantic game of “Wait, Read Me the Entrée Specials Again” at restaurants) so he simply couldn’t. “You’re going to write about this,” Joe accused me as I stashed my manicure scissors back in the glove box. “Are you kidding me?” I asked, offended. “Of course I’m going to write about this! This shit is comedy gold right here.” Like I said, the man knows me inside and out.

I’m still scared,” I admitted suddenly, startling even myself. The old couple came back in, turning on the night light beside my bed to see my face by its glow, and sat beside me comfortably on the edge of the bed. I looked around the room and then at the elderly couple with eager eyes, as if they held the power to change the whole world. “What if the monster comes back?” I asked with big eyes. Elsie snuggled against me, pushing the covers up underneath my chin and tucking them in tightly around my whole body, wrapping me in a cocoon of soft and downy comfort. As she smoothed back my hair tenderly, her touch felt like a fresh piece of heaven, a momentary brush with an angel. “Monsters aren’t real, honey,” she soothed, trying to comfort me. I imagined his threatening, glassy eyes flickering at me in that moment, peering over the bright flowers of the window boxes, ready to take my life instantaneously. My heart closed in on itself like the clanging, steel doors of a cage, feeling two sizes too small to hold all the pain within it. “Oh Elsie,” I whispered in hushed undertones, leaning closer to her face, sure he was out there, still listening just beyond my view, “Yes, they are.

She asked me if I would visit the music class sometime and speak to the kids about the viability of a music career. A few months later I found myself there in that same music room, talking to the kids and jamming out for them. The kids were beautiful, the jamming and talking was cool, but I walked away from the experience shaken. The last time I had been in that room was twenty years before, and it had been packed full of kids playing French horns, clarinets, violins, basses, trombones, flutes, tympani, and saxophones, all under the capable instruction of orchestra teacher Mr. Brodsky. It was a room alive with sound and learning! Any instrument a kid wanted to play was there to be learned and loved. But on this day, there were no instruments, no rustling of sheet music, no trumpet spit muddying the floor, no ungodly cacophony of squeaks and wails driving Mr. Brodsky up a fucking wall. There was a volunteer teacher, a group of interested kids, and a boom box. A music appreciation class. All the arts funding had been cut the year after I left Fairfax, under the auspices of a ridiculous law called Proposition 13, a symptom of the Reaganomics trickle-down theory. I was shocked to realize that these kids didn’t get an opportunity to study an instrument and blow in an orchestra. I thought back to the dazed days when I would show up to school after one of Walter’s violent episodes, and the peace I found blowing my horn in the sanctuary of that room. I thought of the dreams Tree and I shared there of being professional musicians, before going over to his house to be inspired by the great jazzers. Because I loved playing in the orchestra I’d be there instead of out doing dumb petty crimes. I constantly ditched school, but the one thing that kept me showing up was music class. FUCK REAGANOMICS. Man, kids have different types of intelligences, some arts, some athletics, some academics, but all deserve to be nurtured, all deserve a chance to shine their light.

He slides his palm over the gentle strength of those rocks and remembers the faces from the photos tucked into boxes with those rocks, the stories penned with care on tear-splotched pages, arriving from around the country. He sees Liesl, the horror and hope of what she had been through etched in her face as she unwrapped that stone from her threadbare handkerchief. He sees Omaha beach. U-boats. Paris celebrating, bathed in light. He sees the frozen passes of Russia, winding river currents in Burma, jungles in the Philippines

The animal merely makes a bed, which he warms with his body in a sheltered place; but man, having discovered fire, boxes up some air in a spacious apartment, and warms that, instead of robbing himself, makes that his bed, in which he can move about divested of more cumbrous clothing, maintain a kind of summer in the midst of winter, and by means of windows even admit the light and with a lamp lengthen out the day. ― Henry David Thoreau

Losing $40,000 is a gut-wrenching experience. The pit in your stomach, the sleepless nights, the constant replaying of "what if" scenarios – it's a storm of emotions that can leave you feeling helpless. My own foray into this financial nightmare unfolded when I fell victim to an elaborate online scam. $40,000, gone. Just like that. The initial shock gave way to a desperate scramble for answers. Hours spent scouring the internet, countless calls to banks and authorities, all leading to dead ends. The frustration and fear gnawed at me, and with each passing day, hope dwindled. Just as I was about to resign myself to my unfortunate fate, a light appeared: ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST . Skeptical but clinging to a last thread of hope, I reached out. From the very first contact, it was different. They didn't sugarcoat the situation, but their empathy and professionalism were a balm to my battered spirits. The recovery process, however, was far from smooth. The scammers had covered their tracks well, leaving a tangled web of digital breadcrumbs. The challenges were immense: Complexities of the scam: The perpetrators had used a sophisticated scheme, involving offshore accounts and cryptocurrency transfers. Unraveling it required expertise beyond my own tech savvy. Limited information: visit their website: adwarerecoveryspecialist.expert With little to trace, the investigation relied heavily on ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST meticulous analysis and resourcefulness. Their ability to think outside the box was crucial. Time constraints: Every passing day meant the trail grew colder, increasing the chances of my money vanishing forever. The pressure was immense, yet ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST never wavered in their dedication. Through it all, ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST was my constant anchor. They kept me informed of every step, explained the complexities in layman's terms, and most importantly, never gave up hope. Their unwavering belief in my case inspired me to keep fighting. And then, the breakthrough, following weeks of unrelenting pursuit. ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST located a critical piece of information that let them locate the offender's virtual hideout. After a protracted and stressful battle, the good folks prevailed in the end. My forty thousand dollars had been laboriously reclaimed from the thieves' hands and was once again within my digital reach. The relief was overwhelming. My nightmare had ended, replaced by an immense gratitude for the team at ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST. They weren't just recovery specialists; they were my digital knights in shining armor, wielding their expertise and resilience to restore what was lost. Direct Email: Adwarerecoveryspecialist@auctioneer.net Regards.v

What was the inspiration for all this? Snow White's forest?" "Close, kind of," I replied. "This one's actually FernGully." "You're kidding," he said. "Nope. She wanted her very own enchanted rain forest, and it looks like that's exactly what she got," I said. "She sure did," he replied. "I can't believe we're in Tennessee." The clear-top tent was anchored by fourteen-foot faux weeping willow trees. Candles in glass orbs hung from every branch. The elevated dance floor floated in the center of the space and could be described only as an enormous Lucite shadow box filled with thousands of faux flowers in a rainbow of colors. The bars were covered in green moss and adorned with hundreds of colorful butterflies. The clear ceiling was almost entirely covered in twinkling fairy lights that would look just like a sky full of stars once the sun set. But the real showstopper was the centerpiece on every dining table. Atop every amethyst silk tablecloth was an antique birdcage that housed two real-life lovebirds. The rosy-faced little birds were hopping around and singing, and the space looked, sounded, and felt exactly like an enchanted forest from the movie. I wasn't precisely sure how authentic they were to the rain forest setting, but their chirping certainly added to the wild vibe.

Losing $40,000 is a gut-wrenching experience. The pit in your stomach, the sleepless nights, the constant replaying of "what if" scenarios – it's a storm of emotions that can leave you feeling helpless. My own foray into this financial nightmare unfolded when I fell victim to an elaborate online scam. $40,000, gone. Just like that. The initial shock gave way to a desperate scramble for answers. Hours spent scouring the internet, countless calls to banks and authorities, all leading to dead ends. The frustration and fear gnawed at me, and with each passing day, hope dwindled. Just as I was about to resign myself to my unfortunate fate, a light appeared: ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST . Skeptical but clinging to a last thread of hope, I reached out. From the very first contact, it was different. They didn't sugarcoat the situation, but their empathy and professionalism were a balm to my battered spirits. The recovery process, however, was far from smooth. The scammers had covered their tracks well, leaving a tangled web of digital breadcrumbs. The challenges were immense: Complexities of the scam: The perpetrators had used a sophisticated scheme, involving offshore accounts and cryptocurrency transfers. Unraveling it required expertise beyond my own tech savvy. Limited information: visit their website: adwarerecoveryspecialist.expert With little to trace, the investigation relied heavily on ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST meticulous analysis and resourcefulness. Their ability to think outside the box was crucial. Time constraints: Every passing day meant the trail grew colder, increasing the chances of my money vanishing forever. The pressure was immense, yet ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST never wavered in their dedication. Through it all, ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST was my constant anchor. They kept me informed of every step, explained the complexities in layman's terms, and most importantly, never gave up hope. Their unwavering belief in my case inspired me to keep fighting. And then, the breakthrough, following weeks of unrelenting pursuit. ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST located a critical piece of information that let them locate the offender's virtual hideout. After a protracted and stressful battle, the good folks prevailed in the end. My forty thousand dollars had been laboriously reclaimed from the thieves' hands and was once again within my digital reach. The relief was overwhelming. My nightmare had ended, replaced by an immense gratitude for the team at ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST. They weren't just recovery specialists; they were my digital knights in shining armor, wielding their expertise and resilience to restore what was lost. Direct Email: Adwarerecoveryspecialist@auctioneer.net Regards.

From Marcus Emerson: Stories – what an incredible way to open one’s mind to a fantastic world of adventure. It’s my hope that this story has inspired you in some way, lighting a fire that maybe you didn’t know you had. Keep that flame burning no matter what. It represents your sense of adventure and creativity, and that’s something nobody can take from you. Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this book, I ask that you help spread the word by sharing it or leaving an honest review! - Marcus m@MarcusEmerson.com P.S. You’re awesome!

Be the leading light in your own life and break free from your socially constructed boxes to become better, bolder and brighter.

He watched it on the TV. Everyone watches TV.” Bodine directed his face to Ryan’s, knowing exactly where the witness box was, his black glasses reflecting the ceiling lights above. “I don’t,” he said with a deadpan face. Nathaniel Bodine, blind lawyer