Irreparable Damage Quotes

Since love and hate can be fierce partners in crime, it is highly recommended to trace any early indicia of the fault lines in a shaky relationship in order to avert irreparable damage. ("Mes cliques et mes claques" )

How many times can a heart be shattered and still be pieced back together? How many times before the damage is irreparable?

There is darkness inside all of us, though mine is more dangerous than most. Still, we all have it—that part of our soul that is irreparably damaged by the very trials and tribulations of life. We are what we are because of it, or perhaps in spite of it. Some use it as a shield to hide behind, others as an excuse to do unconscionable things. But, truly, the darkness is simply a piece of the whole, neither good nor evil unless you make it so. It took a witch, a war, and a voodoo queen to teach me that.

I don’t know what the explosion did, but it damaged something deep and irreparable. Never mind. If I get home, I’ll be so stinking rich, I’ll be able to pay someone to do my hearing.

But I had to meet you in the end . . . eleven years old, and you were so brave. So good. You walked uncomplainingly along the path that had been laid at your feet. Of course I loved you . . . and I knew that it would happen all over again . . . that where I loved, I would cause irreparable damage. I am no fit person to love . . . I have never loved without causing harm. A

I was worried that my exuberant drug use had damaged my brain and my nervous system and maybe even my soul in some irreparable and perhaps not readily apparent way.

Men cheat because it’s in their genetic code. A woman does it because she doesn’t have enough dignity; in addition to handing over her body, she always ends up handing over a bit of her heart. A true crime. A theft. It’s worse than robbing a bank, because if one day she is discovered (and she always is), she will cause irreparable damage to her family. For men it is just a “stupid mistake.” For women, it feels like a spiritual crime against all those who surround her with affection and support her as a mother and wife.

You're damaged beyond repair that even if I wanted to fix you I couldn't.

Don't tell me that our situation didn't damage us, possibly irreparably.

Of course I loved you . . . and I knew that it would happen all over again . . . that where I loved, I would cause irreparable damage. I am no fit person to love . . . I have never loved without causing harm. ― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

Tell me your name," he whispered. Slowly, very slowly, Alizeh touched her fingers to his waist, anchored herself to his body. She heard his soft intake of breath. "Why?" she asked. He hesitated, briefly, before he said, "I begin to fear you've done me irreparable damage. I should like to know who to blame.

There are places from which you cannot return. There is damage that can be irreparable.

Poetry can cause irreparable harm when misapplied

Tell me your name," he whispered. Slowly, very slowly, Alizeh touched her fingers to his waist, anchored herself to his body. She heard his soft intake of breath. "Why?" she asked. He hesitated, briefly, before he said, "I begin to fear you've done me irreparable damage. I should like to know who to blame.

The point of the exercise [torture] was getting prisoners to do irreparable damage to that part of themselves that believed in helping others above all else, that part of themselves that made them activists, replacing it with shame and humiliation.

So, Sasha took charge of the meeting and set for herself the same goal she had every time she babysat her nieces and nephews: no blood; no property damage in excess of a hundred dollars; and everybody eats something.

The message? Do not fuck with your ears! The damage done is irreparable!

DUMBLEDORE: No. I was protecting you. I did not want to hurt you . . . DUMBLEDORE attempts to reach out of the portrait — but he can’t. He begins to cry but tries to hide it. But I had to meet you in the end . . . eleven years old, and you were so brave. So good. You walked uncomplainingly along the path that had been laid at your feet. Of course I loved you . . . and I knew that it would happen all over again . . . that where I loved, I would cause irreparable damage. I am no fit person to love . . . I have never loved without causing harm. A beat. HARRY: You would have hurt me less if you had told me this then. DUMBLEDORE (openly weeping now): I was blind. That is what love does. I couldn’t see that you needed to hear that this closed-up, tricky, dangerous old man . . . loved you. A pause. The two men are overcome with emotion. HARRY: It isn’t true that I never complained. DUMBLEDORE: Harry, there is never a perfect answer in this messy, emotional world. Perfection is beyond the reach of humankind, beyond the reach of magic. In every shining moment of happiness is that drop of poison: the knowledge that pain will come again. Be honest to those you love, show your pain. To suffer is as human as to breathe.

Of course I loved you . . . and I knew that it would happen all over again . . . that where I loved, I would cause irreparable damage. I am no fit person to love . . . I have never loved without causing harm.

Today's television sitcoms...the father is typically depicted as a clumsy buffoon, an inane and even unnecessary appendage. In creating that caricature, producers and directors have done irreparable damage to the God-ordained image of what may be one of the most significant roles and offices in eternity - that of a father, that of a real man.

Driving and sex are both privileges granted at certain ages, both can do irreparable damage when done recklessly, but only driving requires tests, checkpoints and licences. I don’t understand why the government—at schools and through public education programs—doesn’t teach people about consent the way we teach them about drink-driving. After all, overconsumption of alcohol often leads to horrific consequences in both activities. Why can a man be charged with negligent, reckless driving after getting himself drunk, but he can argue that the same level of voluntary intoxication led him to honestly and mistakenly believe a woman consented to intercourse, and be acquitted of a rape charge accordingly?

It's hard to salvage jettisoned cargo and, if it is retrieved, it's usually irreparably damaged. And I fear that when you can afford to fish up the honor and virtue and kindness you've thrown overboard, you'll find they have suffered a sea change and not, I fear, into something rich and strange.

Until we forgive ourselves, we will always see ourselves through the shattered pieces of the dreams we can no longer have. Nothing can be seen clearly through broken pieces: no future, no hope, no faith, no love is capable of being seen properly until we admit that we are driving on a flat tire. We have to stop believing that just because we are damaged we are irreparably broken.

I never claimed to be right-minded. I know I'm screwed up. I know I'm so far beyond damaged I'm irreparable. But I also know that you won't find the same amount of satisfaction in punishing anyone but me.

We, as licensed protectors of the species and members in good standing of the master-class of the race, by the power invested in us by those who wish to survive and reproduce, vow to enforce the fiction that life is worth having and worth living come hell or irreparable brain damage.

Love is dangerous because it makes you an individual. And the state and the church . . . they don’t want individuals, not at all. They don’t want human beings, they want sheep. They want people who only look like human beings but whose souls have been crushed so utterly, damaged so deeply, that it seems almost irreparable.

They gave it to me, unloved, unwanted, irreparably damaged. Also the table.

If you leave, my heart goes with you. It belongs to you, like yours belongs to me. Leaving doesn't change that- it only rips us apart.

Something was stretched to the point of irreparable damage, and I wanted to bounce on it until it broke.

What is the return for falling in love? There’s no guarantee they’ll love you back. There’s no guarantee they won’t cause irreparable damage.

The mind is a thing capable of destroying itself when deep grief sets in, and when left alone to muse over one’s misery, the most irreparable damage can be done. You need people to heal.

On an afternoon like this, I would usually take my bike. My wrist brace, though, makes it impossible to steer, and the last thing I need is irreparable damage to an already non-functioning extremity.

Though I would have died rather than told anyone, I was worried my exuberant drug use had damaged my brain and my nervous system and maybe even my soul in some irreparable and perhaps not readily apparent way.

Why didn’t he think about how it would affect me? To molest a child is to completely disregard their humanity. Their personal and physical autonomy. To commit irreparable damage to a still-soft, still-forming mind.

Oh, is that what I smell?” Mrs. McHenry said with a shudder. (For the record, our school smells just fine, unless of course your smelling ability has been irreparably damaged by a lifetime of sniffing perfume samples.)

Not a single family finds itself exempt from that one haunted casualty who suffered irreparable damage in the crucible they entered at birth. Where some children can emerge from conditions of soul-killing abuse and manage to make their lives into something of worth and value, others can’t limp away from the hurts and gleanings time decanted for them in flawed beakers of memory. They carry the family cross up the hill toward Calvary and don’t mind letting every other member of their aggrieved tribe in on the source of their suffering. There is one crazy that belongs to each of us: the brother who kills the spirit of any room he enters; the sister who’s a drug addict in her teens and marries a series of psychopaths, always making sure she bears their children, who carry their genes of madness to the grave. There’s the neurotic mother who’s so demanding that the sound of her voice over the phone can cause instant nausea in her daughters. The variations are endless and fascinating. I’ve never attended a family reunion where I was not warned of a Venus flytrap holding court among the older women, or a pitcher plant glistening with drops of sweet poison trying to sell his version of the family maelstrom to his young male cousins. When the stories begin rolling out, as they always do, one learns of feuds that seem unbrokerable, or sexual abuse that darkens each tale with its intimation of ruin. That uncle hates that aunt and that cousin hates your mother and your sister won’t talk to your brother because of something he said to a date she later married and then divorced. In every room I enter I can sniff out unhappiness and rancor like a snake smelling the nest of a wren with its tongue. Without even realizing it, I pick up associations of distemper and aggravation. As far as I can tell, every family produces its solitary misfit, its psychotic mirror image of all the ghosts summoned out of the small or large hells of childhood, the spiller of the apple cart, the jack of spades, the black-hearted knight, the shit stirrer, the sibling with the uncontrollable tongue, the father brutal by habit, the uncle who tried to feel up his nieces, the aunt too neurotic ever to leave home. Talk to me all you want about happy families, but let me loose at a wedding or a funeral and I’ll bring you back the family crazy. They’re that easy to find.

Perhaps I was born a material different from my parents. I was born a hard person, harder than most people in my life, so I have only myself to blame when I cannot feel the love of others, my parents among them. Love from those who cannot damage us irreparably often feels insufficient; we may think, rightly or wrongly, that their love does not matter at all.

A communal outrage inspires what the psychologist Roy Maumeister calls a victim narrative: a moralized allegory in which a harmful act is sanctified, the damage consecrated as irreparable and unforgivable. The goal of the narrative is not accuracy but solidarity. Picking nits about what actually happened is seen as not just irrelevant but sacrilegious or treasonous.

I am so looking forward to seeing the back of you two,” Kent pipes up behind me. “Excuse me?” I spin around to face him. “Baby. Babe.” He mimics our voices, slapping a hand against his forehead. “I swear all your mushy talk has actually irreparably damaged my brain.

Authoritarian high-modernist states in the grip of a self-evident (and usually half-baked) social theory have done irreparable damage to human communities and individual livelihoods. The danger was compounded when leaders came to believe, as Mao said, that the people were a “blank piece of paper” on which the new regime could write.

There was nothing to say. The final crack to the mirror had been dealt. We couldn’t fix it. We were irreparably damaged.

Why not just inform me plainly before the damage was irreparable? Why did you have to make me fall in love with you, instead?” She… she loved me?

So before you decide you can't forgive her, ask yourself if you want to live without her. We're only here for a short time, man. Don't waste it.

but I still sorely miss having the use of my left ear. I don’t know what the explosion did, but it damaged something deep and irreparable.

There are only so many times a person can break before the damage becomes too much. Too irreparable. Too permanent.

Love from those who cannot damage us irreparably often feels insufficient; we may think, rightly or wrongly, that their love does not matter at all.

When I wasn’t in the barn garden, helping out, sorting seeds or checking hoses I’d spend time alone, usually in the bathroom adjacent to Joel’s room, staring into the shattered mirror as my hand gently caressed my baby bump. More often than not I would cry. Not because my pregnancy upset me, or that my hormones were getting the better of me, but because I missed Joel, my baby’s father. That the baby would grow up without a dad made me anxious. Then again, if he had survived, what irreparable damage would he have suffered and how would his pain translate to his child? Jesus, I was studying myself in the very mirror he’d smashed the night he chose to take his own life. The bump had grown slowly in the last couple of months. With these limited resources, I didn’t have the privilege of eating whatever I craved. Had that been the case, I was sure I would have been bigger by now. Still, I tried to eat as well and as often as I could and the size of my belly had proven that my attempts at proper nutrition were at least growing something in there. Nothing made me happier than feeling my baby move. It was a constant source of relief for me. In our present circumstances, with no vitamins and barely any meat products save the recent stash of jerky Earl had found in an abandoned trailer, my diet consisted of berries, lettuce, and canned beans for the most part. Feeling the baby move inside me was an experience I often enjoyed alone. I would think of Joel then as well. Imagining his hand on my belly, with mine guiding his to the kicks and punches.

Ours is a love that won’t be dispelled simply by ignoring it. It can’t be concealed by separation. The heart knows no distance, only misery. It will never let me forget her, and I’m a fool if I think I can.

The consequences for a wrongly convicted student are devastating: Not only is he likely to be expelled, but he may well be barred from graduate or professional school and certain government agencies, suffer irreparable damage to his reputation, and still be exposed to criminal prosecution.         —Peter Berkowitz in the Wall Street Journal discussing the curtailing of due process rights for men on campus by the Obama Administration32 Men

Had they not wounded her, she'd be inaccessible to him. Had she not resisted the darkness so successfully, she'd not be strong enough to handle what he was about to do to her. She'd been damaged, but not irreparably. Fragmented and strong, the perfect mix for him.

It might be possible to code technology to predict human speech patterns or program artificial intelligence to respond back to our questions. We might suffer a migraine when we’re stressed—a dagger at our temple—but when our souls are irreparably damaged, it’s not our minds that hurt. It’s right there in the violent wanting of our chests. You know this because yours has just broken.

This was what Regan did to Aldo: irreparable damage to his former self. Regan was Regan, but she was also the loss of a former life to which he could never return. Of course he didn’t wish to, but that wasn’t the point. It could never exist a second time. He considered what she’d said—if it all fails, Aldo, go back and erase us, make it like we never happened—and he understood that while it would be a cruelty, it would be a kindness in equal measures. Because the old him was dead, and what existed of him now could die, too, a painful death, if he were capable of doing what she asked. What he was now, some toddler of a man learning how to breathe again, would be gone. His life before her, his life without her, the Parthenon, they would all be ancient rubble. Only stories would remain to give them value.

Not just beside the point but taboo. A communal outrage inspires what the psychologist Roy Baumeister calls a victim narrative: a moralized allegory in which a harmful act is sanctified, the damage consecrated as irreparable and unforgivable.29 The goal of the narrative is not accuracy but solidarity. Picking nits about what actually happened is seen as not just irrelevant but sacrilegious or treasonous.30

I imagine a hierarchy of happiness; first purchased in the 1970s, a couple would sit here, dining on meals cooked from brand-new recipe books, eating and drinking from wedding china like proper grown-ups. They’d move to the suburbs after a couple of years; the table, too small to accommodate their growing family, passes on to a cousin newly graduated and furnishing his first flat on a budget. After a few years, he moves in with his partner and rents the place out. For a decade, tenants eat here, a whole procession of them, young people mainly, sad and happy, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends, lovers. They’d serve fast food here to fill a gap, or five stylish courses to seduce, carbohydrates before a run and chocolate pudding for broken hearts. Eventually, the cousin sells up and the house clearance people take the table away. It languishes in a warehouse, spiders spinning silk inside its unfashionable rounded corners, bluebottles laying eggs in the rough splinters. It’s given to another charity. They gave it to me, unloved, unwanted, irreparably damaged. Also the table.

The problem that ought to concern us first is the fairly recent dismantling of our old understanding and acceptance of human limits. For a long time we knew that we were not, and could never be, “as gods.” We knew, or retained the capacity to learn, that our intelligence could get us into trouble that it could not get us out of. We were intelligent enough to know that our intelligence, like our world, is limited. We seem to have known and feared the possibility of irreparable damage. But beginning in science and engineering, and continuing, by imitation, into other disciplines, we have progressed to the belief that humans are intelligent enough, or soon will be, to transcend all limits and to forestall or correct all bad results of the misuse of intelligence. Upon this belief rests the further belief that we can have “economic growth” without limit. Economy in its original—and, I think, its proper—sense refers to household management. By extension, it refers to the husbanding of all the goods by which we live. An authentic economy, if we had one, would define and make, on the terms of thrift and affection, our connections to nature and to one another. Our present industrial system also makes those connections, but by pillage and indifference. Most economists think of this arrangement as “the economy.” Their columns and articles rarely if ever mention the land-communities and land-use economies. They never ask, in their professional oblivion, why we are willing to do permanent ecological and cultural damage “to strengthen the economy.

I realized that it was not Ko-san, now safely ditched for ever, but Ko-san's mother who stood in need of pity and consideration. She must still live on in this hard unpitying world, but he, once he had jumped [in battle], had jumped beyond such things. The case could well have been different, had he never jumped; but he did jump; and that, as they say, is that. Whether this world's weather turns out fine or cloudy no more worries him; but it matters to his mother. It rains, so she sits alone indoors thinking about Ko-san. And now it's fine, so she potters out and meets a friend of Ko-san's. She hangs out the national flag to welcome the returned soliders, but her joy is made querulous with wishing that Ko-san were alive. At the public bath-house, some young girl of marriageable age helps her to carry a bucket of hot water: but her pleasure from that kindness is soured as she thinks if only I had a daughter-in-law like this girl. To live under such conditions is to live in agonies. Had she lost one out of many children, there would be consolation and comfort in the mere fact of the survivors. But when loss halves a family of just one parent and one child, the damage is as irreparable as when a gourd is broken clean across its middle. There's nothing left to hang on to. Like the sergeant's mother, she too had waited for her son's return, counting on shriveled fingers the passing of the days and nights before that special day when she would be able once more to hang on him. But Ko-san with the flag jumped resolutely down into the ditch and still has not climbed back.

A long decade ago economic growth was the reigning fashion of political economy. It was simultaneously the hottest subject of economic theory and research, a slogan eagerly claimed by politicians of all stripes, and a serious objective of the policies of governments. The climate of opinion has changed dramatically. Disillusioned critics indict both economic science and economic policy for blind obeisance to aggregate material "progress," and for neglect of its costly side effects. Growth, it is charged, distorts national priorities, worsens the distribution of income, and irreparably damages the environment. Paul Erlich speaks for a multitude when he says, "We must acquire a life style which has as its goal maximum freedom and happiness for the individual, not a maximum Gross National Product." [in Nordhaus, William D. and James Tobin., "Is growth obsolete?" Economic Research: Retrospect and Prospect Vol 5: Economic Growth. Nber, 1972. 1-80]

Maybe I am a rogue, but I won't be a rogue forever, Rhett. But during these past years -- and even now -- what else could I have done? How else could I have acted? I've felt that I was trying to row a heavily loaded boat in a storm. I've had so much trouble just trying to keep afloat that I couldn't be bothered about things that didn't matter, things I could part with easily and not miss, like good manners and -- well, things like that. I've been too afraid my boat would be swamped and so I've dumped overboard the things that seemed least important." "Pride and honor and truth and virtue and kindliness," he enumerated silkily. "You are right, Scarlett. They aren't important when a boat is sinking. But look around you at your friends. Either they are bringing their boats ashore safely with cargoes intact or they are content to go down with all flags flying." "They are a passel of fools," she said shortly. "There's a time for all things. When I've got plenty of money, I'll be nice as you please, too. Butter won't melt in my mouth. I can afford to be then." "You can afford to be -- but you won't. It's hard to salvage jettisoned cargo and, if it is retrieved, it's usually irreparably damaged. And I fear that when you can afford to fish up the honor and virtue and kindness you've thrown overboard, you'll find they have suffered a sea change and not, I fear, into something rich and strange. . . .

The last refuge of the Self, perhaps, is “physical continuity.” Despite the body’s mercurial nature, it feels like a badge of identity we have carried since the time of our earliest childhood memories. A thought experiment dreamed up in the 1980s by British philosopher Derek Parfit illustrates how important—yet deceiving—this sense of physical continuity is to us.15 He invites us to imagine a future in which the limitations of conventional space travel—of transporting the frail human body to another planet at relatively slow speeds—have been solved by beaming radio waves encoding all the data needed to assemble the passenger to their chosen destination. You step into a machine resembling a photo booth, called a teletransporter, which logs every atom in your body then sends the information at the speed of light to a replicator on Mars, say. This rebuilds your body atom by atom using local stocks of carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, and so on. Unfortunately, the high energies needed to scan your body with the required precision vaporize it—but that’s okay because the replicator on Mars faithfully reproduces the structure of your brain nerve by nerve, synapse by synapse. You step into the teletransporter, press the green button, and an instant later materialize on Mars and can continue your existence where you left off. The person who steps out of the machine at the other end not only looks just like you, but etched into his or her brain are all your personality traits and memories, right down to the memory of eating breakfast that morning and your last thought before you pressed the green button. If you are a fan of Star Trek, you may be perfectly happy to use this new mode of space travel, since this is more or less what the USS Enterprise’s transporter does when it beams its crew down to alien planets and back up again. But now Parfit asks us to imagine that a few years after you first use the teletransporter comes the announcement that it has been upgraded in such a way that your original body can be scanned without destroying it. You decide to give it a go. You pay the fare, step into the booth, and press the button. Nothing seems to happen, apart from a slight tingling sensation, but you wait patiently and sure enough, forty-five minutes later, an image of your new self pops up on the video link and you spend the next few minutes having a surreal conversation with yourself on Mars. Then comes some bad news. A technician cheerfully informs you that there have been some teething problems with the upgraded teletransporter. The scanning process has irreparably damaged your internal organs, so whereas your replica on Mars is absolutely fine and will carry on your life where you left off, this body here on Earth will die within a few hours. Would you care to accompany her to the mortuary? Now how do you feel? There is no difference in outcome between this scenario and what happened in the old scanner—there will still be one surviving “you”—but now it somehow feels as though it’s the real you facing the horror of imminent annihilation. Parfit nevertheless uses this thought experiment to argue that the only criterion that can rationally be used to judge whether a person has survived is not the physical continuity of a body but “psychological continuity”—having the same memories and personality traits as the most recent version of yourself. Buddhists

By all appearances, it’s a beautiful day. The sun shines down on us. Birds sing. I look up at the pristine blue sky. There’s not a cloud in it, but all I see is the storm. It’s ugly, and violent, and it’s creeping down on us slowly. Brady and I are together today to mourn our daughter, but what happens next? What happens when we’re done grieving? That’s when the storm will touch down like a tornado and try to destroy us. It’s inevitable. I only hope we’re strong enough to survive, because we’re definitely not prepared for it.

Agape has suffered almost irreparable damage by translating it “love,” without the catharsis of careful scholarship.

And we’re supposed to be clever, we students of N’Terra, children of whitecoats. It is our skills that will determine our survival. The founders of N’Terra had not meant for us to stay forever: Faloiv was the only habitable world their scouts had time to chart before evacuating the Origin Planet, and a meteor to the Vagantur’s hull during descent damaged the ship’s power cell irreparably. What had originally been envisioned as a brief stop on the hunt for a more survival-friendly sphere had become the final destination of the Vagantur. The original Council tried for twenty years to fix the ship before they gave up. Now here we are.

US immigration and Visa law is an extremely complicated field and it is very easy for the ill-informed to do irreparable damage to their visa or immigration chances by a poorly prepared or ill-advised application. #immigrationattorneyvirginia

Of course I loved you...and I knew that it would happen all over again...that where I loved, I would cause irreparable damage. I am no fit person to love... I have never loved without causing harm.

If the Muslims of the 1520s acted out of ignorance and fanaticism, should Hindus act the same way in the 1980s? By doing what you propose to do, you will hurt the feelings of the Muslims of today, who did not perpetrate the injustices of the past and who are in no position to inflict injustice upon you today; you will provoke violence and rage against your own kind; you will tarnish the name of the Hindu people across the world; and you will irreparably damage your own cause. Is this worth it?

A poorly designed ad can definitely save you money in the short term but it can also cause irreparable damage to your business in the long term.

You both want the same thing. It’s the way you are going about it that’s all wrong, and if you don’t speak up now, irreparable damage may be caused to your relationship

US-centered Pakistan's foreign policy by its undemocratic figures caused irreparable damage and the collapse of independent international relations that resulted in even the fall of Dhaka. The US leadership always betrayed Pakistan and left it alone in difficult times. Despite that, such puppet characters are still active in all institutions of the broken and failed state without shame and regret. The state of Pakistan has yet to regain freedom and liberty; indeed, it was a dream of Iqbal and the two-nation theory of Jinnah. Unfortunately, Pakistan has faced the traitorous ones of uniform since then; Pakistan can still unquestionably be a stable country with a neutral foreign policy and peaceful reciprocal relations with neighbors rather than a one-sided strategy.

I’ve lived through segregation. Now, it’s diversity. I think people should be asked to show what it has produced. We have done some damage in our society, particularly to the people who could least afford the damage… They shut down schools in the name of integration… They irreparably changed the black teaching profession, and these policies irreparably changed our communities.

Was she strong enough to be able to recover from it, or did something break in her that day? Did the impact of that fleeting encounter knock her so hard that she was irreparably damaged? Can a broken heart be real?

You don’t love me. How could you? I’m broken and tarnished irreparably damaged. I’m not worth it, Maddox.

The cell membrane undergoes a change that allows it to shrink and collapse without sustaining irreparable damage. Most importantly, the enzymes of cell repair are synthesized and stored for future access.

If technologies don’t make us better, then the damage and harm is irreparable.

If you can bark, why bite? Some damages can be irreparable.

With his lips on mine, we just exist.  One man confessing his truth, the other one absolving him of the burden.  I know, in this moment, with this kiss, there will never be another man in my life like Jesse. Whether we extend our twenty-four hours or not, the damage is already done.  I am irreparably changed.

Huddled in swamps and on remote islands, fearful that to venture back to their villages meant certain death, Indians throughout the region were unable to plant the crops on which their lives depended. By summer, they had begun to die at a startling rate. “[ C] ertainly it is strange to hear how many of late have, and still daily die amongst them,” Winslow wrote. Just about every notable sachem on the Cape died in the months ahead, including Canacum at Manomet, Aspinet at Nauset, and the “personable, courteous, and fair conditioned” Iyanough at Cummaquid. Word reached Plymouth that before he died, the handsome young sachem had “in the midst of these distractions, said the God of the English was offended with them, and would destroy them in his anger.” One village decided to send some gifts to the Pilgrims in hopes of establishing peace, but the Indians’ canoe capsized almost within sight of the plantation, and three of them drowned. Since that incident, not a single Indian from Cape Cod had dared to approach the settlement. Among the Massachusetts, the Pilgrims had earned a new name: wotawquenange—cutthroats. Standish’s raid had irreparably damaged the human ecology of the region.

To begin with, there is not anyone out there who is perfect. There are just people out there who are damaged—quite severely, although not always irreparably, and with a fair bit of individual idiosyncrasy.

Donald Trump introduced a new brand of extremism to the Republican Party, and the thuggish populism has grown beyond his control. If corrective action isn’t taken, the MAGA movement will reclaim the American presidency in the coming years and do irreparable damage to our democracy.

Timing is a critical issue when it comes to succession. Passing the baton too early or too late could both cause irreparable damage. The timing just has to be right, but again you are responsible for creating or influencing the right conditions over the course of your leadership tenure.

Damage control wasn’t his responsibility.

Nikos stared out across the bleached sand, the scattered cacti and rock. “Walk with me a while, Bartolomeo.” We walked together across the hot sand, an arm’s length apart. I’d already lost my orientation, and when I looked around, I found I could not locate the entrance I’d used; I was struck by the irrational fear that I might never be able to find my way out of there. Or that Nikos would murder me. My body could remain undiscovered for decades. “We’ve been friends a lot of years, Bartolomeo.” “Were friends,” I corrected him. “No more?” “I don’t think so, Nikos.” He stopped, turned, and looked at me, his expression steady. If he’d been drinking recently, I couldn’t tell. Everything about him seemed sober and firm. “We’ve both made mistakes. Out of fear, or mistrust. Or perhaps even simple misunderstanding. Whatever the reasons. But is the damage to our friendship irreparable?” I’d thought so, but suddenly I was unsure. Watching him, listening to him, I was unable to detect any dissembling. He seemed sincere. Nikos could be deceptive and manipulative, but I always thought I could see through him. I’d missed it before, although looking back on it, I realized the signs had been there—I just hadn’t recognized them; maybe because I hadn’t wanted to. Now, though, I saw nothing but a sincere effort at reconciliation. “I don’t know,” I finally said. “Honest

Don’t do equal partnerships. Even with a board to act as a tie breaker, power struggles between partners seem to arise from the best of relationships and can do irreparable damage to companies.

He reached across the table and I knew, I totally knew that if he saw my cards, the damage would be irreparable. So, stoned as I was, I stood up and pushed the table toward him, scattering the money and pushing my cards quickly into the remaining deck.

Sometimes the path to a more beautiful relationship with people we love requires a willingness to accede to non-evil requests that we do not consider to be wise. Why? Since we have authority to grant the request, a withholding of the request can be misinterpreted and damage the relationship irreparably. The decision to put aside our misgivings and grant the non-evil request can, however, enable the other person come to a realization of the wisdom of our opinion and our love for them, resulting in the most beautiful relationships we can imagine.

The results of the Great Society experiments started coming in and began showing that, for all its good intentions, the War on Poverty was causing irreparable damage to the very communities it was designed to help.

Planted forests, which is what most of the coniferous forests in Central Europe are, behave more like the street kids I describe in chapter 27. Because their roots are irreparably damaged when they are planted, they seem almost incapable of networking with one another. As a rule, trees in planted forests like these behave like loners and suffer from their isolation. Most of them never have the opportunity to grow old anyway. Depending on the species, these trees are considered ready to harvest when they are about a hundred years old.

Definition of Duty Cycle –One way of classifying the size of a welder is by the duty cycle rating. This is a universal rating given to welders that determines how hard you can “push” the machine during a 10-minute period. This measure is the number of minutes out of a 10-minute period the welder can operate continuously, with the remainder designated as the “cool down” period. An example of this is a Miller Dynasty 350, which can operate at 300 amps with a 60% duty cycle. That means the machine can operate at 300 amps for 6 minutes with 4 minutes of “cool down” time after continuous welding before starting another weld. If you exceed the welders’ limits, then you will overheat the machine and cause irreparable damage to its internals, thus breaking the machine. While the machine is in the “cool down” stage, be sure to NOT unplug it.

I ached to rip this house from its foundation and destroy everyone inside. But I could not do so after what Camilla had shown me. Visions had ripped through my subconscious as she’d kissed me. Images of Azrael’s daughter, the book she possessed, and the town where she’d stayed filled my mind. Camilla had been working against Kaden for some time. In that exchange, she warned me to play along, or I would be putting Dianna in even more danger. I would have done anything to keep Dianna safe, but the pain I’d witnessed on the facade of Ethan’s face had twisted my insides. I knew I may have done irreparable damage to the brand-new connection between us.

DAMAGE: Severe. Irreparable. Cat 5, Code Red, Level 10, Rector Scale, Broken. NO MORE

Miles Dempster had destroyed so many things that long-ago summer. Perhaps the worst injury of all had been the irreparable damage he’d done to her ability to trust a man ever again.

Have you come to terms with your last moments yet?” asked Lady Lucina, whose designs for power were as eye-roll worthy as Coppelia's obvious excitement. Her shrill laugh opened the floodgates for the rest of the hall to join her. A mocking guffaw that echoed without end. “If not, please take a moment to admire the décor. Despite what I said, I may very well be forced to change it.” “Don't worry, I have this one,” said Coppelia, standing on her tip-toes as she turned to Lady Lucina. “Ahem … is it because of all our blood that's about to spill on it?” “What? No. We're the Smugglers Guild. Of course we'd know how to clean up blood. It's because double flannel is too heavy a fabric for spring. Single silk is more elegant and flutters beautifully to even the faintest breeze.” Coppelia turned to me. “I feel like my memory core has just been irreparably damaged.” “You only have yourself to blame.

perhaps having her mother die so early had damaged her irreparably.

Addie Macrae’s internal compass was irreparably damaged. For all the traveling she did, and the relative ease of navigating a city with English street signs, Edinburgh’s jigsaw puzzle of gray-toned buildings and twisting streets left her head spinning. Under different

In 2022, Sarotte was blunt about the way Russians interpreted NATO’s involvement in Kosovo. It “seemed to convince not just the Russian elite but the broad mass of the Russian public that the point of enlarging NATO was to kill Slavs…. We in the West didn’t really understand how widespread that perception was. American diplomats in Russia at the time sent back flashing red alarms: warnings, emails, texts saying, ‘Whoa, this is really not playing well here.’ This isn’t to say there was no hope afterwards. But you start to have a profound distrust, irreparable damage.

Love is dangerous because it makes you an individual. And the state and the church … they don’t want individuals, not at all. They don’t want human beings, they want sheep. They want people who only look like human beings but whose souls have been crushed so utterly, damaged so deeply, that it seems almost irreparable.

Still, my reporting found that P2P meth in massive quantities is damaging minds, perhaps irreparably, across the United States. The growing homeless encampments in many cities and rural towns are meth’s deadening creation, I’m convinced. Though other drugs and alcohol are part of the mix, many encampments are simply meth colonies. They provide a community for users, creating the kinds of environmental cues that USC psychologist Wendy Wood found crucial in forming habits. Encampments are places where addicts flee from treatment, where they can find the warm embrace of approval for their meth use. “It took me twelve years of using before I was homeless,” said Talie Wenick, a counselor in Bend, Oregon. “Now, within a year they’re homeless. So many homeless camps have popped up around Central Oregon—huge camps on Bureau of Land Management land, with tents and campers and roads they’ve cleared themselves. And everyone’s using. You’re trying to help someone get clean, and they live in a camp where everyone is using.

Shame is a function of sight. When a citizen of streets walks through the ravine, unwatched, he can choose to take his propriety with him. He can police himself. He might choose to do this: to carry his shame with him, in the form of guilt. Then again, the permutations available to the mind in the ravine are infinite. The first bitter story ever told was precisely this one; the crime of the usurper. We pretend to have knowledge that is not rightfully ours. We make something, believing that we have mastered what we have merely stolen. Finally, what we make takes vengeance upon us, and we are forced to confront the truth, which is in fact no different from the original mystery: that we know very little. I have spent a long time wondering about permanence: whether the soul can sustain irreparable damage, and how this might limit the notion of free will. Whether the psychologists are correct or not—and I am sure they are mostly not—we do carry our families with us, until death; and if our families are broken we carry the breakage in our soul. Nothing religious is ever destroyed by logic; it is destroyed only by God's withdrawal. All the stories feeding into my life are fragmenting the integrity of my voice; I hear myself telling other people's stories as if they were my own, and I feel certain that there are people out there, people I hardly know, telling mine. I am a confluence of stolen narratives, and my own story has been stolen too and fed through a foreign mouth into foreign ears. There is no moments beauty in those whom we have loved for a long time. We do not admire them, the way we do some chance woman or man on the subway as a moment's appearance of perfection in the physique. We see them as a montage of every remembered moment, the present moment often more vivid and strong than those receding into the past, but a montage nevertheless. If we remember.

So many things could go wrong; they could betray themselves a thousand ways, and the damage would be irreparable. And she loved it. She loved the thrill that accompanied watching someone talk to Sabé thinking it was Amidala whose attention they held. She loved the way people looked right through her, Padmé Naberrie, as though she were nothing. She loved taking that nothingness and using it to her own ends. And yes, it was for safety, and yes, her intentions were as noble as they had been on Naboo. She still remembered how she had looked at Captain Panaka over Sio Bibble’s head and he had nodded that it was time. We are brave, Your Highness. They were all brave.

When Meredith Kercher arrived home, Guede was still there. He sexually assaulted her and slit her throat. Two days later, he fled the country. He was identified through fingerprints left at the scene. Two weeks after that, he was tracked down by police and apprehended near Mainz, Germany, and brought back to Italy to face justice. By then, however, an overzealous prosecutor named Giuliano Mignini, a lifelong resident of Perugia, had detained, interrogated, and arrested Amanda Knox and Raffaele Sollecito for the murder of Meredith Kercher. Rather than admitting his mistake in light of the capture of Rudy Guede and freeing the young couple, he kept them imprisoned for an entire year, routinely allowing prejudicial gossip, damaging innuendo, and questionable “evidence” to reach a media pool hungry for salacious details. In this way, irreparable harm was done to the reputations of the accused, who were isolated and denied any avenue of response. When Mignini finally charged them as co-conspirators with Guede in the murder of Meredith Kercher, any chance of a fair trial had been purposefully destroyed.

In the meantime, we would wreck the US economy and actually do little to clean up the environment. The proposal calls for covering hundreds of thousands of acres of land with windmills and solar panels, which would do irreparable damage to land on which wildlife is protected by federal statutes. It also addresses only the United States’ carbon emissions and gives countries like China and India a pass for a decade. I’m no scientist, but I’m pretty sure we can’t keep China’s dirty air from sneaking into the atmosphere over the United States. I am pretty good at economics, though, and economists have a term for that type of thinking: freaking stupid. AOC once said that people her age should reconsider having children because of global warming. Can you imagine? I think the best answer to that ridiculous statement was by my friend, Jerry Falwell, Jr., “People her age should reconsider having children if people like AOC ever get to be in charge of this country.