Join The Dots Quotes

Your hand fits in mine Like it's made just for me But bear this in mind It was meant to be And I'm joining up the dots with the freckles on your cheeks And it all makes sense to me

You hand fits in mine like its made to be but bear this in mind it was meant to be and im joining up the dots with the freckles on you cheeks and it all makes sense to me. I know you've never loved the crinkles by your eyes when you smile you've never loved your stomach or your thighs and the dimples in your back at the bottom of your spine but I love them endlessly.I won't let these little things slip out of my mouth but if i do its you oh its you they add up to and Im in love with you and all your little thing. You can't go to bed without a cup of tea and maybe thats the reason that you talk in you sleep and all those conversations are the secrets that I keep though it makes no sense to me. I know you've never loved the sound of your voice on tape you never want to know how much you weigh you still have to squeeze into to your jeans but you're perfect to me. I won't let these little things slip out of my mouth but if its true its you its these they add up to and Im in love with you and all you little things. You'll never love yourself half as much as I love you and you'll never treat yourself right darlin' but I want you to if I let you know I'm here for you then maybe you'll love yourself like I love you ohhhhh. And I've just let these little things slip out of my mouth cause its you oh its you its you they add up to and Im in love with you and all your little things I wont let these little things slip out of my mouth but if its true its you its you they add up to and im in love with you and all your little things. <3

How You Doing, Little Lucy?” His bright tone and mild expression indicates we’re playing a game we almost never play. It’s a game called How You Doing? and it basically starts off like we don’t hate each other. We act like normal colleagues who don’t want to swirl their hands in each other’s blood. It’s disturbing. “Great, thanks, Big Josh. How You Doing?” “Super. Gonna go get coffee. Can I get you some tea?” He has his heavy black mug in his hand. I hate his mug. I look down; my hand is already holding my red polka-dot mug. He’d spit in anything he made me. Does he think I’m crazy? “I think I’ll join you.” We march purposefully toward the kitchen with identical footfalls, left, right, left, right, like prosecutors walking toward the camera in the opening credits of Law & Order. It requires me to almost double my stride. Colleagues break off conversations and look at us with speculative expressions. Joshua and I look at each other and bare our teeth. Time to act civil. Like executives. “Ah-ha-ha,” we say to each other genially at some pretend joke. “Ah-ha-ha.” We sweep around a corner. Annabelle turns from the photocopier and almost drops her papers. “What’s happening?” Joshua and I nod at her and continue striding, unified in our endless game of one-upmanship. My short striped dress flaps from the g-force. “Mommy and Daddy love you very much, kids,” Joshua says quietly so only I can hear him. To the casual onlooker he is politely chatting. A few meerkat heads have popped up over cubicle walls. It seems we’re the stuff of legend. “Sometimes we get excited and argue. But don’t be scared. Even when we’re arguing, it’s not your fault.” “It’s just grown-up stuff,” I softly explain to the apprehensive faces we pass. “Sometimes Daddy sleeps on the couch, but it’s okay. We still love you.

Were those dots, she doted, connected on any linear pathway, where the past joined with the present as an invisible time chain? Time’s effects were certainly not invisible, no matter how invincible.

Already the new men are dotted here and there all over the earth. Some, as I have admitted, are still hardly recognisable: but others can be recognised. Every now and then one meets them. Their very voices and faces are different from ours: stronger, quieter, happier, more radiant. They begin where most of us leave off. They are, I say, recognisable; but you must know what to look for. They will not be very like the idea of ‘religious people’ which you have formed from your general reading. They do not draw attention to themselves. You tend to think that you are being kind to them when they are really being kind to you. They love you more than other men do, but they need you less. (We must get over wanting to be NEEDED: in some goodish people, specially women, that is the hardest of all temptations to resist.) They will usually seem to have a lot of time: you will wonder where it comes from. When you have recognised one of them, you will recognise the next one much more easily. And I strongly suspect (but how should I know?) that they recognise one another immediately and infallibly, across every barrier of colour, sex, class, age, and even of creeds. In that way, to become holy is rather like joining a secret society. To put it at the very lowest, it must be great fun

I’d never believed the future was inscribed for each of us the day we were born. If anything was written in the stars, it was we who joined those dots, and our lives were the writing.

The ecological crisis we face is so obvious that it becomes easy -- for some, strangely or frighteningly easy -- to join the dots and see that everything is interconnected. This is the ecological thought. And the more we consider it, the more our world opens up.

It’s all strange to me. I know I live on a fierce and magical planet, which sheds or surrenders rain or even flings it off in whipstroke after whipstroke, which fires out bolts of electric gold into the firmament at 186,000 miles per second, which with a single shrug of its tectonic plates can erect a city in half an hour. Creation … is easy, is quick. There’s also a universe, apparently. But I cannot bear to see the stars, even though I know they’re there all right, and I do see them, because Tod looks upward at night, as everybody does, and coos and points. The Plough. Sirius, the dog. The stars, to me, are like pins and needles, are like the routemap of a nightmare. Don’t join the dots.… Of the stars, one alone can I contemplate without pain. And that’s a planet. The planet they call the evening star, the morning star. Intense Venus.

You could only be sad if you let yourself join the dots, if you allowed the scatter of moments in their totality to have some kind of a downward trend that you might be dumb enough to extrapolate.

She had the constellations marked all over her back, and he moved his fingers gently over them, joining those dots, one after another.

I gazed up at the sky and let my eyes flicker from one constellation to another, to another, jumping between stepping stones. I thought of the heavenly bodies throwing down their narrow ropes to hook us. I’ve never believed the future was inscribed for each of us the day we were born. If anything were written in the stars, it was we who joined those dots, and our lives were the writing. But baby Garrett, born dead yesterday, and all those whose stories were over before they began, and those who opened their eyes and found they were living in a long nightmare, like Bridie and baby White, who decreed that, I wondered, or at least allowed it?

Between the roof of the shed and the big plant that hangs over the fence from the house next door I could see the constellation Orion. People say that Orion is called Orion because Orion was a hunter and the constellation looks like a hunter with a club and a bow and arrow, like this: But this is really silly because it is just stars, and you could join up the dots in any way you wanted, and you could make it look like a lady with an umbrella who is waving, or the coffeemaker which Mrs. Shears has, which is from Italy, with a handle and steam coming out, or like a dinosaur. And there aren't any lines in space, so you could join bits of Orion to bits of Lepus or Taurus or Gemini and say that they were a constellation called the Bunch of Grapes or Jesus or the Bicycle (except that they didn't have bicycles in Roman and Greek times, which was when they called Orion Orion). And anyway, Orion is not a hunter or a coffeemaker or a dinosaur. It is just Betelgeuse and Bellatrix and Alnilam and Rigel and 17 other stars I don't know the names of. And they are nuclear explosions billions of miles away. And that is the truth. I stayed awake until 5:47. That was the last time I looked at my watch before I fell asleep. It has a luminous face and lights up if you press a button, so I could read it in the dark. I was cold and I was frightened Father might come out and find me. But I felt safer in the garden because I was hidden. I looked at the sky a lot. I like looking up at the sky in the garden at night. In summer I sometimes come outside at night with my torch and my planisphere, which is two circles of plastic with a pin through the middle. And on the bottom is a map of the sky and on top is an aperture which is an opening shaped in a parabola and you turn it round to see a map of the sky that you can see on that day of the year from the latitude 51.5° north, which is the latitude that Swindon is on, because the largest bit of the sky is always on the other side of the earth. And when you look at the sky you know you are looking at stars which are hundreds and thousands of light-years away from you. And some of the stars don't even exist anymore because their light has taken so long to get to us that they are already dead, or they have exploded and collapsed into red dwarfs. And that makes you seem very small, and if you have difficult things in your life it is nice to think that they are what is called negligible, which means that they are so small you don't have to take them into account when you are calculating something. I didn't sleep very well because of the cold and because the ground was very bumpy and pointy underneath me and because Toby was scratching in his cage a lot. But when I woke up properly it was dawn and the sky was all orange and blue and purple and I could hear birds singing, which is called the Dawn Chorus. And I stayed where I was for another 2 hours and 32 minutes, and then I heard Father come into the garden and call out, "Christopher...? Christopher...?

No single example of sexism automatically gives rise to a specific incident of misogynistic violence, the picture is far more complex than that. But when you step back and join the dots between each of the different examples outlined in this book, it is very hard to deny that the bigger picture reveals systemic and widespread inequality

Don’t get me wrong—I know what an engineer is, and I know what chemicals are, but I can’t join the dots.

When you're seven," said Hannah, "it feels like life's just made up of moments. Pieces of the picture with nothing to connect them. It's not until later you can join the dots.

It's only after the fact that we trace the lines, join dots between things, skip over anything that doesn't fit. We make stories to account for everything that's happened. It's nice to think the world makes sense. It's nice to think that you make sense. But sometimes things just happen.

Now ordinary people are born forwards in Time, if you understand what I mean, and nearly everything in the world goes forward too. This makes it quite easy for the ordinary people to live, just as it would be easy to join those five dots into a W if you were allowed to look at them forwards, instead of backwards and inside out. But I unfortunately was born at the wrong end of Time, and I have to live backwards from in front, while surrounded by a lot of people living forwards from behind. Some people call it having second sight. ~Merlin

Your imagination is filling in the gaps and joining up dots to create the wrong picture. You were always too good at that.

I'd never believed the future was inscribed for each of us the day we were born. If anything was written in the stars, it was we who joined those dots, and our lives were the writing.

Writing about Aboriginal themes means joining the dots from the colonial policies of the past to the problems faced by First Nations, Métis, and Inuit today. It means acknowledging the wrongs and the pain.

he lies we tell ourselves are always the most dangerous. I think it’s instinct; self-preservation is a fundamental part of our DNA. We are a species of liars, and sometimes we deliberately join the dots in the wrong order, and pretend to make sense of what we see. We stretch the stories of our lives to fit our own desired narratives, presenting a prettier picture for those around us. Honesty loses every time to a lie less ordinary, and truth is overrated.

I went back every evening, after work, for nearly a year. I learned the meaning of the cud of a leaf and the glisten of wet pebbles, and the special significance of curves and angles. A great deal of the writing was unwritten. Plot three dots on a graph and join them; you now have a curve with certain characteristics. Extend that curve while maintaining the characteristics, and it has meaning, up where no dots were plotted. In just this way I learned to extend the curve of a grass-blade and of a protruding root, of the bent edges of wetness on a drying headstone. I quit smoking so I could sharpen my sense of smell, because the scent of earth after a rain has a clarifying effect on graveyard reading, as if the page were made whiter and the ink darker. I began to listen to the wind, and to the voices of birds and small animals, insects and people; because to the educated ear, every sound is filtered through the story written on graves, and becomes a part of it. ("The Graveyard Reader")

It didn't help that I was never allowed to study anything remotely contemporary until the last year of university: there was never any sense of that leading to this. If anything, my education gave me the opposite impression, of an end to cultural history round about the time that Forster wrote A Passage to India. The quickest way to kill all love for the classics, I can see now, is to tell young people that nothing else maters, because then all they can do is look at them in a museum of literature, through glass cases. Don't touch! And don't think for a moment that they want to live in the same world as you! And so a lot of adult life -- if your hunger and curiosity haven't been squelched by your education -- is learning to join up the dots that you didn't even know were there.

When tadpole was born, I spent a sleepless night on the maternity ward gazing intently into her inky, newborn eyes, grappling to come to terms with the indisputable fact that this was an actual person looking back at me, not just a version of Mr Frog, or me, or both, in miniature. From the outset she seemed to know what she wanted, and I realised I could have no inkling of the paths she would choose to follow. But if I watch her life unfold carefully enough, perhaps I will see clear signposts pointing to who or what she will become. Because when I look backwards, ransacking my own past for clues with the clarity that only hindsight can bring, several defining moments do stand out. Moments charged with significance; snapshots of myself which, if I were to join the dots together, lead me unswervingly to where I stand today.

Tyler was to his left, and to his right were the three other witnesses who had joined them for the headlining session of the first day of testimony. Directly next to Cameron sat Fred Wilson, a seasoned venture capitalist veteran who had moved into the cyber currency space in a big way, with the countenance of someone who had seen a number of technology waves, including the first dot-com boom and bust. Next to Wilson, the up-and-comer venture capitalist Jeremy Liew, a partner at Lightspeed Venture. And at the end of the bench, Barry Silbert, the founder and CEO of the startup SecondMarket.

Out of that global audience, four hundred thousand NASA employees, contractors, and military support watched with particular interest, seeing in the craft that approached the Moon the measure of a screw, the blueprint of a hatch, the filament in a circuit, the fulfillment of a promise made by a president who hadn’t lived to see it carried out. They dotted the globe, those who had worked on Project Apollo, those who had made possible the day that had come. They clustered around displays and switchboards and dials and computers, monitoring every heartbeat of the spacecraft that had slipped out of the influence of its home planet and was now being enticed by the gravitational pull of the Moon. Most of them joined their friends and families in gathering around the televisions as well.

So he closed his eyes and imagined Artimé, the way it had been, he way he wanted it to be again. His hands reached out to include the entire plot of land. "Imagine," he said in a soft voice, picturing it all, room by room, the lawn with the fountains, the trees, the creatures. When he was certain he'd imagined it, he want on. "Believe. " He believed with all his heart that Artimé could exist again. Believed that when he was finished with the spell and he opened his eyes, it would be there. "Whisper." Alex imagined Mr. Today whispering these words over the desolate plot of land so many years ago, calling it to live a new, vibrant life, and he realized that he'd been whispering the words all along. "Breathe." Alex took in a deep, satisfying breath and let it out slowly. He didn't forget it this time. He pictured himself breathing life into the world, giving it the air it needed to flourish once again. And then: "Commence." The command to make it all happen. The beginning of everything. [...] he remembered the clue. Utter in order, repeat times three. [...] When he finished the second round, he started one last time, his voice remaining soft. "Imagine. Believe. Whisper. Breathe." He hesitated, swallowing hard before the last one. And finally: "Commence." Nothing happened. All was deathly silent. Alex remained very still, eyes closed, arms outstretched, feeling a sort of calmness inside him that he hadn't felt ever before. It almost seemed like he was beginning to float, peacefully alone in the world. And then something did happen. The light through his closed lids grew pinkish-white, bright, and soon lights swirled around him, faster and faster, with colors joining in and growing stronger. He opened his eyes just as the land in front of him turned a luscious green and, with a great rumble, the enormous fountain broke through the ground, spewing up from the earth, the growing expanse of lawn rippling and resettling around it. The land spread farther, making Unwanteds along the shore lose their footing and tumble to the ground. Trees popped up to dot the lawn and for the jungle on the opposite side of Artimé. The gray shack spun and grew into the enormous mansion once again. The heat dissipated in an instant, and a cool breeze rushed in from the sea. Alex gaped. "I did it," he whispered. And then he yelled at the top of his voice, "I did it!

Imagine the moment when you realise that the little girl you have known all her life is actually your own daughter. What do you say? There's nothing to prepare you for that. I'd known Aimee since she was four months old. She was always in my house. In fact, usually I was the only person with her. The clues were all there. But I never joined up the dots. I always came up with a justification for it. There was always some logical reason why I was in charge of a friend's little girl - even though I'd never actually met that friend. Looking back, it was obvious. Something, in my own mind was preventing me from making the link. The brain's a funny thing. It's also very clever and mine was protecting me. Because if I ever accepted that Aimee was my baby, then I had to accept other things - things you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.

Somewhat overly legibly, I wrote on a sheet of paper, "We're held up indefinitely by the parade. We're going to find a phone and have a cold drink somewhere. Will you join us?" I folded the paper once, then handed it to the Matron of Honor, who opened it, read it, and then handed it to the tiny old man. He read it, grinning, and then looked at me and wagged his head up and down several times vehemently. I thought for an instant that this was the full and perfectly eloquent extent of his reply, but he suddenly motioned to me with his hand, and I gathered that he wanted me to pass him my pad and pencil, I did so- without looking over at the Matron of Honor, from whom great waves of impatience were rising. The old man adjusted the pad and pencil on his lap with the greatest care, then sat for a moment, pencil poised, in obvious concentration, his grin diminished only a very trifle. Then the pencil began, very unsteadily, to move. An "i" was dotted. And then both pad and pencil were returned personally to me, with a marvellously cordial extra added wag of the head. He had written, in letters that had not quite jelled yet, the single word "Delighted." The Matron of Honor, reading over my shoulder, gave a sound faintly like a snort, but I quickly looked over at the great writer and tried to show by my expression that all of us in the car knew a poem when we saw one, and were grateful. На едно листче — някак прекалено четливо — написах: „Парадът ще ни задържи неопределено време. Искаме да потърсим телефон и да пием нещо разхладително. Ще дойдете ли с нас?“ После сгънах листчето на две и го подадох на придворната, която го прочете и предаде на дребничкия старец. Той го прочете ухилен, погледна ме и усилено закима с глава. Реших, че това е изчерпателен и напълно красноречив отговор, но той махна с ръка към мен и разбрах, че иска да му подам тефтерчето и молива. Подадох му ги, без да поглеждам придворната, която на вълни, на вълни излъчваше нетърпение. Старчето намести много внимателно тефтерчето и молива на коленете си, застина така, явно събирайки мислите си, после, почти все със същата усмивка, вдигна молива. Много неуверено моливът започна да се движи. Накрая бе сложена акуратна точка. След това с изключително сърдечно кимане тефтерчето и моливът ми бяха върнати. Още пресните букви гласяха: „С удоволствие.“ Придворната погледна през рамото ми бележката и издаде звук, подобен на пръхтене, но аз веднага обърнах лице към великия писател и се постарах да покажа с изражението си, че всички ние веднага можем да различим една истинска поема и сме му много благодарни.

Gary Cooper called to invite me to a dinner party he was giving for Clark Gable at his house. When I accepted and he asked if I would mind picking up Barbara Stanwyck, I was delighted. I had always thought she was one of the greatest. The Lady Eve and Double Indemnity are two of my favorite films and feature two of the many terrific performances she gave through the years. I arrived at her door promptly at 6:30 P.M., a huge bouquet of pink peonies in hand. The maid said she would be right down, took the flowers, and offered me a glass of champagne. Barbara came down a few minutes later, looking terrific in something silver and slinky. She carried on about the flowers as the maid brought them in and joined me for some champagne. I was anxious to get things off to a good start with the right kind of small talk, but unfortunately I was out of touch with the latest gossip. I asked how and where her husband was. An expletive told me how she felt about her husband: “That son of a bitch ran off with some kraut starlet.” As I struggled to pull my foot out of my mouth, she started to laugh and said, “Don’t worry about it, baby, he’s not worth sweating over,” and the rest of the evening went like gangbusters. We arrived at 7:30 on the dot and were met at the door by Rocky, Mrs. Gary Cooper, who hugged Barbara and said, “He’s going to be so glad to see you.” Cooper and Stanwyck had made a couple of great films together, Meet John Doe and Ball of Fire, the latter for Sam Goldwyn, whom she liked even though she referred to him as “that tough old bastard.” Rocky sent Barbara out to the garden to see Coop, took my arm, and showed me around their lovely home. As we walked into the garden, I spotted him laughing with Barbara. Rocky took me over to meet him. He was tall, lean, warm, and friendly. The thing I remember most about him is the twinkle in his deep blue eyes, which were framed by thick dark lashes. He was a movie star.

One moment," Jo said, detaining her, "may I—may I kiss you once, Cyn? Once, and for the last time?" There were tears in Cyn's eyes. She bent her handsome head, their lips met, then, without a word, they went on together to join those who awaited them. And it was thus Fate decreed for these two. Love brings the most intense sorrows, the keenest joys of life. But there must always be some lives, into which comes only the sadness, and none of the bliss, of loving.

the environment changes, as technology changes, you might be able to ‘join the dots’. To connect different pieces of the puzzle and bring your concept to life.

Did I really write to them from a fake e-mail account, posing as my mother to get out of it? My face flames and sweat dots my hairline. It itches, but my arms refuse to let me do anything about it. The crowd blurs into a dull shifting mass, pressing in on me. I look back up at the ceiling for stability, but it only makes me dizzier. Colors swirl together. God shifts his eyes from Adam to me. Murmurs and whispers amplify, joining my accelerating pulse until there’s a stampede in my ears. My heart might explode. What have I done? Chiara grabs my hand and supports my weakened body through a maze of people and doorways until we’re outside. The brightness burns my eyes, but I welcome the awakening. “What happened? You looked as if you might fall over.” I avoid her question and instead gaze up at the weathered, bluish dome of St. Peter’s Basilica looming over us from high above all the other buildings in the city. Is the pope in there praying for liars like me?

A hand moved gracefully over the canvas, releasing the first colorful dot onto a sea of white. Her mind traveled to a different realm, and she joined in spirit with every human being whomever dared to take that first stroke, and she knew the risks; she was willing to pay the price, because wasn’t that what the heart longed for? Whether it be by writing, painting, or music—one only needs to find the strength of courage to walk along the creative path, to search for one’s higher self, and maybe, for just a moment, to gaze into the eyes of God." ― AnneMarie Dapp, Autumn Lady

And between them I am rosy cheeked, aflame with health and joy. I am still the owner of the same stupid Soviet polka-dot shirt, but most of it is hidden by a new Italian sweater, its shoulders ringed with something like epaulets, so that I may continue the fantasy that I will join the Red Army someday. My hair is as long and unruly as the Italian state, and the gap between my crooked teeth is its own opera, but the rings under my eyes that have made such an underaged raccoon out of me are gone.

happiness in a sustainable sense is not about extremes. Not in the sense of elation and hysterical laughter, even if those can be good, too; not in terms of bigger houses and more money and rigid fitness regimes. It’s about how we join the dots, how we make necessary evils less evil and meaningful moments last.

1. Sri Lanka’s Cultural and Historical Richness "Sri Lanka is a place where history lives in harmony with the present. From ancient temples to colonial fortresses, every corner of this island tells a story." Sri Lanka’s history stretches over 2,500 years, featuring incredible landmarks like the Sigiriya Rock Fortress and Anuradhapura's ancient ruins. The country is also home to the famous Temple of the Tooth in Kandy, an important religious site for Buddhists around the world. Each historic site tells a different story, making Sri Lanka a treasure trove of cultural and spiritual experiences. Find out more about planning a visit here. ________________________________________ 2. Nature’s Bounty and Biodiversity "In Sri Lanka, nature isn't merely observed; it's experienced with all the senses — from the scent of spice plantations to the sight of vibrant tea terraces and the sound of waves on pristine beaches." Sri Lanka’s national parks, like Yala and Udawalawe, are among the best places to see elephants, leopards, and a diverse range of bird species. The island’s ecosystems, from rainforests to coastal mangroves, create an incredible array of landscapes for nature lovers to explore. For those planning to visit these natural wonders, start your journey with a visa application. ________________________________________ 3. Sri Lankan Hospitality and Warmth "The true beauty of Sri Lanka is found in its people — hospitable, welcoming, and ready to share a smile or story over a cup of tea." The warmth of Sri Lankans is a common highlight for visitors, whether encountered in bustling cities or quiet villages. Tourists are frequently invited to join meals or participate in local festivities, making Sri Lanka a welcoming destination for international travelers. To experience this hospitality firsthand, ensure you have the right travel documents, accessible here. ________________________________________ 4. Beaches and Scenic Coastal Areas "Sri Lanka’s coastline is a place where sun meets sand, and every wave brings with it a sense of peace." With over 1,300 kilometers of beautiful coastline, Sri Lanka offers something for everyone. The south coast is famous for relaxing beaches like Unawatuna and Mirissa, while the east coast’s Arugam Bay draws surfing enthusiasts from around the globe. To enjoy these beaches, start by obtaining a Sri Lanka visa. ________________________________________ 5. Tea Plantations and the Hill Country "The heart of Sri Lanka beats in the hill country, where misty mountains and lush tea plantations stretch as far as the eye can see." The central highlands of Sri Lanka, with towns like Ella and Nuwara Eliya, are dotted with tea plantations that produce some of the world’s finest teas. Visiting a tea plantation offers a chance to see tea processing and sample fresh brews, with the cool climate adding to the serene experience. Secure your entry to the hill country with a visa application. ________________________________________ 6. Sri Lankan Cuisine: A Feast for the Senses "In Sri Lanka, food is more than sustenance — it’s an art form, a burst of flavors that range from spicy curries to sweet desserts." Sri Lankan cuisine is a rich blend of spices and textures. Popular dishes like rice and curry, hoppers, and kottu roti offer a true taste of the island. Food tours and local markets provide immersive culinary experiences, allowing visitors to discover the flavors of Sri Lanka. For a trip centered on food and culture, start your journey here.

Those visits to the beautician allowed me to reproduce on my body those red dots of Luc's that I knew by heart. I think that on the day when I have all those red dots tattooed, if I were to join them, I would be drawing the map if his destiny on my body. And maybe on that day he will show up at my door, take me by the hand as he always did instinctively, and stop me from saying "Disaster" as he kisses me.

Intuition, they called it, but Strike knew it to be the reading of subtle signs, the subconscious joining of dots.

So . . . do you have to have a terrifying and twisted mind to succeed in the FBI, or does it just help?" Gala asks. Despite everything, we chuckle at that. "Little A, little B," I reply. "A lot of it is training." "Just think, padawan," says Yvonne, joining the conversation from Quantico, "this is what you have to look forward to.

You don’t get justice from guys like him. They join the Supreme Court or get elected president.

I stopped being nearly as much fun at parties after I joined the FBI. Trivia nights, though, everybody wants to be on my team.

You don't get justice from guys like him. They join the Supreme Court or get elected president.

I wasn’t joking: this whole business is serious and complicated. Contraception, abortion, infertility – they’re central to the physical and ethical experience of being female, but we never join up the dots and talk about them honestly.

More often, the notes were memorized or jotted down, then tucked into a new book to be passed forward in the next crate to the next city, the lists of the missing and the re-placed growing like twin prongs of a long sharp fork. There were so many names, and the network was few and patchwork, dependent on memory and luck, two dots aligning just long enough for someone to make the connection and join them with a stroke. Meanwhile, all that could be done was to remember, and to pass the information along: to the next librarian, the next city, and—when she could persuade them—to Margaret.

Why has he got a pet monkey?’ ‘Ah,’ said Carrot. ‘I think it is Corporal Nobbs to whom you refer …’ ‘It’s human? He’s got a face like a join-the-dots puzzle!’ ‘He does have a very good collection of boils, poor man. He does tricks with them. Just never get between him and a mirror.

If you know what a chemical engineer is, then you are a better woman than me. Don’t get me wrong, I know what an engineer is and I know what chemicals are, but I can’t join the dots.

As we have already seen, our minds toggle back and forth between System 1 and System 2 thinking. When we make a snap judgment, we still make all the System 2 moves—sizing up the scenario, plucking out the relevant data, joining the dots, pinpointing the best course of action—we just do it a whole lot faster. Psychologists call this “thin-slicing,” because we extract all the necessary information from a tiny sliver of experience.

The more you use the ingredients of the Slow Fix—admitting mistakes, pausing to think, joining the dots, sweating the small stuff, taking the long view—the better you come to understand whatever it is you do and the more likely you are to develop the intuition needed to deal with problems swiftly in the future. “When you have years and years of practice and knowledge behind you, nothing escapes your notice,” says Hodgman. “Whatever the time constraints, you will spot the problem and find a way to fix it.

The point is to encourage people to question how the dots are connected. In most organizations, people join the dots the same way that everyone else does and always has done. This preserves the status quo. But one day someone comes along and connects the dots in a different way, which leads to an entirely different understanding of the world.

This brings us to the next ingredient of the Slow Fix. We have already seen the importance of thinking hard about a problem and joining the dots to devise a holistic solution. The success of the Norwegian prison system reminds us that any fix worth its salt must also take the long view.

This brings us to the next ingredient of the Slow Fix: joining the dots to take a holistic approach. In the previous chapter we saw the importance of taking the time to work out the true nature of a problem. This usually reveals a web of interconnected factors that can never be solved with a single magic bullet. Complex problems, from climate change to conflict in the Middle East to a marriage on the rocks, need to be examined through a wider lens and tackled holistically.

That is why the best problem solvers make a big effort to join the dots.

Security staff still search the pupils for weapons, but more discreetly than before. Where once they barged into lessons to pat them down in front of their classmates, they now do the frisking in a private room. “It’s about being more understanding with the kids,” says Jacob McKinney, an unarmed security guard who was a student at Locke in the 1990s. Understanding the kids means joining the dots well beyond the classroom. More than a fifth of Locke students are in foster care and nearly half come from single-parent homes.

The gravitational pull toward what’s new, what’s now, and what’s next has left us in a constant state of fight-or-flight. Paradoxically, we both worry about and look forward to the latest gadgets and tools. Overwhelmed with the sheer amount of new shiny objects, we don’t take the necessary step back to connect all the dots and to ask: How does one technology influence the other? What’s really going on? Are we missing a bigger and more important trend? What trajectory are we on, and does it make sense? These are questions futurists think about all the time. But when it comes to organizations, it’s only after a fringe technology moves into the mainstream that we suddenly raise concerns, attempt to join in, or realize it’s too late—and that an industry has been upended.

Maddie thinks for a moment, then says, “Okay, if I imagine those words not coming out of your mouth, they actually kind of make sense.” I clap, smile, and try not to be offended by that last part, especially since she’s had such a rough day. I continue. “Okay, step one: grab their attention.” I stand and give jazz hands. “In Hollywood, they always say the best way to do that is by firing someone on your first day of work.” “Liv, I’m not firing any of my friends,” Maddie says adamantly. I roll my eyes. “Ugh. Do I have to connect all the dots for you? I will join the team and you can fire me for being terrible. The team will know you mean business if you’re ruthless enough to crush your twin’s fake dream!

Proximity We joined the dots from A to B, the line we drew from you to me, traced empty shores across the sea, over mountain top, past forest tree, along the roads and walking tracks, all bridges burned, no looking back, for the love we have, no gate can stop, no barking dog or bolted lock, for what is real is meant to be, when two hearts beat— in proximity.