K Render Quotes

Her voice was now so shrill only bats would be able to hear it soon, but she had reached a level of indignation that rendered her temporarily speechless..

And sure enough, in seeking to become superhuman this foolhardy young man renders himself inhuman. The heart that he has locked away slowly shrivels and grows hair, symbolising his own descent to beasthood.

Social conditioning, accompanied by moral and mental constraints, now serve to render the mediocre mind nearly incapable of unbiased assessment.

The written word has its limits and its challenges, for the primal sound in the whole world is that made by the human voice, and the likeness of this human voice must be rendered in dots and strokes...Yet I never forget that the voice, too, is important...Don't mumble or hesitate. Speak...in a loud voice, clearly, and without fear.

i chiseled away parts of myself trying to be everything to you until it could no longer be rendered as art.

We are fond of talking about 'liberty'; but the way we end up actually talking of it is an attempt to avoid discussing what is 'good.' We are fond of talking about 'progress'; that is a dodge to avoid discussing what is good. We are fond of talking about 'education'; that is a dodge to avoid discussing what is good. The modern man says, 'Let us leave all these arbitrary standards and embrace unadulterated liberty.' This is, logically rendered, 'Let us not decide what is good, but let it be considered good not to decide it.' He says, 'Away with your old moral standard; I am for progress.' This, logically stated, means, 'Let us not settle what is good; but let us settle whether we are getting more of it.' He says, 'Neither in religion nor morality, my friend, lie the hopes of the race, but in education.' This, clearly expressed, means, 'We cannot decide what is good, but let us give it to our children.

The modern man says, "Let us leave all these arbitrary standards and embrace liberty." This is, logically rendered, "Let us not decide what is good, but let it be considered good not to decide it.

Bobby Edson, like most coaches, was a kind of mystic: he believed the cosmos was endowed with an ineffable muffling system that rendered all the racist, sexist, tasteless and denigrating remarks made by coaches inaudible to the students about whom they bellowed them.

Knowledge. That’s the key to freedom.

Service which is rendered without joy helps neither the servant nor the served. But all other pleasures and possessions pale into nothingness before service which is rendered in a spirit of joy.

One of the most corrosive aspects of the criminal justice system is its toleration of the insanity defense...Legitimate in some few cases, the insanity defense has been rendered farcical through its manipulation by so-called experts.

Kinyoun believed in a future where scientists like him had rendered the concept of infectious disease moot, sparing the lives of innocent people. Instead, he had to face a present in which politics mattered more than honesty, and ignorance proved more powerful than medicine.

Susan was a tough-minded romantic. She wanted to fall in love with a book. She always had reasons for her devotions, as an astute reader would, but she was, to her credit, probably the most emotional one among us. Susan could fall in love with a book in more or less the way one falls in love with a person. Yes, you can provide, if asked, a list of your loved one’s lovable qualities: he’s kind and funny and smart and generous and he knows the names of trees. But he’s also more than amalgamation of qualities. You love him, the entirety of him, which can’t be wholly explained by even the most exhaustive explication of his virtues. And you love him no less for his failings. O.K., he’s bad with money, he can be moody sometimes, and he snores. His marvels so outshine the little complaints as to render them ridiculous.

We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?” Hermione opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again, looking more confused than ever. She, Harry, and Ron glanced at one another, and Harry knew that they were all thinking the same thing. It so happened that a cloak exactly like the one Xenophilius had just described was in the room with them at that very moment. “Exactly,” said Xenophilius, as if he had defeated them all in reasoned argument. “None of you have ever seen such a thing. The possessor would be immeasurably rich, would he not?” He glanced out of the window again. The sky was now tinged with the faintest trace of pink. “All right,” said Hermione, disconcerted. “Say the Cloak existed…what about the stone, Mr. Lovegood? The thing you call the Resurrection Stone?” “What of it?” “Well, how can that be real?” “Prove that it is not,” said Xenophilius. Hermoine looked outraged. “But that’s--I’m sorry, but that’s completely ridiculous! How can I possibly prove it doesn’t exist? Do you expect me to get hold of--of all the pebbles in the world and test them? I mean, you could claim that anything’s real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody’s proved it doesn’t exist!” “Yes, you could,” said Xenophilius. “I am glad to see that you are opening your mind a little.” “So the Elder Wand,” said Harry quickly, before Hermione could retort, “you think that exists too?

Real love is not about being powerful, it's about rendering yourself powerless.

This man obviously contained some sort of catalytic converter that rendered the filth of his language as natural and inoffensive as dirt in a garden.

All they knew was fear. That’s the power of propaganda.

Dust might cover the gem to render it lustreless but sooner or later it must fetch its intrinsic value. Reality can’t be hoodwinked by any trick for long.]

The supply of subjects was a continual trouble to him as well as to his master. In that large and busy class, the raw material of the anatomists kept perpetually running out; and the business thus rendered necessary was not only unpleasant in itself, but threatened dangerous consequences to all who were concerned. It was the policy of Mr. K — to ask no questions in his dealings with the trade. ‘They bring the body, and we pay the price,’ he used to say, dwelling on the alliteration— ‘quid pro quo.’ And, again, and somewhat profanely, ‘Ask no questions,’ he would tell his assistants, ‘for conscience’ sake.’ There was no understanding that the subjects were provided by the crime of murder.

The service and office workers, checkout clerks, account managers, and salespeople whose jobs can be consolidated and rendered redundant by the digital revolution are the modern version of the horses driven off their Depression-era farms.

For Niamh to render that flask invisible, she would have to keep her hands covering most of it at all times. Someone mentioned that it would’ve been easier just to tell her she couldn’t bring it. That guy clearly didn’t know Niamh very well.

You’d think they’d develop an intelligent approach to land allocation and use. You’d think they wouldn’t fight stupid little wars over large areas of useful terrain, wouldn’t deploy weaponry that would render the theater of operations useless to human habitation for centuries to come.

At the onset of the Civil War, our stolen bodies were worth four billion dollars, more than all of American industry, all of American railroads, workshops, and factories combined, and the prime product rendered by our stolen bodies—cotton—was America’s primary export. The richest men in America lived in the Mississippi River Valley, and they made their riches off our stolen bodies. Our bodies were held in bondage by the early presidents. Our bodies were traded from the White House by James K. Polk. Our bodies built the Capitol and the National Mall. The first shot of the Civil War was fired in South Carolina, where our bodies constituted the majority of human bodies in the state. Here is the motive for the great war. It’s not a secret.

We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?” Hermione opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again, looking more confused than ever. She, Harry, and Ron glanced at one another, and Harry knew that they were all thinking the same thing. It so happened that a cloak exactly like the one Xenophilius had just described was in the room with them at that very moment. “Exactly,” said Xenophilius, as if he had defeated them all in reasoned argument. “None of you have ever seen such a thing. The possessor would be immeasurably rich, would he not?

One man in uniform always supports another man in uniform, no matter what the row is about, or who may be in the right—that does not trouble him.  It is a fixed tenet of belief among uniform circles that a uniform can do no wrong.  If burglars wore uniform, the police would be instructed to render them every assistance in their power, and to take into custody any householder attempting to interfere with them in the execution of their business.

Every one of the popular modern phrases and ideals is a dodge in order to shirk the problem of what is good. We are fond of talking about "liberty"; that, as we talk of it, is a dodge to avoid discussing what is good. We are fond of talking about "progress"; that is a dodge to avoid discussing what is good. We are fond of talking about "education"; that is a dodge to avoid discussing what is good. The modern man says, "Let us leave all these arbitrary standards and embrace liberty." This is, logically rendered, "Let us not decide what is good, but let it be considered good not to decide it." He says, "Away with your old moral formulae; I am for progress." This, logically stated, means, "Let us not settle what is good; but let us settle whether we are getting more of it." He says, "Neither in religion nor morality, my friend, lie the hopes of the race, but in education." This, clearly expressed, means, "We cannot decide what is good, but let us give it to our children.

Ah, but the Third Hallow is a true Cloak of Invisibility, Miss Granger! I mean to say, it is not a traveling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?” Hermione opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again,

I have a feeling you aren't going to like me very much. That may be the only thing we'll have in common, so let's make the most of it. I do terrible things. I do them to my enemies, to my own side, to myself. In the process, I save a large number of strangers (on average, between five and ten a week) from the worst thing that can happen to a human being. I'd like to say that I do it because I've one of the good guys, but if I did that , you'd see right through me. And the nyou'd quote scripture at me: Render to no one evil for evil. Really? Even if they're they enemy? Even if They're not human? You decide. Not sure I can be bothered with it anymore.

Of real sensational journalism, as it exists in France, in Ireland, and in America, we have no trace in this country. When a journalist in Ireland wishes to create a thrill, he creates a thrill worth talking about. He denounces a leading Irish member for corruption, or he charges the whole police system with a wicked and definite conspiracy. When a French journalist desires a frisson there is a frisson; he discovers, let us say, that the President of the Republic has murdered three wives. Our yellow journalists invent quite as unscrupulously as this; their moral condition is, as regards careful veracity, about the same. But it is their mental calibre which happens to be such that they can only invent calm and even reassuring things. The fictitious version of the massacre of the envoys of Pekin was mendacious, but it was not interesting, except to those who had private reasons for terror or sorrow. It was not connected with any bold and suggestive view of the Chinese situation. It revealed only a vague idea that nothing could be impressive except a great deal of blood. Real sensationalism, of which I happen to be very fond, may be either moral or immoral. But even when it is most immoral, it requires moral courage. For it is one of the most dangerous things on earth genuinely to surprise anybody. If you make any sentient creature jump, you render it by no means improbable that it will jump on you. But the leaders of this movement have no moral courage or immoral courage; their whole method consists in saying, with large and elaborate emphasis, the things which everybody else says casually, and without remembering what they have said. When they brace themselves up to attack anything, they never reach the point of attacking anything which is large and real, and would resound with the shock. They do not attack the army as men do in France, or the judges as men do in Ireland, or the democracy itself as men did in England a hundred years ago. They attack something like the War Office--something, that is, which everybody attacks and nobody bothers to defend, something which is an old joke in fourth-rate comic papers

The statist Left’s first move was to alter the meaning of liberalism so as to keep the free Left and the public in a constant state of confusion. They diluted the original principles of liberalism while firing cheap polemical shots, arguing that John Locke’s liberalism had nothing to offer, that it contradicted itself. After all, if the statist Left could not win a fair fight on the philosophical battlefield, it had to resort to chicanery to gain an advantage. One way to accomplish this was to adulterate or falsify the liberal message to render it meaningless while advancing a new, redefined liberalism to replace the old. The deception was successful. The free-Left liberals and their allies had lost the semantic ammunition to defend liberty, and therefore became neutered, defanged, almost defenseless, deprived of the cognitive capability to defend the autonomy of the individual. As for the statist Left, they had to work diligently to ‘defascistize’ historical Fascism, because to do otherwise would force them to face an ugly image in the mirror.

pick Maddy and Josh up from Mum’s house no later than six each day, and we’re always home around ten minutes later. I thought that was enough to qualify me as a good mother, a parent who is there for her children. Yet I feel a niggle deep down that tells me he’s right. Once I get through the door each evening, I simply set my laptop up on the kitchen counter and carry on working. I often cook the children’s tea around updating the InsideOut4Kids website. The reality is, I’m there… but I’m not really there. Not all of me. For the first time, I consider the echoes of my own childhood, when Mum spent so much time in her bedroom. I can’t remember the last time we all sat down and ate together, or watched TV as a family. We often stay in different rooms until it’s time for bed. And the outings to the park or the cinema we used to plan and enjoy at weekends? I seriously can’t remember the last time we did that. I thought I was being Superwoman, and it turns out I’m struggling to tick all the boxes like any other mere mortal. The realisation renders me speechless, and it doesn’t take Tom long to

Hermione!” She stirred, then sat up quickly, pushing her hair out of her face. “What’s wrong? Harry? Are you all right?” “It’s okay, everything’s fine. More than fine. I’m great. There’s someone here.” “What do you mean? Who--?” She saw Ron, who stood there holding the sword and dripping onto the threadbare carpet. Harry backed into a shadowy corner, slipped off Ron’s rucksack, and attempted to blend in with the canvas. Hermione slid out of her bunk and moved like a sleepwalker toward Ron, her eyes upon his pale face. She stopped right in front of him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide. Ron gave a weak, hopeful smile and half raised his arms. Hermione launched herself forward and started punching every inch of him that she could reach. “Ouch--ow--gerroff! What the--? Hermione--OW!” “You--complete--arse--Ronald--Weasley!” She punctuated every word with a blow: Ron backed away, shielding his head as Hermione advanced. “You--crawl--back--here--after--weeks--and--weeks--oh, where’s my wand?” She looked as though ready to wrestle it out of Harry’s hands and he reacted instinctively. “Protego!” The invisible shield erupted between Ron and Hermione: The force of it knocked her backward onto the floor. Spitting hair out of her mouth, she leapt up again. “Hermione!” said Harry. “Calm--” “I will not calm down!” she screamed. Never before had he seen her lose control like this; she looked quite demented. “Give me back my wand! Give it back to me!” “Hermione, will you please--” “Don’t you tell me what to do, Harry Potter!” she screeched. “Don’t you dare! Give it back now! And YOU!” She was pointing at Ron in dire accusation: It was like a malediction, and Harry could not blame Ron for retreating several steps. “I came running after you! I called you! I begged you to come back!” “I know,” Ron said, “Hermione, I’m sorry, I’m really--” “Oh, you’re sorry!” She laughed, a high-pitched, out-of-control sound; Ron looked at Harry for help, but Harry merely grimaced his helplessness. “You come back after weeks--weeks--and you think it’s all going to be all right if you just say sorry?” “Well, what else can I say?” Ron shouted, and Harry was glad that Ron was fighting back. “Oh, I don’t know!” yelled Hermione with awful sarcasm. “Rack your brains, Ron, that should only take a couple of seconds--” “Hermione,” interjected Harry, who considered this a low blow, “he just saved my--” “I don’t care!” she screamed. “I don’t care what he’s done! Weeks and weeks, we could have been dead for all he knew--” “I knew you weren’t dead!” bellowed Ron, drowning her voice for the first time, and approaching as close as he could with the Shield Charm between them. “Harry’s all over the Prophet, all over the radio, they’re looking for you everywhere, all these rumors and mental stories, I knew I’d hear straight off if you were dead, you don’t know what it’s been like--” “What it’s been like for you?” Her voice was now so shrill only bats would be able to hear it soon, but she had reached a level of indignation that rendered her temporarily speechless, and Ron seized his opportunity. “I wanted to come back the minute I’d Disapparated, but I walked straight into a gang of Snatchers, Hermione, and I couldn’t go anywhere!” “A gang of what?” asked Harry, as Hermione threw herself down into a chair with her arms and legs crossed so tightly it seemed unlikely that she would unravel them for several years.

The LORD Is My Strength and My Shield Of David.     PSALM 28 To you, O LORD, I call;          j my rock, be not deaf to me,     lest, if you  k be silent to me,         I become like those who  l go down to the pit.     2  m Hear the voice of my pleas for mercy,         when I cry to you for help,     when I  n lift up my hands          o toward your most holy sanctuary. [1]     3 Do not  p drag me off with the wicked,         with the workers of evil,      q who speak peace with their neighbors         while evil is in their hearts.     4  r Give to them according to their work         and according to the evil of their deeds;     give to them according to the work of their hands;          s render them their due reward.     5 Because they  t do not regard the works of the LORD         or the work of his hands,     he will tear them down and build them up no more.     6 Blessed be the LORD!         For he has  u heard the voice of my pleas for mercy.     7 The LORD is my strength and  v my shield;         in him my heart  w trusts, and I am helped;     my heart exults,         and with my  x song I give thanks to him.     8 The LORD is the strength of his people; [2]         he is  y the saving refuge of his anointed.     9 Oh, save your people and bless  z your heritage!          a Be their shepherd and  b carry them forever.

Before the New Kingdom, the bestowal of “divine love” occurred by a “superior” deity upon a human, a subordination that extended down the chain of authority, passed from gods to royals, from royals to non-royal officials, from officials to their wives and relatives, etc.[538] In this regard, Doxey further relates: [Egyptologist] W.K. Simpson has studied the concept of divine love, asserting that prior to the New Kingdom, love was always bestowed by a superior upon a subordinate. Simpson’s view is certainly correct with regard to the love of gods. During the Middle Kingdom, humans always receive divine love; they are never described as “loving” a god.[539] On some occasions, such as when the king was “beloved by the people,” such love or mri could apparently be “reciprocated between superiors and subordinates” as well.[540] The clarification of the Middle and New Kingdoms indicates that this custom changed during the New Kingdom, with the use of the mry epithet becoming increasingly popular even as applied to deities. It is evident that, especially after the Hellenization of the Ptolemaic and Greco-Roman periods, various Egyptian deities became the objects of “divine love” and were themselves invoked as “beloved” or Mery. In reality, this ability to bestow mry upon even the “chief of all gods” is demonstrated as early as the New Kingdom in a hymn from the Papyrus Kairo CG 58038 (Boulaq 17), parts of which may date to the late Middle Kingdom,[541] such as the 18th Dynasty (1550-1292 BCE), and in which we find the combined god Amun-Re praised as “the good god beloved.”[542] Indeed, at P. Boulaq 17, 3.4, we find Amun-Re deemed Mry, as part of the epithet “Beloved of the Upper Egyptian and Lower Egyptian Crowns.”[543] Amun-Re is also called “beloved” in Budge’s rendering of the Book of the Dead created for the Egyptian princess and priestess Nesi-Khonsu (c. 1070-945 BCE).[544]

We must also restore the understanding achieved by Keynes and Minsky, and under the New Deal, of unstable speculation and financial fraud, later effaced by the doctrine of efficient markets. A new economics must rest on a biophysical and institutional framework, recognizing that fixed capital and embedded technology are essential for efficient productive operations, but that resource costs can render any fixed system fragile, and that corruption can destroy any human institution.

penetration into the Meitei society was not complete. But my exploration of the fault lines of that society followed unconventional contours. Rishang Keishing, K. Envy, both Tangkhul political leaders, and K.Kakuthon, president of the Zelangroung Naga Union, rendered valuable services. In me they found a sympathetic shoulder to lean on. In those days of political naiveté the simple tribal politicians treated the SIB chief as the direct representative of the Central Government. The situation has now reversed. The state politicians these days carry fatter suitcases for Delhi politicians and

«Solo che… ho litigato con Boar. È stato così carino con me. Quasi troppo dolce e gentile, e sono entrato nel panico.» Tank gli scostò i capelli dal viso con una gentilezza bizzarra per le sue dita grosse. «Perché hai reagito in quel modo? Avrai capito che gli piaci. Se non ricambi, ci sono modi più gentili di dirlo.» «Mi piace, e parecchio anche, e so che non dovrei provare niente di simile. Perché voi siete un gruppo, ma per me questo viaggio finirà.» Fissò il volto di Tank, cercando disperatamente di concentrarsi sugli occhi e rendere l’immagine chiara anche senza occhiali. «Sono così geloso di quello che avete.» Tank espirò e gli accarezzò una guancia. Era solamente la sua immaginazione, o si era avvicinato ancora di più? «Che cosa abbiamo?» «Siete sempre presenti l’uno per l’altro. La vostra relazione si basa sulla fiducia. Quando sono con voi, mi sento protetto, ma so che è una situazione temporanea e non voglio illudermi. Così, quando Boar mi ha confessato quanto gli piacessi, ho dato di matto. Gli ho detto cose terribili per respingerlo. Non so come farmi perdonare, ma non mi va nemmeno di essere costretto a chiedergli scusa. È come se avessi una sorta di peso nel petto che mi impedisce di rialzarmi. Devi guadagnartelo, Clover. Se vuoi migliorare le cose, dovresti cominciare con l’ammettere i tuoi errori e scusarti con Boar.»

I mean to say, it is not a travelling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?

What’s he brought all those cauldrons for?” “Probably looking for a safe place to keep them,” said Harry. “Isn’t that what he was doing the night he was supposed to be tailing me? Picking up dodgy cauldrons?” “Yeah, you’re right!” said Fred, as the front door opened; Mundungus heaved his cauldrons through it and disappeared from view. “Blimey, Mum won’t like that . . .” He and George crossed to the door and stood beside it, listening intently. Mrs. Black’s screaming had stopped again. “Mundungus is talking to Sirius and Kingsley,” Fred muttered, frowning with concentration. “Can’t hear properly . . . d’you reckon we can risk the Extendable Ears?” “Might be worth it,” said George. “I could sneak upstairs and get a pair —” But at that precise moment there was an explosion of sound from downstairs that rendered Extendable Ears quite unnecessary. All of them could hear exactly what Mrs. Weasley was shouting at the top of her voice. “WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT

We find “Nirvana” rendered by “annihilation” (no one stops to ask of what?), though the word means “despiration”, as Meister Eckhart uses the term. I accuse the majority of Christian writers of a certain irresponsibility, or even levity, in their references to other religions. I should never dream of making use of a Gospel text without referring to the Greek, and considering also the earlier history of the Greek words employed, and I demand as much of Christian writers. To THE NEW ENGLISH WEEKLY, LONDON - January 8, 1946

The lawyers ceded their right to argue to case before the justices. A verdict would be rendered in secret, behind closed doors, with only the brief written by J. N. Flowers to serve as the defense for Martha Lum. J. K. Young would never stand in the courtroom. He would not be present for a decision that would determine the fate of his friends and family. The consequence of Brewer’s inaction would shape history, and a verdict would be rendered with the power to oppress millions of Americans for generations to come.

Many members of the Assembly were disappointed with the numerous exceptions which had been created against each of the freedoms set out in the right to freedom, including the right to free speech. For instance, K.T. Shah said that 'what is given by one right hand seems to be taken away by three or four or five left hands, and therefore the article is rendered nugatory in my opinion.' Lakshmi Narayan Sahi cited an Oriya proverb which translates as follows: 'It is no use making a house with so small entrance that one's entry into the house is rendered difficult without striking his head against the door frame.

How will history judge Heschel’s actions? While we cannot justify the humiliation Heschel inadvertently inflicted on the American Jewish Committee and its Vatican partners through his interview with Geula Cohen, we can try to understand why he appears to have panicked and been rendered speechless, unable to protest Cohen’s outrageous comparison of church officials to Nazis.

In a single kiss, she strips me bare. How is it this tiny person can render me naked down to my soul? I don’t know, but she does.

For many years, I believed Him to be a god. I was instrumental in spreading the belief myself.' 'You still believe it'. 'I know what I know. A god or not, His power renders Him indistinguishable from divinity'.

The study of Islamic perceptual culture is distinct from, yet dependent on, art history. It respects the knowledge gained from a secular approach to the cultures of Islam, but questions the premise that a secularism gleaned from Christianate roots can apprehend a culture in which everything can be conceived within a relationship with the Divine. This inquiry renders contingent premises such as the centrality of vision, the role of the image, the importance of the object, the linearity of history, the centrality of matter, and the authority of perspective. In their stead, this study of perceptual culture looks to Islamic discourses for an alternative language through which to conceive the human encounter with the created world. On the one hand, these new concepts expand our understanding of Islam in its relationship with antique philosophy and neighboring religions. On the other, these methods transcend the category of Islam, providing potentially useful tools through which to develop transcultural epistemic models for global art history. Featuring the agency of works over their physicality, the study of Islamic perceptual culture expands the concept of ‘art’ to include music, dreams, visions, and mirrors, both real and metaphorical. The shift from art to perception, production to reception replaces the exchange value of the commodity with the interactive sharing of discourse. We become less what we make than how we make, and what we do with that making. Rather than annealing history in the preservation of forms, the discursive preservation of ideas enables that which has been to persist in what becomes. Bergsonian duration gains methodological centrality over Hegelian historicism.

With a roundhouse kick and three sharp elbows to three young jaws,

Naturalism could, in fact, render naturalism itself irrational, as Alvin Plantinga argues, and as C. S. Lewis thought. Plantinga devotes chapter 12 of his work Warrant and Proper Function to this point.7 He writes in one place that “if metaphysical naturalism and this evolutionary account are both true, then our cognitive faculties will have resulted from blind mechanisms like natural selection. . . . Evolution is interested, not in true belief, but in survival or fitness. It is therefore unlikely that our cognitive faculties have the production of true belief as a proximate or any other function, and the probability of our faculties being reliable (given naturalistic evolution) would be fairly low.”8 If, then, naturalism negates knowing, then theism fosters it. Our native human capacity to know, Plantinga claims, “flourishes best in the context of supernaturalism in metaphysics.”9 I agree. So did C. S. Lewis.10 From this, we see why God must underwrite a credible epistemology.

Telephones are, without question, useful devices. But they are also, it seems to me, the verbal equivalent of houses without toilets. Telephones allow minds to communicate with minds (or tongues with ears, at least) in clarity or turmoil, in semisomnolence or drunkenness, in lust, joy, hysteria, stupefaction or any other state that fails to render a human physically incapable of holding up a quarter-pound chunk of perforated plastic—which is most every state there is. That telephones can connect us in seconds to any creature on earth foolhardy enough to lift its own chunk of plastic is wonderful. But it’s also terrible, given what a lot of people think and feel about each other. That’s why, until they’re equipped with some sort of flush or filter or waste-disposal system for the billions of words that ought not to be spoken, I’ll not trust the things.

Too much focus on where we’ve come from will only distract us from what’s up ahead.

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ‘em.

At the onset of the Civil War, our stolen bodies were worth four billion dollars, more than all of American industry, all of American railroads, workshops, and factories combined, and the prime product rendered by our stolen bodies - cotton - was America's primary export. The richest men in America lived in the Mississippi River Valley, and they made their riches off our stolen bodies. Our bodies were held in bondage by the early presidents. Our bodies were traded from the White House by James K. Polk. Our bodies built the Capitol and the National Mall. The first shot of the Civil War was fired in South Carolina, where our bodies constituted the majority of human bodies in the state. Here is the motive for the great war.

The only thing worse than being in a crazy situation is meeting someone who’s even crazier than the situation you’re in.

O merciful God, whatever you may deny me, do not deny me this love. Save me from the idolatry of loving the world, or any of the things of the world. Let me never love any creature but for your sake and in subordination to your love. Take full possession of my heart; raise there your throne and command there as you do in heaven. Being created by you, let me live to you; being created for you, let me ever act for your glory; being redeemed by you, let me render to you what is yours and let my spirit ever cleave to you alone. John Wesley

In the classic Indian epic, the Mahabharata, there is a ceremony for when a new king is crowned. There is a warning to “Be like the garland-maker, O King, and not like a charcoal burner.” Here, the garland symbolized social harmony, where many flowers of many colors and forms are strung harmoniously, creating a stunning effect. The charcoal-burner represents raw force reduction of diversity into homogeneity, where all life is rendered to a similar ash quality

I would like to see the opportunity offered, at both secondary and college levels, for the poor to be prepared to return to their roots and become leaders among the disadvantaged. This suggestion rests upon the belief that the situation of the poor, particularly the neglect of their children, is a national disgrace in our affluent country, and that, if this condition is to be made right, the natural leaders who arise among the disadvantaged will find the way and organize the effort themselves. The best service that a school can render to these people may not be to homogenize them into the upper classes but to help those who have a value orientation that favors it to develop their ability to lead their people to secure a better life for many.

I can't get my head around Rain's question. Card's my best friend. No, he's more than that. After losing my father and brother, in a lot of ways, Cardyn has been everything to me. He's been with me through so much---even the secret stuff, like my training with Render. What Rain might think were amorous stolen moments between us in the woods in the Valta were actually some of the most special times in my life. Card and I talked about our hopes, our feelings, our fears. We supported each other when we were down and reveled in each other's happiness when things were going great. We had an intimacy then, a bond beyond Rain's limited ideas of what two people can mean to each other. Besides, when did 'just friends' get to be such a bad thing? Cardyn isn't 'just' anything to me. There's no way I'll let someone that close, that special, that indispensable in my life, be demoted to a 'just' anything.

most people, including Whites, perceive racial relationships as binary: Black–White only (Pew Research Center, 2012). So, when matters of prejudice or discrimination are brought up for discussion, other groups of color, such as Asian Americans, Latina/o Americans, and Native Americans, often feel left out of the dialogue and rendered invisible (B. S. K. Kim, 2011; Takaki, 1998).

12For we have the living Word of God, which is full of energy,k and it pierces more sharply than a soldier’s sword. It will even penetrate to the very core of our being where soul and spirit, bonel and marrow meet—splitting them in two!m It interprets and reveals the true thoughts and motives of our hearts. 13There is not one person who can hide their thoughts from God, for nothing that we do remains a secret, and nothing created is concealed, but everything is exposed and defenseless before his eyes, to whom we must render an account.n

Honesty renders your heart defenceless, and lying fucks with your head. That’s why I choose to remain silent and protect them both instead.

She was pointing at Ron in dire accusation: It was like a malediction, and Harry could not blame Ron for retreating several steps. “I came running after you! I called you! I begged you to come back!” “I know,” Ron said, “Hermione, I’m sorry, I’m really—” “Oh, you’re sorry!” She laughed, a high-pitched, out-of-control sound; Ron looked at Harry for help, but Harry merely grimaced his helplessness. “You come back after weeks—weeks—and you think it’s all going to be all right if you just say sorry?” “Well, what else can I say?” Ron shouted, and Harry was glad that Ron was fighting back. “Oh, I don’t know!” yelled Hermione with awful sarcasm. “Rack your brains, Ron, that should only take a couple of seconds—” “Hermione,” interjected Harry, who considered this a low blow, “he just saved my—” “I don’t care!” she screamed. “I don’t care what he’s done! Weeks and weeks, we could have been dead for all he knew—” “I knew you weren’t dead!” bellowed Ron, drowning her voice for the first time, and approaching as close as he could with the Shield Charm between them. “Harry’s all over the Prophet, all over the radio, they’re looking for you everywhere, all these rumors and mental stories, I knew I’d hear straight off if you were dead, you don’t know what it’s been like—” “What it’s been like for you?” Her voice was so shrill only bats would be able to hear it soon, but she had reached a level of indignation that rendered her temporarily speechless, and Ron seized his opportunity. “I wanted to come back the minute I’d Disapparated, but I walked straight into a gang of Snatchers, Hermione, and I couldn’t go anywhere!” “A gang of what?” asked Harry, as Hermione threw herself down into a chair with her arms and legs crossed so tightly it seemed unlikely that she would unravel them for several years.

You were the seventh Horcrux, Harry, the Horcrux he never meant to make. He had rendered his soul so unstable that it broke apart when he committed those acts of unspeakable evil, the murder of your parents, the attempted killing of a child. But what escaped from that room was even less than he knew. He left more than his body behind. He left part of himself latched to you, the would-be victim who had survived.

Titanium worked—while causing all sorts of problems. For instance, it was so strong that all of the Skunk Works’ existing tools and bolts were rendered useless, forcing Johnson to reinvent those, too. What was more, there wasn’t enough titanium available in the United States, so the CIA had to use subcontractors and dummy companies to covertly buy the rare alloy from, of all places, the Soviet Union.

winter used to be the time of almost endless local festivals and religious celebrations, which brought villagers together. Most villages in Lahaul now have only a few people staying in them for the winter, rendering life there even more isolated. Electricity has entered the valley and along with it television satellite dishes.

The modern man says, "Let us leave all these arbitrary standards and embrace liberty." This is, logically rendered, "Let us not decide what is good, but let it be considered good not to decide it." He says, "Away with your old moral formulae; I am for progress." This, logically stated, means, "Let us not settle what is good; but let us settle whether we are getting more of it." He says, "Neither in religion nor morality, my friend, lie the hopes of the race, but in education." This, clearly expressed, means, "We cannot decide what is good, but let us give it to our children.

«Che ne so» borbottò Ron. «A volte, quando ero un po’ abbattuto, mi sono detto che si stava facendo due risate o... o che voleva solo rendere tutto più difficile. Ma non lo penso più. Sapeva quello che faceva quando mi ha lasciato il Deluminatore, no? Lui...» Le orecchie di Ron s’imporporarono e lui si chinò tutto concentrato su un ciuffo d’erba, che saggiò con la punta del piede. «Be’, si vede che lo sapeva, che vi avrei piantati in asso». «No» lo corresse Harry. «Si vede che sapeva che saresti voluto tornare».

The prophets did not fall into mistakes in those things which they wrote as inspired men (theopneustōs) and as prophets, not even in the smallest particulars; otherwise faith in the whole of Scripture would be rendered doubtful. But they could err in other things as men (just as David erred in his letter concerning the killing of Uriah [which has historical authenticity but not normal]; and Nathan in the directions which he gave to David about building the temple without having consulted God, 2 S. 7:3) because the influence of the Holy Spirit was neither universal nor uninterrupted, so that it might not be considered an ordinary excitation or merely an effect of nature (2 K. 2:17). The apostles were infallible in faith, not in practice; and the Spirit was to lead them into all truth so that they might not err, but not into all holiness that they might not sin because they were like us in all things. The dissimulation and hypocrisy of Peter (Gal. 2:12) was a sin of life, not an error of faith; a lapse in his morality from weakness and the fear of incurring the hatred of the Jews, but not an error of mind from an ignorance of Christian liberty, which he testified sufficiently to have known in his familiar intercourse with the Gentiles before the arrival of the Jews.

who must sense that he’s suddenly become the center of attention. He lifts his smooth feathered head and cracks out a series of coarse kraas! which sound way too loud for this early in the morning, and I’m wondering if the Insubordinates, our fellow rebels who are sleeping in the dozens of other rooms on this floor, think we’re in here running an aluminum garbage can through a corn-thresher. Manthy clamps her hands over her ears, and Cardyn puts his finger to his lips in a pointless effort to tell Render to be quiet. Render barks out another string of raspy kraas! and then spreads his wings and suddenly seems gigantic, like a prehistoric flying dinosaur or something. I don’t need to activate my psychic connection with him to know what’s on his mind: he’s hungry, and he doesn’t like being cooped up. It was comforting for me to know he was in here with us all night but having lived his life in the boundless mountain air, he’s not a big fan of walls or ceilings. I hop up from the end of my cot and go over to the window. I’ve barely got it open when the familiar woosh of feathery purplish-black whizzes by my face, and Render is soaring out over the quiet city with the first pinkish rays of the morning sun lighting him up like a glistening missile. This is our first time in such a big city, and I panic for a second as I watch him disappear into a forest of tall office buildings of reflecting black glass and synth-steel. I let out a long, soft breath when I spot him banking and circling as he happily scouts around the city for something he can scavenge for breakfast. I turn back to Brohn and the others just as the door to our room creaks open on old-style metal hinges to reveal Wisp and Granden, and I’m suddenly shaken out of the illusion that we’re all just a bunch of normal teenagers in a normal situation

God can be good and terrible -- not in succession -- but at the same time. This is why we seek a mediator between us and him; we approach him through the mediating priest and attenuate and enclose him through the sacraments. It is for our own safety: to trap him within confines which render him safe. But now, as Fat had seen, God had escaped the confines and was transubstantiating the world; God had become free. The gentle sounds of the choir singing "Amen, amen" are not to calm the congregation but to pacify the god.

I have an idea you aren’t going to like me very much. That may prove to be the only thing we’ll have in common, so let’s make the most of it. I do terrible things. I do them to my enemies, to my own side, to myself. In the process, I save a large number of strangers (on average, between five and ten a week) from the worst thing that can happen to a human being. I’d like to say I do it because I’m one of the good guys, but if I did that, you’d see right through me. And then you’d quote scripture at me: Render to no one evil for evil. Really? Even if they’re the enemy? Even if They’re not human? You decide. Not sure I can be bothered with it anymore.

Don’t worry, Card,” I tell him, striding over and dropping a hand on his shoulder. “We still love you just as much as we always have.” “Thanks…I think?