Karen Page Quotes

Dr. Karen Singh liked to say that a unwanted thought was like a car driving past you when you're standing on on the side of the road, and I told myself I didn't have to get into that car, that my moment of choice was not whether to have the thought, but whether to be carried away by it. And then I got in the car.

I discovered that I felt at home and alive in the silence, which compelled me to enter my interior world and around there. Without the distraction of constant conversation, the words on the page began to speak directly to my inner self. They were no long expressing ideas that were simply interesting intellectually, but were talking directly to my own yearning and perplexity.

Then we’re on the same page. Same paragraph, same sentence,” I snapped. “Same bloody word,” he agreed flatly.

Pray on all occasions." Unlocked page 38.

I pinch the sentence's butt with my other hand and tug it from my skin like a leech, smack it back on the page and clamp the book shut. Part of it's hanging out, and it waves jerkily at me with what appears to be blatant hostility. I stick the book back on the upside-down shelf over my head, pissed off sentence first, counting on the gluey base to hold it in. All I need is a badly mangled, irate sentence stalking me.

Maybe I'll open a bookstore," he smiled. "New and used books-- so everyone has a chance to see the world through the pages of a story.

Vengeance doesn’t heal pain, Logan. Love heals pain. That’s why God tells us to leave the vengeance to Him and instead focus on loving each other, including our enemies. ~ page 248

She walks towards Karen and Karen feels a cool wind against her skin, and the grandmother holds out both of her knobby old hands, and Karen puts out her own hands and touches her, and her hands feel as if sand is falling over them. There's a smell of milkweed flowers and garden soil. The grandmother keeps on walking; her eyes are light blue, and her cheek comes against Karen's, cool grains of dry rice. Then she's like the dots on the comic page, close up, and then she's only a swirl in the air, and then she's gone.

Perfect. Then imagine that you started reading the most interesting and fascinating comic book ever created. You fell in love with some characters, you hated others. Endless plots unfolded and every one was an emotional page-turner you couldn't read fast enough because you had to know what was going to happen next. You felt like the world would end if you didn't find out how the story ended. But then you get to the end and there was no end. The author didn't finish it. You don't know if good or evil won. You don't know if the guy got the girl. You don't know any of the answers to all your important questions

I’ll pray for you, as well, Logan, that you won’t lay burdens on yourself that only God is meant to carry. ~page 106

No matter how many people reject or betray you, if you have even one person in your life you can count on--really, truly count on--you can overcome any obstacle. Trusting the wrong person might lead to temporary heartache, but trusting the right one provides a strength that can fuel you for a lifetime.~ page 56

When your heart starts to feel full again. I love FREE refills, and if a restaurant tries to double charge me, I refuse to write a love poem on their Yelp page. -Karen Quan and Jarod Kintz

I retell in the pages of Booked how, by reading widely, voraciously, and indiscriminately, I learned spiritual lessons I never learned in church or Sunday school, as well as emotional and intellectual lessons that I would never have encountered within the realm of my lived experience.

AS C.S. Lewis once said, for Joe life here on earth was only the title and cover page. And now he has begun the greatest story of all, one that no one on earth has ever read in which ever chapter is better than the last.

Books were faithful and reliable. You could pack them up and put them in a box, run your hands over the spines, flip through their pages full of memories. They always came with you, wherever you went.

I am more of an herb guy than a spice guy. It comes back to a certain conservatism I have regarding food. The French are not big on spices; they use more herbs. I know the spices used in European cooking and use them in moderation. I am not going to serve a dish that is wildly nutmegged!" David Waltuck, Chanterelle NYC

I’ll be a straitjacketed bookworm burrowed into the binding of an insane, homicidal book, staring helplessly out from the pages of my own life, as they’re writ by someone else, and I’d commit atrocities that would damn a saint’s soul.

She still had a few tender spots that ached when prodded, but Zach and Seth and loved and accepted her into a place where past hurts mattered less than present blessings. Maybe God had brought her into this stranger’s life to do the same for him.~ page 59

Although only seven, she’d been reading since she was three, a fact her mother told anyone who would listen. Sarah was a voracious reader, and she’d found friends hiding between the pages of books. For her, the trips to the library meant more than the refreshing burst of air-conditioning. They were life.

Travis, I love you with all of my being, but I love Cassie, too. And right now she needs me more than you do. Forgive me. Meri She loved him. The wonder of the statement seeped into him, but the joy that should have accompanied the knowledge faded beneath his growing frustration and fear. How could she possibly think that anyone needed her more than he did? She was his heart, his very life. If anything happened to her . . . Travis tore the top page from the tablet and hardened his jaw. He’d just have to make sure nothing did happen. After all, if a wife was going to tell her husband she loved him, she ought to do it in person. And he aimed to see that she did precisely that. Right after he kissed the living fire out of her and showed her exactly how much he truly needed her.

You don't need the human intellect to reach the mind of God.

life here on earth was only the title and cover page. And now he has begun the greatest story of all, one that no one on earth has ever read in which every chapter is better than the last.

. . one must break with one's past to embrace one's future. It is never an easy thing to do. It is one of the distinguishing characteristics between survivors and victims. Letting go of what was, to survive what is." (Page 106)

The best way I have learned over the years to be still is to dive into the pages of my Bible. Immersing myself in God’s Word provides protection. It snaps my heart back to attention and helps me to run to him for rescue rather than try to fix things on my own. Psalm

once we wanted to make a cookie with a really concentrated flavor. So, we threw cookies into the dehydrator, and turned them into powder. This created a new building block for flavor. [Instead of the flour you would normally use in your dough,] you weigh the powdered cookies out as your starch in your normal cookie recipe. But this starch is now a carrier of flavor for the end product—so the resulting cookie now tastes more like it “should” than it would have just using regular flour.

Karen had noticed over the years that whether someone else felt interrupted was an entirely subjective phenomenon. Pauses in conversation were often ambiguous. Karen had noted that laidback people rarely seemed to complain of being interrupted, even when they clearly were. And control freaks constantly claimed they were being interrupted, even after quite luxurious pauses. The whole interruption issue seemed less based on clear-cut behavioral cues and more based on the subjective belief of a given speaker that they should still be in control of the discussion.

Barrons’ head whipped around and he stared at me. You said nothing of this to me? You said nothing to me about my mother? What do you know about her? About me? His dark gaze promised retribution for my oversight. So did mine. I hated this. Barrons and I were enemies. It confused my head and hurt my heart. I’d grieved him as if I’d lost the only person who mattered to me, and now here we were, adversaries again. Were we destined to be eternal enemies? One of us is going to have to trust the other, I told him. Your first, Ms. Lane. That was the whole problem. Neither of us would take the risk. I had a lengthy list of reasons why I shouldn’t, and they were sound. My daddy could take the case all the way to the Supreme Court, arguing my side. Barrons didn’t inspire trust. He didn’t even bother trying. When hell freezes over, Barrons. Same bloody page, Ms. Lane. Same bloody— I turned my gaze away in the middle of his sentence, the ocular equivalent of flipping him the bird. Ryodan was watching us, hard. “Butt out,” I warned. “This is between him and me. All you need to do is keep my parents safe and—” “Little hard to do when you’re such a fucking loose cannon.

He’s been known to steal a kiss under the branches of that big oak, too. You’d never know it to look at him, but my Arthur can be quite the man of passion.” Nicole giggled, charmed by the idea of the staid butler sharing a passionate embrace with his wife in such a setting. “I can’t imagine a better place for a tryst. It’s a shame I don’t have a beau to share it with.” The housekeeper’s expression sharpened an instant before the dust rag resumed its fluttering—a fluttering that seemed rather more frantic than necessary. “So you have no young man paying court to you? Hard to believe, as pretty as you are.” Nicole blushed and became suddenly fascinated with the logbook in front of her. “Not yet,” she said, fingering the pages, “but my father has a few prospects in mind.

Quarantine is real s.f. It is speculative fiction whose adventures of the mind are based in our contemporary understanding of what the universe is actually like…. By the time this fast-paced narrative enters its final phase, the author is producing new and unforeseen consequences of his line of extrapolation at 4- or 5-page intervals. Every single one of them exhibits that wonderful combination of glorious unexpectedness and seeming logical inevitability which is the main aesthetic reward of true s.f.

Life isn’t a bloody comic strip, kid,” Ryodan said coolly. “Yes it is,” he said, “and we get to write our own script, so be epic or vacate the page. You’re all taking this way too seriously.

Page 178-179: It was not only unnecessary but imprudent to recruit Burmese [during the time Burma was part of the British Empire]. There could be little reliance on troops raised from among a people with no divisions of caste but united in religion, race and national sentiment … Obviously security required that the Burmese should be disarmed and debarred from military service. The Karens and other minor tribes, however, might be expected to side with the British, and these have been recruited, even when an initial reluctance had to be dispelled, but it has always been easy to find reasons for withholding military training, even as volunteer cadets, from the great mass of the people.

Reading in public was my favorite pastime. Doing it at home didn’t have the same thrill. Nobody could see me reading a book in my apartment so what was the point. I preferred a crowd. You wouldn’t sing an aria to the couch, would you? I felt similarly about reading. Why waste it on no one? I was more caught up with how I looked reading the book than I was with the actual book. Always aware as I turned each page to put on a good show. Laugh just enough to indicate that I’m trying not to laugh in public. Look intently at each page, maybe adorably bite my lip in concentration at certain passages. Let a lock of hair occasionally fall into my eyes that I have to distractedly brush away. And make all of it seem completely natural. As if I’m so immersed in my book that I’m not at all aware of my surroundings. Even though I’ve clocked each person in the restaurant. Every gesture, every look, every tilt of the head is carefully considered for utmost effect. Meryl Streep put less thought into her performance as Karen Silkwood than I did as “person at counter with book.

Because reading, Nancy knew, helped people find dreams of their own . . . with the turn of every page.

scan the pages quickly, feigning interest until I come upon a line drawing of a child next to a picture of a massive rifle, and then I really am interested. I read the associated paragraph: After the daughter was recovered, the M.E. examined the girl and found no evidence of bruising on her limbs or torso consistent with having fired a Winchester Magnum. Given the size of the weapon relative to the girl’s height and weight as well as the lack of physical evidence, the M.E. ruled that the daughter did not fire the rifle. My heart pounds. I place the folder carefully on the table and wipe my hands on my jeans and stick them under my legs to stop them from shaking. I don’t understand. I shot my mother. I killed her—I know I did. I’ve seen myself standing over her body with the rifle so many, many times.

... How can you describe water if you've never gotten wet? You don't need the human intellect to reach the mind of God.

book Culinary Artistry, Andrew Dornenburg and Karen Page provide

So if you want to know how you might change the world to God’s glory, read this book and learn the ways of the singular life within its pages. Then go and do likewise.

Every character has a back story. It’s what makes them fully formed and believable. But resist the urge to describe your character’s past with a data dump of everything they ever experienced since birth. The best way to reveal a character’s back story is through the character’s actions/dialogue on the page.

Colonial Policy and Practice: A Comparative Study of Burma and Netherlands India by J. S. Furnivall Page 178-179: It was not only unnecessary but imprudent to recruit Burmese [during the time Burma was part of the British Empire]. There could be little reliance on troops raised from among a people with no divisions of caste but united in religion, race and national sentiment … Obviously security required that the Burmese should be disarmed and debarred from military service. The Karens and other minor tribes, however, might be expected to side with the British, and these have been recruited, even when an initial reluctance had to be dispelled, but it has always been easy to find reasons for withholding military training, even as volunteer cadets, from the great mass of the people.

I pray you do not judge me by what is written there..." Rosamund glanced down at the papers in her hands. "But if a man cannot be judged by his words, good sir, then pray, how does one judge him?" Mr. Nessuno stepped closer, his cerulean eyes capturing hers. "By his deeds, my lady, by his deeds." The sincerity of the statement made her catch her breath. She laughed to cover how very disconcerting she found his nearness. The smell of him reminded her of the chocolate kitchen, the headiness and rich spice. She stepped back and struck him lightly with the pages. "That is true, sir, unless, I assume, one is a correspondent. Then, surely, words--- the weapon he wields--- maketh the man?

In those books were more stories than could be counted—not just the stories on the pages, but the stories that had spurred someone to find the words and write them down. To bring to life imaginary people that, over time, had become as good as real. Were all those authors geniuses? I didn’t think so. As I looked up and around the majestic store at the volumes of books, I was sure that many of them, even many of the brilliant ones, were written simply because someone wanted to tell a story.

Auto-buy YA authors for me include Marie Marquardt, Rachael Stewart Allen, Lauren Morrill, Aisha Saeed, Nic Stone, Malinda Lo, A. S. King, Kristin Cashore, and Sabaa Tahir. I also love mysteries, so Karen McManus and Kara Thomas dominate my “to be read” pile. But the book/author that inspired me to write was The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner. That book is so carefully, beautifully, and intricately constructed, it knocked me over. I finished it, and immediately flipped back to the first page to read again, and thought, “I want to learn to do something even half as captivating as this someday!

The fact that there aren’t any, frankly, is a little surprising. GAAP runs for many thousands of pages and spells out a lot of detailed rules. You’d think GAAP would say, “The plant manager is out,” or “The supervisor is in.” No such luck; GAAP only provides guidelines. Companies take those guidelines and apply a logic that makes sense for their particular situations. The key, as accountants like to say, is reasonableness and consistency. So long as a company’s logic is reasonable, and so long as that logic is applied consistently, whatever it wants to do is OK.

Why do you hurt me? I LOVE YOU. You’re incapable of love. NOTHING EXCEEDS MY ABILITIES. I AM ALL. You’re a book. Pages with binding. You weren’t born. You don’t live. You’re no more than the dumping ground for everything that was wrong with a selfish king. I AM EVERYTHING THAT WAS RIGHT WITH A WEAK KING. HE FEARED POWER. I KNOW NO FEAR. What do you want from me? OPEN YOUR EYES. SEE ME. SEE YOURSELF. My eyes are open. I’m good. You’re evil. CONVERSATIONS WITH THE SINSAR DUBH

This is a chance for a personal revolution: to leave your mark on this planet by causing the least amount of harm possible. What’s the argument for not causing the least amount of harm? Inconvenience? Indifference? Apathy?… Here’s the coolest thing about being vegan in this day and age: It’s never been easier. You can have the same smell, taste, and texture of meat, cheese, and milk without it. Nobody has to suffer and die for dinner any more, including you.” —GARY YOUROFSKY, THE VEGAN ACTIVIST WHOSE 2010 TALK AT GEORGIA TECH, TITLED “BEST SPEECH YOU WILL EVER HEAR,” BECAME A YOUTUBE SENSATION

quinoa + bell peppers + carrots + parsley + rice vinegar + sesame oil/seeds

The idea that books should not be written in is an unfortunate holdover from grade school, a canard rooted in a misunderstanding of what makes a book valuable. The true worth of books is in their words and ideas, not their pristine pages.

A few brief, paltry kisses after so long apart, it wasn't enough. It was a single sip of water offered to a man dying of thirst. He hungered

The preparation, cooking, and eating of food is a sacrament. Treating it as such has the potential to elevate the quality of our daily lives like nothing else.

card on the last page. It was one of my favorites, I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith.

Sesame-free Hummus GF P SERVES 6; PREPARATION TIME 10 MINUTES (IF COOKING THE CHICKPEAS THERE IS ADDITIONAL SOAKING AND COOKING TIME) This delicious hummus can be used to accompany crackers and vegie sticks; use a dollop on salads or spread it onto sandwiches or toast for a protein-rich snack, breakfast or lunch. See Notes on following page. 1 1/2 cups cooked chickpeas (garbanzo beans)—see section entitled “Cooking guide for legumes P” for cooking instructions (or use 1x400g/14oz can organic chickpeas, drained and rinsed) 1 small clove garlic, minced 1 tablespoon rice bran oil 4–5 tablespoons filtered water 1/4 teaspoon ascorbic acid or citric acid (see ‘Soaking acids’) 1/4 teaspoon Celtic sea salt 1/2 handful or less of chopped spring onions (scallions), green parts only Place all the ingredients into a food processor and blend until smooth. Taste and adjust if necessary. Add a splash of water if a thinner consistency is desired. Hummus will last for 4–5 days in the refrigerator if stored in a sealed container. NOTES This dip is wonderfully garlicky so you may want to reduce the garlic and add more after sampling.

Tolerances of the Human Face in Crash Impacts. Travers took the glass of whisky from Karen Novotny. ‘Who is Koester? - the crash on the motorway was a decoy. Half the time we’re moving about in other people’s games.’ He followed her on to the balcony. The evening traffic turned along the outer circle of the park. The past few days had formed a pleasant no-man’s land, a dead zone on the clock. As she took his arm in a domestic gesture he looked at her for the first time in half an hour. This strange young woman, moving in a complex of undefined roles, the gun moll of intellectual hoodlums with her art critical jargon and bizarre magazine subscriptions. He had met her in the demonstration cinema during the interval, immediately aware that she would form the perfect subject for the re-enactment he had conceived. What were she and her fey crowd doing at a conference on facial surgery? No doubt the lectures were listed in the diary pages of Vogue , with the professors of tropical diseases as popular with their claques as fashionable hairdressers. ‘What about you, Karen? - wouldn’t you like to be in the movies?’ With a stiff forefinger she explored the knuckle of his wrist. ‘We’re all in the movies.

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