Logos Hope Quotes

The bag was a hybrid I had picked up at a store called Suitcase City while I was plotting my comeback. [...] It had a logo on it -- a mountain ridgeline with the words "Suitcase City" printed across it like the Hollywood sign. Above it, skylights swept the horizon, completing the dream image of desire and hope. I think that logo was the real reason I liked the bag. Because I knew Suitcase City wasn't a store. It was a place. It was Los Angeles.

Neil said nothing. Andrew hooked his fingers in the collar of Neil's shirt and tugged just enough for Neil to feel it. "I know what I'm doing. I knew what I was agreeing to when I took Kevin's side. I knew what it could cost us and how far I'd have to go. Understand? You aren't going anywhere. You're staying here." Andrew didn't let go until Neil nodded, and then he reached for Neil's hand. He took his cigarette back, put it between his lips, and pressed a warm key into Neil's empty palm. Neil lifted his hand to look at it. The hardware logo engraved in it meant it was a copy. To what, Neil didn't know, but it only took him a moment to figure it out. Andrew used this key to unlock the front door and then took it off the ring on the porch. Now he was giving it to Neil. "Get some sleep," Andrew said. "We're going home tomorrow. We'll figure this out then." Andrew went around Neil to the front door. He had no sympathy or comfort for his family as they grieved Seth's unexpected death, but he would keep watch on them from the doorway until they were okay again. It was harder than it should have been for Neil to look away from him, but he finally set off down the hall.

Pride isn’t just for a parade one day a year. It is not a miniature rainbow flag or rubber bracelet with a corporate logo on it given freely on that day, like beads tossed during Mardi Gras. Pride is foremost our gay self-esteem, but it is also our bond with everyone in the LGBTQ community, everywhere. Pride is our unique way of letting everyone know that we are here, that we belong in this world. If we can say we are gay, we must not do so just to make our own lives better, easier, more transparent, and authentic. We do so to clear a path for those who can’t come out—for all the people who live in places where their freedom is not a given or who don’t feel safe in their own families—to make inroads in the straight world for them. Each time we come out, we send up a flare of hope and direction, showing the way.

Reader, I did the stupid thing. I looked her up on Facebook. It didn't take more than forty minutes to filter this Katie Ingram from the other hundred or so. Her profile was unlocked, and contained the logo for the NHS. Her job description said: "Paramedic: Love My Job!!!" She had hair that could have been red or strawberry blond, it was hard to tell from the photographs, and she was possibly in her late twenties, pretty, with a snub nose. In the first thirty photographs she had posted she was laughing with friends, frozen in the middle of Good Times. She looked annoyingly good in a bikini (Skiathos 2014!! What a laugh!!!!!), she had a small, hairy dog, a penchant for vertiginously high heels, and a best friend with long, dark hair who was fond of kissing her cheek in pictures (I briefly entertained the hope that she was gay but she belonged to a Facebook group called: Hands up if you're secretly delighted that Brad Pitt is single again!!).

In the unrelenting chase of what is “best,” many of us can unknowingly allow our lives to become defined by materialism. Materialism isn’t simply about loving certain logos or buying nice stuff; rather, it’s a value system that defines our goals and attention and how we spend our days. And it can leave us not just exhausted but unmoored. Pursuing materialistic goals, like high-status careers and money, causes us to invest our time and energy into things that take time away from investing in our social connections, a habit that can make us feel isolated over time. Ironically, the more isolated we feel, the more likely we are to pursue materialistic goals that we hope, even subconsciously, will draw people to us. Acquiring status markers, we believe, will make us worthy of the human connection we crave. It’s a vicious cycle: some people may become materialistic not because they love money more but because they have underdeveloped connections. Instead of attaching to people, they attach to material goods and status markers to fill the void and to try to get the emotional security they’re lacking. But this approach can backfire and undermine the very relationships we’re trying to foster. In fact, people who prioritize materialistic goals tend to have weaker, more transactional relationships: you do for me, I do for you.

If he does find himself back in the mountain of Marvels, or if he never leaves it, I hope he finds its glorious imaginary world changing all the time, keeping pace with the real one in which he lives, and I hope he appreciates it for changing. I hope, too, that what he cares about is the story itself -- the characters, the images, the imaginative leaps and eleventh-hour improvisations that hold it together -- and its creators, rather than the business entity that stamped a logo everywhere on it. A story can never leave you; a corporation can never love you back.

They listened to the last enchantments of the Middle Ages, heard the horns of Elfland, and made designs on the culture that our own age is only beginning fully to appreciate. They were philologists and philomyths: lovers of logos (the ordering power of words) and mythos (the regenerative power of story), with a nostalgia for things medieval and archaic and a distrust of technological innovation that never decayed into the merely antiquarian. Out of the texts they studied and the tales they read, they forged new ways to convey old themes—sin and salvation, despair and hope, friendship and loss, fate and free will—in a time of war, environmental degradation, and social change.

If I know the classical psychological theories well enough to pass my comps and can reformulate them in ways that can impress peer reviewers from the most prestigious journals, but have not the practical wisdom of love, I am only an intrusive muzak soothing the ego while missing the heart. And if I can read tea leaves, throw the bones and manipulate spirits so as to understand the mysteries of the universe and forecast the future with scientific precision, and if I have achieved a renaissance education in both the exoteric and esoteric sciences that would rival Faust and know the equation to convert the mass of mountains into psychic energy and back again, but have not love, I do not even exist. If I gain freedom from all my attachments and maintain constant alpha waves in my consciousness, showing perfect equanimity in all situations, ignoring every personal need and compulsively martyring myself for the glory of God, but this is not done freely from love, I have accomplished nothing. Love is great-hearted and unselfish; love is not emotionally reactive, it does not seek to draw attention to itself. Love does not accuse or compare. It does not seek to serve itself at the expense of others. Love does not take pleasure in other peeople's sufferings, but rejoices when the truth is revealed and meaningful life restored. Love always bears reality as it is, extending mercy to all people in every situation. Love is faithful in all things, is constantly hopeful and meets whatever comes with immovable forbearance and steadfastness. Love never quits. By contrast, prophecies give way before the infinite possibilities of eternity, and inspiration is as fleeting as a breath. To the writing and reading of many books and learning more and more, there is no end, and yet whatever is known is never sufficient to live the Truth who is revealed to the world only in loving relationship. When I was a beginning therapist, I thought a lot and anxiously tried to fix people in order to lower my own anxiety. As I matured, my mind quieted and I stopped being so concerned with labels and techniques and began to realize that, in the mystery of attentive presence to others, the guest becomes the host in the presence of God. In the hospitality of genuine encounter with the other, we come face to face with the mystery of God who is between us as both the One offered One who offers. When all the theorizing and methodological squabbles have been addressed, there will still only be three things that are essential to pastoral counseling: faith, hope, and love. When we abide in these, we each remain as well, without comprehending how, for the source and raison d'etre of all is Love.

The Second Noble Truth is more hopeful: suffering has an origin. Everything in this world is interdependent, linked in a great chain of cause and effect, so suffering must come from somewhere. Buddhists identify twelve links in this chain of “dependent origination” (pratitya-samutpada) but the key links are ignorance, thirst, and grasping. We suffer because we close our eyes to the way the world really is. We pretend we are independent when we are really interdependent. We pretend that changing things are unchanging. And we desperately desire the world and the people who populate it to be as we imagine it (and them) to be. And so we suffer when our spouses take up new interests, or when our favorite (and perfect just as it was) old-fashioned ice cream store puts up a ridiculous Web site with a stupid new logo, or when the brand new T-bird we are proudly driving home from the Ford dealership is hit by a rock thrown by a six-year-old kid who would go on to write this book (true story). We suffer because we desperately grasp after people, places, and things, as if they can redeem us from our suffering. We suffer because we cling to beliefs and judgments, not least beliefs in gods, and judgments that this friend or that enemy is morally bankrupt. Today “you have changed” is an explanation one lover gives to another as she is walking out the door. In Buddhism, “you have changed” is a description of what is happening every moment of every day. The

The logo for this growing professional community [Christian psychotherapy] was the word integration. Through articles and books the integrationist agenda was hammered out. Psychology and theology would mutually stimulate one another. Liberals had simply bowed to psychology as a superior authority. In contrast, integrationist evangelicals sought to interact with psychology in a sophisticated manner, hoping to weed out the tares of error form the wheat of truth. They sought to plunder psychological data and explanatory categories, utilizing a grid of general scriptural themes. The sought to profit from psychology's practices and institutional arrangements, under the guidance of general scriptural principles.

Is there anything I can do?" He gave her a tired grin. "Crawl in bed with me." She glared at him, then got up and tossed him a terry-cloth robe she found hanging on the back of the bathroom door. "Meet me in the kitchen. I'll make you a sandwich." "You don't need to make me a sandwich." "But I'm going to." She left the room before he could protest further. In the kitchen, she layered grilled pancetta, tomato and lettuce on toasted thick slabs of sourdough. She added some chopped cornichons, Dijon mustard and fresh snipped tarragon to the mayo, just to show off. Around Bella Vista, her PLT's were legendary. Mac wasn't wearing the robe when he came downstairs. He'd thrown on a pair of lived-in cutoffs, faded in all the right places, and a rumpled but clean T-shirt with a logo from a kiteboarding resort in Australia. She cut the sandwich into quarters and set it on a pottery plate, along with a side of grapes and parmesan chips, and a beer in a frosty mug. He regarded the small feast on the table. "I hope you don't mind if I moan in ecstasy while I eat this." "I'd rather you didn't," she said, helping herself to a quarter of the sandwich. "Cook's tax," she explained.

Spread a mindset, not just a footprint. Running up the numbers and putting your logo on as many people and places as possible isn’t enough. 2. Engage all the senses. Bolster the mindset you want to spread with supportive sights, sounds, smells, and other subtle cues that people may barely notice, if at all. 3. Link short-term realities to long-term dreams. Hound yourself and others with questions about what it takes to link the never-ending now to the sweet dreams you hope to realize later. 4. Accelerate accountability. Build in the feeling that “I own the place and the place owns me.” 5. Fear the clusterfug. The terrible trio of illusion, impatience, and incompetence are ever-present risks. Healthy doses of worry and self-doubt are antidotes to these three hallmarks of scaling clusterfugs. 6. Scaling requires both addition and subtraction. The problem of more is also a problem of less. 7. Slow down to scale faster—and better—down the road. Learn when and how to shift ears from automatic, mindless, and fast modes of thinking (“System 1”) to slow, taxing, logical, deliberative, and conscious modes (“System 2”); sometimes the best advice is, “Don’t just do something, stand there.

It’s more effective to do something valuable than to hope a logo or name will say it for you.” Jason Cohen (founder of WP Engine)

Faith is all what is important in life. Believing gives a meaning to life. Miracles don’t always happen. But the world lives on through the toughest of situations in hope.

Peter of Jerusalem told his followers that they should be prepared to give an account (logos) of the hope that is in them (I Pt 3: 15). The logos that Peter referred to is, in the final instance, a Person, the eternal Word of God, the ultimate explanation of our life, our movement, and our being.

Something is happening. I sense a change in the wind…a mutual understanding of each other. I haven’t felt this way in forever. I clear my throat, then say, “Your mom probably blows up at you the most because she knows you can take it.” “Yeah. You’re probably right. Better me than my sister.” “It’s no excuse, though.” I’m being real now, and hope she is, too. “Listen, I don’t want to be an asshole to you,” I say. So much for the Alex Fuentes Show. “I know. It’s your image, what Alex Fuentes is all about. It’s your brand, your logo…dangerous, deadly, hot and sexy Mexican. I wrote the book on creating an image. I wasn’t exactly aiming for the blond bimbo look, though. More like the perfect, untouchable look.” Whoa. Rewind. Brittany called me hot and sexy. I was not expecting that at all. Maybe I have a chance of winning that stupid bet. “You do realize you called me hot.” “As if you didn’t know.” I didn’t know Brittany Ellis considered me hot. “For the record, I thought you were untouchable. But now that I know you think I’m a hot, sexy, Mexican god…” “I never said the word ‘god.’” I put my finger to my lips. “Shh, let me enjoy the fantasy for one minute.” I close my eyes. Brittany laughs, this sweet sound that echoes in my ears.

The problem with trying to be relevant is it makes us copy what culture is already doing. To be relevant, you have to copy what is cool. So we put our mouths on the tailpipe of secular culture in hopes we can recycle some of it and use it for ourselves. The problem with this is that it automatically puts us ten to fifteen years behind culture because rather than setting the precedent, we are copying their systems. This is where we get a huge section of Christian apparel and coffee mugs that simply copy secular logos. My favorite is the shirt with the words “Holy Spirit” printed in the same font and logo as Sprite. Or the one with “A bread crumb and a fish” instead of Abercrombie and Fitch. We call it redeeming, but it’s actually stealing. Making bad art is bad in and of itself, but if we are Christians, this takes on a whole other level of weight. Because we are called to mirror and reflect God, everything we do should give people a proper picture of who he is.

Thus the quintessentially “conservative” dogma of Christ’s divinity as the pre-incarnate eternal Logos is the basis for the quintessentially “liberal” hope that good pagans can go to Heaven. He is indeed the one and only Way, Truth, and Life, the only Savior. But when Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, or even honest agnostics give their heart to truth and goodness; when they make the ultimate value and point and purpose and meaning and end of their lives that which God is, absolute truth and absolute goodness, they are in fact giving their heart to Jesus even though they do not know it.

Liam dropped down to one knee and clasped her hand. "From the day we first met, I knew I needed you in my life. You took the chaos and made it calm. You lifted my heart with your smile and awed me with your brilliant mind. I kept every secret valentine, every scribbled note, your stuffed rabbit, and the answer to every math question I gave you. I hoped one day to be the kind of man you could love, a man who would hold and cherish you, a man worthy of you, and who would protect you with the sword you are going to allow him to have at our wedding." He fumbled in his pocket. "I didn't really plan this..." Daisy laughed. "Of course not." "I did try, but it wasn't me, and if I had, I would have missed this incredible opportunity to turn the ultimate cinematic symbol of uncontrollable passion upside down and make the fantasy of a love so intense that nothing else matters into something real." Her face softened. "You remembered all that?" "I remember every moment I spend with you." He pulled out a silver ring with a Sharks logo on top. "I keep my fan gear in Hamish's warehouse. I grabbed it when I left with the bike, just in case." He slipped the ring on her finger. "Daisy Patel, my humraaz, love of my life, will you marry me?" Her happiness bubbled over and she punched her fist in the air. "Go Sharks!" "Is that a yes?" He looked up, frowning. "It's a little less romantic than I had anticipated..." "Of course it's a yes.

During a belated New Year’s cleaning, I come across my grad-school coursework on the Austrian psychiatrist Viktor Frankl. Scanning my notes, I begin to remember his story. Frankl was born in 1905, and as a boy, he became intensely interested in psychology. By high school, he began an active correspondence with Freud. He went on to study medicine and lecture on the intersection of psychology and philosophy, or what he called logotherapy, from the Greek word logos, or “meaning.” Whereas Freud believed that people are driven to seek pleasure and avoid pain (his famous pleasure principle), Frankl maintained that people’s primary drive isn’t toward pleasure but toward finding meaning in their lives. He was in his thirties when World War II broke out, putting him, a Jew, in jeopardy. Offered immigration to the United States, he turned it down so as not to abandon his parents, and a year later, the Nazis forced Frankl and his wife to have her pregnancy terminated. In a matter of months, he and other family members were deported to concentration camps, and when Frankl was finally freed, three years later, he learned that the Nazis had killed his wife, his brother, and both of his parents. Freedom under these circumstances might have led to despair. After all, the hope of what awaited Frankl and his fellow prisoners upon their release was now gone—the people they cared about were dead, their families and friends wiped out. But Frankl wrote what became an extraordinary treatise on resilience and spiritual salvation, known in English as Man’s Search for Meaning. In it, he shares his theory of logotherapy as it relates not just to the horrors of concentration camps but also to more mundane struggles. He wrote, “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances.” Indeed, Frankl remarried, had a daughter, published prolifically, and spoke around the world until his death at age ninety-two. Rereading these notes, I thought of my conversations with Wendell. Scribbled in my grad-school spiral were the words Reacting vs. responding = reflexive vs. chosen. We can choose our response, Frankl was saying, even under the specter of death. The same was true of John’s loss of his mother and son, Julie’s illness, Rita’s regrettable past, and Charlotte’s upbringing. I couldn’t think of a single patient to whom Frankl’s ideas didn’t apply, whether it was about extreme trauma or an interaction with a difficult family member. More than sixty years later, Wendell was saying I could choose too—that the jail cell was open on both sides. I particularly liked this line from Frankl’s book: “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.

SCALING MANTRAS 1. Spread a mindset, not just a footprint. Running up the numbers and putting your logo on as many people and places as possible isn’t enough. 2. Engage all the senses. Bolster the mindset you want to spread with supportive sights, sounds, smells, and other subtle cues that people may barely notice, if at all. 3. Link short-term realities to long-term dreams. Hound yourself and others with questions about what it takes to link the never-ending now to the sweet dreams you hope to realize later. 4. Accelerate accountability. Build in the feeling that “I own the place and the place owns me.” 5. Fear the clusterfug. The terrible trio of illusion, impatience, and incompetence are ever-present risks. Healthy doses of worry and self-doubt are antidotes to these three hallmarks of scaling clusterfugs. 6. Scaling requires both addition and subtraction. The problem of more is also a problem of less. 7. Slow down to scale faster—and better—down the road. Learn when and how to shift gears from automatic, mindless, and fast modes of thinking (“System 1”) to slow, taxing, logical, deliberative, and conscious modes (“System 2”); sometimes the best advice is, “Don’t just do something, stand there.

Everything visible, without exception, is the outpouring of God. What else could it really be? “Christ” is a word for the Primordial Template (“Logos”) through whom “all things came into being, and not one thing had its being except through him” (John 1:3).

They were philologists and philomyths: lovers of logos (the ordering power of words) and mythos (the regenerative power of story), with a nostalgia for things medieval and archaic and a distrust of technological innovation that never decayed into the merely antiquarian. Out of the texts they studied and the tales they read, they forged new ways to convey old themes - sin and salvation, despair and hope, friendship and loss, fate and free will - in a time of war, environmental degradation, and social change.

I sign in on the form and hand the clipboard back to the volunteer manning the desk. The young man’s brows rise in recognition of my name. “Mr. Pierce!” He stands from his seat and sticks out his hand to shake mine. “I didn’t expect it would be you representing Pierce Industries. I thought you’d send someone.” I shake his hand, out of politeness, then force a stiff smile. “Surprise.” God, I hate small talk. Especially from this twenty-two year old ass-kisser who likely hopes this interaction will earn him employment at my company. I’m afraid it’s not that easy to even get an interview. He lowers his focus to the nametags on the table, searching for the one with the Pierce Industries logo. He hands it to me, and I pocket it. I refuse to wear it. I’m easily enough recognized without advertising it. The man—nothing more than a boy, really—seems disappointed. Whether it’s because I’m not as charismatic or charming as he’d imagined or because I dismissed the damn nametag, I can’t be certain. Frankly, I don’t give a shit. Once upon a time, his emotions would have elicited more interest from me. Now, they’re barely a blip on my radar. I’ll never understand them. No point in wasting my time trying. His smile

It all started with a dream and a single email. I’d been saving Bitc0in for years, hoping to buy my first home. On a rainy Tuesday, I received what looked like an urgent message from my wallet provider, asking me to verify my account details. The email was polished, the logo perfect, and the urgency felt real. Without thinking twice, I clicked the link and entered my credentials. It wasn’t until hours later, when I checked my wallet and saw a balance of zero, that the horror sank in. My 2.5 BTC, worth over $150,000, was gone. The scammer had drained it through a series of rapid transactions, scattering it across the blockchain like digital dust in the wind. I was devastated. My dream of homeownership vanished in a click, and I felt like a fool. Days blurred into a haze of panic and regret until I stumbled upon GrayHat Hacks online. Their testimonials spoke of miracles, st0len crypt0 recovered, lives restored. Desperate, I reached ou to them. They explained that while Bitc0in’s blockchain is public, tracing st0len funds is like finding a needle in a haystack. But they had the tools: proprietary software that could analyze transaction patterns, identify wallet clusters, and potentially link the scammer’s address to an exchange where the funds might be frozen. GrayHat Hacks dove into the blockchain, following the trail of my st0len Bitc0in as it hopped from wallet to wallet. They used advanced clustering algorithms to group addresses likely controlled by the same entity, narrowing down the scammer’s footprint. Then came the breakthrough: one of the wallets was tied to a known exchange. It was a tense few hours, but I eventually received the email I’d been praying for, my Bitc0in was recovered. GrayHat Hacks expertise turned what felt like an impossible loss into a second chance. They even took the time to teach me how to spot phishing scams, ensuring I’d never fall victim again. If you’re reading this, heart pounding after a crypt0 nightmare, know that GrayHat Hacks is the real deal. They’re not just technicians; they’re lifesavers, blending cutting-edge blockchain analysis with a human touch. My dream of a home is back on track, and I owe it all to them.

It all started with a dream and a single email. I’d been saving Bitc0in for years, hoping to buy my first home. On a rainy Tuesday, I received what looked like an urgent message from my wallet provider, asking me to verify my account details. The email was polished, the logo perfect, and the urgency felt real. Without thinking twice, I clicked the link and entered my credentials. It wasn’t until hours later, when I checked my wallet and saw a balance of zero, that the horror sank in. My 2.5 BTC, worth over $150,000, was gone. The scammer had drained it through a series of rapid transactions, scattering it across the blockchain like digital dust in the wind. I was devastated. My dream of homeownership vanished in a click, and I felt like a fool. Days blurred into a haze of panic and regret until I stumbled upon GrayHat Hacks online. Their testimonials spoke of miracles, st0len crypt0 recovered, lives restored. Desperate, I reached ou to them. They explained that while Bitc0in’s blockchain is public, tracing st0len funds is like finding a needle in a haystack. But they had the tools: proprietary software that could analyze transaction patterns, identify wallet clusters, and potentially link the scammer’s address to an exchange where the funds might be frozen. GrayHat Hacks dove into the blockchain, following the trail of my st0len Bitc0in as it hopped from wallet to wallet. They used advanced clustering algorithms to group addresses likely controlled by the same entity, narrowing down the scammer’s footprint. Then came the breakthrough: one of the wallets was tied to a known exchange. It was a tense few hours, but I eventually received the email I’d been praying for, my Bitc0in was recovered. GrayHat Hacks expertise turned what felt like an impossible loss into a second chance. They even took the time to teach me how to spot phishing scams, ensuring I’d never fall victim again. If you’re reading this, heart pounding after a crypt0 nightmare, know that GrayHat Hacks is the real deal. They’re not just technicians; they’re lifesavers, blending cutting-edge blockchain analysis with a human touch. My dream of a home is back on track, and I owe it all to them. You can reach out to them viar WhatsApp +1 (843) 368-3015