Lottery Book Quotes

Destiny is usually just around the corner. Like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor: its three most common personifications. But what destiny does not do is home visits. You have to go for it.

Sometimes we think people are like lottery tickets, that they're there to make our most absurd dreams come true.

Every time I hear about somebody who wins a never-work-again sum in the lottery but keeps his or her day job I think, not a book person.

I think about the shit we've read in school. Those books all about one problem. A kid who's bullied. A kid who's beaten. A kid who's poor. And I think of us and how we've won the shit-luck lottery. We have all the problems.

I felt suffocated. And alone. More alone than ever. Every year, I ostentatiously crossed out of my address book any friend who'd made a racist remark, neglected those whose only ambition was a new car and a Club Med vacation, and forgot all those who played the Lottery. I loved fishing and silence. Walking the hills. Drinking cold Cassis, Lagavulin, or Oban late into the night. I didn't talk much. Had opinions about everything. Life and death. Good and evil. I was a film buff. Loved music. I'd stopped reading contemporary novels. More than anything, I loathed half-hearted, spineless people.

Having children is a lottery and you never know what you are going to draw out. Perhaps it is as well I got none.

But we are curious about the result, just as we are curious about the way a book turns out. We do not want to know anything about the anxiety, the distress, the paradox. We carry on an esthetic flirtation with the result. It arrives just as unexpectedly but also just as effortlessly as a prize in a lottery, and when we have heard the result, we have built ourselves up.

Destiny is usually just around the corner. Like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor: its three most common personifications. But what destiny does not do is home visits. You have to go for it.

The afternoon before she died, Nuria came to see me, as she used to do years ago. I remember we used to go and eat in a café on Calle Guardia, where I would take her when she was a child. We always talked about books, about old books. She would sometimes tell me things about her work, trifles, the sort of things one tells a stranger on a bus…. Once she told me she was sorry she’d been a disappointment to me. I asked her where she’d got that ridiculous idea. ‘From your eyes, Father, from your eyes,’ she said. Not once did it occur to me that perhaps I’d been an even greater disappointment to her. Sometimes we think people are like lottery tickets, that they’re there to make our most absurd dreams come true.

No longer enslaved or made dependent by force of law, the great majority are so by force of poverty; they are still chained to a place, to an occupation, and to conformity with the will of an employer, and debarred, by the accident of birth both from the enjoyments, and from the mental and moral advantages, which others inherit without exertion and independently of desert. That this is an evil equal to almost any of those against which mankind have hitherto struggled, the poor are not wrong in believing. Is it a necessary evil? They are told so by, those who do not feel it---by those who have gained the prizes in the lottery of life. But it was also said that slavery, that despotism, that all the privileges of oligarchy, were necessary.

you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration.

Sometimes we think people are like lottery tickets, that they’re there to make our most absurd dreams come true.

Dodging a close call or tight spot felt like barely avoiding a horrible accident and winning the lottery all at the same time - and I felt surges of relief and exhilaration.

Don't journalists represent the public's right to know what their officials are doing? With today's technology, you can run, but you shouldn't be able to hide.

Destiny is usually around the corner. Like a thief, like a hooker, or a lottery vendor: its three most common personifications. But what destiny does not do is home visits. You have to go for it

Writing can feel more like a skill-based lottery. If you work hard and have some base talent, maybe you’ll catch lightning in a bottle and be one of the very few writers who earn eye-popping advances.

Something he knew he had missed: the flower of life. But he thought of it now as a thing so unattainable and improbable that to have repined would have been like despairing because one had not drawn the first prize in a lottery. There were a hundred million tickets in his lottery, and there was only one prize; the chances had been too decidedly against him. When he thought of Ellen Olenska it was abstractly, serenely, as one might think of some imaginary beloved in a book or a picture: she had become the composite vision of all that he had missed. That vision, faint and tenuous as it was, had kept him from thinking of other women. He had been what was called a faithful husband; and when May had suddenly died—carried off by the infectious pneumonia through which she had nursed their youngest child—he had honestly mourned her. Their long years together had shown him that it did not so much matter if marriage was a dull duty, as long as it kept the dignity of a duty: lapsing from that, it became a mere battle of ugly appetites. Looking about him, he honoured his own past, and mourned for it. After all, there was good in the old ways.

Almost all of Mr. Cobb’s function—aside from lighting cigarettes for me, and pausing respectfully when my husband spoke—seemed to consist of taking objects which actually existed in almost square feet, and translating them into cubic feet—rugs had to be rolled, books had to be boxed, pictures had to be put into packing cases.

481 I went into the barbershop as usual, with the pleasant sensation of entering a familiar place, easily and naturally. New things are distressing to my sensibility; I’m at ease only in places where I’ve already been. After I’d sat down in the chair, I happened to ask the young barber, occupied in fastening a clean, cool cloth around my neck, about his older colleague from the chair to the right, a spry fellow who had been sick. I didn’t ask this because I felt obliged to ask something; it was the place and my memory that sparked the question. ‘He passed away yesterday,’ flatly answered the barber’s voice behind me and the linen cloth as his fingers withdrew from the final tuck of the cloth in between my shirt collar and my neck. The whole of my irrational good mood abruptly died, like the eternally missing barber from the adjacent chair. A chill swept over all my thoughts. I said nothing. Nostalgia! I even feel it for people and things that were nothing to me, because time’s fleeing is for me an anguish, and life’s mystery is a torture. Faces I habitually see on my habitual streets – if I stop seeing them I become sad. And they were nothing to me, except perhaps the symbol of all of life. The nondescript old man with dirty gaiters who often crossed my path at nine-thirty in the morning… The crippled seller of lottery tickets who would pester me in vain… The round and ruddy old man smoking a cigar at the door of the tobacco shop… The pale tobacco shop owner… What has happened to them all, who because I regularly saw them were a part of my life? Tomorrow I too will vanish from the Rua da Prata, the Rua dos Douradores, the Rua dos Fanqueiros. Tomorrow I too – I this soul that feels and thinks, this universe I am for myself – yes, tomorrow I too will be the one who no longer walks these streets, whom others will vaguely evoke with a ‘What’s become of him?’. And everything I’ve done, everything I’ve felt and everything I’ve lived will amount merely to one less passer-by on the everyday streets of some city or other.

The woman said she had never heard of the town. “It probably doesn’t even exist,” Emma said when the waitress had moved off. “I bet you Miss Crumley was just trying to get rid of us. She’s hoping we’ll get robbed or murdered or something.” “It’s very unlikely all three of us would get murdered,” Michael said, slurping down his hot chocolate. “Maybe one of us, though.” “Okay, you can get murdered,” Emma said. “No, you can get murdered.” “No, you—” “No, you—” They began giggling, Emma saying how a murderer seeing Michael simply wouldn’t be able to help himself, he’d just have to murder him, he might even murder him twice, and Michael replying how there was probably a whole bunch of murderers waiting for Emma to get off the train and how they’d have a lottery to see who got to do it. … Kate just let them go. The

But people are curious about the result, as they are about the result in a book — they want to know nothing about dread, distress, the paradox. They flirt aesthetically with the result, it comes just as unexpectedly but also just as easily as a prize in the lottery; and when they have heard the result they are edified. And yet no robber of temples condemned to hard labor behind iron bars, is so base a criminal as the man who pillages the holy, and even Judas who sold his Master for thirty pieces of silver is not more despicable than the man who sells greatness.

In my world death was like a nameless and incomprehensible hand, a door-to-door salesman who took away mothers, beggars, or ninety-year-old neighbors, like a hellish lottery. But I couldn't absorb the idea that death could actually walk by my side, with a human face and a heart that was poisoned with hatred, that death could be dressed in a uniform or raincoat, queue up at the cinema, laugh in bars, or take his children out for a walk to Ciudadela Park in the morning, and then, in the afternoon, make someone disappear in the dungeons of Montjuïc Castle or in a common grave with no name or ceremony.

I do not now have the slightest understanding of the events which got us out of one big white house which we rented into another, bigger white house which we own, at least in part. That is, I know we moved, and I think I know why, and I know we spent three pleasant months in a friend’s summer home, and I am pretty sure we got most of our own furniture back. What really puzzles me, I suppose, is how a series of events like that gets itself started. One day I went to clean out the hall closet and the next thing I knew we were trying to decide whether to have all four phones put on one line, or leave them all different numbers and list ourselves four times in the phone book. We decided wrong, by the way.

Why does it bother me to tell people I have health problems? Doesn’t everybody at some point? I suppose that’s the crux right there. For most people, the difference is in the “some point” part. They have a problem. They go to the doctor. Doctor fixes it. Life moves on. It was a small, annoying inconvenience. For me, and likely for you since you’re reading this, your problem is not so temporary. You’ve got it for life, or until science finds a cure, which for some diseases is as likely as winning the lottery when you haven’t even bought a ticket. So we make people nervous. Nobody wants to have a condition that affects their social outings, work choices, family life, and just general day-to-day stuff. Nobody picks that for what they want to be when they grow up. “Oh teacher!” The kindergartener excitedly raises his hand. “When I grow up, I want to have a chronic illness and have people say how strong and courageous I am for enduring it even though I don’t have any choice in the matter! Woo-hoo.” Instead,

[…] if sophistication is the ability to put a smile on one's existential desperation, then the fear of a glossy sheen is actually the fear that surface equals depth. *** […] we wake up, we do something—anything—we go to sleep, and we repeat it about 22,000 more times, and then we die. *** Part of our new boredom is that our brain doesn't have any downtime. Even the smallest amount of time not being engaged creates a spooky sensatino that maybe you're on the wrong track. Reboot your computer and sit there waiting for it to do its thing, and within seventeen seconds you experience a small existential implosion when you remember that fifteen years ago life was nothing but this kind of moment. Gosh, mabe I'll read a book. Or go for a walk. Sorry. Probably not going to happen. Hey, is that the new trailer for Ex Machina? *** In the 1990s there was that expression, "Get a life!" You used to say it to people who were overly fixating on some sort of minutia or detail or thought thread, and by saying, "Get a life," you were trying to snap them out of their obsession and get them to join the rest of us who are still out in the world, taking walks and contemplating trees and birds. The expression made sense at the time, but it's been years since I've heard anyone use it anywhere. What did it mean then, "getting a life"? Did we all get one? Or maybe we've all not got lives anymore, and calling attention to one person without a life would put the spotlight on all of humanity and our now full-time pursuit of minutia, details and tangential idea threads. *** I don't buy lottery tickets because they spook me. If you buy a one-in-fifty-million chance to win a cash jackpoint, you're simultaneously tempting fate and adding all sorts of other bonus probabilities to your plance of existence: car crashes, random shootings, being struck by a meteorite. Why open a door that didn't need opening? *** I read something last week and it made sense to me: people want other people to do well in life but not too well. I've never won a raffle or prize or lottery draw, and I can't help but wonder how it must feel. One moment you're just plain old you, and then whaam, you're a winner and now everyone hates you and wants your money. It must be bittersweet. You hear all those stories about how big lottery winners' lives are ruined by winning, but that's not an urban legend. It's pretty much the norm. Be careful what you wish for and, while you're doing so, be sure to use the numbers between thirty-two and forty-nine.

Here’s some startup pedagogy for you: When confronted with any startup idea, ask yourself one simple question: How many miracles have to happen for this to succeed? If the answer is zero, you’re not looking at a startup, you’re just dealing with a regular business like a laundry or a trucking business. All you need is capital and minimal execution, and assuming a two-way market, you’ll make some profit. To be a startup, miracles need to happen. But a precise number of miracles. Most successful startups depend on one miracle only. For Airbnb, it was getting people to let strangers into their spare bedrooms and weekend cottages. This was a user-behavior miracle. For Google, it was creating an exponentially better search service than anything that had existed to date. This was a technical miracle. For Uber or Instacart, it was getting people to book and pay for real-world services via websites or phones. This was a consumer-workflow miracle. For Slack, it was getting people to work like they formerly chatted with their girlfriends. This is a business-workflow miracle. For the makers of most consumer apps (e.g., Instagram), the miracle was quite simple: getting users to use your app, and then to realize the financial value of your particular twist on a human brain interacting with keyboard or touchscreen. That was Facebook’s miracle, getting every college student in America to use its platform during its early years. While there was much technical know-how required in scaling it—and had they fucked that up it would have killed them—that’s not why it succeeded. The uniqueness and complete fickleness of such a miracle are what make investing in consumer-facing apps such a lottery. It really is a user-growth roulette wheel with razor-thin odds. The classic sign of a shitty startup idea is that it requires at least two (or more!) miracles to succeed. This was what was wrong with ours. We had a Bible’s worth of miracles to perform:

I was only ever truly loved once. Everyone has always treated me kindly. Even the most casual acquaintance has found it difficult to be rude or brusque or even cool to me. Sometimes with a little help from me, that kindness could - or at least might - have developed into love or affection. I've had neither the patience nor the concentration of mind to want to make the effort. When I first noticed this in myself - so little do we know ourselves - I attributed it to some shyness of the soul. But then I realised that this wasn't the case, it was an emotional tedium, different from the tedium of life; an impatience with the idea of associating myself with one continuous feeling, especially if that meant steeling myself to make some sustained effort. Why bother thought the unthinking part of me. I have enough subtlety, enough psychological sensitivity to know how, but the why has always escaped me. My weakness of will always began by being a weakness of the will even to have a will. The same happened with my emotions, my intelligence, my will itself, with everything in my life. But on the one occasion that malicious fate caused me to believe I loved someone and to recognise that I really was loved in return , it left me at first stunned and confused as if my number had come up on the lottery and I had won a huge amount of money in some inconvertible currency. Then, because I'm only human, I felt rather flattered. However, that most natural of emotions soon passed, to be overtaken by a feeling difficult to define but one in which tedium, humiliation and weariness predominated. A feeling of tedium as if fate had imposed on me a task to be carried out during some unfamiliar evening shift. As if a new duty - that of an awful reciprocity - were given to me, ironically, as a privilege over which I would have to toil, all the time thanking fate for it. As if the flaccid monotony of life were not enough to bear without superimposing on it the obligatory monotony of a definite feeling.

While humans have been bred over millennia to chase the pleasant, run from the unpleasant, and zone out in the face of neutral stimuli, meditation, as we’ve discussed, provides an alternative: the ability to engage with it all fully. This skill allows you, however briefly, to step off the treadmill of getting and doing. Many of us assume that we will finally be happy and complete when all of our wishes are fulfilled—when we hit the lottery, master the Stanky Leg, or get more likes on our Instagram posts. It’s the primordial lie we are constantly telling and retelling ourselves. But this is to confuse happiness with excitement. All of which inexorably leads to another question: what is happiness, anyway? For years I asked tons of smart people about this and never got a truly satisfying answer. Then one night over dinner, I put the question to my friend Dr. Mark Epstein, a psychiatrist, author, and meditator. He said, “More of the good stuff and less of the bad.” Initially, I was unmoved. Over time, though, I began to see the wisdom of this modest assertion.

Once she told me she was sorry she’d been a disappointment to me. I asked her where she’d got that ridiculous idea. ‘From your eyes, Father, from your eyes,’ she said. Not once did it occur to me that perhaps I’d been an even greater disappointment to her. Sometimes we think people are like lottery tickets, that they’re there to make our most absurd dreams come true.

Hugo Houde est né et a grandi à Paris. Quand Hugo avait dix ans, sa famille a dû partir vivre à l’étranger pour le travail de son père. C’est ainsi qu’Hugo a atterri dans la classe numéro treize où personne ne parlait français. La France lui manquait énormément. Comme il ne pouvait pas y retourner, il décida d’amener la France à lui. Alors, avec son argent, il acheta la tour Eiffel et la mit dans son jardin. C’est la vie. CHAPTER

25-21-14-1 8-9-4 8-5-18 13-15-14-5-25 19-15-13-5-23-8-5-18-5 19-5-3-18-5-20. 19-15 19-5-3-18-5-20, 19-8-5 6-15-18-7-15-20 23-8-5-18-5 9-20 23-1-19.

violent sneeze).

Ce cours est nul!” shouted Hugo, who was from France and spoke only in French.

If I do win—which is very unlikely—I promise to split my earnings evenly with every single one of you.” All the students in Classroom 13 shouted, “Really?!” (Except Hugo. He shouted, “Sacrebleu

We value your word, but we would feel much more comfortable with your promise if we could get it in writing.

That day after school, as Ms. Linda walked home, she was struck by lightning—twice.

(You probably think I’ve made a mistake. But I haven’t. Trust me. My name is Honest Lee.)

$1,037,037,037.04

Believing that you’ve found true love is as crazy as being certain the lottery ticket you’ve just bought is definitely going to be the winner. You can be as certain as you want; it doesn’t change anything.

free time and personal life: What activities would I like to be doing more often? How would I like to spend my free time? Do I want to take more vacations (to where, how often, and what type)? Do I want more time to meditate, relax, or sleep? How much time? Who would be with me during my free time? Where would I be? Do I want a simpler life? A more stable life? What is important to me? — My career: What career would I switch to if I won the lottery today? If I found out that I only had three months to live? What dream career do I someday hope to have? What activities do I see myself doing in my career? Is there a class I can take or a book I can read today? Do I need new equipment or a facility for my new career? How would I feel about taking one small step toward the fulfillment of this career? What is that small step, so I can write it down on my goal sheet? Are there parts of my present career that I can change right now, to loosen my schedule? If I am climbing the company ladder, am I really sure this is what I want? What is my primary reason for working? What is my secondary reason for working? Is my time organized toward the fulfillment of these goals?

Look, Daniel. Destiny is usually just around the corner. Like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor: its three most common personifications. But what destiny does not do is home visits. You have to go for it.

Our ability to cultivate joy has not been scientifically studied as thoroughly as our ability to cultivate happiness. In 1978, psychologists Philip Brickman, Dan Coates, and Ronnie Janoff-Bulman published a landmark study that found that lottery winners were not significantly happier than those who had been paralyzed in an accident. From this and subsequent work came the idea that people have a “set point” that determines their happiness over the course of their life. In other words, we get accustomed to any new situation and inevitably return to our general state of happiness.

Much of the current debate focuses not on success but on failure. There is a shelf-load of books discussing flawed states such as ‘Why Nations Fail?’, ‘Is Democracy Dying?’ and ‘What’s Killing Liberalism?’. But as Harvard University’s Steven Pinker reminds us, ‘There are so many more ways for things to go wrong than to go right’, making success far more valuable to explain than failure. Have we not heard enough about failure? After all, history shows that unlike lotteries, progress is usually a matter of finding something which works and reverse-engineering it.

Take a simple example: lottery tickets. Americans spend more on them than movies, video games, music, sporting events, and books combined. And who buys them? Mostly poor people. The lowest-income households in the U.S. on average spend $412 a year on lotto tickets, four times the amount of those in the highest income groups. Forty percent of Americans cannot come up with $400 in an emergency. Which is to say: Those buying $400 in lottery tickets are by and large the same people who say they couldn’t come up with $400 in an emergency. They are blowing their safety nets on something with a one-in-millions chance of hitting it big. That seems crazy to me. It probably seems crazy to you, too. But I’m not in the lowest income group. You’re likely not, either. So it’s hard for many of us to intuitively grasp the subconscious reasoning of low-income lottery ticket buyers. But strain a little, and you can imagine it going something like this:

Much of the stuff you people who read finance books either have now, or have a good chance of getting, we don’t. Buying a lottery ticket is the only time in our lives we can hold a tangible dream of getting the good stuff that you already have and take for granted. We are paying for a dream, and you may not understand that because you are already living a dream. That’s why we buy more tickets than you do.

An endless cycle of cruelty that tore parents from their children, wives from husbands, friends from friends. And for what reason? Because they weren’t lucky enough to win the lottery of birth? Because they wanted a better life for the people they loved?

You are more likely to die on your way to purchase a lottery ticket, than you are to actually win.

Basically, this is a rigorous analysis that shows that numerous universal constants—like the force of gravity, the weight of a proton, the force that binds protons and neutrons within atomic nuclei, and so on—have to be almost exactly what they are for life to exist in the universe. The odds of these constants all having the precise values needed for life are worse than the odds of winning the lottery a thousand times in a row. “So how is this possible? Theologians believe God is the answer. Scientists were initially stumped but soon declared that this riddle was easily answered if one posited an infinite number of universes. Given an infinite number of universes, one of them was bound to get it right. And, lucky for us, we happen to find ourselves in this perfect universe.” Faith raised her eyebrows. “But science admits it has no way to prove the existence of other universes. So both explanations rely on faith. Given this, why is a creator any more absurd than infinite universes? A creator may not be the answer, but science’s answer isn’t really any better.

You’ve probably heard the stories about lottery winners losing it all. They’re not urban legends; they really happen. The depths people fall to after big lottery winnings are heartbreaking and mindboggling. And it isn’t only lottery winners. You’ve also heard the stories about famous movie stars, recording stars, or star athletes who make incredible fortunes, literally hundreds of millions of dollars, and somehow manage to wind up broke and in debt. And when you heard those stories, you probably thought the same thing I did: “Man, I don’t know how they pulled that off, but if I made that kind of money I sure wouldn’t squander it all like that!” But let me ask you a tough question: are you sure about that? Speaking as one who’s made it to the top and then seen it all evaporate, all I can say is, you might be surprised. There’s a reason those lottery winners lose it all again, a reason those shining stars plummet to those dark places: they may have had the big breaks, but they didn’t grasp the slight edge. Their winnings changed their bank account balance—but it didn’t change their philosophy. The purpose of this book is to show you the slight edge philosophy, show you how it works, give you plenty of examples, and show you exactly how to make it a core part of how you see the world and how you live your life every day. Throughout this book, if you look carefully you’ll find dozens of statements that embody this philosophy, statements like “Do the thing, and you shall have the power.” Here are a few more examples that you’ll come across in the following pages: Success is the progressive realization of a worthy ideal. Successful people do what unsuccessful people are not willing to do.

Say It So You Lift Your Spirits: Even non-Scandinavians and optimists can feel their moods dampen during the dark of night. Luckily there are some easy ways to lift your spirits. Here are three: 1. When describing something in the past, what role do you play in the story? Are more of your most retold stories anchored by a positively or a negatively felt incidents? Those who are most resilient, energetic, caring and involved with others tend to link their stories to redemptive themes. Those who are plagued by down moods often mark their stories with what went wrong and don't include a redeeming detail. These narrative themes affect our choices -- what we think we have to choose from -- and how others see us. 2. We each have many personalities inside us. Some situations enable us to use our best talents and display our best side. Instead of attempting to be a "virtuoso juggler" as many women do, discover the specific situations where you thrive. When you can identify those moments you are better able, like a defensive driver, to see potential danger farther ahead where situations or individuals spark your discomfort or worse. Conversely, knowing where you shine (temperament and talent) means you can make smarter choices about how you work and live -- and with whom. While Marcus Buckingham's book is intended for women, I know three male friends who have found it helpful in how they seek the situations that best serve them -- professionally, personally and socially. 3. We each have a set point along the continuum of pessimistic to optimistic. After winning the lottery or experiencing the death of a loved one, we eventually return to that set point.

Having kids is just like winning the lottery except you LOSE tons of money, and everyone you’ve ever met suddenly wants NOTHING to do with you.

American Republicans trumpet the value of negative liberty. The state is kept passive in relation to the people. Some people – the rich, powerful and well-connected – flourish, while the rest, the vast majority, live bland, banal lives or, in the case of a large underclass, lives of grim, grinding poverty and despair. The state extends no helping hand. American capitalist democracy is the creed of negative liberty. Many American citizens live in squalor, with minimal access to basic standards of health care. Tens of millions of Americans are poor, with no prospects. They are sustained by the illusion of the “American Dream”, which, in reality, is as rare as a lottery win. One in a million defies the odds and succeeds. For many of the rest, the dream is a nightmare.

If you are lucky enough to have been born an Englishman, you have drawn first prize in the lottery of life.’ The

How did we come to think that if we just did things “right” we would have a model family? Perhaps this illusion has come, in part, because we have heard erroneous teaching on the book of Proverbs. The book of Proverbs, like every book in the biblical canon, is divinely inspired, but we must understand its genre. A proverb is a maxim that we should follow because it leads us in the wisest path. But it is a probability, not a promise. For example, we are told:   A slack hand causes poverty, but the hand of the diligent makes rich. (Proverbs 10:4) This is a maxim, which means it is generally true that the lazy person will be poor and the diligent person will have plenty. But a lazy person can win the lottery and a diligent person can have a tornado destroy his crops. That does not disprove the proverb, because a proverb is simply a probability. As we looked at before when we considered God's use of metaphor, when we do not interpret Scripture according to its genre, we misinterpret Scripture. Yet many teachers quote proverbs as if they are in the genre of promises, and so we are disappointed in God when we experience an exception to what our Christian community may have promoted as a “promise.” One of the most misunderstood verses in our Christian communities is Proverbs 22:6: Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it. This is generally true, but it is not a promise. In other words, a child who departs from the truth may still have been trained in the way he should go. Likewise, it is possible that if you are an excellent wife, your children and husband will rise up and call you blessed (Proverbs 31:28). But they might not. It's not up to us to decide what happens; it's up to us to be faithful.

Nir elaborates in this post: TriggerThe trigger is the actuator of a behavior — the spark plug in the engine. Triggers come in two types: external and internal. Habit-forming technologies start by alerting users with external triggers like an email, a link on a web site, or the app icon on a phone. ActionAfter the trigger comes the intended action. Here, companies leverage two pulleys of human behavior – motivation and ability. This phase of the Hook draws upon the art and science of usability design to ensure that the user acts the way the designer intends. Variable RewardVariable schedules of reward are one of the most powerful tools that companies use to hook users. Research shows that levels of dopamine surge when the brain is expecting a reward. Introducing variability multiplies the effect, creating a frenzied hunting state, activating the parts associated with wanting and desire. Although classic examples include slot machines and lotteries, variable rewards are prevalent in habit-forming technologies as well. InvestmentThe last phase of the Hook is where the user is asked to do bit of work. The investment implies an action that improves the service for the next go-around. Inviting friends, stating preferences, building virtual assets, and learning to use new features are all commitments that improve the service for the user. These investments can be leveraged to make the trigger more engaging, the action easier, and the reward more exciting with every pass through the Hook. We’ve found this model (and the accompanying book) to be a great starting point for a customer acquisition and retention strategy.

If you believe your life is mainly a matter of chance, why read this book? Learning about startups is worthless if you’re just reading stories about people who won the lottery.

Start a National Lottery, with all the money going to pay for National health Care. Don’t spend years debating this. Just do it.

A person who wants to manifest money through the Law of Attraction must become a good receiver.

Yet, I can almost hear you saying, “Well, I’m not really a performer and I’m certainly not an actor; in fact, I’m far from it. Actors love the spotlight and can’t wait to get onstage. I’m shy and I get visibly nervous when I have to speak in front of others.” Well, I have good news for you. That’s fantastic. No, it’s better than that. It’s a “you-just-won-the-lottery” kind of fantastic. You’re exactly the person for whom I’ve written this book.

For People Starting Out—Say “Yes” When Derek was 18, he was living in Boston, attending the Berklee College of Music. “I’m in this band where the bass player, one day in rehearsal, says, ‘Hey man, my agent just offered me this gig—it’s like $ 75 to play at a pig show in Vermont.’ He rolls his eyes, and he says, ‘I’m not gonna do it, do you want the gig?’ I’m like, ‘Fuck yeah, a paying gig?! Oh, my God! Yes!’ So, I took the gig to go up to Burlington, Vermont. “And, I think it was a $ 58 round-trip bus ticket. I get to this pig show, I strap my acoustic guitar on, and I walked around a pig show playing music. I did that for about 3 hours, and took the bus home, and the next day, the booking agent called me up, and said, ‘Hey, yeah, so you did a really good job at the pig show. . . .’ “So many opportunities, and 10 years of stage experience, came from that one piddly little pig show. . . . When you’re earlier in your career, I think the best strategy is to just say ‘yes’ to everything. Every little gig. You just never know what are the lottery tickets.

A lottery winner is not qualified to teach you how to win the lottery.

Actually I always read to find something that will strike me … for the quotations, I read books as if they were dictionaries of quotations. It’s like the lottery.

Leadership literature promotes envy with false promises. Casinos and lotteries encourage gambling with two messages: first, you, too, can win buckets of money, and, second, this is only possible if you gamble. Most gamblers and lottery ticket consumers do not win but lose. The truth is: “You can be a loser too.”12 When leadership books dwell on five-star generals, corporation executives, metropolis mayors, and megachurch CEOs, the implicit promise is like gambling: you can only win if you enter the game, and you, too, might hit the big time. But the majority of people, no matter how talented, motivated, and connected, will never be generals, executives, mayors, or megachurch pastors.

Mathematicians of probability give that a fancy name: ergodicity. It means, roughly, that (under certain conditions) very long sample paths would end up resembling each other. The properties of a very, very long sample path would be similar to the Monte Carlo properties of an average of shorter ones. The janitor in Chapter 1 who won the lottery, if he lived one thousand years, cannot be expected to win more lotteries. Those who were unlucky in life in spite of their skills would eventually rise. The lucky fool might have benefited from some luck in life; over the longer run he would slowly converge to the state of a less-lucky idiot. Each one would revert to his long-term properties.

The same applies to the conventional values of persistence, doggedness and perseverance: necessary, very necessary. One needs to go out and buy a lottery ticket in order to win. Does it mean that the work involved in the trip to the store caused the winning? Of course skills count, but they do count less in highly random environments than they do in dentistry.

What do you like to read?” Uh-oh. How was I supposed to tell him I liked terrible, spicy novels filled with giant appendages and swoony book boyfriends who pounded pussy like they were born to do nothing else in their life?

I could almost hear my therapist’s voice now. When you feel an anxiety attack coming on, what do you do? I’d learned the answer was never, ‘Dive into a book about Orcs who steal plain country farm girls and fill them with their seed.

« What do you like to read?” Uh-oh. How was I supposed to tell him I liked terrible, spicy novels filled with giant appendages and swoony book boyfriends who pounded pussy like they were born to do nothing else in their life? I cleared my throat. “Uh, fantasy. »

Take a simple example: lottery tickets. Americans spend more on them than movies, video games, music, sporting events, and books combined. And who buys them? Mostly poor people. The lowest-income households in the U.S. on average spend $412 a year on lotto tickets, four times the amount of those in the highest income groups. Forty percent of Americans cannot come up with $400 in an emergency. Which is to say: Those buying $400 in lottery tickets are by and large the same people who say they couldn’t come up with $400 in an emergency. They are blowing their safety nets on something with a one-in-millions chance of hitting it big.

In the casino, the house always wins. In horse racing, the track always wins. In the Powerball lottery, the state always wins. Investing is no different. In the game of investing, the financial croupiers always win, and investors as a group lose. After the deduction of the costs of investing, beating the stock market is a loser’s game.

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I cast about for a brilliant, painless plan to satisfy everyone. Pool our money and win the lottery? No. Too unlikely. Rob the museum and sell art on the black market? Too risky. Find sunken treasure? Clara’s got that new boyfriend, but the seas are rough in the autumn. So, again, no.

could be totally wrong about everything we’ve written on Yamashita’s Gold. In which case, you would be advised to cancel that treasure-hunting expedition you’ve booked for the summer and stick to playing the lottery!

Destiny is usually just around the corner. Like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor: its three most common personifications. But what destiny does not do is home visits. You have to go for it yourself.

Ever seen a great champion boxer like Manny Pacquiao? With his speed, agility and power, he has conquered lots of other great boxers of the twenty first century. In between fights, he keeps his training regime and intensifies it when another fight approaches. 카톡☎ppt33☎ 〓 라인☎pxp32☎ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 바오메이파는곳,바오메이가격,바오메이구입방법,바오메이구매방법,팔팔정판매사이트,구구정판매사이트 Just like a boxer, we, too come face to face with many opponents in the arena of life—problems and difficulties. The bad news is, we don’t really know when our bouts with these opponents occur—no posters and promotional TV commercials; no pre-fight Press Conference and weigh in to make sure that we measure up to our opponent; and there is no Pay Per View coverage. Here are several reasons why you should train yourself for success like a champion boxer! You don’t practice in the arena, that’s where your skills and your abilities are evaluated. This also means that you don’t practice solving problems and developing yourself when problems occur, you prepare yourself to face them long before you actually face them. Talent is good but training is even better. Back in college, one of my classmates in Political Science did not bring any textbook or notebook in our classes; he just listened and participated in discussions. What I didn’t understand was how he became a magna cum laude! Apparently, he was gifted with a great memory and analytical skills. In short, he was talented. If you are talented, you probably need less preparation and training time in facing life’s challenges. But for people who are endowed with talent, training and learning becomes even important. Avoid the lazy person’s maxim: “If it isn’t broken, why fix it?” Why wait for your roof to leak in the rainy season when you can fix it right away. Training enables you to gain intuition and reflexes. Malcolm Glad well, in his book Outliers, said those artists, athletes and anyone who wants to be successful, need 10,000 hours of practice to become really great. With constant practice and training, you hone your body, your mind and your heart and gain the intuition and reflexes of a champion. Same thing is true in life. Without training, you will mess up. Without training, you will not be able to anticipate how your enemy will hit you. You will trip at that hurdle. Your knees will buckle before you hit the marathon’s finish line. You will lose control of your race car after the first lap. With training, you lower the likelihood of these accidents Winners train. If you want to win, train yourself for it. You may be a lucky person and you can win a race, or overcome a problem at first try. But if you do not train, your victory may be like a one-time lottery win, which you cannot capitalize on over the long run. And you become fitter and more capable of finishing the race. Keep in mind that training is borne out of discipline and perseverance. Even if you encounter some setbacks in your training regime, if you keep at it and persevere, you will soon see results in your life and when problems come, you will be like the champion boxer who stands tall and fights until the final round is over and you’re proclaimed as the champion!

I was walking along briskly, dodging bootblacks, pen pushers returning from their midmorning coffee, lottery vendors, and a whole ballet of street sweepers who seemed to be polishing the streets with paintbrushes, unhurriedly and with a pointillist’s strokes.

Bud Light?” she asks in a distasteful tone. “Did you think you would be getting a microbrew? It’s a college house.” “Still”—she takes a sip and cringes—“I thought you’d have a little more class.” “You’re giving me too much credit.” I nod my head toward the corner of the loft where there are less people. When she doesn’t initially follow me, I turn back around, grab her hand like I had to in class, and pull her across the loft until we’re settled in the corner. I lean against the wall and prop one leg behind me. She eyes me, giving me a full once-over. I do the same. She’s damn hot, and I’m regretting my actions last Saturday, passing out mid grope. Finally she says, “You seem to have lost your shirt.” She motions with her finger over my bare chest. I look down at her legs and reply, “Must be where the other half of your skirt is.” “Think they’re making out in a laundromat somewhere?” She takes a sip of her beer and cringes again. A few more sips and she’ll get used to it; always happens for me. “If they are, I hope they use the gentle cycle.” Her brow pulls together. “Not sure if that makes sense.” “Oh, because half of a skirt and a shirt making out in a laundromat does?” “In children’s books, sure.” “What kind of perverted children’s books did you read growing up?” I counter. “You know, the classics,” she answers causally. “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish and Skirt and Shirt, Lovers for Life.” “Ah, yes, I forgot about that passionate yet eye-opening youth literature that took the New York Times by storm.” “I have five signed first-edition copies in a box in my parents’ attic. Banking on them to clear out my student loans.” She sips her beer, flips her hair behind her shoulder, glances at my chest again. “Five?” I answer sarcastically. “Damn, forget college loans, you’re set for life.” “You think?” She glances around. “What the hell am I doing here then?” “To see me of course,” I answer with a smile. She rolls her eyes. “More like dragged to this party because my roommate has a crush on one of your freshmen.” “Yeah, which one?” I look over her head, eyeing all the partygoers. “No idea, but apparently he has amazing blue eyes.” “Amazing, huh? Has to be Gunner. I was even stunned by his eyes when he was recruited.” No joke, the dude won the lottery for irises. I’m even jealous with how . . . aqua they are. “Not ashamed to admit that?” she asks, shifting on her heels. “Not even a little.

Speaking of privilege, we (the authors) often say we are lucky to have won the birth lottery. Not only were we not born into slavery, but we were also not born into almost any disadvantaged group.

Destiney is usually just around the corner. Like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor: its three most common personifications. But what destiny does not do is home visits. You have to go for it.

This plan is still tentative. But I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. Months, even. After I publish this book today, I’m gonna reach out to the Amazon program to ask them questions about it, because I’m not sure how it works exactly. I think it’s like a lottery drawing where you have to enter your email or something. I’m not sure. Ideally, I’d like to have a web link that I could place inside the book randomly. Those who find it and are interested in signing up for the promotion can click on it and enter the monthly drawing. From there, it’d restart every month, I guess. Or it’d restart every few months? I don’t know. I still have a lot to figure out. Plus, I don’t even know if it works like that. Alright, time to wrap this up. There’s still work to do. But before I go, I just wanted to take the time to thank you all. Thank you for helping me get to book 45. We did it! We finished the series! Well, kinda. :oP Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write for you boys and girls. I love making these books, and I love my job because of your tremendous support. I realize that I’m not the best writer/storyteller, and that I make typos and grammar errors and such, but thank you for giving me the time to learn and grow. I’ve only just gotten started in this field, and I have a whole lot to learn. But with enough time and dedication and your support, I’m sure I will grow up to reach my full potential. So, thank you once again, and happy holidays, fam. I love you all.

Martí still had to consider himself lucky, since in 1871 eight medical students had been executed for the alleged desecration of a gravesite in Havana. Those executed were selected from the student body by lottery, and they may not have even been involved in the desecration. In fact, some of them were not even in Havana at the time, but it quickly became obvious to everyone that the Spanish government was not fooling around! Some years later Martí studied law at the Central University of Madrid (University of Zaragoza). As a student he started sending letters directly to the Spanish Prime Minister insisting on Cuban autonomy, and he continued to write what the Spanish government considered inflammatory newspaper editorials. In 1874, he graduated with a degree in philosophy and law. The following year Martí traveled to Madrid, Paris and Mexico City where he met the daughter of a Cuban exile, Carmen Zayas-Bazán, whom he later married. In 1877 Martí paid a short visit to Cuba, but being constantly on the move he went on to Guatemala where he found work teaching philosophy and literature. In 1878 he published his first book, Guatemala, describing the beauty of that country. The daughter of the President of Guatemala had a crush on Martí, which did not go unnoticed by him. María was known as “La Niña de Guatemala,” the child of Guatemala. She waited for Martí when he left for Cuba, but when he returned he was married to Carmen Zayas-Bazán. María died shortly thereafter on May 10, 1878, of a respiratory disease, although many say that she died of a broken heart. On November 22, 1878, Martí and Carmen had a son whom they named José Francisco. Doing the math, it becomes obvious as to what had happened…. It was after her death that he wrote the poem “La Niña de Guatemala.” The Cuban struggle for independence started with the Ten Years’ War in 1868 lasting until 1878. At that time, the Peace of Zanjón was signed, giving Cuba little more than empty promises that Spain completely ignored. An uneasy peace followed, with several minor skirmishes, until the Cuban War of Independence flared up in 1895. In December of 1878, thinking that conditions had changed and that things would return to normal, Martí returned to Cuba. However, still being cautious he returned using a pseudonym, which may have been a mistake since now his name did not match those in the official records. Using a pseudonym made it impossible for him to find employment as an attorney. Once again, after his revolutionary activities were discovered, Martí was deported to Spain. Arriving in Spain and feeling persecuted, he fled to France and continued on to New York City. Then, using New York as a hub, he traveled and wrote, gaining a reputation as an editorialist on Latin American issues. Returning to the United States from his travels, he visited with his family in New York City for the last time. Putting his work for the revolution first, he sent his family back to Havana. Then from New York he traveled to Florida, where he gave inspiring speeches to Cuban tobacco workers and cigar makers in Ybor City, Tampa. He also went to Key West to inspire Cuban nationals in exile. In 1884, while Martí was in the United States, slavery was finally abolished in Cuba. In 1891 Martí approved the formation of the Cuban Revolutionary Party.

I had known many real estate agents who spent day after day discussing multimillion-dollar deals with other agents, seemingly achieving fulfillment from their conversations alone.  They steered clear of the excruciating effort it takes to secure a listing directly from a seller, let alone the time and energy it requires to locate a buyer for a property, implement a marketing method, and close the sale. Such an agent limits his efforts to sending out tenth-generation copies of scanty information about properties furnished him by other agents.  It's a lottery mentality—hoping upon hope that some agent with whom he is dealing will somehow get lucky and close a sale—and then, the ultimate hope, a small piece of the commission will miraculously filter its way down to him. I'm not saying that a real estate agent should never work with another broker or salesman under any circumstances.  That would be ideal, but not practical.  Circumstances regarding two of the sales I discuss later in this book were such that it made sense for me to pay a co-brokerage fee to another agent.  Even in those instances, however, I took matters into my own hands and did everything possible to control the destiny of the sale.

No, I suppose I never did,” he admitted. “Depression is funny that way, I guess. It saps your strength. No matter how much you want something, it’s just easier to do . . . nothing.

To say it was chaos in the police station would be an understatement. It would have been calmer if Santa had shown up and started giving out winning lottery tickets. - Milk, Cookies, and Murder: Whispering Lake book 2

I knew it,” a character remarks, “trembling a little,” at the conclusion of one of these stories: “I knew it would end badly,” a statement that might almost be taken as the book’s declaration of principle. For what you will find when you read Catastrophe is an assembly of fifteen stories (to which five previously untranslated stories have been added) that are unusually singular in their effect. Do you know that sudden inversion near the end of certain disturbing tales—“The Lottery,” “Royal Jelly,” “Sandkings”—when you intuit the terrible thing that is just about to take place? In each of this collection’s stories, it’s as if Buzzati has zeroed in on that moment and asked himself, What if there was nothing else? This singular instant of dreadful predictive clarity: What if I distended it over a lifetime? He has taken the split-second between the misstep and the fall, when your foot has slipped from the ledge but gravity is still deciding what to do with you, and heightened it to a sort of cosmology.

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