Lynn Hill Quotes

People say you shouldn't marry for looks but I disagree: if I tot up all the pleasure I got from looking at David over the years I'd say it amounted to a very substantial hill of beans.

Will read a poem by Sir Walter Raleigh at his grandmother's funeral. "Pondering the joys we had, listen & keep very still. If the lowing from the hill or the tolling of the bell do not serve to break the spell, listen: you may be allowed to hear my laughter from a cloud.

On the other hand, a white shoemaker wrote in 1848 in the Awl, the newspaper of Lynn shoe factory workers: . . . we are nothing but a standing army that keeps three million of our brethren in bondage. . . . Living under the shade of Bunker Hill monument, demanding in the name of humanity, our right, and withholding those rights from others because their skin is black! Is

I Never Knew What They Meant by Flyover Country until the first time someone put me on a plane, windowed me into the congregation looking down on our fields stretched out endless in orderly blanks, redactions in the transcripts of the trial of man versus nature. All this holy squinting at scrimshaw country roads draped with power lines - trip wires lying in wait for the giants we just sort of mice around. I watched the others look down on our Fridays racing Opal Road to hit the tiny hill that drops stomachs like a roller coaster, headlights off for cops. Eighty; Ninety. Ninety-five in a fifty-five, how Kyle's brother talked about defusing IEDs on tour - snip whichever wire you want, you'll only find out if you're a hero. We learned a word for this, its reckless in court, predestination in church. Funny how a thing gets a different name there. Robe becomes vestment. Bench becomes pew. Truth grows a capital letter. Anything to help believe, Mom says, though when it comes to theology we are Presbyterian in casseroles only. This is the word of God, says the pastor into the microphone. See you at the picnic after. See you at the finish, says Kyle's Honda Civic. See you never says his brother's IED.

Sixth of Ten Elegies for Fire and Oxycodone The Greek myth goes like this you probably know it but I had to look it up Prometheus steals fire from Zeus and the other gods gives it to humans heaven's prowess now mortal Zeus sticks it to Prometheus cause he knows knowledge knows how sharp its edge can be chains him to a rock an eagle eating his liver all day the liver regenerates every morning the eagle keeps eating keeps eating keeps eating with the patent for Oxycontin set to run out in 2013 Purdue Pharma reformulates it gets a new patent lobbies the old drug illegal no one steals from the gods no one dulls the blade of knowledge - That summer my first desk job insurance intakes at a doctor's office the relief of air conditioning pharma reps catering our lunches released from the fear of dropping a ladder on a foreman of threading my thumbnail with another drill bit the good doc scheduled in five minute increments I retyped patient addresses all hill towns sixty miles off the waiting room so full and grumpy I wondered about the etymology of patient but never what makes a person drive hours through the mountains wait hours for a flicker with the doc I was not paid to wonder I quit before I ever typed your name

In ancient times, it was said that the goddess Selene drove the moon across the sky. Each night she followed her brother Helios, the sun, to catch his fiery rays and reflect the light back to earth. One night on her journey, she looked down and saw Endymion sleeping in the hills. She fell in love with the beautiful shepherd. Night after night she looked down on his gentle beauty and loved him more, until finally one evening she left the moon between the sun and the earth and went down to the grassy fields to lie beside him. For three nights she stayed with him, and the moon, unable to catch the sun's rays, remained dark. People feared the dark moon. They said it brought death and freed evil forces to roam the black night. Zeus, King of the Gods, was angered by the darkness and punished Selene by giving Endymion eternal sleep. Selene returned to the moon and drove it across the night sky, but her love was too strong. She hid Endymion in a cave; and now, three nights each lunar month, she leaves the moon to visit her sleeping lover and cover him with silver kisses. In his sleep, Endymion dreams he holds the moon. He has given Selene many daughters to guard the night. They are powerful and beautiful like their mother, and mortal like their father.

What other people think of me is none of my business. — Eleanor Roosevelt

Until you have cultivated the habit of saying some kind word of those whom you do not admire, you will be neither successful nor happy.”- Napoleon Hill

The peaches, abundantly nestled in their leaves, were fully grown, but they had a greenish tinge to them, with just a pale blush covering each one in soft pink. Bobwhites and finches were flitting in and out of some of the branches and through the rows. There was a rapping somewhere far away, probably a woodpecker. And lots of buzzing. "Not ripe yet," Murphy said. "Second week of June," Leeda replied. They knew it all by heart---which varieties ripened when, even which trees ripened faster than others because of where they sat; on a hill, in a dip, in fuller sun, closer to water. Murphy had forgotten what so much green looked like and how alive everything felt. Life even had a smell. Flowers and grass and the smell of wood.

How's Tuscany." "The birthplace of the Italian Renaissance? Full of winding roads, hills and valleys, where a morning mist rolls out in the distance, and the forests are littered with leaves so golden red that the entire world feels like it's on fire in the very best way? That Tuscany?

In Turkey, the value of the lira has decreased exponentially in the last several decades.

Now he laughs for real, cackling with the wicked innocence of the bright and easily bored. Staff Sergeant David Dime is a twenty-four-year-old college dropout from North Carolina who subscribes to the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, Maxim, Wired, Harper’s, Fortune, and DicE Magazine, all of which he reads in addition to three or four books a week, mostly used textbooks on history and politics that his insanely hot sister sends from Chapel Hill. There are stories that he went to college on a golf scholarship, which he denies. That he was a star quarterback in high school, which he claims not to remember, though one day a football surfaced at FOB Viper, and Dime, caught up in the moment, perhaps, nostalgia triggering some long-dormant muscle memory, uncorked a sixty-yard spiral that sailed over Day’s head into the base motor pool.

I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.” —Notting Hill

May we now proceed to Sylvan Press so that we may hold Mr. Hill responsible for the brutal slaying of Lord Fazeley? Or do you have other promises you would like to extract through devious means?” “No others,” he said mildly. “Just the one to ensure you don’t meet a grisly end at the hands of a vicious killer.” “For the record, I find your high-minded condescension to be just as irritating as your usual sort,” she said. He professed surprise that she didn’t find it more irritating.

I got up, ready to explode. She lifted her head, still chewing, and watched me. I drew myself up to my full height and managed no more than two steps towards her before she spun around on her heels and sped off along the side of the hill for a short distance before spinning back around to face me, her neck arched, tail held high and nostrils flaring. I stood still and watched her, stunned. I sensed her fleeting feeling of fear, which turned to confusion and then, what was that, amusement? She found this funny? ‘WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME?’ I yelled at her. ‘DON’T YOU KNOW HOW FAR I HAVE COME, WHAT I’VE BEEN THROUGH, TO FIND YOU? AND THEN YOU JUST CARRY ON GRAZING AS IF I WASN’T HERE?’ She relaxed and lowered her head to graze once more. You are here. I am here. Everything is as it should be, were the words I heard in my head. With them came a surge of love that wrapped itself around me. My anger disappeared

numerous books and audiobooks specifically designed to help stimulate the imagination and create solutions to problems: Super Creativity by Tony Buzan; The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron; Lateral Thinking, Six Thinking Hats, and Super Thinking, all by Edward De Bono; Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards; The Zen of Seeing by Frederick Franck; Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg; Peak Learning by Ronald Gross; Thinkertoys by Michael Michaiko; Superlearning by Sheila Ostrander and Lynn Schroeder; Writing the Natural Way by Gabriele Rico; A Kick in the Seat of the Pants by R. von Oech.

In Antiquity every tree, every spring, every stream, every hill had its own genius loci, its guardian spirit. These spirits were accessible to men, but were very unlike men; centaurs, fauns, and mermaids show their ambivalence. Before one cut a tree, mined a mountain, or dammed a brook, it was important to placate the spirit in charge of that particular situation, and to keep it placated. By destroying pagan animism, Christianity made it possible to exploit nature in a mood of indifference to the feelings of natural objects.

Balancing parenthood with the lifestyle of a professional climber is tricky and it certainly helps to have a supportive partner. For me it has been quite a juggling act to manage all the demands on my time in both my personal and public life. But like climbing itself, the most challenging experiences are usually the most satisfying. Motherhood is certainly more challenging than any climb I’ve done, but there’s nothing greater than the sense of love I feel for my child.

To be a mother is a whole new adventure.

Despite the inherent risks of climbing, I still love to climb and I never plan to give it up just because I’m a mother. However, I am much more selective about the risks I take. …One of the biggest challenges of motherhood has to do with juggling my time between work, climbing, and the daily responsibilities of raising a child. But whatever climbs and travels I might have missed during the formative years of my son’s life are small sacrifices compared to the love and richness Owen brings, and hopefully will contribute to others as part of the future generation.

The site looks unpromising from a distance, blending in with the surrounding sepia-toned hills, but I'm learning that looks can be deceiving.

Box of Crayons specializes in helping busy managers coach in ten minutes or less, and our programs are delivered by a wonderful group of master facilitators. Thanks to our current faculty, Lea Belair, Helene Bellerose, Jamie Broughton, Tina Dias, Jonathan Hill, Leanne Lewis and Susan Lynne. You can learn more about each of these lovely people at BoxOfCrayons.com.