Marty Quotes

The first duty of a man is to think for himself

Day and night I always dream with open eyes.

The pen is mightier than the sword... an considerably easier to write with. - Marty Feldman

Spike (to Giles) : Oh, poor Watcher. Did your life pass before your eyes — 'Cuppa tea, cuppa tea... almost got shagged... cuppa tea'?

A child who does not think about what happens around him and is content with living without wondering whether he lives honestly is like a man who lives from a scoundrel's work and is on the road to being a scoundrel.

Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell leaving is not enough; you must stay gone. train your heart like a dog. change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. you lucky, lucky girl. you have an apartment just your size. a bathtub full of tea. a heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. you had to have him. and you did. and now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. don’t lose too much weight. stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. and you are not stupid. you loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. heart like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas. heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.

Our power lies in our small daily choices, one after another, to create eternal ripples of a life well lived.

Todo es hermoso y constante, Todo es música y razón, Y todo, como el diamante, Antes que luz es carbón.

you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic.

Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic.

And I know that when you get hurt, your first instinct is to run. But I also realized something else. No one has ever followed you when you did run. But I'm going to follow, and I'm going to keep following until you realize that you can trust me. I'm not going to let you run away from something that could be so great. That is so great. Marty, I love you. - Nate

Let others see their own greatness when looking in your eyes.

Many introverts don't feel as if they know enough about a subject until they know almost everything.

Man has to suffer. When he has no real afflictions, he invents some.

Lineage, personality, and environment may shape you, but they do not define your full potential.

But love, like the sun that it is, sets afire and melts everything. what greed and privilege to build up over whole centuries the indignation of a pious spirit, with its natural following of oppressed souls, will cast down with a single shove.

Books console us, calm us, prepare us, enrich us and redeem us.

A grain of poetry suffices to season a century.

Listen for the call of your destiny, and when it comes, release your plans and follow.

Others go to bed with their mistresses; I with my ideas.

Children are like wet cement. Whatever falls on them makes an impression. —Haim Ginott

who did I think we were. who did I think I could make you. this is the oldest mistake, to confuse wanting with magic. silence is the undoing of every spell, and we are experts in the unsaid. even now, I forget to put us in past tense. as if the air in this city were the same. as if love is anything like its speaking.

More of that hair-raising energy rolled out of Vlad, until I was rubbing my arms to chase the tingling sensations away. Was this what Marty meant when he told me vampires could measure each others’ strength by feeling their auras? If so, then Vlad’s had Badass: Do Not Engage written all over it.

Behind a life of influence you will find a masterful storyteller.

So when RBG was asked how she had managed to have such an extraordinary marriage, she often answered by saying that Marty himself was extraordinary, and he saw the same in her.

Every human being has within him an ideal man, just as every piece of marble contains in a rough state a statue as beautiful as the one that Praxiteles the Greek made of the god Apollo.

In this world, there must be a certain degree of honor just as there must be a certain amount of light. When there are many men without honor, there will always be some others who bear in themselves the honor of many men.

Integrity is a powerful force, keeping you alive to others long after you’ve left their presence.

Your value lies not in status or title, but in the roots of your character and depth of your compassion.

Marty: Dad's right about you. You got lost on your journey somewhere. Adam: That's what everyone says who never bothered to go on a journey in the first place.

She was the very embodiment of why a man should never do wrong by a woman. Revenge could be bloody awkward.

Your greatest path of influence is love.

We need teams of missionaries, not teams of mercenaries.

It doesn’t matter how good your engineering team is if they are not given something worthwhile to build.

Having people in different optimal environments increases the chances of survival of the human race as a whole. It is nature's way to preserve her species.

A noble leader answers not to the trumpet calls of self promotion, but to the hushed whispers of necessity.

The truthe wakes up once and never dies.

Vivi dentro del monstro y conozco sus entranas

Ellie screwed a plaque into the back of one of the chairs: “His Royal Ass Was Here.” Beside it, Marty scratched into the wood: “And it was fiiine.” I

I have been supportive of my wife since the beginning of time, and she has been supportive of me. It’s not sacrifice; it’s family.” —Marty Ginsburg, 1993

There's nothing wrong with a little fear. Being fearful can save your life-it's saved mine on more than one occasion-but too much fear can stop you from living.

With every choice you create the life you’ll live; with every decision you design it.

High above the noise and fear mongering of critics and cynics softly speaks your true self.

Marti wasn't the type to give up without a fight, especially not if she was very afraid - some people are like that. They lean into the fear.

I will never be Jimmy,” Joan said. “Or Marty. Or Teddy. I don’t want to tell jokes at other people’s expense, and pretend I’m never afraid, and refuse to ask for help. I don’t want to hold in how I feel, or hide it if I’ve been hurt, or try to prove to anyone that I don’t cry. Because I do cry sometimes.

Your greatest responsibility is to live a life that nourishes your highest truth.

Allow the way to your great work to be guided by your service to others.

Los Pueblos tienen los Gobiernos que se merecen.

Each life experience poses this question: how do you want to be changed because of me?

The more you become aware of and respond to the needs of others, the richer your own life becomes.

Mastery is the breeding ground of fresh, creative passion.

As part of humanity, each of us is called to develop and share the unique gifts we are given.

A genius is someone who can tolerate the discomfort of uncertainty while generating as many ideas as possible.

You know, when someone hurts my feelings, somehow it does not comfort me to know that it was deliberate... On the other hand, knowing that someone else thinks they are assholes helps a great deal." "I think that's some kind of rule for the universe.

The waitress brought a fresh pot of tea, and Marty refilled his father’s cup and poured a cup for Samantha. Henry in turn filled Marty’s. It was a tradition Henry cherished—never filling your own cup, always filling that of someone else, who would return the favor.

It could be worse... It could be raining

Midnight Omen Deja vu" - Because everyone should experience love in the Caribbean...at least once in a lifetime.

A wise teacher learns in the midst of teaching; a wise student teaches in the midst of learning.

The utmost form of respect is to give sincerely of your presence.

Keep the focus on minimal product. More on this later, but your job as product manager is not to define the ultimate product, it’s to define the smallest possible product that will meet your goals.

The second difference between the introvert and the extrovert is how they experience external stimulation. Extroverts like to experience a lot, and introverts like to know a lot about what they experience.

There is no adversity that cannot bear a gift and no gift that cannot bring adversity.

Every person is a living treasure box. Listening holds the key.

Further, your industry is constantly moving, and we must create products for where the market will be tomorrow, not where it was yesterday.

Marty, my mother used to say "Never get greedy with God." I think what she meant was "Don't dare ask for more if you already have what you need."

Your truest spiritual path will lead you to yourself for it is devoted to becoming.

Yo he visto en la noche oscura llover sobre mi cabeza los rayos de lumbra pura de la divina belleza.

This poem is very long So long, in fact, that your attention span May be stretched to its very limits But that’s okay It’s what’s so special about poetry See, poetry takes time We live in a time Call it our culture or society It doesn’t matter to me cause neither one rhymes A time where most people don’t want to listen Our throats wait like matchsticks waiting to catch fire Waiting until we can speak No patience to listen But this poem is long It’s so long, in fact, that during the time of this poem You could’ve done any number of other wonderful things You could’ve called your father Call your father You could be writing a postcard right now Write a postcard When was the last time you wrote a postcard? You could be outside You’re probably not too far away from a sunrise or a sunset Watch the sun rise Maybe you could’ve written your own poem A better poem You could have played a tune or sung a song You could have met your neighbor And memorized their name Memorize the name of your neighbor You could’ve drawn a picture (Or, at least, colored one in) You could’ve started a book Or finished a prayer You could’ve talked to God Pray When was the last time you prayed? Really prayed? This is a long poem So long, in fact, that you’ve already spent a minute with it When was the last time you hugged a friend for a minute? Or told them that you love them? Tell your friends you love them …no, I mean it, tell them Say, I love you Say, you make life worth living Because that, is what friends do Of all of the wonderful things that you could’ve done During this very, very long poem You could have connected Maybe you are connecting Maybe we’re connecting See, I believe that the only things that really matter In the grand scheme of life are God and people And if people are made in the image of God Then when you spend your time with people It’s never wasted And in this very long poem I’m trying to let a poem do what a poem does: Make things simpler We don’t need poems to make things more complicated We have each other for that We need poems to remind ourselves of the things that really matter To take time A long time To be alive for the sake of someone else for a single moment Or for many moments Cause we need each other To hold the hands of a broken person All you have to do is meet a person Shake their hand Look in their eyes They are you We are all broken together But these shattered pieces of our existence don’t have to be a mess We just have to care enough to hold our tongues sometimes To sit and listen to a very long poem A story of a life The joy of a friend and the grief of friend To hold and be held And be quiet So, pray Write a postcard Call your parents and forgive them and then thank them Turn off the TV Create art as best as you can Share as much as possible, especially money Tell someone about a very long poem you once heard And how afterward it brought you to them

Man can never be more perfect than the sun. The sun burns us with the same light that warms us. The sun has spots (stains). The ungrateful only talk about the spots (stains). The grateful talk about the light.

During this very, very long poem You could have connected Maybe you are connecting Maybe we’re connecting See, I believe that the only things that really matter In the grand scheme of life are God and people And if people are made in the image of God Then when you spend your time with people It’s never wasted - A Very Long Poem, by Marty Schoenleber III

Life on earth is hand-to-hand mortal combat . . . between the law of love and the law of hate.

When this—my baby, source of all my hopes— Doth hit upon the speed of eighty-eight, In miles per hour, then Marty, verily, Thine eyes shalt witness shit most serious.

Tread carefully, Marty. I mean it. The world has completely changed around you while you weren't looking.

Within you there is a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can retreat any time and be yourself. —Hermann Hesse

Când măsura versurilor albe Este egală Și lacrimile nu-și găsesc sentimente calde În schimbarea punctuală, Când distanța dintre două puncte moarte Pare vie Și diamantele se sparg ca florile de gheață de pe geam Când iarna vine Dragostea e izometrie.

The introvert is pressured daily, almost from the moment of awakening, to respond and conform to the outer world.

I won't eat anything that has intelligent life, but I'd gladly eat a network executive or a politician.

Hope finds its fulfillment when nurtured through faith and shared with love.

Never tell people how to do things. Tell them what to do, and they will surprise you with their ingenuity.” —General George S. Patton, Jr. General

She was thin like Kylie, but she had a manic energy like Shane, so it was probably drugs. That’s just the means though, the end result is the same. She was one of us. Her, Shane, Marty, Roger, Kylie, me. People being eaten alive from the inside out.

Vîrsta ne schimbă atît de mult, uneori uiţi că ai fost copil, ai impresia că te-ai născut aşa, bătrîn, şi totuşi sînt unele fleacuri care-ţi rămîn adînc înrădăcinate. Clişee unde adultul dă mîna cu puştiul care trăgea la fit şi tocea peste vară la teorema lui Pitagora. De cînd mă ştiu, prima ninsoare m-a scos din minţi... Îmi venea să urlu de bucurie... Ca şi mirosul ăla special din martie. Un miros de verde, de pămînt...

Freedom flourishes upon the bedrock of ethics and integrity.

Helping others in need is not only a responsibility of life; it is what gives meaning to life.

Writing in itself is radical resistance, a triumph - people can try to stop you from speaking your truth, but no one can take your words from you.

Product management is about insights and judgment, both of which require a sharp mind. Hard work is also necessary, but for this job, it is not sufficient.

To give the whole store away to match what this year's market says the unchurched want is to have the people who know least about the faith determine most about its expression.

Marty Kaufman,

The cave you fear to enter, goes the ancient proverb, holds the treasure you seek.

If nature intended us to talk more than listen, she would have given us two mouths and one ear. —ANONYMOUS

The characters tell their story - I am merely the tool used to record it

54. The children of the Spanish lion, said Ruben Dario, a born optimist. The children of Walt Whitman, Jose Marti, and Violeta Parra; torn apart, forgotten, in mass graves, at the bottom of the sea, the Trojan destiny of their mingled bones terrifying the survivors.

Frunzele lor uscate și căzute, fiind ude, nu mi se mai sfărâmau sub picioare. Acestea erau precum visele compromise, sacrificate pentru scopuri mai înalte: deși erau moarte, ele existau în tine și le purtai scheletul hidratat, ce nu putea fi sfărâmat. De-ar fi apărut o nouă primăvară și pentru suflet, ca el să poată fii regenerat, iar pe scheletul viselor să poți insera speranță, ar fi fost minunat! (...)

For introverts who have a high level of internal activity, anything coming from the outside raises their intensity level index quickly. It’s kind of like being tickled—the sensation goes from feeling good and fun to “too much” and uncomfortable in a split second.

Winning products come from the deep understanding of the user’s needs combined with an equally deep understanding of what’s just now possible.

I can't believe my eyes.

We could have peace tomorrow if people really wanted it. But people would rather force their religion, their politics, their morality on others whatever the cost in human life.

Hey!” Marty protested. “I have the best gaydar around.” “Except when you’re wrong. Like that construction worker?” “I’m not wrong just because they won’t admit it.

She's a lesbian Marty. Girls, she likes girls and no amount of frosted eye shadow is going to make her want dick.

1) Who are you? 2) What do you do? 3) Why does it matter?

Einstein said later in life, “It’s not that I’m so smart, it’s just that I stay with problems longer.

BIFF — [to Marty:] Upon what lookest thou, thou arse-like pate?

Martie came out of the office first, smiling prettily, and Dusty rose to greet her, smiling less prettily, and Dr. Ahriman entered the waiting room behind her, smiling paternally, and maybe Dusty smiled a little more prettily when he saw the psychiatrist, because the man virtually radiated competence and compassion and confidence and all sorts of good stuff.

This is for watching my fights and rooting for me,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “And this is for being brave and accepting my dare.” He pressed a second kiss on the tip of her nose. “And this is for dumping that dickhead Marty.” The next kiss landed on the corner of her mouth, and she parted her lips on a sigh. His heart hammered so loudly, he wondered if she heard it. “And this one? This one is because I want you so bad, it’s making me question my sanity.

Ya see, Marty, sometimes love comes sorta stealin’ up on ya gradual like, not shoutin’ bold words or wavin’ bright flags. Ya ain’t even aware it’s a growin’ an’ growin’ an’ gettin’ stronger

Terror and pleasure are linked in us. We are a baldly miswired species, Martie. Terror delights us, both the experience of terror and the dealing out of it to others. We are healthier if we admit to this miswiring and do not struggle to be better than our natures allow.

FRIDA KAHLO TO MARTY MCCONNELL leaving is not enough; you must stay gone. train your heart like a dog. change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. you lucky, lucky girl. you have an apartment just your size. a bathtub full of tea. a heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. you had to have him. and you did. and now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. don’t lose too much weight. stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. and you are not stupid. you loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. heart like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas. heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.

We are all simply reacting, played by events that occurred centuries before.

Love is born with the pleasure of looking at each other Is fed with the necessity of seeing each other It is concluded with the impossibility of separation.

Introverted people who balance their energy have perseverance and the ability to think independently, focus deeply, and work creatively.

When overstimulated, the introvert’s mind can shut down, saying, No more input, please. It goes dark.

When you lie things become harder to grasp, but honesty will take you right to the thing you desire.

Are we telling people to “share the gospel,” which is actually just explaining “how to be saved” and go to heaven and does not mirror at all what we find in the biblical text?

Software projects can be thought of as having two distinct stages: figuring out what to build (build the right product), and building it (building the product right). The first stage is dominated by product discovery, and the second stage is all about execution.

Man or woman didn't matter. Marty liked men, Kent liked women, and Bridge apparently liked both. But Eric was the one he wanted above all others, and for whatever reason, that felt all kinds of right. "Shit. I'm Eric-sexual.

RUNNERS wearing top-of-the-line shoes are 123 percent more likely to get injured than runners in cheap shoes, according to a study led by Bernard Marti, M.D., a preventative-medicine specialist at Switzerland’s University of Bern.

I thought the two ugly ones, Marty and Laverne, were sisters, but they got very insulted when I asked them. You could tell neither one of them wanted to look like the other one, and you couldn't blame them, but it was very amusing anyway.

Veteran trader Marty O’Connell calls this the firehouse effect. He had observed that firemen with much downtime who talk to each other for too long come to agree on many things that an outside, impartial observer would find ludicrous (they

Even back in the command-and-control days of the production line, Henry Ford’s decision to manufacture automobiles was driven by intuition rather than market research. “If we had asked the public what they wanted,” he explained, “they would have said ‘faster horses.

A good book is always better the second time around.

Fall in love with the problem, not with the solution.

When the vision fills your brain and passion hits your gut, the need to write it down cannot be stifled. (Marti Melville)

There is no great genius without a mixture of madness. —Aristotle

The one ugly one, Laverne, wasn't too bad a dancer, but the other one, old Marty, was murder. Old Marty was like dragging the Statue of Liberty around the floor.

No matter what your title or level may be, if you aspire to be great, don't be afraid to lead.

There is only one name on the door at Walt Disney Imagineering.

If we cannot now end our differences, at least we can help make the world safe for diversity. —John F. Kennedy

Hospitality is a word used to describe a human behavior that has the potential to bring about real-understanding among people who do not share a common faith or culture.

Great ideas are not polite. They never say they’re sorry. They don’t try to fit in. On the contrary, they force the world around them to make changes in self-defense.

Great teams are made up of ordinary people who are inspired and empowered.

I once made the mistake of uttering the phrase "kill two birds with one stone" in [Aunt Marti's] presence. She corrected me. The proper phrase is "liberate two birds with one gesture.

Introverted children may not be as demonstrative as extroverted children. They love and value you, but they may not talk about it as much. Accept your temperament and your child’s. They can’t be changed. Both of you have wonderful qualities to contribute to your family and to the world.

There’s this myth that certain cultures have a better way of handling their old leathery people, but we just called him a shaman because Fruit Roll Up with Braids wasn’t on our cultural radar.

Veteran trader Marty O’Connell calls this the firehouse effect. He had observed that firemen with much downtime who talk to each other for too long come to agree on many things that an outside, impartial observer would find ludicrous (they develop political ideas that are very similar). Psychologists give it a fancier name, but my friend Marty has no training in behavioral sciences.

Out the corner of my eye I see Packard fly at Marty, pin him against the wall. "You do not do that! You do not!" He jerks Marty with every *not*. "You do *not* disrespect that woman, you understand me?" Packard speaks through his teeth, as if to bite back his fury. "It was your goddamn *lucky* day she decided to come in here. And you would spit at her? You were *privileged* she came in here!

You can't take your old organization based on feature teams, roadmaps, and passive managers, then overlay a technique from a radically different culture and expect that will work or change anything.

Then the syncretist Ficino, sitting hunched with Lorenzo standing at his side, put all the ideas together, along with Lorenzo's new song: chariots blazing between the worlds as gods fought rebel gods, the destruction of a city -- a planet? -- by fire, beasts beyond imagining both to terrify and befriend the heroes. "It needs a title," Signorina Scala said. Pulci had his mouth open, but Ficino beat him to the pun. "It shall be dedicated to Isis and Mars," he said, "and we will call it Stella Martis.

The great historian of religion Martin Marty once said every religion serves two functions: First, it is a message of personal salvation telling is how to get right with God; and second, it is a lens for interpreting the world. Historically, evangelicals have been good at the first functions- at "saving souls". But they have not been nearly so good at helping people to interpret the world around them- at providing a set of interrelated concepts that function as a lens to give a biblical view of areas like science, politics, economics, or bioethics. As Marty puts it, evangelicals have typically "accentuated personal piety and individual salvation, leaving men to their own devices to interpret the world around them.

Sometimes his life felt like a Venn diagram, a series of overlapping circles, each with their disconnects. He could share Mac with Ben, his godson. He could discuss Ben with Sabrina. He could talk to his parents about Sabrina and his work. He could talk about work with Mac. He didn’t talk about Marty with anyone.

Here's the rule: no one s expected to have all the answers. If you are asked a question, and do not know the answer, just say, "I don't know, but I'll find out." And when you do, never fail to pass along the correct information. You can never tell who the elephant in the room may be- because elephants just don't forget.

Marty is my best friend, and he’s straight.”Ian gave me an aggravated look. “Can’t shag your sister, can’t shag your friend, can’t shag you, can’t shag Vlad. If I wanted to be this sexless and miserable, I’d get married.

leaving is not enough; you must stay gone. train your heart like a dog. change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. you lucky, lucky girl. you have an apartment just your size. a bathtub full of tea. a heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. you had to have him. and you did. and now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. don’t lose too much weight. stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. and you are not stupid. you loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. heart like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas. heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.

„Noaptea aceasta era specială, era ca ultima femeie, care-și lăsa urma de parfum acolo unde începuse amorul – în gând. Scurtă, fugară și, ca orice iubită de împrumut, era carnală. Nu-mi cerea să-i ofer iubire, jurăminte și cuvinte dulci. Știa de ce fel de resurse dispunea, știa ce trebuia să facă și știa în cât timp să dispară până-n zori. Noaptea aceasta purta ceas la mână. Nu voia nimic de la mine și îmi era atât de dragă, pentru că, astfel, îmi aparțineam mie însumi mai mult. Delicat, îmi atinse pielea rece și își lipi buzele fierbinți de vis, cu patosul unei nebunii trecătoare. Mă sărută-n gând, furându-mi respirația și m-am trezit rostind două cuvinte de somnambul, nu „te iubesc!”, ci... „noapte bună!“ Știam amândoi că se va sfârși. Ea nu era fidelă, în caz contrar nu și-ar împărți trupul între duminică și luni. O îmbrăţişam cu drag, căci nu o voi revedea nicicând. I-am păstrat, în gând, urma de ruj și parfumul.

MARTY - What? Wait one moment, Doc. What didst thou say? Dost say my mother burneth hot for me? DOC - Precisely thus. MARTY - 'Tis heavy, by my troth. DOC - There is the word, which thou dost use again: 'Tis heavy, all is heavy unto thee. Why hath the future so much heaviness? Hath aught disrupted something in the Earth, Affecting its own pull of gravity?

The little secret in product is that engineers are typically the best single source of innovation; yet, they are not even invited to the party in this process.

It was dimly lit with very few other people—just about my pace of excitement.

Blessed is the nightbird that sings for joy and not to be heard,

i'm gonna go upside down and backwards!

At that, Marty howled great big, messy sobs, and Elanor, the little lady in the yellow suit, who organized the weddings at the church, came running with a box of tissue. Oz appeared in the vestibule, looking alarmed. “Is everything all right? I thought someone was strangling a duck.” “Do you mind?” Marty snapped. “Me and the bride, here, we’re having a moment.

Did it show the dark side of the heroes in The Hero City? Did it show the violence and the betrayal, the cruelty, the depravity, the bottomless evil in some of those “heroes’” hearts? No, of course not. Why would it? That was our reality and it’s what drove so many people to get snuggled in bed, blow out their candles, and take their last breath. Marty chose, instead, to show the other side, the one that gets people out of bed the next morning, makes them scratch and scrape and fight for their lives because someone is telling them that they’re going to be okay. There’s a word for that kind of lie. Hope.

6/17/10 My dearest Ruth—You are the only person I have loved in my life, setting aside, a bit, parents and kids and their kids, and I have admired and loved you almost since the day we first met at Cornell some 56 years ago. What a treat it has been to watch you progress to the very top of the legal world!! I will be in JH Medical Center until Friday, June 25, I believe, and between then and now I shall think hard on my remaining health and life, and whether on balance the time has come for me to tough it out or to take leave of life because the loss of quality now simply overwhelms. I hope you will support where I come out, but I understand you may not. I will not love you a jot less. Marty -- Handwritten letter from Marty to Ruth

Am fost trezit de o lumânare care murea, înecându-se în propria ceară și sfârâia, dându-și ultima flacără. Am văzut cum se înălța viața ei și fumul desena o amintire. În curând, avea să fie dată uitării și înlocuită cu o altă lumânare perfectă: albă și rece. Ea ar fi putut trăi veșnic dacă ar fi rămas înghețată, dar nu mai lumina, nu mai încălzea. Nu mai dădea speranță.

A brand is not a logo. A brand is not a corporate identity system. It’s a person’s gut feeling about a product, service, or company. Because it depends on others for its existence, it must become a guarantee of trustworthy behavior. Good branding makes business integral to society and creates opportunity for everyone, from the chief executive to the most distant customer.

Am ales o carte bună să citesc. Coperta avea culoarea pielii și era roasă, la colțuri, de gura timpului nemilos. Abia vedeam să citesc ce scria pe ea – am aflat, până la urmă, de pe cotor. Am deschis-o la întâmplare, pătimaș, ca un amant dornic să-și miroasă iubita, înainte de a o cunoaște. După ce i-am simțit parfumul, i-am citit prefața. Fiecare carte avea un miros unic, pe care nu-l regăseai nicăieri, nici măcar la un exemplar identic, provenit de la aceeași tipografie. Fiecare carte păstra amprentele dorințelor cuiva de a o citi, a regretelor, a încercărilor eșuate, dar, mai ales, amprentele impresiilor de la final. Acestea te puteau urmări o viață. O carte o puteai citi de mai multe ori și o puteai vedea de fiecare dată altfel. Era exact același lucru ca momentul în care cunoșteai o femeie: într-un fel o înțelegi la douăzeci de ani și în alt fel o înțelegi la treizeci, patruzeci, cincizeci de ani. La douăzeci de ani e posibil să nu ai răbdare s-o termini și, înainte de a o termina, începi alta. La treizeci de ani o citești în paralel cu alta, încercând să te descoperi pe tine. La patruzeci de ani, dacă ea ți-a lăsat o impresie bună, îi dai o șansă până la final. La cincizeci de ani, știi cine ești și ce îți place – o recitești nostalgic, pe nerăsuflate. Dar ce se întâmplă cu acea carte veche, deschisă pentru prima dată? Din ea se varsă, prin particulele de praf, lacrimi uscate. Acea carte, precum iubita fidelă, are ochi doar pentru tine, iar când ți se deschide – citește-o tandru și cu răbdare, căci te-a așteptat mult.

Finally, it's all about solving problems, not implementing features. Conventional product roadmaps are all about output. Strong teams know it's not only about implementing a solution. They must ensure that solution solves the underlying problem. It's about business results.

– Cum se simte o inimă de piatră? – O inimă de piatră face parte din natură, are rolul ei! Fără să bată, trăiește veșnic. – Da, dar este o inimă rece. – Poate fi încălzită de soare. – Da, dar ea nu încălzește. – Încălzește inima mea, pentru că o admir. – De ce o admiri, Ana? – Pentru că este sinceră și grea. Nu poate fi sfărâmată de nimic. – O inimă de piatră nu poate fi distrusă, dar nici nu poate iubi. – De ce trebuie să fie iubirea reciprocă? Nu pot iubi această piatră, fără a mă simți iubită de ea, la rândul meu?" - dialog din romanul meu "Din octombrie până în martie"; acesta este încadrat la genul ROMANCE și vine astăzi, de ziua îndrăgostiților, cu un cadou. Urmărește site-ul editurii "Berg" și comandă.

Good note taking helps you stay focused (possibly, awake), and it is active learning that encourages deeper processing. Good notes facilitate learning and are extremely useful when it comes time to review your learning.

was a gunner’s mate,” said Marty. It was a lie. He had really been a chief yeoman at the time of the mutiny. But he thought now, always, that he had been a gunner’s mate. “Ah. I thought you were a first-class yeoman,” Karkov said. “I always get my facts wrong. It is the mark of the journalist.

I like to think of all of my father's kids as seeds of the same wilted flower, scattered across this universe—not doomed by virtue of our breeding but, instead, surviving because we are uplifted by the forceful winds of our strong-willed mothers and the purest beams of sunshine from our rundown grandparents, who selflessly took on the burdens of parenthood again—whose labour is never done. They give up everything to make up for the man who gives nothing. They break themselves just to see us bloom.

The other person at the Frost Report table to whom I was drawn was one Marty Feldman. I hasten to add that my interest in him was platonic: in fact when I first met him, I was rather shocked by his physical appearance. Dressed only in black, heavily suntanned and very fit, he looked like an Armani gargoyle. This was the script editor?

There now,” she said with some satisfaction and, taking careful aim, she shut her eyes and chopped hard. It worked—but Marty was totally unprepared for the next event. A wildly flopping chicken—with no head—covered her unmercifully with spattered blood. “Stop thet! Stop thet!” she screamed. “Yer s’pose to be dead, ya—ya dumb headless thing.

Pettiness often leads both to error and to the digging of a trap for oneself. Wondering (which I am sure he didn't) 'if by the 1990s [Hitchens] was morphing into someone I didn’t quite recognize”, Blumenthal recalls with horror the night that I 'gave' a farewell party for Martin Walker of the Guardian, and then didn't attend it because I wanted to be on television instead. This is easy: Martin had asked to use the fine lobby of my building for a farewell bash, and I'd set it up. People have quite often asked me to do that. My wife did the honors after Nightline told me that I’d have to come to New York if I wanted to abuse Mother Teresa and Princess Diana on the same show. Of all the people I know, Martin Walker and Sidney Blumenthal would have been the top two in recognizing that journalism and argument come first, and that there can be no hard feelings about it. How do I know this? Well, I have known Martin since Oxford. (He produced a book on Clinton, published in America as 'The President We Deserve'. He reprinted it in London, under the title, 'The President They Deserve'. I doffed my hat to that.) While Sidney—I can barely believe I am telling you this—once also solicited an invitation to hold his book party at my home. A few days later he called me back, to tell me that Martin Peretz, owner of the New Republic, had insisted on giving the party instead. I said, fine, no bones broken; no caterers ordered as yet. 'I don't think you quite get it,' he went on, after an honorable pause. 'That means you can't come to the party at all.' I knew that about my old foe Peretz: I didn't then know I knew it about Blumenthal. I also thought that it was just within the limit of the rules. I ask you to believe that I had buried this memory until this book came out, but also to believe that I won't be slandered and won't refrain—if motives or conduct are in question—from speculating about them in my turn.

Every hole is a new beginning and that is what you should focus on (by Golf Champion, Sally Little)

Miles Davis once said: “Do not fear mistakes—there are none.

U.S. surgeons operate on the wrong body part as often as 40 times a week.

Remember, breasts don't sag as we get older, they relax.

It disturbed me that people would come to the mountains and regard the place as if it was somehow unreal, as if no action of theirs could have an affect on the landscape.

What happened to all the time technology was supposed to save?

books, teapots, thunderstorms, bridges, street musicians, coming attractions

It doesn't mean shit to a tree.

In the model I'm describing, it is management's responsibility to provide each product team with the specific business objectives they need to tackle. The difference is that they are now prioritizing business results, rather than product ideas. And, yes, it is more than a little ironic that we sometimes need to convince management to focus on business results.

Is my product compelling to our target customer? Have we made this product as easy to use as humanly possible? Will this product succeed against the competition? Not today’s competition, but the competition that will be in the market when we ship? Do I know customers who will really buy this product? Not the product I wish we were going to build, but what we’re really going to build? Is my product truly differentiated? Can I explain the differentiation to a company executive in two minutes? To a smart customer in one minute? To an industry analyst in 30 seconds?

I continued past the door of the Pink Room to look round her door. She was propped on her pillows with The Sentimental Bloke and Persuasion beside her on the covers and a torrid bodice-ripper in her hands. Nice Marty Holden from the Book Exchange had been bringing romance novels by the boxful and she was getting through two a day, switching to Jane Austen when her brain needed decontaminating.

We just go where we want to go, do what we want to do, and become who we want to become. We want to be unique, but we want to be unique in groups. We want to stand out, but we want to stand out together. In the age of easy group-forming, the basic unit of measurement is not the segment but the tribe.

Because she knew that something happened to you when your mother didn’t hold you close, or tell you all the time that you were the best thing ever, or even notice when you were home: a little part of you sealed over. You didn’t need her. You didn’t need anyone. And, without even knowing you were doing it, you waited. You waited for anyone who got close to you to see something they didn’t like in you, something they hadn’t seen initially, and to grow cold and disappear, like so much sea mist, too. Because there had to be something wrong, didn’t there, if even your own mother didn’t really love you? It was why she hadn’t been devastated when Marty left. Why would she be? He couldn’t hurt her. The only thing Jess really cared about was those two children, and letting them know they were okay by her. Because even if the whole world was throwing rocks at you, if you still had your mother or father at your back, you’d be okay. Some deep-rooted part of you would know you were loved. That you deserved to be loved. Jess hadn’t done much to be proud of in her life, but the thing she was most proud of was that Tanzie knew it. Strange little bean that she was, Jess knew she knew it. She was still working on Nicky.

He wanted to argue like this forever. This was better than nothing. There was no exhausting his anger at his father, and every word, however well intentioned or intentionally barbed, was a pull at a scab on his bloody heart. It was too late for any of this. There could ultimately be no healing. Marty had terminal cancer, and so did the two men have a cancer between them. They were terminal together, as father and son. They remained, momentarily exhausted, but it was really only that quiet between lightning and thunder as sound lags behind speed. The lightning had cracked the ground already, you just hadn't heard it yet.

The religious and economic alliance represented in the Tea {arty remains misunderstood and out of the public eye. The Tea Party movement was formed primarily as an antitax movement, and that limiting government spending and reducing taxes, drawing on the symbols of the Boston Tea Party. As important as these initial catalysts were, the power for the movement came from its adoption of white evangelical conservatives.

Creativity is the discipline you use when you don’t know the answers, when you’re traveling to parts unknown. On this type of journey, missteps are actually steps. Every mistake brings you closer to the solution.

Commercial agriculture can survive within pluralistic American society, as we know it - if the farm is rebuilt on some of the values with which it is popularly associated: conservation, independence, self-reliance, family, and community. To sustain itself, commercial agriculture will have to reorganize its social and economic structure as well as its technological base and production methods in a way that reinforces these values.

The two last were in full tide of spirits, and the Baron rallied in his way our hero upon the handsome figure which his new dress displayed to advantage. 'If you have any design upon the heart of a bonny Scottish lassie, I would premonish you when you address her to remember the words of Virgilius: "Nunc insanus amor duri me Martis in armis, Tela inter media atque adversos detinet hostes." Whilk verses Robertson of Struan, Chief of the clan Donnochy, unless the claims of Lude ought to be preferred primo loco, has thus elegantly rendered: "For cruel love has gartan'd low my leg, And clad my hurdies in a philabeg." Although indeed ye wear the trews, a garment whilk I approve most of the two, as more ancient and seemly.' 'Or rather,' said Fergus, 'hear my song: "She wadna hae a Lowland laird, Nor be an English lady; But she's away with Duncan Græme, And he's rowed her in his plaidy.

The practice of invoking the myths and cultural practices of native cultures to give moral support to practices within our current culture is an increasingly common phenomenon. Thus, many people cite the example of native cultures to defend their habit of meat-eating. The act of wrenching a narrative out of the context of one culture and grafting it onto another is not only disrespectful and self-serving, it is an act of violence in its own right.

When I speak in casual conversation, I try to start a mental clock in my head. I actually learned this from Marty Nemko, a San Francisco career coach. He told me, “For the first thirty seconds after you start talking, imagine a green light in your head. After thirty seconds the light turns yellow. At sixty seconds, it’s red.” That’s a good piece of advice for most any conversational situation. It takes some mental energy to monitor myself, but it works.

They say that true love always brings with it great and generous acts. Sometimes, amazing things happen to people and nobody knows about it. Nobody knows or cares. Someday many years from now in the faraway future, I will look back and say, “That year when I was in seventh grade, I knew a boy named Henderson Elliot, and what he did for me was extraordinary and who he was and how he won my heart was nothing short of incredible.” Some people in peril don’t get saved, like Marty Hoey or my mom, and some people in peril do get saved, like me. Maybe it was because Henderson bought a chunk of a falling star, a gold-flecked quiet and ever-hopeful star. I hold it now tightly in my palm.

Her mental list of items she’d need from her apartment was growing. There were things a girl just couldn’t live without, so Keegan would have to get them when he retrieved Muffin. “I need another purse. Can you get me my Prada knockoff? It’s in my closet on the shelf. Pink. It’s pink. I got it from a vendor in Manhattan. Jeez he was a tough negotiator, but it was worth the haggling. It’s soooo cute.” Keegan sighed, raspy and long. “Okay.” “Oh! And my nail polish. I have two new bottles in the bathroom under the sink in one of those cute organizer baskets, you know? Like the ones you get at Bed Bath and Beyond? God, I love those. Anyway, I need Retro Red and Winsome Wisteria.” Another sigh followed, and then a nod of consent. “My moisturizer. I never go anywhere, not even overnight, without my moisturizer. Not that I ever really go anywhere, but anyway I need it, or my skin will dehydrate and it could just be ugly. Top left side of my medicine cabinet.” “Er, okay.” “My shoes. I can’t be without shoes. Let’s see. I need my tennis shoes and my white sandals, because I don’t think there’s much hope for these, wouldn’t you say?” Marty looked up at him and saw impatience written all over his face. “And my laptop. I can’t check on my clients without my laptop, and they need me. Plus, there’s that no-good bitch Linda Fisher. I have to watch that she’s not stealing my accounts. Do you have all of that?” He gave her that stern look again. The one that made her insides skedaddle around even if it was meant in reproach. “I’m going too far, huh?” His smile was crooked. “Just a smidge.

Mucho, señora, daría Por tender sobre tu espalda Tu cabellera bravía, Tu cabellera de gualda: Despacio la tendería, Callado la besaría. Por sobre la oreja fina Baja lujoso el cabello, Lo mismo que una cortina Que se levanta hacia el cuello. La oreja es obra divina De porcelana de China. Mucho, señora, te diera Por desenredar el nudo De tu roja cabellera Sobre tu cuello desnudo: Muy despacio la esparciera, Hilo por hilo la abriera

Do you believe a place can have its own distinct rhythm? I do. Just as surely as the pulling of tides. Just as meaningful as a beating heart. And just as mysterious as the throaty purr of a well-stroked cat. I believe every place has its own unique rhythm. And I believe we are either in or out of sync with it.

The function of my comedy is not to provide answers, but to postulate questions, impertinent questions and therefore finally, pertinent questions. Not to open doors, merely to unlock them. To not invade the boundaries of probability but stabd a cool guard this side of the boundaries. Somewhere between there's a thesis. To pump up the muscle of dialectic (or in my case Di-Eclectic!) against the brawn of surrealistic solution. I play not Hamlet, but the second gravedigger, not Lear but the fool.

in Atlanta, right?” “Zach's mad at me about that drowning story we missed, isn’t he?” Ed wouldn’t even look at me. “I can’t take this any more! What's up?” “I’ve got something to tell you, something big.” “You’re scaring me. Tell me.” “I’m going to tell you all of it, but first you have to promise you won’t tell anyone, and I mean anyone—not Marti, not your next-door neighbor, not your aunt in Cleveland. This has to stay between us.” Torn between irritation that he seemed to think I’d put this on the Associated Press wire and worry about the bomb he was about to drop, I stopped on the sidewalk. For once, I did not say anything. He looked at me and smiled big. “I

Nu v-am scris mai devreme că s-a înfiinţat aici un premiu de 50 000 fr. pentru manuscrisul cel mai bun în franţuzeşte scris de un străin. M-am prezentat şi eu, într-o doară. Comisia e compusă din cei mai mari scriitori francezi. Manuscrisul meu a făcut mare impresie, a fost găsit cel mai interesant dintr-o sută cîte au fost prezentate. Hotărîrea nu se va lua decît la sfîrşirul lui Martie. Un membru al Academiei franceze, care face parte din comisie, m-a chemat la el şi mi-a spus că va vota pentru mine. Cu toate acestea eu nu sper să am premiul, fiindcă unii membri din comisie susţin că am o concepţie prea pesimistă despre viaţă şi că deci ar fi riscant să mi se dea o recompensă oficială. Oricum ar fi, eu mi-am atins scopul: editorul, aflînd despre vîlva ce-a făcut-o manuscrisul, 1-a dat imediat la publicare. E tot ce aşteptam. Casa de editură la care voi apare e cea mai importantă din Franţa. în tot cazul vă voi ţine în curent despre mersul treburilor. într-un anumit fel am avut noroc că n-am fost publicat cum trebuia acum doi ani: între timp am putut să îndrept mult calitatea textului.

The focus of white evangelicals has been to mobilize the mechanisms of the state to enforce their convictions. The center of intervention is the American legal system. One of the most important developments in the American legal system over the past fifty years has been the commitment of the Christian Right, aided by the sympathy and energy of white women evangelicals, to influence both legal rhetoric and law itself.

White Evangelicals neither obscure nor ignore their religious convictions when they declare their allegiance to the 45th president. In fact, their actions indicate a preeminent concern with upholding orthodoxy. In the case of President Trump, observers should focus on discerning the orthodoxy of an actor who is perceived as religiously legitimate primarily because he engages in actions in support of religiously defined group interests rather than as a result of statements of belief or piety of behavior. While fear, nostalgia, racial resentment, and white nationalism have all been analytical pieces of the Trump support puzzle scholars have been weaving together since November 2016, a critical aspect of Trump support is to assert, rather than deny, that he is indeed unexpectedly religiously orthodox in the conduct of his presidency

Taylor intervened, gently extracting Val’s hand from Jason’s. “I tried to get us reservations at Koi, but they were booked this whole weekend. We’ll come up with something else.” At this, Jason rolled his eyes. He whipped out his cell phone, unable to suppress his smile. “You never cease to amaze me, Taylor.” Despite herself, she felt her cheeks blushing. Jason held Taylor’s gaze as he spoke into his phone. “Yeah, Marty, it’s me. Get me a table at Koi tonight. Party of . . .” He looked at her questioningly. “Is this a girls-only night, or are guys invited, too?” “Oh my god, guys are so invited!” Valerie cried out, practically barreling Jason over in her excitement. Over Val’s head, he looked at Taylor teasingly. “I guess that means you’re stuck with me again, Ms. Donovan.” He grinned at Valerie, to explain. “She thinks she hates me.

White women had a fundamental role in building this new, more combative Christian right. Their attitudes and political viewpoints came as a reaction to social change. It would seem that white evangelical women would’ve been deeply offended by Trump’s multiple marriages, documented and highly public infidelities, and, most famously, the Access Hollywood tape released in 2016 of a dialogue between television host Billy Bush and Donald Trump: Trump: You know I’m automatically attracted to be beautiful women—I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. Just kiss. I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything Bush: Whatever you want. Trump: Grab ‘em by the pussy. You can do anything. Yet data show that a majority of white evangelical women voted for Trump. Moreover, the higher their church attendance, the more likely they were to vote for Trump…

Tate and Marty exchanged indignant looks. Tate pointed to the kitchen door behind Marty, then hooked a thumb at the back door and gave Marty a nod. Before Mel could figure out what they were up to, they were both lying on the floor of the kitchen, blocking the exits. “What is this? Occupy Fairy Tale Cupcakes?!” Angie asked. “What do you think you’re doing?” “We’re in protest mode.” Tate said. “We’re going to limp and we’re going to lie here until you agree to let us come along.” “Are you kidding me?” Mel asked. “What if I don’t give in? Are you going to hold your breath until you turn blue?” She watched Tate lift his head and look at Marty. He raised his eyebrows in silent question, and Marty gave him a small nod. “Thanks for the idea,” The kitchen door slammed into his side, and Marty grunted but still held his ground. The kitchen door didn’t budge. “Hey, the door is stuck,” Oz yelled from the other side.

Tony Williams: You’ve often mentioned that Tales of Hoffmann (1951) has been a major influence on you. George Romero: It was the first film I got completely involved with. An aunt and uncle took me to see it in downtown Manhattan when it first played. And that was an event for me since I was about eleven at the time. The imagery just blew me away completely. I wanted to go and see a Tarzan movie but my aunt and uncle said, “No! Come and see a bit of culture here.” So I thought I was missing out. But I really fell in love with the film. There used to be a television show in New York called Million Dollar Movie. They would show the same film twice a day on weekdays, three times on Saturday, and three-to-four times on Sunday. Tales of Hoffmann appeared on it one week. I missed the first couple of days because I wasn’t aware that it was on. But the moment I found it was on, I watched virtually every telecast. This was before the days of video so, naturally, I couldn’t tape it. Those were the days you had to rent 16mm prints of any film. Most cities of any size had rental services and you could rent a surprising number of films. So once I started to look at Tales of Hoffmann I realized how much stuff Michael Powell did in the camera. Powell was so innovative in his technique. But it was also transparent so I could see how he achieved certain effects such as his use of an overprint in the scene of the ballet dancer on the lily ponds. I was beginning to understand how adept a director can be. But, aside from that, the imagery was superb. Robert Helpmann is the greatest Dracula that ever was. Those eyes were compelling. I was impressed by the way Powell shot Helpmann sweeping around in his cape and craning down over the balcony in the tavern. I felt the film was so unique compared to most of the things we were seeing in American cinema such as the westerns and other dreadful stuff I used to watch. Tales of Hoffmann just took me into another world in terms of its innovative cinematic technique. So it really got me going. Tony Williams: A really beautiful print exists on laserdisc with commentary by Martin Scorsese and others. George Romero: I was invited to collaborate on the commentary by Marty. Pat Buba (Tony’s brother) knew Thelma Schoonmaker and I got to meet Powell in later years. We had a wonderful dinner with him one evening. What an amazing guy! Eventually I got to see more of his movies that I’d never seen before such as I Know Where I’m Going and A Canterbury Tale. Anyway, I couldn’t do the commentary on Tales of Hoffmann with Marty. But, back in the old days in New York, Marty and I were the only two people who would rent a 16mm copy of the film. Every time I found it was out I knew that he had it and each time he wanted it he knew who had it! So that made us buddies.

Alessandro shrugged and pushed the blade in, dragging it down the man’s skin, making him cry out. He struck him again with his fist, blood spurting onto Alessandro as well. “Did Arturo tell you that the mother of my child was in that limo? She’s carrying my baby inside of her, and that her son was in the limo too? I’m sure he did. I’m sure he left explicit instructions as to who exactly you were supposed to dispose of, didn’t he?” “He’ll kill me. I swear, he’ll kill me,” the man cried, tears mixing in with his blood. “Next, I’ll take an eye, you snivelling little shit!” Alessandro growled, raising his bloody blade to the man’s left eyeball. The unmistakable scent of urine filled the air. Alessandro stepped back in disgust and turned to Jason and his other man, Marty, two of the best Dardano soldiers, loyal and efficient. They took his cue and slipped on their brass knuckles. “Just say the words, ol’ boy, and we’ll stop this,” “Fuck you,” the man shouted. Alessandro smirked. “Such defiance for a man who just pissed himself.” He crossed his arms as Marty and Jason went to work. It only took a minute. “All right. Okay! Stop! Stop! Fine, I’ll talk!

The casual glimpses which the ordinary population bestowed upon that wondrous world of sap and leaves called the Hintock woods had been with these two, Giles and Marty, a clear gaze. They had been possessed of its finer mysteries as of commonplace knowledge; had been able to read its hieroglyphs as ordinary writing; to them the sights and sounds of night, winter, wind, storm, amid those dense boughs, which had to Grace a touch of the uncanny, and even the supernatural, were simple occurrences whose origin, continuance, and laws they foreknew. They had planted together, and together they had felled; together they had, with the run of the years, mentally collected those remoter signs and symbols which, seen in few, were of runic obscurity, but all together made an alphabet. From the light lashing of the twigs upon their faces, when brushing through them in the dark, they could pronounce upon the species of the tree whence they stretched; from the quality of the wind's murmur through a bough they could in like manner name its sort afar off. They knew by a glance at a trunk if its heart were sound, or tainted with incipient decay, and by the state of its upper twigs, the stratum that had been reached by its roots. The artifices of the seasons were seen by them from the conjuror's own point of view, and not from that of the spectator. "He ought to have married YOU, Marty, and nobody else in the world!" said Grace, with conviction, after thinking somewhat in the above strain. Marty shook her head. "In all our out-door days and years together, ma'am," she replied, "the one thing he never spoke of to me was love; nor I to him." "Yet you and he could speak in a tongue that nobody else knew—not even my father, though he came nearest knowing—the tongue of the trees and fruits and flowers themselves.

DISTINCTIVENESS is the quality that causes a brand expression to stand out from competing messages. If it doesn’t stand out, the game is over. Distinctiveness often requires boldness, innovation, surprise, and clarity, not to mention courage on the part of the company. Is it clear enough and unique enough to pass the swap test? RELEVANCE asks whether a brand expression is appropriate for its goals. Does it pass the hand test? Does it grow naturally from the DNA of the brand? These are good questions, because it’s possible to be attention-getting without being relevant, like a girly calendar issued by an auto parts company. MEMORABILITY is the quality that allows people to recall the brand or brand expression when they need to. Testing for memorability is difficult, because memory proves itself over time. But testing can often reveal the presence of its drivers, such as emotion, surprise, distinctiveness, and relevance. EXTENDIBILITY measures how well a given brand expression will work across media, across cultural boundaries, and across message types. In other words, does it have legs? Can it be extended into a series if necessary? It’s surprisingly easy to create a one-off, single-use piece of communication that paints you into a corner. DEPTH is the ability to communicate with audiences on a number of levels. People, even those in the same brand tribe, connect to ideas in different ways. Some are drawn to information, others to style, and still others to emotion. There are many levels of depth, and skilled communicators are able to create connections at most of them.

Taylor held a finger up to Val and Kate. “Hold that thought for a second while I get this.” As she headed into the living room, she overheard Kate mumble to Val, “Hold what thought? I haven’t understood a word she’s said yet.” Taylor unlocked her front door and opened it. Before she could react, Jason barreled right in, all fired up. “Where have you been?? I tried calling you—is your cell phone off? I need you to tell me who the hell I can sue. I just met with Marty—we got back the mock-ups for the new publicity posters the studio’s going to use to promote Inferno .” Jason stormed into the kitchen, so engrossed in his rant he didn’t notice Valerie and Kate. He opened Taylor’s fridge and helped himself to a bottled water. “And get this,” he fumed angrily, “the dumbasses who designed the posters have me pictured in this scene where I’m putting out a fire with all these other firemen. But if you look at the poster from the side, the water from the hose of one of the other firefighters looks like it’s shooting right out of my crotch. And the best part is, they want to put this poster over the theater entrance for the premiere. I can just see it—” He gestured grandly to the air. “ ‘Come see Inferno! Get pissed on by Jason Andrews!’” With that, he threw Taylor a wink. “It should be right up your alley.” Finished with his rant, Jason took a sip of water. Then he finally noticed Kate and Val. He smiled charmingly. “Oh. People. Hello.” Kate and Val sat in silence at the table. They stared at the sight of this god, this ideal man of modern time, standing before them in all his glory.

On the third day after all hell broke loose, I come upstairs to the apartment, finished with my shift and so looking forward to a hot shower. Well, lukewarm—but I’ll pretend it’s hot. But when I pass Ellie’s room, I hear cursing—Linda Blair-Exorcist-head-spinning-around kind of cursing. I push open her door and spot my sister at her little desk, yelling at her laptop. Even Bosco barks from the bed. “What’s going on?” I ask. “I just came up but Marty’s down there on his own—he won’t last longer than ten minutes.” “I know, I know.” She waves her hand. “I’m in a flame war with a toxic bitch on Twitter. Let me just huff and puff and burn her motherfucking house down…and then I’ll go sell some coffee.” “What happened?” I ask sarcastically. “Did she insult your makeup video?” Ellie sighs, long and tortured. “That’s Instagram, Liv—I seriously think you were born in the wrong century. And anyway, she didn’t insult me—she insulted you.” Her words pour over me like the ice-bucket challenge. “Me? I have like two followers on Twitter.” Ellie finishes typing. “Boo-ya. Take that, skank-a-licious!” Then she turns slowly my way. “You haven’t been online lately, have you?” This isn’t going to end well, I know it. My stomach knows it too—it whines and grumbles. “Ah, no?” Ellie nods and stands, gesturing to her computer. “You might want to check it out. Or not—ignorance is bliss, after all. If you do decide to take a peek, you might want to have some grain alcohol nearby.” Then she pats my shoulder and heads downstairs, her blond ponytail swaying behind her. I glance at the screen and my breath comes in quick, semi-panicked bursts and my blood rushes like a runaway train in my veins. I’ve never been in a fight, not in my whole life. The closest I came was sophomore year in high school, when Kimberly Willis told everyone she was going to kick the crap out of me. So I told my gym teacher, Coach Brewster—a giant lumberjack of a man—that I got my period unexpectedly and had to go home. He spent the rest of the school year avoiding eye contact with me. But it worked—by the next day, Kimberly found out Tara Hoffman was the one talking shit about her and kicked the crap out of her instead

Ellie goes back to the kitchen . . . and screams bloody murder. “Nooooooo!” Adrenaline spikes through me and I dart to the kitchen, ready to fight. Until I see the cause of her screaming. “Bosco, noooooo!” It’s the rodent-dog. He got into the kitchen, somehow managed to hoist himself up onto the counter, and is in the process of demolishing his fourth pie. Fucking Christ, it’s impressive how fast he ate them. That a mutt his size could even eat that many. His stomach bulges with his ill-gotten gains—like a snake that ingested a monkey. A big one. “Thieving little bastard!” I yell. Ellie scoops him off the counter and I point my finger in his face. “Bad dog.” The little twat just snarls back. Ellie tosses the mongrel on the steps that lead up to the apartment and slams the door. Then we both turn and assess the damage. Two apple and a cherry are completely devoured, he nibbled at the edge of a peach and apple crumb and left tiny paw-prints in two lemon meringues. “We’re going to have re-bake all seven,” Ellie says. I fold my arms across my chest. “Looks that way.” “It’ll take hours,” she says. “Yeah.” “But we have to. There isn’t any other choice.” Silence follows. Heavy, meaningful silence. I glance sideways at Ellie, and she’s already peeking over at me. “Or . . . is there?” she asks slyly. I look at what remains of the damaged pastries, considering all the options. “If we slice off the chewed bits . . .” “And smooth out the meringue . . .” “Put the licked ones in the oven to dry out . . .” “Are you two out of your motherfucking minds?” I swing around to find Marty standing in the alley doorway behind us. Eavesdropping and horrified. Ellie tries to cover for us. But she’s bad at it. “Marty! When did you get here? We weren’t gonna do anything wrong.” Covert ops are not in her future. “Not anything wrong?” he mimics, stomping into the room. “Like getting us shut down by the goddamn health department? Like feeding people dog-drool pies—have you no couth?” “It was just a thought,” Ellie swears—starting to laugh. “A momentary lapse in judgment,” I say, backing her up. “We’re just really tired and—” “And you’ve been in this kitchen too long.” He points to the door. “Out you go.” When we don’t move, he goes for the broom. “Go on—get!” Ellie grabs her knapsack and I guide her out the back door as Marty sweeps at us like we’re vermin