Meet The Robinsons Quotes

And now I was lonelier, I supposed, than anyone else in the world. Even Defoe's creation, Robinson Crusoe, the prototype of the ideal solitary, could hope to meet another human being. Crusoe cheered himself by thinking that such a thing could happen any day, and it kept him going. But if any of the people now around me came near I would need to run for it and hide in mortal terror. I had to be alone, entirely alone, if I wanted to live.

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There is something sad about people going to bed. You can see they don’t give a damn whether they’re getting what they want out of life or not, you can see they don’t ever try to understand what we’re here for. They just don’t care. Americans or not, they sleep no matter what, they’re bloated mollusks, no sensibility, no trouble with their conscience. I’d seen too many troubling things to be easy in my mind. I knew too much and not enough. I’d better go out, I said to myself, I’d better go out again. Maybe I’ll meet Robinson. Naturally that was an idiotic idea, but I dreamed it up as an excuse for going out again, because no matter how I tossed and turned on my narrow bed, I couldn’t snatch the tiniest scrap of sleep. Even masturbation, at times like that, provides neither comfort nor entertainment. Then you're really in despair.

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Well, he's history. You're free to meet the man of your dreams now.

... the perfect example of Robinson's law. This states that human idiocy multiplies in compound ratio to the number of people gathered together in one place for a common purpose.

She fears him, and will always ask What fated her to choose him; She meets in his engaging mask All reasons to refuse him; But what she meets and what she fears Are less than are the downward years Drawn slowly to the foamless weirs Of age, were she to lose him.

They say everything happens for a reason, that we’re destined to meet certain expectations throughout the timeline of our lives. They’re inevitable. It’s already planned out.

The Element is the meeting point between natural aptitude and personal passion.

if she was over-sure of meeting her, that would be the time she would not come.

And, young man,” said he, “depend upon it, if you do not go back, wherever you go, you will meet with nothing but disasters and disappointments, till your father’s words are fulfilled upon you.

Let me explain: Like two great athletes who don’t play on the same team but meet up on the world stage, blacks and women have always convened at the Oppressed Olympics and given each other a friendly head nod, similar to how when I’m in line at the grocery store and I notice the person in the next checkout line is also buying lemonade.

Despite the fact that he thought her quite interesting at their first meeting, John Robinson could not be said to be infatuated with Mirusia Jansen at first sight.

In dreams you should focus on flying, because you can’t fly in this world, but you can in the dream world. And when you fly in the dream world, that gives you practice for when you fly in the spirit world. The spirit world and the dream world aren’t the same, but they come together in the sky. The dream world is inside this world, the spirit world is outside it, but you can fly in both. And they meet, too, out beyond the sky. So you can fly back and forth. The spirit world is where all the worlds meet, that’s why shamans go there. So when you’re there you can be in all of them at once.

All the discussion in the meeting that day had centered on the impacts to humans. That would be the usual way of most such discussions; but whole biomes, whole ecologies would be altered, perhaps devastated. That was what they were saying, really, when they talked about the impact on humans: they would lose the support of the domesticated part of nature. Everything would become an exotic; everything would have to go feral.

Think you that I forget this Modred's mother Was mine as well as Modred's? When I meet My mother's ghost, what shall I do — forgive? When I'm a ghost, I'll forgive everything . . . It makes me cold to think what a ghost knows. Put out the bonfire burning in my head, And light one at my feet. When the King thought The Queen was in the flames, he called on you: 'God, God,' he said, and 'Lancelot.' I was there, And so I heard him. That was a bad morning For kings and queens, and there are to be worse.

But any time Kheim met the eye of any of his men, he saw the pain there. He saw also that they blamed him for her death. So he was happy to leave Nanking and travel with a gang of officials up the Grand Canal to Beijing. He knew that his sailors would scatter up and down the coast, go their ways so they wouldn't have to see each other and remember; only after years had passed would they want to meet, so that they could remember the pain when it had become so distant and faint that they actually wanted it back, just to feel again they had done all those things, that life had held all those things.

The world is changing faster than ever in our history. Our best hope for the future is to develop a new paradigm of human capacity to meet a new era of human existence. We need to evolve a new appreciation of the importance of nurturing human talent along with an understanding of how talent expresses itself differently in every individual. We need to create environments—in our schools, in our workplaces, and in our public offices—where every person is inspired to grow creatively. We need to make sure that all people have the chance to do what they should be doing, to discover the Element in themselves and in their own way.

I told him he must carry it thus. It was evident the sagacious little creature, having lost its mother, had adopted him for a father. I succeeded, at last, in quietly releasing him, and took the little orphan, which was no bigger than a cat, in my arms, pitying its helplessness. The mother appeared as tall as Fritz. I was reluctant to add another mouth to the number we had to feed; but Fritz earnestly begged to keep it, offering to divide his share of cocoa-nut milk with it till we had our cows. I consented, on condition that he took care of it, and taught it to be obedient to him. Turk, in the mean time, was feasting on the remains of the unfortunate mother. Fritz would have driven him off, but I saw we had not food sufficient to satisfy this voracious animal, and we might ourselves be in danger from his appetite. We left him, therefore, with his prey, the little orphan sitting on the shoulder of his protector, while I carried the canes. Turk soon overtook us, and was received very coldly; we reproached him with his cruelty, but he was quite unconcerned, and continued to walk after Fritz. The little monkey seemed uneasy at the sight of him, and crept into Fritz's bosom, much to his inconvenience. But a thought struck him; he tied the monkey with a cord to Turk's back, leading the dog by another cord, as he was very rebellious at first; but our threats and caresses at last induced him to submit to his burden. We proceeded slowly, and I could not help anticipating the mirth of my little ones, when they saw us approach like a pair of show-men. I advised Fritz not to correct the dogs for attacking and killing unknown animals. Heaven bestows the dog on man, as well as the horse, for a friend and protector. Fritz thought we were very fortunate, then, in having two such faithful dogs; he only regretted that our horses had died on the passage, and only left us the ass. "Let us not disdain the ass," said I; "I wish we had him here; he is of a very fine breed, and would be as useful as a horse to us." In such conversations, we arrived at the banks of our river before we were aware. Flora barked to announce our approach, and Turk answered so loudly, that the terrified little monkey leaped from his back to the shoulder of its protector, and would not come down. Turk ran off to meet his companion, and our dear family soon appeared on the opposite shore, shouting with joy at our happy return. We crossed at the same place as we had done in the morning, and embraced each other. Then began such a noise of exclamations. "A monkey! a real, live monkey! Ah! how delightful! How glad we are! How did you catch him?

In 1932 Pravda published a short story by Ilf and Petrov, titled 'How Robinson Was Created,' about a magazine editor who commissions a Soviet Robinson Crusoe from a writer named Moldavantsev. The writer submits a manuscript about a Soviet young man triumphing over nature on a desert island. The editor likes the story, but says that a Soviet Robinson would be unthinkable without a trade union committee consisting of a chairman, two permanent members, and a female activist to collect membership dues. The committee, in its turn, would be unthinkable without a safe deposit box, a chairman's bell, a pitcher of water, and a tablecloth ('red or green, it doesn't matter; I don't want to limit your artistic imagination'), and broad masses of working people. The author objects by saying that so many people could not possible be washed ashore by a single ocean wave: 'Why a wave?' asked the editor, suddenly surprised. 'How else would the masses end up on the island? It is a a desert island, after all!' 'Who said it was a desert island? You're getting me confused. Okay, so there's an island, or, even better, a peninsula. It's safer that way. And that's where a series of amusing, original, and interesting adventures will take place. There'll be some trade union work going on, but not enough. The female activist will expose certain deficiencies - in the area of due collection, for example. She'll be supported by the broad masses. And then there be the repentant chairman. At the end you could have a general meeting. That would be quite effective artistically. I guess that's about it.' 'But - what about Robinson?' stammered Moldavantsev. 'Oh yeah ..., thank for reminding me. I'm not wild about Robinson. Just drop him. He's a silly, whiny, totally unnecessary character.

Dare to push away from your inner thoughts that sabotage you. Dare to expect better from whatever love interest you meet who thinks you should be grateful for compliments or act as if they're some kind of superhero for finding you attractive. Dare to roll your eyes at this person who thinks that pulling a Mark Darcy and telling you, "I like you very much, just as you are," should end up body surfing out the room with a fireworks display going off in the background. Dare to do for yourself what Bridget couldn't do: Look at yourself in the mirror and say, "I like myself just the way I am.

He’s there for good, Steven. Stone is there for good.” He stays silent yet close, as we walk into my foyer and into my office. Ignoring him to the best of my ability, mostly out of shame, I turn on my computer and kick off my red-bottomed heels. “I’m not asking for him not to be,” he rasps. I let my gaze flick up to meet his as he looms over my desk, his large hands splayed on the dark, polished wood. “I’m demanding what’s left.

Not Your Stereotypical Southern Belle By Betsy Shearon, George Grits I grew up being more interested in scoring touchdowns than wearing tiaras. I never particularly wanted to get married and was well into my thirties before I even got engaged. And although I am a devoted aunt, the call of motherhood for me has always sounded strangely similar to the “Warning Will Robinson!” cry on the old Lost in Space television show. Still, I consider myself a true Southern Girl, simply because, as we say in the South, my mama done raised me right. I say, “yes, ma’am,” “no, sir,” “please” and “thank you.” I am respectful of my elders, even my great-aunt Ida Mable, whose food we were never allowed to eat at family reunions. (Suffice it to say that eccentricity not only runs in my family, it pretty much gallops.) I always wear clean underwear in case I am in an accident. And I always leave the house clean before I go on a trip in case I get killed and strangers have to come into my house to get my funeral wear (this is despite the fact that I have yet to read an obituary that said, “she left a husband, two children, and an immaculate house.”) And I know things that only Southern girls know, such as the fact that it is possible to “never talk to strangers and at the same time greet everyone you meet with a smile and a hello. I know that it is possible to “always tell the truth,” but to always answer “fine” when someone asks how you are--even if your hair is on fire at the time. It is this knowledge that allows us to turn the other cheek when people say ugly things like “Southern girls are stupid, barefoot and pregnant.” Southern girls realize that, given the swollen feet and ankles that accompany pregnancy, going barefoot when possible is actually a very smart and sensible thing to do--and that the Yankees who say things like that probably wouldn’t talk so ugly if their feet didn’t hurt, bless their hearts.

It was not until I went to a meeting about climate change that I heard it was not God, but the rich people in the West who are doing this to us. We are asking that they stop or reduce [their emissions].

how to make whipped cream.

The analysis of the /General Theory /shows that inflation is a real, not a monetary, phenomenon. It operates in two stages (once more giving a crudely simple account of an intricate process). An increase in effective demand meeting an inelastic supply of goods raises prices. When food is supplied by a peasant agriculture a rise of the prices of foodstuffs is a direct increase of money income to the sellers and increases their expenditure. The higher cost of living sets up a pressure to raise wage rates. So money incomes rise all round, prices are bid up all the higher and a vicious spiral sets in. The first stage — a rise of effective demand — can very easily be prevented by not having any development. But if there is to be development there must be a stage when investment increases relatively to consumption. There must be an increase in effective demand and a tendency towards inflation. The problem is how to keep it within bounds. Some schemes of investment that seem to be clearly indispensable to improvements in the long run, such as electrical installations, take a long time to yield any fruit and meanwhile the workers engaged on these have to be supplied. The secret of non-inflationary development is to allocate the right amount of quick-yielding, capital-saving investment to the consumption-good sector (especially agriculture) to generate a sufficient surplus to support the necessary large schemes. It is in this kind of analysis, rather than in the mystifications of “deficit finance,” that the clue to inflation is to be found. [pp. 110-11]

we would go to county supervisors, and town council meetings, and church meetings, and state legislature meetings, and county fairs, and trade shows, and school assemblies, and every kind of meeting, all the meetings no one ever thinks to go to and deeply regrets going to the moment they do, and we would make our case and show the photos and the figures, and see what we could do

~ One day we will meet again, face to face and heart to heart. We will wonder if it's okay to hug, grieving for how time and space pulled us apart. We will be reminded how in just one moment, everything can change. We will weep in waves for all we've lost, we will search longingly for what remains. And then joy and light will break through the clouds, when we look into each other's eyes. We will see the truth of who we are when we remember what gives meaning to our lives. Love endures past breath and blood - the love between us never dies. Even when life does not unfold according to our plans, we will smile with hope and gratitude when one day we meet again.

CONTIMENT’S END At the equinox when the earth was veiled in a late rain, wreathed with wet poppies, waiting spring, The ocean swelled for a far storm and beat its boundary, the ground-swell shook the beds of granite. I gazing at the boundaries of granite and spray, the established sea-marks, felt behind me Mountain and plain, the immense breadth of the continent, before me the mass and doubled stretch of water. I said: You yoke the Aleutian seal-rocks with the lava and coral sowings that flower the south, Over your flood the life that sought the sunrise faces ours that has followed the evening star. The long migrations meet across you and it is nothing to you, you have forgotten us, mother. You were much younger when we crawled out of the womb and lay in the sun’s eye on the tideline. It was long and long ago; we have grown proud since then and you have grown bitter; life retains Your mobile soft unquiet strength; and envies hardness, the insolent quietness of stone. The tides are in our veins, we still mirror the stars, life is your child, but there is in me Older and harder than life and more impartial, the eye that watched before there was an ocean. That watched you fill your beds out of the condensation of thin vapor and watched you change them, That saw you soft and violent wear your boundaries down, eat rock, shift places with the continents. Mother, though my song’s measure is like your surf-beat’s ancient rhythm I never learned it of you. Before there was any water there were tides of fire, both our tones flow from the older fountain.

He stood and grabbed her forearm, pulling her just ever so slightly toward him. "But if you want any help studying, let me know." Her eyes flickered down to his lips, then back up to meet his gaze. She straightened her shoulders and exhaled. "Let me guess, you'll quiz e, and for each wrong answer I give, I'll have to take off something I'm wearing?" Kane's mouth parted and his eyes widened as her considered the image she'd just painted for him. "Hell, kitty, I was genuinely offering to help, but your idea is so much better. Let's go with that.

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They mentioned things such as, “They were supportive in life”; “They attended my band concerts”; “They left schooling up to me”; or “They did not talk much at all about school.” At one point students were asked, “Did any of your parents read books to you when you were a child, join PTA meetings, regularly converse with your teachers, or discuss college plans with you?

BANKS ENJOYED THE DRIVE TO LEEDS. THE WEATHER WAS fine, the traffic not too horrendous, and the iPod shuffle treated him to a truly random medley of David Crosby, John Cale, Pentangle and Grinderman, among others. A mild beer hangover from Kev Templeton’s wake hammered away insistently in the back of his head, muffled by extra-strength aspirin and plenty of water. At least he had had the sense to avoid spirits and sleep on Hatchley’s sofa, though the children had awoken him at some ungodly hour of the morning. Annie had gone home early and said she would be coming back to Eastvale sometime to talk to Elizabeth Wallace. Banks and Annie planned to meet for a late lunch and compare notes. Julia

It is by no means impossible for faith to coexist with doubt. The two are not mutually exclusive. Perhaps there are some who by God’s grace retain throughout their life the faith of a little child, enabling them to accept without question all that they have been taught. For most of those living in the West today, however, such an attitude is simply not possible. We have to make our own the cry, “Lord, I believe: help my unbelief” (Mark 9:24). For very many of us this will remain our constant prayer right up to the very gates of death. Yet doubt does not in itself signify lack of faith. It may mean the opposite—that our faith is alive and growing. For faith implies not complacency but taking risks, not shutting ourselves off from the unknown but advancing boldly to meet it. Here an Orthodox Christian may readily make his own the words of Bishop J.A.T. Robinson: “The act of faith is a constant dialogue with doubt.” As Thomas Merton rightly says, “Faith is a principle of questioning and struggle before it becomes a principle of certitude and peace.

For Randy Robinson and Cassidy We’re all broke down We’re all broke Baby, we’re all broken down We’ll wait for time to turn us around We can’t back down Imagine, everybody hanging around Everybody hanging around Forget me like a cheap line amongst the pages (but) I’ll remember you, let your melody ring out through the ages I’m not the child on your back seat crawling around So stand up, be the myth when you can’t be the man You know the sound You hear the sound It kills you a little more inside every time But for tonight we’ll be all right Meet me up town For one drink, tell me why you’re feeling down Tell me why you’re feeling down I get you, from your feet up to your fingertips And I’ll let you put your hands on me as I move my hips And I’ll hurt too as you fall down, down to the ground We’ll be the dance, and we’ll be just some people fooling around

have asked [Messrs Smith, Jones, and Robinson] to meet with me [Wednesday at 3] in [the fourth floor conference room] to discuss [next year’s capital appropriations budget]. Please come if you think that you need the information or want to take part in the discussion. But you will in any event receive right away a full summary of the discussion and of any decisions reached, together with a request for your comments.

I can’t wait to meet you,” he rasped against my stomach. “I love you so much already.

If we could do only those things God wills, we would not be truly free, though to discern the will of God and act on it is freedom. Our human nature as fallen and our human nature as divine have a dynamic, asymptotic relation with each other, meeting at infinity, perhaps.

Words her biographer claimed first appeared in print in the prose of Dorothy Parker: art moderne, ball of fire, with bells on, bellyacher, birdbrain, boy-meets-girl, chocolate bar, daisy chain, face lift, high society, mess around, nostalgic, one-night stand, pain in the neck, make a pass, doesn’t have a prayer, queer, scaredy-cat, shoot, the sky’s the limit, to twist someone’s arm, what the hell, and wisecrack. Hard to believe.

What often fails to be appreciated by everybody is just how significant an act of leadership it is, simply to give somebody your undivided attention for a while.

To meet them, we need a radical change in how we think about and do school—a shift from the old industrial model to one based on entirely different principles and practices. People do not come in standard sizes or shapes, nor do their abilities and personalities. Understanding this basic truth is the key to seeing how the system is failing—and also how it can be transformed. To do that we have to change the story: we need a better metaphor.

So that one night after the Bumble rando blew me off and I was emotionally ravaged, practically kneeling on the ground, arms out in the Scott Stapp/Jesus position a la Andy Dufresne on the poster of Shawshank Redemption, I thought to myself, ‘Am I going to fall the fuck apart every single time some guy I meet doesn’t end up being the one?

Chapter Six Abigail’s secret “Open up,” Abigail mouthed from outside the window, gesturing toward the latch. Behind her, the fog rolled in the darkness. Hal opened the window and leaned out as an icy breeze pushed past him into his room. “What are you doing here?” he whispered. “It’s late. And freezing.” Abigail frowned and rubbed her arms. She wore only a light red dress despite the thick cold fog. “I told you I was coming tonight to tell you something. Did you forget?” “Oh,” Hal mumbled. “Yeah. I’ve had a lot on my mind.” Abigail rolled her eyes. “Come out. Bring a lamp and meet me in your garage.” “But—” Without another word, Abigail tiptoed off across the gravel driveway toward the squat brick building that stood alone at the front of the lawn, next to the road. She had no lantern so faded into the darkness almost immediately, lost against the black silhouette of the garage. Hal

they have you slaving away in the kitchen? That’s grim, even for a Morelli.” Finn Hughes leans back against a counter and crosses his arms, unconcerned

My cheeks burn. “I can’t send you back upstairs looking like this.” “Absolutely not. People would think we’d gotten up to something.” His arms are still crossed, as if he’s

unconcerned

Then he meets my gaze and slams that warning glare upon me again. That I had better not put myself in danger. It’s his way of showing affection, I suppose. You’d better take care of yourself, or I’ll kick your arse. When I hold his gaze to challenge him, he curls a hand around his sword hilt. “If we die in some ridiculous manner, you find me in Valhöll,” Ivar tells me. “So I can express my feelings about it. With an axe.” I scoff. “If you follow me into a ridiculous death, you only have yourself to blame.

I scoop her hair up in a tight fist, making her squint with pain, though she squarely meets the challenge of holding my gaze. “You want me to fuck you?” I growl. “Say it.” She breathes out the phrase, freeing it from her cage of modesty: “I… I want you to fuck me.” Thor’s glory, to hear those words in her mouth. “I am not gentle,” I warn. Her eyes glint in the dark. “Nor am I fragile.

I don’t know how long it would take me to meet you where you’re standing,” he murmurs. “And I don’t know whether you’d still want me by then. I’m old enough to be your father.” That makes my heart thud. “I can’t tell how old any of you are with your great big beards, anyway,” I tell him, and he affords me a rare laugh.

In these meetings Palandine was teaching me how to use my eyes and ears in a manner that complemented the teachings of Calyx and Mila. “And you have to use that wonderful smile of yours more often, Elim.” “What’s that got to do with listening?” That was the subject, and Palandine had typically made a jump in logic I couldn’t follow. She also forgot that I was a Cardassian male and smiling was not one of our strong features.

In these meetings Palandine was teaching me how to use my eyes and ears in a manner that complemented the teachings of Calyx and Mila. “And you have to use that wonderful smile of yours more often, Elim.” “What’s that got to do with listening?” That was the subject, and Palandine had typically made a jump in logic I couldn’t follow. She also forgot that I was a Cardassian male and smiling was not one of our strong features.

TABLE OF CONTENTS The Sentimentalists, by Murray Leinster The Girls from Earth, by Frank Robinson The Death Traps of FX-31, by Sewell Wright Song in a minor key, by C.L. Moore Sentry of the Sky, by Evelyn E. Smith Meeting of the Minds, by Robert Sheckley Junior, by Robert Abernathy Death Wish, by Ned Lang Dead World, by Jack Douglas Cost of Living, by Robert Sheckley Aloys, by R.A. Lafferty

If you don’t hurry,” Auntie said, “you’ll meet yourself coming back.

Toby leaned away from the knothole. Much as he’d like to get the jump on the other kids by meeting her first, he’d go through one of those cracks before he’d let his new teacher see him in his old work clothes.

To meet your mirror is to feel as though you’ve met yourself residing in another human. As they love you, they will reflect back to you all of the brilliant things you have been failing to celebrate about yourself. As you love them, they will shine light upon your most wicked shadows, the dark places within you that you have been fighting to ignore.

Or, worse yet, when you meet a woman, and start something with her, the first woman you ever really loved; and then after a brief off-season you return to McMurdo an your reunion with her only to have her dump you on arrival as if your Kiwi idyll had never happened. Or when you see her around town soon after that, trolling with the best of tremor when you find out that some people are calling you "the sandwich," in reference to the ice women's old joke that bringing a boyfriend to Antarctica is like bringing a sandwich to a smorgasbord. No that's heartbreak for you.

Or, worse yet, when you meet a woman, and start something with her, the first woman you ever really loved; and then after a brief off-season you return to McMurdo an your reunion with her only to have her dump you on arrival as if your Kiwi idyll had never happened. Or when you see her around town soon after that, trolling with the best of them; or when you find out that some people are calling you 'the sandwich,' in reference to the ice women's old joke that bringing a boyfriend to Antarctica is like bringing a sandwich to a smorgasbord. Now that's heartbreak for you.

Robinson

Sorry if I sounded defensive before. I know every family has differing degrees of dysfunction, I do. Most people we meet are still ignorant as to what autism actually is. And people tend to fear the unknown. There are varying levels of functionality, but unless you live with someone with autism it’s hard to understand how each one works. They’re all different, just like you and I. Anyway.’ I clear my throat. ‘There’s no point dwelling on it. It is what it is.

He has always loved to read aloud, to hear words float about a room, to swim in stories and breathe in poetry. And he has a powerful voice, a beautiful voice, as deep, thick and rich as melted chocolate. Characters seem to come alive when he speaks, sliding off the page to stalk the bookshop aisles and relive their fictional lives in 3-D and Technicolor. At night, after Walt flips over the "closed" sign on the front door, he sits back behind the counter and opens doors to other worlds: bookshelves transmute into swamp trees, floors into muddy marshes, the ceiling into a purple sky cracked with lightning as he floats down the Mississippi with Huck Finn. When he meets Robinson Crusoe, the trees become heavy with coconuts, the floorboards a barren desert of sand dunes whipped by screeching winds. When he fights pirates off the coasts of Treasure Island, the floors dip and heave, the salty splash of ocean waves stings his eyes and clouds of gunpowder stain the air. As a rule Walt sticks with adventures and leaves romances untouched, preferring to escape his own aching heart rather than being reminded of it.

encountering a rock-star Harvard professor who happens to be arrogant is like meeting a professional basketball player who happens to be tall.

Having the might of the U.S. Marine Corps at your disposal is one thing. Having the 2015–16 Aston Villa squad was quite another. Villa couldn’t win on the road at Norwich, hardly a Premier League minefield. Things fell apart for good on April 16, with a defeat at Manchester United. By then, the Villa fans were so deep into gallows humor that they chanted, “Let’s pretend we’ve scored a goal,” before belting out a rendition of “We’ll Meet Again.

At first sight When your eyes meet Theirs for the first time You become an ocean, Waves inside you crash And drench you in a thing You’re too afraid to name

If you want a vision of the bleak, bland capitalist future, go to Hudson Yards in New York City, the new, billion-dollar complex of gleaming skyscrapers. It's a lifeless shopping mall for luxury goods, intensely policed and surveilled, where every aspect of life is curated by a corporation... This is the city for the winners. The losers will be in homeless encampments outside the city gates. The left's city of the future looks very different. It is a Star Trek world, where we can travel through space together and meet aliens. It is public libraries and free colleges, where all can come and learn without worrying about money. It is Mardis Gras in New Orleans, where everyone expresses their individuality through art and costume without any regard for profit or commerce. It is camping trips and cookouts, book clubs and street cafes. It is the theory that life is meant to be enjoyed, and that nobody should lack the basic ingredients for a decent existence. It is, above all, the conviction that we're here to help each other through this thing, whatever it is.

The social difficulties experienced by patients with anorexia are not only caused by the patients’ deficits in interpreting others’ minds. There is evidence that they present an unemotional “flat” face to others (Lang et al. 2016), and this can lead to failed social encounters. This is reminiscent of babies’ extreme distress when their mothers presented an unmoving expression to them, just for a minute or two (Weinberg et al. 2008; Tronick 2018). In other words, we are all expecting emotional expression in others and find it very unpleasant when we meet someone who presents a flat, unemotional face. The dependency on confirmation from others corresponds with major trends in contemporary culture, with great emphasis on visuality, bodily surfaces, external qualities, performances, etc. A central psychological trait in both contemporary culture and highly aggravated in eating disorders is the emphasis on comparison and comparison anxiety . Many are obsessively comparing themselves with others, concerning bodies, numbers and amounts of food, hence depending on profoundly superficial data.