Mileage Quotes

Knowledge without mileage equals bullshit.

If anger were mileage, I'd be a very frequent flyer, right up there in First Class.

Books are cool, but knowledge without mileage doesn't mean anything to me.

As it is with all stories, fast cars, wild bears, mental illness, and even life, only one truth remains: your mileage may vary.

From the bodybuilding days on, I learned that everything is reps and mileage. The more miles you ski, the better a skier you become; the more reps you do, the better your body.

The true definition of a phony is a high flyer with low mileage; a person who offers a worldview from the comforts of his/her living room.

Geography and mileage mean nothing. Separate is a single word that covers all distances that aren't together.

Well, you get my point: You've go one life with zero guarantees, so you do your best, adapt if possible, and keep on breathing. I recommend striving for happiness, but many opt for duty and responsibility. Mileage varies.

My mental illness is not your mental illness. Even if we have the exact same diagnosis we will likely experience it in profoundly different ways. This book is my unique perspective on my personal path so far. It is not a textbook. If it were it would probably cost a lot more money and have significantly less profanity or stories about strangers sending you unexpected vaginas in the mail. As it is with all stories, fast cars, wild bears, mental illness, and even life, only one truth remains: your mileage may vary.

Mileage craziness is a serious condition that exists in many forms. It can hit unsuspecting travelers while driving cars, motorcycles, riding in planes, crossing the country on bicycles or on foot. The symptoms may lead to obsessively placing more importance on how many miles are traveled than on the real reason for the traveling...On foot, in a van, on a fleet motorcycle or on a bicycle, a person must be very careful not to become overly concerned with arriving.

The only thing we had in common was DNA, which gave us limited mileage conversationally.

Lisbon Taxi,' a woman said, 'where the mileage is always smileage. How may we help you today?

…Even the idea of a city never entered his mind. It was as if he had walked under the millimeter of haze just above the inked fibers of a map, that pure zone between land and chart, between distances and legends, between nature and storyteller. The place they had chosen to come to, to be their best selves, to be unconscious of ancestry. Here, apart from the sun compass and the odometer mileage, and the book, he was alone, his own invention. He knew during these times how the mirage worked, the fata morgana, for he was within it.

There is a husband who requires mileage receipts, another who wants sex at three a.m. One who forbids short haircuts, another who refuses to feed the pets. I would never put up with that, all the other wives think. Never. But my agent has a theory. She says every marriage is jerry-rigged. Even the ones that look reasonable from the outside are held together with chewing gum and wire and string.

It's incredible to me that you're still getting mileage out of your mother's suicide. You're still using it as currency, even though it has nothing to do with what you did. In fact, It's kind of psychotic that you're spending that currency on this moment. When will it run out?

Do you think us having slept together will change things?” I asked. He just looked at me. “I still respect you. Just in case you were wondering.” “You’re getting way too much mileage from this,” he grumped.

Your progress as a runner is a frustratingly slow process of small gains. It’s a matter of inching up your mileage and your pace. It’s a matter of learning to celebrate the small gains as if they were Olympic victories. It means paying your dues on the road or the treadmill. It means searching for the limits of your body and demanding that your spirit not give up. It means making the most of what you have. It means making yourself an athlete one workout at a time.

The Line makes itself felt,-- thro' some Energy unknown, ever are we haunted by that Edge so precise, so near. In the Dark, one never knows. Of course I am seeking the Warrior Path, imagining myself as heroick Scout. We all feel it Looming, even when we're awake, out there ahead someplace, the way you come to feel a River or Creek ahead, before anything else,-- sound, sky, vegetation,-- may have announced it. Perhaps 'tis the very deep sub-audible Hum of its Traffic that we feel with an equally undiscover'd part of the Sensorium,-- does it lie but over the next Ridge? the one after that? We have mileage Estimates from Rangers and Runners, yet for as long as its Distance from the Post Mark'd West remains unmeasur'd, nor is yet recorded as Fact, may it remain, a-shimmer, among the few final Pages of its Life as Fiction.

For some reason, she didn't want to take the motorcycle, so that left my car, the ever trusty (almost always) Blue Beetle, in old-school VW Bug that had seen me through one nasty scrape after another. More than once, it had been pounded badly, but always it had risen to do battle once more – if by battle one means driving somewhere at a sedate speed, without much acceleration and only middling gas mileage.

old enough to show some mileage, young enough to still find some amusement in the world.

I want a ride that’s comfy and fast. And you just can’t beat the gas mileage or upholstery of a horse.

I really love that we can ask physics ridiculous questions like, “What kind of gas mileage would my house get on the highway?” and physics has to answer us.

Oona stopped trusting the mirror years ago. After all it told only a sliver of the story. The mirror exposed time’s passage, yes, but eclipsed her heart’s true mileage. Each year the body was hers but her mind was out of sync with her reflection.

The Religion is practiced exactly opposite to how it is meant to be. Attaining selflessness is rather distant, it is practiced more as a social mileage and self gratification.

The shock which the Nazi horrors produced was so great, because they came after two hundred years of Roussellian propaganda about the goodness of human nature and also because the Germans were literate, clean, technologically progressive, hard working, “modern,” sober, “orderly,” and so forth. Yet about human nature we get more concrete and more pertinent information from the Bible than from statistics dealing with secondary education, the frequency of bathtubs or the mileage of superhighways.

Perhaps it is to fulfill this primal urge that runners and joggers get up every morning and pound the streets in cities all over the world. To feel the stirring of something primeval deep down in the pits of our bellies. To feel "a little bit wild." Running is not exactly fun. Running hurts. It takes effort. Ask any runner why he runs, and he will probably look at you with a wry smile and say, "I don't know." But something keeps us going. We may obsess about our PBs and mileage count, but these things alone are not enough to get us out running... What really drives us is something else, this need to feel human, to reach below the multitude of layers of roles and responsibilites that societ y has placed on us, down below the company name tags, and even the father, husband, and son, labels, to the pure, raw human being underneath. At such moments, our rational mind becomes redundant. We move from thought to feeling.

The limits of endurance running, according to physiologists, could be quantified with three parameters: aerobic capacity, also known as VO2max, which is analogous to the size of a car’s engine; running economy, which is an efficiency measure like gas mileage; and lactate threshold, which dictates how much of your engine’s power you can sustain for long periods of time.

There are map people whose joy is to lavish more attention on the sheets of colored paper than on the colored land rolling by. I have listened to accounts by such travelers in which every road number was remembered, every mileage recalled, and every little countryside discovered. Another kind of traveler requires to know in terms of maps exactly where he is pin-pointed at every moment, as though there were some kind of safety in black and red lines, in dotted indications and squirming blue of lakes and the shadings that indicate mountains. It is not so with me. I was born lost and take no pleasure in being found, nor much identification from shapes which symbolize continents and states.

Ride hailing does not necessarily mean few total miles driven. On the contrary, it can well mean increased mileage driven, as the accessibility and convenience stimulate more usage of vehicles—fewer people taking the bus or the subway and more people in individual cars, albeit driven by someone else.

One of the classier features of this home was the padded toilet seat. It was high-mileage puffy brown vinyl-colored foam and made that weird sigh when you sat down on it. I'm not a germaphobe or anything like that, but it is weird to think about all the ass time this seat had seen before we moved in. This is a horrible invention. What's the plan? You want to create a toilet seat so comfortable that you can fall asleep while you're taking a shit? You're going to show up late for work or end up like Elvis.

He pulls on a bathrobe and throws on his running shoes, which haven’t gotten much mileage on them of late.

little difference. Not so. All off-trail mileage is anathema.

that we need to be charitable to one another because it’s the right thing to do, “not because it allows us to rack up mileage points for our trip to some imaginary heaven.

Oona stopped trusting the mirror years ago. After all it told only a sliver of the story. The mirror exposed time’s passage, yes, but eclipsed her heart’s true mileage.

Besides, I'm looking for a man who doesn't have quite the mileage and the wear and tear on him as you do!

This universe is ocean of happiness where distance is measured in Smiles Per Hour; more the mileage more the happiness.

There are no rules, of course. Life is an art, not a science. Your mileage may vary. Take what you need and leave the rest.

Mileage doesn’t make the man.

Many people remember to include miles to their clients or vendors. However, what about those trips to the office supply store, bank, post office? These miles add up. Do not forget the miles!

There are 378,000 miles of roads in America’s national forests. That may seem a meaningless figure, but look at it this way—it is eight times the total mileage of America’s interstate highway system.

There is two things that tickle the fancy of our citizens, one is let him act on a committee, and the other is promise him to let him walk in a parade. What America needs is to get more mileage out of our parades.

Both Calvin and Hobbes are sitting on a carpet, a "magic carpet." They're riding in the sky, among the clouds. CALVIN: Hey, let's fly into the city and buzz Dad's office. CALVIN: Ha! Won't he be surprised whenhe sees US out his 20th-floor window. HOBBES: What if he's mad that we took the hallway rug? CALVIN: What's to get mad about?" We wiped our feet first. HOBBES: Yeah, but all this city mileage may hurt the resale value.

There is a husband who requires mileage receipts, another who wants sex at three a.m One who forbids short haircuts, another who refuses to feed the pets. I would never put up with that, the other wives think. Never.

The National District Attorney’s Association Bulletin reported a revealing study that was conducted on another group of destructive men: child sexual abusers. The researcher asked each man whether he himself had been sexually victimized as a child. A hefty 67 percent of the subjects said yes. However, the researcher then informed the men that he was going to hook them up to a lie-detector test and ask them the same questions again. Affirmative answers suddenly dropped to only 29 percent. In other words, abusers of all varieties tend to realize the mileage they can get out of saying, “I’m abusive because the same thing was done to me.” Although

There is a husband who requires mileage receipts, another who wants sex at three a.m. One who forbids short haircuts, another who refuses to feed the pets. I would never put up with that, all the other wives think. Never.

There are 378,000 miles of roads in America’s national forests. That may seem a meaningless figure, but look at it this way—it is eight times the total mileage of America’s interstate highway system. It is the largest road system in the world

My late husband and I had one rule for our marriage -- the Golden One. 'Do unto others' is one of the shortest teachings of Jesus, but its mileage is endless. Even the divorce rate might plummet if spouses applied the Golden Rule to each other.

Cuisine, after all, is culture itself. If a nation doesn’t have a vibrant, expansive food culture, then if you ask me, what’s the point? Out of the three basic needs—food, clothing, and shelter—food was number one by far to me, although your mileage may vary.

The slightly aberrational spouse was a status symbol, too. The husband who cooked. The wife who played golf. The husband who took his children to school. The wife who ran her own business. Of course, it was chancier with the women than with the men. You couldn't push it too far. The marathoner wife who made partner - perhaps. The wife who could benchpress her own weight and made the cover of Fortune - too emasculating. The men, on the other hand, got unlimited mileage out of performing so-called women's tasks as long as they also had substantial disposable income and significant business cards.

I jumped up, my hands in the air. “Yes!” Lend laughed. “Okay, looks like I need to make a run to the grocery store. Do faeries hate wheat or white bread more, you think?” “Get bread with raisins,” I said. “Everyone hates raisins.” Jack was bouncing, obviously excited. “That’s all we need, right?” “We need Reth.” “No,” Lend and Jack whined in unison. “Come on, you two. Reth knows the Faerie Realms better than you do. Jack, you didn’t see where the people were; it might take you a while to find them, and that’s time we can’t afford to lose. And Reth’s getting worse; being there might give him more time.” Lend scowled, grabbing the car keys off the counter. “Fine. But I’m really getting tired of his stupid smirk and prissy clothes.” Jack nodded. “And his voice that sounds like it’d even taste good. Really, it’s overkill. Best to have only a few absolutely perfect traits—for example, my hair and eyes and sparkling personality—so you don’t overwhelm them.” “Aww, are you guys jealous of how pretty Reth is? That’s kind of adorable.” “You know I could look exactly like him,” Lend said, frowning darkly. “Please for the love of all that is good and holy, never, ever wear Reth. That’s the stuff of nightmares.” That brightened his face a bit and he left me with a lingering kiss and a promise to be back with every loaf of bread we could carry. “Well, go find your stupid faerie boyfriend,” Jack said, lying down on top of the counter and drumming his fingers on his stomach. “I haven’t filled my quota for pissing off the Dark Court yet this week.” “We are going to blow your quote sky high.” He held up a hand and I high-fived him as I walked past and out of the house toward the trail. Yet again. I should have invested in a dirt bike or something given the amount of mileage I was getting out of the path between the house and the pond.

Both the Roadster and the Model S also take advantage of what’s known as regenerative braking, which extends the life of the brakes. During stop-and-go situations, the Tesla will brake by kicking the motor into reverse via software and slowing down the wheels instead of using brake pads and friction to clamp them down. The Tesla motor generates electricity during this process and funnels it back to the batteries, which is why electric cars get better mileage in city traffic.

We take the stairs down to the first level of the parking garage and I lead us toward the area reserved for doctors. She makes her way toward a black Audi, turns, and waits for me to join her. I smirk. “That’s not my car.” She nods. “Right, of course. I see it now.” She goes to a bright yellow Ferrari that belongs to one of the plastic surgeons. The vanity license plate reads: SXY DOC88. “Here we are.” “Not even close.” “Oh, okay. I get it. You aren’t flashy. Maybe that gray Range Rover over there?” I press the unlock button on my key fob and my rear lights flash. There she is, the car I’ve driven since I was in medical school. “You’re kidding. A Prius?! Satan himself drives a Prius?!” She turns around as if hoping to find someone else she can share this moment with. All she’s got is me. I shrug. “It gets good gas mileage.” She blinks exaggeratedly. “I couldn’t be more shocked if you’d hitched a horse to a buggy.” I chuckle and open the back door to toss in her backpack. “Get in. Traffic is going to be hell.” We buckle up in silence, back up and leave the parking garage in silence, pull out into traffic in silence. Finally, I ask, “Where do you live?” “On the west side. Right across from Franklin Park.” “Good. I have an errand I need to run that’s right by there. Mind if I do that before I drop you off?” “Well seeing as how you stole my backpack and forced me into your car, I don’t really think it matters what I want.” I see. She’s still pouting. That’s fine. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.” She doesn’t think I’m funny.

THINKING ABOUT THINKING It is natural to identify our thinking with the ideas, images, plans, and feelings that flow through consciousness. What else could it be? If I ask, “Why did you buy that car?” you can trot out reasons: “Good mileage. Cute style. Great price.” But you can only share thoughts by introspecting; that is, by turning your attention inward and examining the contents of your mind. And introspection can only capture a tiny fraction of the complex processes whirling inside your head—and behind your decisions.

Which brings me to the final aspect of the problem of Industrial Tourism: the Industrial Tourists themselves. They work hard, these people. They roll up incredible mileages on their odometers, rack up state after state in two-week transcontinental motor marathons, knock off one national park after another, take millions of square yards of photographs, and endure patiently the most prolonged discomforts: the tedious traffic jams, the awful food of park cafeterias and roadside eateries, the nocturnal search for a place to sleep or camp, the dreary routine of One-Stop Service, the endless lines of creeping traffic, the smell of exhaust fumes, the ever-proliferating Rules & Regulations, the fees and the bills and the service charges, the boiling radiator and the flat tire and the vapor lock, the surly retorts of room clerks and traffic cops, the incessant jostling of the anxious crowds, the irritation and restlessness of their children, the worry of their wives, and the long drive home at night in a stream of racing cars against the lights of another stream racing in the opposite direction, passing now and then the obscure tangle, the shattered glass, the patrolman’s lurid blinker light, of one more wreck.

Another bottle was brought out and poured into the reservoir. Once more I climbed inside the car and pressed the spurter button. Once more nothing happened--and once more, when we looked inside the reservoir, we found it empty. "Two litres!" I said. "Where has it all gone?" They'd vaporized, evaporated. And do you know what? It felt wonderful. Don't ask me why: it just did. It was as though I'd just witnessed a miracle: matter--these two litres of liquid--becoming un-matter--not surplus matter, mess or clutter, but pure, bodiless blueness. Transubstantiated. I looked up at the sky: it was blue and endless. I looked back at the boy. His overalls and face were covered in smears. He'd taken on these smears so that the miracle could happen, like a Christian martyr being flagellated, crucified, scrawled over with stigmata. I felt elated--elated and inspired. "If only..." I started, but paused. "What?" he asked. "If only everything could..." I trailed off. I knew what I meant. I stood there looking at his grubby face and told him: "Thank you." Then I got into the car and turned the ignition key in its slot. The engine caught--and as it did, a torrent of blue liquid burst out of the dashboard and cascaded down. It gushed from the radio, the heating panel, the hazard-lights switch and the speedometer and mileage counter. It gushed all over me: my shirt, my legs, my groin.

Amy found out she had cancer not long after finishing Textbook, and she called me. She knew that in the years after my book The Fault in Our Stars was published, I’d come to know many young people who were gravely ill, and she wanted to know if I had advice for her. I told her what I think is true—that love survives death. But she wanted to know how young people react to death. How her kids would. She wanted to know if her kids and her husband would be okay, and that ripped me up. Although I’m usually quite comfortable talking with sick people, with my friend I found myself stumbling over words, overwhelmed by my own sadness and worry. They won’t be okay, of course, but they will go on, and the love you poured into them will go on. That’s what I should’ve said. But what I actually said, while crying, was, “How can this be happening? You do so much yoga.” In my experience, dying people often have wonderful stories of the horrible things healthy people say to them, but I’ve never heard of anybody saying something as stupid as, “You do so much yoga.” I hope that Amy at least got some narrative mileage out of it. But I also know I failed her, after she was there for me so many times. I know she forgives me—present tense—but still, I desperately wish I could’ve said something useful. Or perhaps not said anything at all. When people we love are suffering, we want to make it better. But sometimes—often, in fact—you can’t make it better. I’m reminded of something my supervisor said to me when I was a student chaplain: “Don’t just do something. Stand there.

The brain makes up l/50th of our body mass but consumes a staggering 1/5th of the calories we burn for energy. If your brain were a car, in terms of gas mileage, it’d be a Hummer. Most of our conscious activity is happening in our prefrontal cortex, the part of our brain responsible for focus, handling short-term memory, solving problems, and moderating impulse control. It’s at the heart of what makes us human and the center for our executive control and willpower. The “last in, first out” theory is very much at work inside our head. The most recent parts of our brain to develop are the first to suffer if there is a shortage of resources. Older, more developed areas of the brain, such as those that regulate breathing and our nervous responses, get first helpings from our blood stream and are virtually unaffected if we decide to skip a meal. The prefrontal cortex, on the other hand, feels the impact. Unfortunately, being relatively young in terms of human development, it’s the runt of the litter come feeding time.

Wal-Mart can't seem to grasp an essential fact: in 2006, the company has exactly the reputation it has earned. No, we don't give the company adequate credit for low prices. But the broken covenant Sam Walton had with how to treat store employees, the relentless pressure that hollows out companies and dilutes the quality of their products, the bullying of suppliers and communities, the corrosive secrecy, the way Wal-Mart has changed our own perception of price and quality, of value and durability--none of these is imaginary, or trivial, or easily changed with a fresh set of bullet points, an impassioned speech, and a website heavy with "Wal-Mart facts". If Wal-Mart does in fact double the gas mileage of its truck fleet, and thereby double the gas mileage of every long-haul truck in America, that will be huge. It will change gas consumption in the United States in a single stroke. But it hasn't happened yet. And even if it does, it will not make Wal-Mart a good company or a good corporate partner or a good corporate citizen.

There was little effort to conceal this method of doing business. It was common knowledge, from senior managers and heads of research and development to the people responsible for formulation and the clinical people. Essentially, Ranbaxy’s manufacturing standards boiled down to whatever the company could get away with. As Thakur knew from his years of training, a well-made drug is not one that passes its final test. Its quality must be assessed at each step of production and lies in all the data that accompanies it. Each of those test results, recorded along the way, helps to create an essential roadmap of quality. But because Ranbaxy was fixated on results, regulations and requirements were viewed with indifference. Good manufacturing practices were stop signs and inconvenient detours. So Ranbaxy was driving any way it chose to arrive at favorable results, then moving around road signs, rearranging traffic lights, and adjusting mileage after the fact. As the company’s head of analytical research would later tell an auditor: “It is not in Indian culture to record the data while we conduct our experiments.

In fact, mostly what the Forest Service does is build roads. I am not kidding. There are 378,000 miles of roads in America’s national forests. That may seem a meaningless figure, but look at it this way—it is eight times the total mileage of America’s interstate highway system. It is the largest road system in the world in the control of a single body. The Forest Service has the second highest number of road engineers of any government institution on the planet. To say that these guys like to build roads barely hints at their level of dedication. Show them a stand of trees anywhere and they will regard it thoughtfully for a long while, and say at last, “You know, we could put a road here.” It is the avowed aim of the U.S. Forest Service to construct 580,000 miles of additional forest road by the middle of the next century. The reason the Forest Service builds these roads, quite apart from the deep pleasure of doing noisy things in the woods with big yellow machines, is to allow private timber companies to get to previously inaccessible stands of trees. Of the Forest Service’s 150 million acres of loggable land, about two-thirds is held in store for the future. The remaining one-third—49 million acres, or an area roughly twice the size of Ohio—is available for logging. It allows huge swathes of land to be clear-cut, including (to take one recent but heartbreaking example) 209 acres of thousand-year-old redwoods in Oregon’s Umpqua National Forest.

My editor insists that I clarify that there isn’t actually a $25 bill hidden in this book, which is sort of ridiculous to have to explain, because there’s no such thing as a $25 bill. If you bought this book thinking you were going to find a $25 bill inside then I think you really just paid for a worthwhile lesson, and that lesson is, don’t sell your cow for magic beans. There was another book that explained this same concept many years ago, but I think my cribbed example is much more exciting. It’s like the Fifty Shades of Grey version of “Jack and the Beanstalk.” But with fewer anal beads, or beanstalks. 2. “Concoctulary” is a word that I just made up for words that you have to invent because they didn’t yet exist. It’s a portmanteau of “concocted” and “vocabulary.” I was going to call it an “imaginary” (as a portmanteau of “imagined” and “dictionary”) but turns out that the word “imaginary” was already concoctularied, which is actually fine because “concoctulary” sounds sort of unintentionally dirty and is also great fun to say. Try it for yourself. Con-COC-chew-lary. It sings. 3. My mental illness is not your mental illness. Even if we have the exact same diagnosis we will likely experience it in profoundly different ways. This book is my unique perspective on my personal path so far. It is not a textbook. If it were it would probably cost a lot more money and have significantly less profanity or stories about strangers sending you unexpected vaginas in the mail. As it is with all stories, fast cars, wild bears, mental illness, and even life, only one truth remains: your mileage may vary.

Explaining the rise of MSNBC, the Republican strategist Stuart Stevens said: “I think there are a lot of people out there who are dramatically troubled by the direction of the country, and they would like to be reminded that: (A) they’re not alone, and (B) there’s an alternative”. But loneliness isn’t the problem; the direction of the country is. And being alone together is not an alternative direction, just as a cancer support group does not shrink a tumour. It’s probably true that viewers of MSNBC are sometimes inspired to give money to progressive candidates, and perhaps there’s someone out there whose politics were changed, rather that their loneliness assuaged, by Rachel Maddow. It’s certainly true that a hybrid car gets better mileage than a traditional gas car. But primarily, these things make us feel better. And it can be dangerous to feel better when things are not getting better. […] Too often, the feeling of making a difference doesn’t correspond to the difference being made – worse, an inflated sense of accomplishment can relieve the burden of doing what actually needs to be done. Do the children getting vaccines paid for by Bill Gates really care if he feels annoyed when he gives 46 percent of his vast wealth to charity? Do the children dying of preventable diseases really care if Jeff Bezos feels altruistic when he donates only 1.2 percent of his even vaster wealth? If you found yourself in the back of an ambulance, would you rather have a driver who loathes his job put performs it expertly or one who is passionate about his job but takes twice as long to get you to the hospital?

I suspected that the most highly motivated and the best runners would try almost anything no matter how bizarre, if it was recommended for improvement on the basis of some rationale.” — Bernd Heinrich, Why We Run (p. 235)

there is a limit to the amount of training the body can benefit from.” — Tim Noakes, Lore of Running

only then do they learn that too much training was more detrimental to their performance than too little training.” — Tim Noakes, Lore of Running (p. 293)

The fracas was frequently portrayed in the media as two world-famous Harvard professors brought low by a graduate student from a lesser-known, unorthodox department. This is largely hyperbole. But the clash did illustrate an import aspect of economics—something that the profession shares with other sciences: Ultimately, what determines the standing of a piece of research is not the affiliation, status, or network of the author; it is how well it stacks up to the research criteria of the profession itself. The authority of the work derives from its internal properties—how well it is put together, how convincing the evidence is—not from the identity, connections, or ideology of the researcher. And because these standards are shared within the profession, anyone can point to shoddy work and say it is shoddy.¶¶ This may not seem particularly impressive, unless you consider how unusual it is compared to many other social sciences or much of the humanities.## It would be truly rare in those other fields for a graduate student to get much mileage challenging a senior scholar’s work, as happens with some frequency in economics. But because models enable the highlighting of error, in economics anyone can do it.

Ghar wapsi, conversion tools of politicians for political purposes’ Lalmani Verma | 318 words Eminent educationists on Saturday concluded that issues like “ghar wapsi” and “religious conversion or reconversion” are “tools beings used by politicians to gain political mileage”. At a seminar organised by Centre for Advanced Studies of Allahabad University, Department of Philosophy, professors from several state varsities unanimously spoke against such programmes, saying that religious conversion was a rare practice that could not be performed by inducing fear or allurement. Among the attendees were Professors Lalji Bajwa, Shabnam Hameed, Aziz-ur-rehman Siddiqui, M Massey, S P Pandey and Kripa Shankar. Prof Massey is the principal of Christian College in Allahabad while Prof Pandey and Prof Kripa Shankar are with Banaras Hindu University.

This is your first marathon. Possibly, you’ll want it to be your last. Focus on future races draws energy from the one in front of you. Like the mileage that comprises them, train for marathons one at a time.

The habit of listening and responding to what your body needs – how much, when and for how long whether food, water, rest, sleep or mileage – involves more than anything, willingness. If you are willing to practice – pay attention to signals, honor the signals you receive and train with mindfulness over distraction – then you are well on your way to listening becoming habit.

Just like the body responds with sore muscles when we add mileage, the initial discomfort felt when we listen to the Voice Inside reflects growth. The good news: anxiety initially triggered by listening to our inner dialogue is short-term vs. the unnamed, interminable dread that piggybacks suppression. Even better, we can manage it with self-talk, deep breathing (inherent to running), the Tribe and social support.

Long distance races ceased to be daunting, single entities – 12K, Half Marathon, Marathon. As if solving a riddle, I deciphered their true nature: incremental miles over time.

During stop-and-go situations, the Tesla will brake by kicking the motor into reverse via software and slowing down the wheels instead of using brake pads and friction to clamp them down. The Tesla motor generates electricity during this process and funnels it back to the batteries, which is why electric cars get better mileage in city traffic.

All of that is reps. You have to practice each move thirty, forty, fifty times until you get it. From the bodybuilding days on, I learned that everything is reps and mileage. The more miles you ski, the better a skier you become; the more reps you do, the better your body. I’m a big believer in hard work, grinding it out, and not stopping until it’s done,

Just as a callus gets thicker and stronger with use, your body adapts to higher levels of pain. You need to push the envelope to force your brain and body to accept higher levels of discomfort.

Passing the baton - Oh what a challenge this has proven to be in many societies, families, businesses, governments, religious organizations and obviously in every other relay race! Why do this? - for starters, you will not live forever – how about that? After a given mileage, even a car will need new tyres!

Ask yourself, “Am I excited about this workout?” If the answer is “no,” take an easy day, or skip running altogether.

No rigid protocol. Only guidelines. Too much protocol can be suffocating and become an end in itself. Each day is special. Each day is different.” — Bernd Heinrich, Why We Run (p. 225)

Unfortunately, too many runners believe that they must train hard to run well and end up doing too much to try to compensate for their genetic deficits.” — Tim Noakes, Lore of Running (p. 291)

Why should I practice running slow? I already know how to run slow. I want to learn to run fast.” — Emil Zatopek

And if you say one word about inconveniencing me, I’ll either charge you mileage or start up a tab that you can repay when you’re in the mood.” I blushed. “That’s not what I meant,” he said with a smile. “But it’s nice to know where your mind went.” He winked and pulled his keys out of his jeans.

Under CAFE rules that took effect in 2011, bigger cars have lower mileage requirements.

In order for a person to work at a church legally as an independent contractor, we believe it is prudent to consider the following guidelines:   ·       The church cannot substantially direct the person’s duties; the church can only give them overall tasks to complete.   ·       The church cannot control or set their hours that they work.   ·       Since their “company” provides the service, they can send anyone to do the job.   ·       They cannot have an office at the church that is their primary office.   ·       It cannot be their only source of income.   ·       The church needs to have a written contract in place including cost, delivery of Services, duration (i.e. six months, one year, etc.) and a termination clause.   ·       They cannot participate in any employee benefits plans (insurance, retirement plans, etc).   ·       The contractor must provide annual proof of worker’s comp and liability insurance naming the church as additionally insured or the church could be held liable in the event of a claim.   ·       The church must issue a 1099 at the end of the year for all contract wages paid if the total amount for the year exceeds $600.00 to one contractor. We strongly recommend that no payments are made until an accurate and fully completed W-9 is completed by the contractor and on file at the church.        Given these requirements, many workers such as those in the nursery, kitchens, and other service areas are not 1099 contractors, but employees.     Regarding interim pastors, there is disagreement over whether they should receive a W-2 or 1099. Factors such as length of service, who supervises them, and whether they are a contractor, come into play in the decision on how to report their salary. For the best practice we recommend always using the W-2 to report salaries, but seeking tax and legal counsel would be wise to avoid any future IRS issues.      While there are advantages to the church to pay independent contractors who regularly work for the church such as avoiding the need to pay the employer's part of the FICA tax and the ease of terminating their services, we would recommend against their regular use.      We recommend against the use of independent contractors (that regularly work at the church) because we believe it can create the following problems for the church:   ·       Less control over the position   ·       Leaves the church open to an IRS challenge, which the church only has a 50/50 chance of defending, not to mention the cost and hassle of litigation   ·       In the event of insurance claims, the church may encounter issues with worker’s compensation coverage or liability insurance coverage such as sexual misconduct, etc.   ·       The church is open to contract disputes with the independent contractor   ·       Based on how the individual/company is filing their taxes, it could bring an unwanted tax audit to the church        Our conclusion is that we do not see enough cost-saving advantages for the church to move in this direction. It also creates unnecessary red flags for the IRS. The other looming question is, why is this such an important issue for such a small incremental (if any) tax break for the individual? Because the independent contractor will have to pay employer FICA, we don’t see any large tax advantage for this shift. They can claim mileage and some home office expense (maybe), but it just does not amount to enough to place the church at risk.      Here are some detailed guidelines

just-concluded Paris Motor Show stood out for its dazzling concept and production cars, many of which are pointing to the future, low emission, electric or hybrid cars that are environmentally-friendly as well as fuel-savers that give more mileage than ever before. It also showcased exciting levels of French design and innovation. There was the Peugeot 208 Hybrid Air concept which Peugeot-Citroen has based on a standard 208 with an engine that uses compressed air instead of conventional battery power in a hybrid set-up. It works in the opposite way to electric hybrids by being best utilised with frequent use and regeneration. As regenerating the system takes just 10 seconds, it's also ideal for city

I was starting to think that I was too old for this, but I wasn't. It was the mileage, not the years.

Your Last Will and Testament • Estate Plan • Name and Contact Information of Executor • Contact Information for Attorney and Accountant • Deeds and Titles for all Assets • Life Insurance Account Numbers and Contact Information • Bank Account Numbers and Contact Information • Retirement Accounts and Contact Information • Credit Card Accounts and Contact Information • List of Regular Bills, especially those on autopay • List of Mileage Accounts and Other Loyalty/Reward Programs • Comprehensive List of Passwords

It's not the years, honey, it's the mileage.

I had a drink, and then another. I listened to their talk of mileage, of the skinned knees and the hypothermic swimming bouts. I tuned out, and watched the other people in the pub, wondering about their lives. Each of them would have huge events in their own families - babies loved and lost, dark secrets, great joy and tragedies. If they could put it into perspective, if they could just enjoy a sunny evening in a pub garden, then surely I should too.

Oil Change instructions for Women: 1. Pull up to Dealership when the mileage reaches 5,000 miles since the last oil change. 2. Relax in the waiting room while enjoying a cup of coffee. 3. 15 minutes later, scan debit card and leave, driving a properly maintained vehicle. Money spent: Oil Change:$24.00 Coffee: Complementary TOTAL: $24.00 Oil Change instructions for Men: 1. Wait until Saturday, drive to auto parts store and buy a case of oil, filter, kitty litter, hand cleaner and a scented tree, and use your debit card for $50.00. 2. Stop to buy a case of beer, (debit $24), drive home. 3. Open a beer and drink it. 4. Jack truck up. Spend 30 minutes looking for jack stands. 5. Find jack stands under kid's pedal car. 6.. In frustration, open another beer and drink it. 7. Place drain pan under engine. 8. Look for 9/16 box end wrench. 9. Give up and use crescent wrench. 10. Unscrew drain plug. 11. Drop drain plug in pan of hot oil: splash hot oil on you in process. Cuss. 12. Crawl out from under truck to wipe hot oil off of face and arms. Throw kitty litter on spilled oil. 13. Have another beer while watching oil drain. 14. Spend 30 minutes looking for oil filter wrench. 15. Give up; crawl under truck and hammer a screwdriver through oil filter and twist off. 16. Crawl out from under truck with dripping oil filter splashing oil everywhere from holes. Cleverly hide old oil filter among trash in trash can to avoid environmental penalties. Drink a beer. 17. Install new oil filter making sure to apply a thin coat of oil to gasket surface. 18. Dump first quart of fresh oil into engine. 19. Remember drain plug from step 11. 20. Hurry to find drain plug in drain pan. 21. Drink beer. 22. Discover that first quart of fresh oil is now on the floor. Throw kitty litter on oil spill. 23. Get drain plug back in with only a minor spill. Drink beer. 24. Crawl under truck getting kitty litter into eyes. Wipe eyes with oily rag used to clean drain plug. Slip with stupid crescent wrench tightening drain plug and bang knuckles on frame removing any excess skin between knuckles and frame. 25. Begin cussing fit. 26. Throw stupid crescent wrench. 27. Cuss for additional 5 minutes because wrench hit truck and left dent. 28. Beer. 29. Clean up hands and bandage as required to stop blood flow. 30. Beer. 31. Dump in five fresh quarts of oil. 32. Beer. 33. Lower truck from jack stands. 34. Move truck back to apply more kitty litter to fresh oil spilled during any missed steps. 35. Beer. 36. Test drive truck. 37. Get pulled over: arrested for driving under the influence. 38. Truck gets impounded. 39. Call loving wife, make bail. 40. 12 hours later, get truck from impound yard. Money spent: Parts: $50.00 DUI: $2,500.00 Impound fee: $75.00 Bail: $1,500.00 Beer: $20.00 TOTAL: $4,145.00 But you know the job was done right!

By 1982, the mileage had paid off. Berlin had worked regularly with Top Jimmy & the Rhythm Pigs (playing on and producing the band’s only album, Piggus Drunkus Maximus, belatedly issued in 1987), the Plugz (with whom he recorded the band’s 1981 sophomore set, Better Luck), Phast Phreddie and Thee Precisions (as tenor saxophonist on Bomp’s 1981 live album West Hollywood Freeze-Out), and the “all-star” iteration of the Flesh Eaters (on the 1981 Ruby/Slash album A Minute to Pray, A Second to Die). The latter unit included the Blasters’ Dave Alvin. Berlin

It’s so hard to explain what the dead really want. Not to be alive again, heavens no, never that: a passenger buckled into that depreciating vehicle of the body, that cramped one-seater with its structural flaws and piss-poor mileage, its failures and betrayals, its worn, nonfunctioning, irreplaceable parts.

In short, although the excesses of Aryan ideology in Europe would be hard to surpass, the Indians themselves were not averse to attempting to extract political mileage from the Aryan theme to support their own agendas. Indeed, in about 1920, one Visnu Sakharam Pandit filed an immigration court case in America, claiming to be a European. Since immigration was closed to Asiatics at that time, the ingenious fellow said he could prove that he was a Brahman and therefore a fellow Aryan. The argument was even entertained for a while, until a California court ruled that the Aryan invasion theory was precisely that: just a theory, and therefore not citable as credible proof for immigration purposes.

Life is an art, not a science. Your mileage may vary. Take what you need and leave the rest.

One notable example of this is the ever present “People You May Know” or “Friend suggestions” feature. Every social platform at scale has some kind of implementation of it for a reason: it works incredibly well. My friend Aatif Awan, formerly vice president of growth at LinkedIn—who helped them scale to hundreds of millions of users and spearheaded their acquisition by Microsoft—explains how their algorithm works: People You May Know was a key part of LinkedIn’s success, generating billions of connections within the network. It started with “completing the triangle”—if a bunch of your friends have all connected with Alice but you haven’t yet, then there’s a good chance you might know Alice, too. Later, we incorporated implicit signals—maybe Alice just updated her profile to say she works at your same company. Maybe she’s viewed your profile multiple times over several days. Putting all of these inputs into a machine learning model continued to give us mileage on this feature over many years.77

while the number of Cascade hikers has increased sixfold since 1960, nearly a third of the trail mileage has been lost to logging and neglect.

To ensure your safety, meet our insurance policy conditions and mileage reporting, our fleet is equipped with latest GPS tracking devices.

A lineup of ladies with their virtue for rent and a lot of mileage on the clock greeted us with smiles that would only have excited a student of dentistry.

In four months, Nagumo’s carriers had traveled more than 50,000 miles, spreading terror and devastation a full third of the way around the earth, from Hawaii in the east to Ceylon in the west. But the mileage was beginning to wear. The ships and crews had been sent on too many missions in too many directions; they had traveled too many miles with too little rest; they had been pushed to the limits of endurance by commanders who were loath to accept that such limits even existed.

I was just thinking about all the rules and regulations we pick up like lice during our lives. When you’re a child, there are so many no-nos. Then you become more mature and you get the false impression, live under the illusion, that restrictions diminish. For a while you forget all the new ones. You can drive, but now there are all those traffic regulations. You can stay out later, but there are rules about alcohol and drugs and curfews. You are suddenly aware of other things like jay walking, littering, defacing property, cutting in front of people in lines, obeying the rules your bank imposes and your college imposes. Then, of course, once you’re really on your own, earning your own keep, there are the pages and pages of IRS codes. You have all that beside the Ten Commandments and spools of new edicts related to civil and criminal law.’ ‘So?’ ‘And then you get married, save up enough money to have a mortgage and a house in a place like that,’ I said, nodding at the development, ‘and are handed a booklet of CC and Rs, the covenants, conditions and restrictions associated with your homeowners’ association. It never stops. Even after your dead. Did you know there is a mileage restriction relating to how far you have to be taken to have your ashes dumped at sea?’ ‘You forgot the rules your own body imposes on you, like when to eat and drink, what to eat and drink, and when to seek sexual intercourse. And sleep. I always forget sleep.

The mirror exposed time’s passage, yes, but eclipsed her heart’s true mileage. The lined face, the extra pounds, the hair chemically treated to hide its gray. Each year the body was hers, but her mind was out of sync with her reflection. Always playing catch-up, trying to rearrange the scrambled pieces of her life. It

I don’t want to turn back my odometer. I don’t want to forget how far I’ve come. I’m proud of the mileage of my life’s journey. I’m not ashamed of the wear and tear on my body. I’ve come this far and some of the roads weren’t paved. I’m still here... still on my journey. I’m proud of that.