Missing U Quotes

Here it is,' Nigel said. Mrs D, Mrs I, Mrs FFI, Mrs C, Mrs U, Mrs LTY. That spells difficulty.' How perfectly ridiculous!' snorted Miss Trunchbull. 'Why are all these women married?

the harder it is to say goobye to sombody, the luckier u are to have met sombody ur going to miss

Last year in the U.S. alone more than nine hundred thousand people were reported missing and not found... That's out of three hundred million, total population. That breaks down to about one person in three hundred and twenty-five vanishing. Every year.... Maybe it's a coincidence, but it's almost the same loss ratio experienced by herd animals on the African savannah to large predators.

They made us believe that each one of us is the half of an orange, and that life only makes sense when u find that other half. They did not tell us that we were born as whole, and that no-one in our lives deserve to carry on his back such responsibility of completing what is missing on us: we grow through life by ourselves. If we have a good company it’s just more pleasant.

i miss u i love you there's no second ive lived you can't call your own

Have u loved someone so deep in your heart, u wanted to keep them hidden & all to yourself?

I have been waiting 4 u too long.... Cant let u go... ♥

no matter how u run away, no matter how can u pretend, no matter how scared u are there is gona be the sense u have missed something, fallen heart feeling u mixed with in the moments u should live, u will get used to that feeling, believe me when i tell u, this is crazy, some day ur life will be so u r just warming up

Missing 'U' is my way of Loving 'U

Right then," Campbell began, his tone so civil it was offensive. "May I have your name for the record, Miss...?" "Eliza Braun," Eliza sneered. "Here, I'll spell it for you -- B-U-G-G-E-R-O-F-F.

Beberapakali aku menemukan mimpiku sendiri terjerembab di depan pintu. Kuyup oleh hujan. Seperti pakaian kotor berulangkali kucuci dan kujemur di halaman luas. Pada saat saat seperti itu aku selalu ingat wajah dan matamu saat menatapku; selalu teduh dan meneguhkan. Maka aku yakin pada akhirnya jarak hanya memisahkan raga. Tapi ia tak pernah sanggup menjauhkan mimpi, imaji dan kenangan yang kita semat bersama dalam rindu yang paling diam.

Grieve Khalil all you want. Miss him, allow yourself to miss what could’ve been, let your feelings get out of whack. But like I told you, don’t stop living.

Missing you hurts, loving you kills, being with u is a crime, and i'm still fine with that.

The amazing thing about a long journey is that you can miss exits, run Stop signs, head the wrong way down a one-way street, get lost, misplace your keys, find them, make a U-turn, and still, somehow, miraculously reach your proper destination.

miss someone is not just word it is more than word it is like when u want ur love to be with u every moment

Being a good person is like being a goal keeper, No matter how many goals you save People will remember only the one that U missed." "THAT'S LIFE

There is a long history, in the U.S. and elsewhere, of removing children as a means of political control.

I used to think love was two people sucking on the same straw to see whose thirst was stronger, but then I whiffed the crushed walnuts of your nape, traced jackals in the snow-covered tombstones of your teeth. I used to think love was a non-stop saxophone solo in the lungs, till I hung with you like a pair of sneakers from a phone line, and you promised to always smell the rose in my kerosene. I used to think love was terminal pelvic ballet, till you let me jog beside while you pedaled all over hell on the menstrual bicycle, your tongue ripping through my prairie like a tornado of paper cuts. I used to think love was an old man smashing a mirror over his knee, till you helped me carry the barbell of my spirit back up the stairs after my car pirouetted in the desert. You are my history book. I used to not believe in fairy tales till I played the dunce in sheep’s clothing and felt how perfectly your foot fit in the glass slipper of my ass. But then duty wrapped its phone cord around my ankle and yanked me across the continent. And now there are three thousand miles between the u and s in esophagus. And being without you is like standing at a cement-filled wall with a roll of Yugoslavian nickels and making a wish. Some days I miss you so much I’d jump off the roof of your office building just to catch a glimpse of you on the way down. I wish we could trade left eyeballs, so we could always see what the other sees. But you’re here, I’m there, and we have only words, a nightly phone call - one chance to mix feelings into syllables and pour into the receiver, hope they don’t disassemble in that calculus of wire. And lately - with this whole war thing - the language machine supporting it - I feel betrayed by the alphabet, like they’re injecting strychnine into my vowels, infecting my consonants, naming attack helicopters after shattered Indian tribes: Apache, Blackhawk; and West Bank colonizers are settlers, so Sharon is Davey Crockett, and Arafat: Geronimo, and it’s the Wild West all over again. And I imagine Picasso looking in a mirror, decorating his face in war paint, washing his brushes in venom. And I think of Jenin in all that rubble, and I feel like a Cyclops with two eyes, like an anorexic with three mouths, like a scuba diver in quicksand, like a shark with plastic vampire teeth, like I’m the executioner’s fingernail trying to reason with the hand. And I don’t know how to speak love when the heart is a busted cup filling with spit and paste, and the only sexual fantasy I have is busting into the Pentagon with a bazooka-sized pen and blowing open the minds of generals. And I comfort myself with the thought that we’ll name our first child Jenin, and her middle name will be Terezin, and we’ll teach her how to glow in the dark, and how to swallow firecrackers, and to never neglect the first straw; because no one ever talks about the first straw, it’s always the last straw that gets all the attention, but by then it’s way too late.

As I brush my teeth, I scroll through my phone to see if Sabrina texted when my phone was on silent last night. She didn’t. Damn. I was hoping my speech—and that amazing fucking kiss—might’ve changed her mind about going out with me, but I guess it didn’t. I do, however, find the most mind-boggling conversation in the group chat I have with my roommates. All the messages are from last night, and they’re bizarre as fuck. Garrett: The hells, D?! Dean: It’s not what you think!! Logan: It’s hard to mistake ur romantic bath with that giant pink thing! In ur ass! Dean: It wasn’t in my ass! Garrett: I’m not even going to ask where it was Dean: I had a girl over! Garrett: Suuuuuuuuure Logan: Suuuuuuuuure Dean: I hate you guys Garrett: <3 Logan: <3 I rinse my mouth out, spit, and drop the toothbrush into the little cup on the sink. Then I quickly type out a text. Me: Wait… what did I miss? Since we have practice in twenty minutes, the guys are already awake and clearly on their phones. Two photos pop up simultaneously. Garrett and Logan have both sent me pics of pink dildos. I’m even more confused now. Dean messages immediately with, Why do you guys have dildo pics handy? Logan: ALINIMB Dean: ?? Me: ?? Garrett: At Least It’s Not In My Butt. I snort to myself, because I’m starting to piece it together. Logan: Nice, G! U got that on the first try! Garrett: We spend too much time 2gether. Me: PLEASE tell me u caught D playing w/ dildos. Logan: Sure did. Dean is quick to object again. I HAD A GIRL OVER! The guys and I rag on him for a couple more minutes, but I have to stop when Fitzy stumbles into the bathroom and shoves me aside. He’s got crazy bedhead and he’s buck-naked. “Gotta piss,” he mumbles. “Mornin’, sunshine,” I say cheerfully. “Want me to make you some coffee?” “God. Yes. Please.” Chuckling, I duck out of the bathroom and walk the four or so steps into his kitchenette. When he finally emerges, I shove a cup of coffee in his hand, sip my own, and say, “Dean shoved a dildo up his ass last night.” Fitzy nods. “Makes sense.” I snicker mid-sip. Coffee spills over the rim of my cup. “It really does, huh?

Nearly a Valediction" You happened to me. I was happened to like an abandoned building by a bull- dozer, like the van that missed my skull happened a two-inch gash across my chin. You were as deep down as I’ve ever been. You were inside me like my pulse. A new- born flailing toward maternal heartbeat through the shock of cold and glare: when you were gone, swaddled in strange air I was that alone again, inventing life left after you. I don’t want to remember you as that four o’clock in the morning eight months long after you happened to me like a wrong number at midnight that blew up the phone bill to an astronomical unknown quantity in a foreign currency. The U.S. dollar dived since you happened to me. You’ve grown into your skin since then; you’ve grown into the space you measure with someone you can love back without a caveat. While I love somebody I learn to live with through the downpulled winter days’ routine wakings and sleepings, half-and-half caffeine- assisted mornings, laundry, stock-pots, dust- balls in the hallway, lists instead of longing, trust that what comes next comes after what came first. She’ll never be a story I make up. You were the one I didn’t know where to stop. If I had blamed you, now I could forgive you, but what made my cold hand, back in prox- imity to your hair, your mouth, your mind, want where it no way ought to be, defined by where it was, and was and was until the whole globed swelling liquefied and spilled through one cheek’s nap, a syllable, a tear, was never blame, whatever I wished it were. You were the weather in my neighborhood. You were the epic in the episode. You were the year poised on the equinox.

You cry, i cry. you hurt,i hurt. you laugh, i laugh. You jump off a bridge den ima miss u lil buddy

You should want to win. I still remember when I was little. Girls would score a goal, and we would walk together, high-five, and walk back to our positions. Boys are running around, going "I'm Number One." It wasn't like that for young girls. With girls, if you miss the ball on a tackle and hit the other player, it's like, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry.

In the first half of 1944, battle casualty rates for every 1,000 bomber crewmen serving six months in combat included 712 killed or missing and 175 wounded: 89 percent. By one calculation, barely one in four U.S. airmen completed twenty-five missions over Germany, a minimum quota that was soon raised to thirty and then thirty-five on the assumption that the liberation of France and Belgium and the attenuation of German airpower made flying less lethal.

The Los Angeles parade would begin in Griffith Park, where a large crowd would assemble and the speeches would be given. Every politician of consequence would be there. There was no way they would miss a chance to publicly praise the troops and honor those who had lost their lives in service. Some of the tributes would be sincere and heartfelt, and some less so. But participating in the event, vowing undying support for the U.S. military, was an absolute must to maintain political viability. It was okay to vote to cut funds for veterans' healthcare, but don't dare miss a chance to jump on the Memorial Day bandwagon.

أربت على كتفها القريبة مني بلطف : are u ok miss? could i help in any way? أفكر في تلك العبارة التي يمسح الناس بها أحزان الناس أحيانا، أو يهديء بها شخص ما زميلة في العمل ، أو حتى غريبة جلست إلى جانبه في قطار، يحتضنها أو يربّت على ظهرها. نحتاج إلى تلك اللمسة أحيانا حتى من غريب. جارتي تحتاجها الآن. لكنني لست زميا لها في عمل و لا غريبا و حسب ، بل أنا الآخر. أنا الذات التي تقلق وجودها، و هي الوجود الذي يقلق ذاتي. لسنا بعضنا لكي نهديء بعضنا. بل نحن " نحنان" ، نحن .. تحتل نحنًا ، و هي من نحن"هم" لا من نحن"نا". هي إسرائيلية كما تؤكد لهجتها. و لابد أن تكون قد أدت خدمتها في الجيش. و رما أمضتها في الأراضي الفلسطينية، فأطلقت النار على فلسطيني ما ، أو شاركت في قتل فلاح ابن نصر الدين ابن خالي. و قد تكون قد وقفت على حاجز تتلقف القادمين، تُنشّف ريق عجوز فلسطينية، أو تعرقل مرور أخرى حامل في طريقها إلى مستشفى للولادة، و تتسبب في وضعها وليدها عند الحاجز، تعيقها بدلا من أن تكون قابلتها و هي امرأة مثلها. قد تكون جارتي كل هذا أو بعضه !

Go places, explore world, switch careers, get a regrettable tattoo or do whatever fuck u want to do but never miss a call from your MOM.

You miss them so much when they deploy, and you want them to be home, but then when they are, things aren’t perfect. And you feel as if they should be. Depending on the deployment and what I’d been through, I also had emotions ranging from sadness to anxiety to anger.

While Arab governments and Palestinian leaders were willing to participate in a new and more reasonable UN peace initiative in 1948, the Israelis assassinated the UN peace mediator, Count Bernadotte, and rejected the suggestion of the Palestine Conciliation Commission (PCC), a UN body, to reopen negotiations. This intransigent view would continue; Avi Shlaim has shown in The Iron Wall that, contrary to the myth that the Palestinians never missed an opportunity to miss peace, it was Israel that constantly rejected the peace offers that were on the table.

Initially, I began writing myself into my favorite shows. I was a detective on 77 Sunset Strip, the missing Cartwright sibling they never talked about on Bonanza, and the Girl from U.N.C.L.E. before there was a Girl from U.N.C.L.E., not to mention an active participant in the serialized stories on The Mickey Mouse Club.

The North Korean capital, Pyongyang, is a city consecrated to the worship of a father-son dynasty. (I came to think of them, with their nuclear-family implications, as 'Fat Man and Little Boy.') And a river runs through it. And on this river, the Taedong River, is moored the only American naval vessel in captivity. It was in January 1968 that the U.S.S. Pueblo strayed into North Korean waters, and was boarded and captured. One sailor was killed; the rest were held for nearly a year before being released. I looked over the spy ship, its radio antennae and surveillance equipment still intact, and found photographs of the captain and crew with their hands on their heads in gestures of abject surrender. Copies of their groveling 'confessions,' written in tremulous script, were also on show. So was a humiliating document from the United States government, admitting wrongdoing in the penetration of North Korean waters and petitioning the 'D.P.R.K.' (Democratic People's Republic of Korea) for 'lenience.' Kim Il Sung ('Fat Man') was eventually lenient about the men, but not about the ship. Madeleine Albright didn't ask to see the vessel on her visit last October, during which she described the gruesome, depopulated vistas of Pyongyang as 'beautiful.' As I got back onto the wharf, I noticed a refreshment cart, staffed by two women under a frayed umbrella. It didn't look like much—one of its three wheels was missing and a piece of brick was propping it up—but it was the only such cart I'd see. What toothsome local snacks might the ladies be offering? The choices turned out to be slices of dry bread and cups of warm water. Nor did Madeleine Albright visit the absurdly misnamed 'Demilitarized Zone,' one of the most heavily militarized strips of land on earth. Across the waist of the Korean peninsula lies a wasteland, roughly following the 38th parallel, and packed with a titanic concentration of potential violence. It is four kilometers wide (I have now looked apprehensively at it from both sides) and very near to the capital cities of both North and South. On the day I spent on the northern side, I met a group of aging Chinese veterans, all from Szechuan, touring the old battlefields and reliving a war they helped North Korea nearly win (China sacrificed perhaps a million soldiers in that campaign, including Mao Anying, son of Mao himself). Across the frontier are 37,000 United States soldiers. Their arsenal, which has included undeclared nuclear weapons, is the reason given by Washington for its refusal to sign the land-mines treaty. In August 1976, U.S. officers entered the neutral zone to trim a tree that was obscuring the view of an observation post. A posse of North Koreans came after them, and one, seizing the ax with which the trimming was to be done, hacked two U.S. servicemen to death with it. I visited the ax also; it's proudly displayed in a glass case on the North Korean side.

I missed you.” His fingers toyed with the end of my braid. Working like he had all the time in the world and my body wasn’t about to combust from his touch, he loosened my hair. Strands fell in front of my face, covering my eyes like a curtain. His gentle touch did just as much to me as the rough pads of his fingers scraping across my skin.

Sometimes you have to recycle celebrities to make them interesting, and they can be even better the second time around. Case in point: the fabulous and talented Miss Joey Heatherton, star of stage, screen, Vegas and mattress commercials. Close your eyes and imagine what it would be like to wake up one day and be Joey Heatherton. On July 8, 1985, it must not have felt so hot. Joey, goddess, was detained in the U.S. passport office at Rockefeller Center for allegedly becoming abusive at not receiving special treatment in the passport line. Supposedly, she threw a tantrum, grabbed passport-office clerk, Mary Polik, tore her hair out and smashed her head against the Formica counter. Oh, well, nobody's perfect.

Life is like challenge if u fail in life then u feel so bad in your whole life.like is like race don't try to break it.life gives lots of happys don't miss it.

AHH I MISS U TOO!!

A b c d e f g h I j k l m n o p q r s t v w x y z Did I miss something? Yes! I missed u :(

I will always miss the person I thought U are. But not the selfish, unkind, insensitive and heartless person U turned out to be.

Miss him, allow yourself to miss what could’ve been, let your feelings get out of whack. But like I told you, don’t stop living. All right?

Miss Honey gives us a little song about each word and we all sing it together and we learn to spell it in no time. Would you like to hear the song about "difficulty"?' 'I should be fascinated.' the Trunchbull said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. 'Here it is,' Nigel said. 'Mrs D, Mrs I, Mrs FFI, Mrs C, Mrs U, Mrs LTY. That spells difficulty.' 'How perfectly ridiculous!' snorted the Trunchbull. 'Why are all these women married? And anyway you're not meant to teach poetry when you're teaching spelling. Cut it out in the future, Miss Honey.

Miss u, he typed out, but didn't send it. Want u, he typed out, but didn't send it. OK, he sent back, and wondered stupidly if Ben would try and discern any hidden meaning in those two tiny letters.

It’s of some interest that the lively arts of the millennial U.S.A. treat anhedonia and internal emptiness as hip and cool. It’s maybe the vestiges of the Romantic glorification of Weltschmerz, which means world-weariness or hip ennui. Maybe it’s the fact that most of the arts here are produced by world-weary and sophisticated older people and then consumed by younger people who not only consume art but study it for clues on how to be cool, hip — and keep in mind that, for kids and younger people, to be hip and cool is the same as to be admired and accepted and included and so Unalone. Forget so-called peer-pressure. It’s more like peer-hunger. No? We enter a spiritual puberty where we snap to the fact that the great transcendent horror is loneliness, excluded encagement in the self. Once we’ve hit this age, we will now give or take anything, wear any mask, to fit, be part-of, not be Alone, we young. The U.S. arts are our guide to inclusion. A how-to. We are shown how to fashion masks of ennui and jaded irony at a young age where the face is fictile enough to assume the shape of whatever it wears. And then it’s stuck there, the weary cynicism that saves us from gooey sentiment and unsophisticated naïveté. Sentiment equals naïveté on this continent (at least since the Reconfiguration). One of the things sophisticated viewers have always liked about J. O. Incandenza’s The American Century as Seen Through a Brick is its unsubtle thesis that naïveté is the last true terrible sin in the theology of millennial America. And since sin is the sort of thing that can be talked about only figuratively, it’s natural that Himself’s dark little cartridge was mostly about a myth, viz. that queerly persistent U.S. myth that cynicism and naïveté are mutually exclusive. Hal, who’s empty but not dumb, theorizes privately that what passes for hip cynical transcendence of sentiment is really some kind of fear of being really human, since to be really human (at least as he conceptualizes it) is probably to be unavoidably sentimental and naïve and goo-prone and generally pathetic, is to be in some basic interior way forever infantile, some sort of not-quite-right-looking infant dragging itself anaclitically around the map, with big wet eyes and froggy-soft skin, huge skull, gooey drool. One of the really American things about Hal, probably, is the way he despises what it is he’s really lonely for: this hideous internal self, incontinent of sentiment and need, that pules and writhes just under the hip empty mask, anhedonia. 281 281 - This had been one of Hal’s deepest and most pregnant abstractions, one he’d come up with once while getting secretly high in the Pump Room. That we’re all lonely for something we don’t know we’re lonely for. How else to explain the curious feeling that he goes around feeling like he misses somebody he’s never even met? Without the universalizing abstraction, the feeling would make no sense.

Jennings quotes the response of a contestant in the Miss Teen USA competition when asked to explain why so many Americans couldn’t even find their own country on a map. With solemnity and conviction she responded: I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because some people out there in our nation don’t have maps, and I believe that our education like such as in South Africa and, uh, the Iraq, everywhere like such as, and I believe that they should, our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S, uh, should help South Africa and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries so we will be able to build up our future, for our children.

Hard to miss you, babe. You were the only one wearing an Elmwood jersey in the Heston student section. Ballsy move. Red looks great on you.” I swipe my tongue across my lower lip. “Bet you’d look even better in blue and green.

MISS U MIS U MIS U There’s a shortage of S’s and only two M’s, so the last one is an upside-down W. I fall asleep to the sound of Dad murmuring into the phone behind his bedroom door. In the morning there’s a message from Mom: ME TOO PICKLE

Ali meni je važno i dok god mogu ispričati ovu priču, u nju ću uključiti stvorenja u svom ekosustavu - ptice, leptire, pčele, mrave, komarce i miševe - jer jedno sam naučila: gdje postoje rat i bolna podjela, neće biti pobjednika, ljudskih ili drugih.

A survivor of incest and occultism himself, Greg Reid had cause to be aware of mind control ops that transported our nation’s missing blonde haired blue-eyed children over the Mexican border and on to various Arab destinations3. Every border guard, Customs official, and police officer in attendance was aware of this mind control ring. Photos of Columbian and Saudi private jets full of traumatized children were in abundance, yet “National Security” prevented them from bringing the perpetrators to justice.

I know a lot of other reporters who are dedicated to this cause. They’ve covered numerous stories on satanism, missing children, corrupt judges, and CIA cocaine operations only to have them censored before they could be aired. We have archives of pertinent information to which these tapes we made today will undoubtedly be added. At least until censorship is overcome these videos will be educating other reporters.” He gestured toward the annoying helicopters still circling. “And we’re all tired of this nonsense!

i miss the man i thought i was before i met her the man who would have saved her who would have done something who would have been tom maybe hes the one im looking for or maybe im looking for all of them i miss u i love u there's no second ive lived you can't call your own -Navy

When I teach at Michigan, on the first day I tell the students, “You will not miss class. You will not be late to class. You will not use a laptop, or a cell phone, or wear a hat. My late-paper policy is simple: There will be no late papers, ever. That is my ‘late-paper policy.’ Why? This is Michigan.

The whole town is in a daze. Satanism, child molestation, missing children, mind control, injustice through the courts. I’m telling you, these people need help just to cope with the PTSD. You could give them coping skills, Mark. And the information you have could clarify why cover-up is so prevalent and why Aquino is allowed on their Daycare Board. Understanding might help them survive and solve their nightmare.” “I’m told Aquino owns the building that houses the Marin County Daycare Board,” Mark injected. “The Presidio is pretty close to the Grove3,” I said, the picture becoming even clearer from my perspective.

an official with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission learned I was writing about specialization and contacted me to make sure I knew that specialization had played a critical role in the 2008 global financial crisis. “Insurance regulators regulated insurance, bank regulators regulated banks, securities regulators regulated securities, and consumer regulators regulated consumers,” the official told me. “But the provision of credit goes across all those markets. So we specialized products, we specialized regulation, and the question is, ‘Who looks across those markets?’ The specialized approach to regulation missed systemic issues.

There is a long history, in the U.S. and elsewhere, of removing children as a means of political control. If this strikes a nerve with you—as I hope it does—please learn more about the many instances, both past and ongoing, in which children have been taken from their families: the separations of enslaved families, government boarding schools for Indigenous children (such as that in Carlisle, PA), the inequities built into the foster care system, the separations of migrant families still occurring at the U.S.’s southern border, and beyond. Much more attention needs to be brought to this subject, but Laura Briggs’s Taking Children: A History

The list of correlations to that night is as long as the Jersey coast. And so is the list of reasons I shouldn't be looking forward to seeing him at school. But I can't help it. He's already texted me three times this morning: Can I pick you up for school? and Do u want 2 have breakfast? and R u getting my texts? My thumbs want to answer "yes" to all of the above, but my dignity demands that I don't answer at all. He called my his student. He stood there alone with me on the beach and told me he thinks of me as a pupil. That our relationship is platonic. And everyone knows what platonic means-rejected. Well, I might be his student, but I'm about to school, him on a few things. The first lesson of the day is Silent Treatment 101. So when I see him in the hall, I give him a polite nod and brush right by him. The zap from the slight contact never quite fades, which mean he's following me. I make it to my locker before his hand is on my arm. "Emma." The way he whispers my name sends goose bumps all the way to my baby toes. But I'm still in control. I nod to him, dial the combination to my locker, then open it in his face. He moves back before contact. Stepping around me, he leans his hand against the locker door and turns me around to face him. "That's not very nice." I raise my best you-started-this brow. He sighs. "I guess that means you didn't miss me." There are so many things I could pop off right now. Things like, "But at least I had Toraf to keep my company" or "You were gone?" Or "Don't feel bad, I didn't miss my calculus teacher either." But the goal is to say nothing. So I turn around. I transfer books and papers between my locker and backpack. As I stab a pencil into my updo, his breath pushes against my earlobe when he chuckles. "So your phone's not broken; you just didn't respond to my texts." Since rolling my eyes doesn't make a sound, it's still within the boundaries of Silent Treatment 101. So I do this while I shut my locker. As I push past him, he grabs my arm. And I figure if stomping on his toe doesn't make a sound... "My grandmother's dying," he blurts. Commence with the catching-Emma-off-guard crap. How can I continue Silent Treatment 101 after that? He never mentioned his grandmother before, but then again, I never mentioned mine either. "I'm sorry, Galen." I put my hand on his, give it a gentle squeeze. He laughs. Complete jackass. "Conveniently, she lives in a condo in Destin and her dying request is to meet you. Rachel called your mom. We're flying out Saturday afternoon, coming back Sunday night. I already called Dr. Milligan." "Un-freaking-believable.

MOMENTS I saw you first You looked exactly The same as before Tall and awkward and shy I walked towards you My hands clammy I felt cold inside My insides were shaking Cant run This is it. U saw me Your face brightened A smile painted on your face I missed it Your smile It brought back the past You walked I walked Nearer It feels like in the Movies Two people A boy and a girl Meeting halfway Hoping for a happy Ever after I stopped Right before I reached you I realized This isn't like the movies I turned I told myself Don’t smile You reached me Close So close I felt the urge To touch you Hug you And maybe Kiss you There weren't Hellos Only silent prayers Smiling You reached for my hand Giving me something You knew I love It was awkward You standing there Me standing there So close Too close Yet so far I looked up to you I tried to ask myself Are you for real? You smiled wider Shy but happy You left as fast As you came back It was for a second I hated time I wished it was A little bit longer With that, I knew I still want you.

و هناكَ منْ يكتفي بإرسالِ رسالةٍ قصيرة على هاتفك ،يختمها في كلِّ مرة بعبارة i miss u .. يصوغ حروفها بنفس الرتابة و بنفس الأسلوب في كلِّ مرة فيفقِدُ الكلمةَ طعمَها .. و يفقدُ الرسالةَ نكهتها ! هناكَ منْ يلهمك،من يمشي الطريق ثم يعود إليك، فقط ليتأكد ما إذ كانت سالكة و تخلو مما قد يضيرك. من يعلمك أية من يرتلُ على مسامك سورة،و يشاركك جنونك. أصدقاء لا يكفيك العمر لتتحدث معهم، لتسمعهم و هم يروون أدقَ تفاصيلِ حياتهم لك و كأنهم يقولون استمع و دوِّن جيداً ما أقول كلمة بكلمة، سجلها في دفتر العمر. ‘يا صديقي أكتب عني مذكراتي’ ! و منهم منْ لا يطلُ عليكَ إلّا إذا أصابهُ مكروه. يدنو إليك يستجدي منك عطفك، و لأنك تحبه حتماً ستذلل كل ما لديك لكي تطمئنه و تعيدهُ لأبهى حالاتِه! هناك صداقات تنتهي قبل أن تبدأ، و أخرى يحدِدُها زمنٌ و حاجة، فتنتهي بانتهاءِ الحاجةِ و تحوِّل الزمن. و صداقاتٍ تقفُ عند حدٍ معين. صداقاتٍ طفولية،تقليدية تنتهي بانتهاءِ مواسمِ الدراسةِ و تستعيدُ نبضها مع بداية كلِّ فصلٍ دراسي. منهم من تظن أن احفادك و أحفادهم سيلتقون معاً و أنكما ستظلانِ معاً ما حييتما و لكنهم للأسف يغيبون عند أولِ مفترف .. يغِّيبهم الحب الأول الذي يخيل لهم أنه سيغنيهم عن كل شيء و أنه سيكون البداية البيضاء التي ستأذن بعهد جديد من التضحية ! و أصدقاء يلتحفونَ معكَ أحلامَهُم و يشاركونك بها و يمدونكَ بغيثِ دعواتهم كلما تطلب الأمر. سماوين هم، يحرقكّ غيابُهم و تبهجُكَ عودتُهم، محملينَ بهمومِهم بأحلامهم و برسائلِهم المكررة. طيبونَ، هادئونَ كصوتِ الفجرِ، دافئون كليلِ صيفٍ، محملون بالخطايا لكنهم بريئون كالأطفال ! تبقى قصصهم ناقصة، لا تكتملْ . أصدقاء بعتبهم المتكرر يفقدونك، و أخرونَ تكسبهم بفضلِ أرواحِهم الملائكية التي تفرضُ حضورها دوماً. و أخرون نعم ‘أخرون’ ، خذلانهم يسوّدُ ألوانك و يبدِّل صفاءَ أيامكَ ضباباً، تُبقي لمستهم الموجعة شرخاً عميقاً في ثتايا الذاكرة لا تغفل عنه. كلما هبَّ نسيمٌ من صوبهِم ذكركَ به ! يملؤون سماءك بسَحَابٍ هَتُون، و يَمضون دونما خجل. هناك من يتغلغل التفاصيل، يعرف تفاصيلك التي قد تغفل عنها أنت. تراه يختصرُ عليكَ الكلمات، فيبوحُ بما يقبعُ في ذهنك. تتكئُ عليهِ، فيمدُ ضعفكَ قوة. هو لن يخذلكْ. يخبأُ لك من سعادتهِ في جيبِ عمره نصيباً. يذكرُكَ حينَ تُنسى، يوقظك حين تغفل، و يذكرك بدعوة إذا ما نزلَ المطر. و لأنني أحببتهم و أحبهم بكل نكهاتهم تلك، أسأل الله أن يسكن السعــــــــــادة و النــــــــــور في دواخلهم! 24 \1\2013

Your conclusions are, I think, justified," he said. "Ulick Norman Owen! In Miss Brent's letter, though the signature of the surname is a mere scrawl the Christian names are reasonably clear-Una Nancy -in either case, you notice, the same initials. Ulick Norman OwenUna Nancy Owen-each time, that is to say, U. N. Owen. Or by a slight stretch of fancy, UNKNOWN!

I bet Mrs Snapperly had no teeth and talked to herself, right?” said Miss Tick. “Yes. And she had a cat. And a squint,” said Tiffany. And then it all came out in a rush: “And so after he vanished, they went to her cottage and they looked in the oven and they dug up her garden and they threw stones at her old cat until it died and they turned her out of her cottage and piled u pall her old books in the middle of the room and set fire to them and burned the place to the ground and everyone said she was an old witch.” “They burned the books,” said Miss Tick in a flat voice. “Because they said they had old writing in them,” said Tiffany. “And pictures of stars.” “And when you went to look, did they?” said Miss Tick. Tiffany suddenly felt cold. “How did you know?” she said. “I’m good at listening. Well, did they?” Tiffany sighed. “Yes, I went to the cottage next day, and some of the pages, you know, had kind of floated up in the heat? And I found a part of one, and it had all old lettering and gold and blue edging. And I buried her cat.” “You buried the cat?” “Yes! Someone had to!

and drew her strength directly from our magickal Oklahoma earth. “U-we-tsi-a-ge-ya, it seems I need help at the lavender booth. I simply cannot believe how busy we are.” Grandma had barely spoken when a nun hurried up. “Zoey, Sister Mary Angela could use your help filling out cat adoption forms.” “I’ll help you, Grandma Redbird,” Shaylin said. “I love the smell of lavender.” “Oh, honey, that would be so sweet of you. First, could you run to my car and get into the trunk. There is another box of lavender soaps and sachets tucked back there. Looks like I’m going to sell out completely,” Grandma said happily. “Sure thing.” Shaylin caught the keys Grandma tossed to her and hurried toward the main exit of the school grounds which led to the parking lot, as well as the tree-lined road that joined Utica Street. “And I’ll call my momma. She said just let her know if we get too busy over here. She and the PTA moms will be back here in a sec,” said Stevie Rae. “Grandma, do you mind if I give Street Cats a hand? I’ve been dying to check out their new litter of kittens.” “Go on, u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya. I think Sister Mary Angela has been missing your company.” “Thanks, Grandma.” I smiled at her. Then I turned to Stevie Rae. “Okay, if your mom’s group is coming back, I’m gonna go help the nuns.” “Yeah, no problem.” Stevie Rae, shielding her eyes and peering through the crowd, added, “I see her now, and she’s got Mrs. Rowland and Mrs. Wilson with her.” “Don’t worry. We can handle this,” Shaunee said. “’Kay,” I said, grinning at both of them. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I left the cookie booth and noticed Aphrodite, clutching her big purple Queenies cup, was right on my heels. “I thought you didn’t want a lecture from the nuns.” “Better than a lecture from PTA moms.” She shuddered. “Plus, I like cats more than people.” I shrugged. “Okay, whatever.” We’d only gotten partway to the Street Cats tent when Aphrodite slowed way down. “Seriously. Effing. Pathetic.” She was muttering around her straw, narrowing her eyes, and glaring. I followed her gaze and joined her frown. “Yeah, no matter how many times I see them together, I still don’t get it.” Aphrodite and I had stopped to watch Shaunee’s ex-Twin BFF, Erin, hang all over Dallas. “I really thought she was better than that.” “Apparently not,” Aphrodite said. “Eeew,” I said, looking away from their way too public display of locked lips. “I’m telling you, there’s not enough booze in Tulsa to make watching those two suck face okay.” She made a gagging sound, which changed to a snort and a laugh. “Check out the wimple, twelve o’clock.” Sure enough, there was a nun I vaguely recognized as Sister Emily (one of the more uptight of the nuns) descending on the too-busy-with-their-tongues-to-notice couple. “She looks serious,” I said. “You know, a nun may very well be the direct opposite of an aphrodisiac. This should be entertaining. Let’s watch.” “Zoey! Over here!” I looked from the train wreck about to happen to see Sister Mary Angela waving me over to her.

To love: U mst first love yourself in order for people love u,live life,dnt hold back cos u neva know how much u have missed when u wait, be afraid but neva back down at least than u know u tried,open your heart to new possibilties cos even thou you have been hurt neva give up hope,cos hope would bring u all your ur hearts desire and in that moment all your pain wid evapourate.

When they were all up playing in the nursery George caught something again and had monia on account of getting cold on his chest and Yourfather was very solemn and said not to grieve if God called little brother away. But God brought little George back to them only he was delicate after that and had to wear glasses, and when Dearmother let Eveline help bathe him because Miss Mathilda was having the measles too Eveline noticed he had something funny there where she didn't have anything. She asked Dearmother if it was a mump, but Dearmother scolded her and said she was a vulgar little girl to have looked. "Hush, child, don't ask questions. Evaline got red all over and cried and Adelaide and Margaret wouldn't speak to her for days on account of her being a vulgar little girl.

been a day i miss her the way she care for me the way she look into me evrything that makes me feel great about life whenever u sad whenever u feel so unmotivated whenever u feel countless and hopeless she's there for u she comfort u with love and passion with the greatest love deep in her heart she always care about u that is my mother the one who always be by my side in whatever situation she always be there for me

Most cross-institutional change processes fail because they miss the starting point: co-sensing across boundaries. We need infrastructures to facilitate this process on a sustained level across systems. And because they don’t yet exist, organized interest groups go out and maximize their special interests against the whole, instead of engaging practitioners in the larger system in a process of sensing and innovating together. As

What are Robots made for? FABRY For work, Miss Glory! One Robot can replace two and a half workmen. The human machine, Miss Glory, was terribly imperfect. It had to be removed sooner or later. BUSMAN It was too expensive. FABRY It was not effective. It no longer answers the requirements of modern engineering. Nature has no idea of keeping pace with modern labor. For example: from a technical point of view, the whole of childhood is a sheer absurdity. So much time lost.

the most important instances of “injustice in exchange”—unemployment and inflation/deflation—result from party factions violating the basic principles of economic policy I show that from the Great Depression of 1929-33 to the Great Recession of 2007-9, all major U.S. financial crises can be traced to the dollar's role as chief official reserve currency—suggesting that to avoid similar future misfortunes, it's urgently necessary to end the dollar's “reserve currency curse.

Sometimes I just want to let myself does whatever it needs to does, because maybe this is what I really want too. I maybe want to leave the world behind. Leave the life I'm living right now. I want to see if anyone will come after me or see that I'm missing. I love my family and especially my friends. I have loved.. but I don't really know if I was be loved, from the people that I was wanted to. Some people, really hurt me, but I don't hate them because I loved them. I really did. They might didn't want to hurt me but who knows? People are mean. In this life we are living right now, u don't know who to trust and who u must love. I'm happy for my friends that I have right now. I never let them down. My life, it might deserves a chance to live. But I'm feeling everyday, every second of my life that I don't want to live anymore. I don't know why. But one day I will let my myself does what it needs, and I'm pretty sure that I won't regret it. I won't.

You were just trying to figure out if I'm one of you?" Of course, stupid. When has anyone like Galen ever paid you any attention? When has there ever been anyone like Galen? Still, I'm surprised how much it hurts when he nods. I'm his little science project. All the time I thought he was flirting with me, he was really just trying to lure me out here to test his theory. If stupid were a disease, I'd have died from it by now. But at least I know where he really stands-about his feelings for me anyway. But what his intentions for me in general are, I have no idea. What happens if I can turn into a fish? Does he think I'll just kiss my mom good-bye, flush all my good grades-all those scholarships-down the toilet so I can go swim with the dolphins? he called himself a Royal. Of course, I don't know exactly what that means, but I can sure guess-that I'm another subject to him, someone to order around. He did say I had to obey him, after all. But if he's a Royal, why come out here himself? Why not send someone less important? I'm betting the U.S. President doesn't personally go to foreign countries looking for missing Americans who might not even be American. But can I trust him enough to answer my questions? He already deceived me once, faking interest in me to get me out here. He lied to my face about having a mother. He even lied to my mom. What else would he lie about to get what he wants? No, I can't trust him. Still, I want to know the truth, if only for myself. I'm not moving into some big seashell off the Jersey seashore or anything-but I can't deny that I'm different. What could it hurt to spend a little more time with Galen so he can help me figure this out? So what if he thinks I'm some sort of pheasant fish who has to obey him? Why shouldn't I use him the way he used me-to get what I want? It's just that what I want is holding me in his arms, acting like he's concerned that I'm not talking anymore.

We got lots of secrets, Will. You Apollo guys can't have all the fun. Our campers have been excavating the tunnel system under Cabin Nine for almost a century. We still haven't found the end. Anyway, Leo, if you don't mind sleeping in a dead man's bed, it's yours-Jake Suddenly Leo didn't feel like kicking back. He sat u, careful not to touch any of the buttons. The counselor who died-this was his bed-Leo Yeah. Charles Beckendorf-Jake Leo imagined saw blades coming through the mattress, or maybe a grenade sewn inside the pillows. He didn't, like, die IN this bed, did he-Leo No. In the Titan War, last summer-Jake The Titan War, which has NOTHING to do with this very fine bed-Leo "The Titans," Will said, like Leo was an idiot. The big powerful guys that ruled the world before the gods. They tried to make a comeback last summer. Their leader, Kronos, built a new palace on top of Mount Tam in California. Their armies came to New York and almost destoyed Mount Olympus. A lot of demigods died trying to stop them-Will I'm guessing this wasn't on the news-Leo It seemed like a fair question, but Will shook his head in disbelief. You didn't hear about Mount St. Helens erupting, or the freak storms across the country, or that building collapsing in St Louis-Will Leo shrugged. Last summer, he'd been on the run from another foster home. Then a truancy officer caught him in New Mexico, and the court sentenced him to the nearest correction facility-the Wilderness School. Guess I was busy-Leo Doesn't matter. You were lucky to miss it. The thing is, Beckendorf was one of the first casualties, and ever since then-Jake Your cabin's been cursed-Leo

I’ll miss the afternoons when I’d go out on our lawn and throw my head back. The sky in Seattle is so low, it felt like God had lowered a silk parachute over us. Every feeling I ever knew was up in that sky. Twinkling joyous sunlight; airy, giggling cloud wisps; binding columns of sun. Orbs of gold, pink, flesh, utterly cheesy in their luminosity. Gigantic puffy clouds, welcoming, forgiving, repeating infinitely across the horizon as if between mirrors; and slices of rain, pounding wet misery in the distance now, but soon on u, and in another part of the sky, a black stain, rainless.

Mesmerized by the gilt ghastliness of it all, Elizabeth slowly turned in a full circle. Above the fireplace there was a gilt-framed painting of a lady attired in nothing whatsoever but a scrap of nearly-transparent red silk that had been draped across her hips. Elizabeth jerked her eyes away from that shocking display of nudity and found herself confronted by a veritable army of cavorting cupids. They reposed in chubby, gilt splendor atop the mantel and the bed tables; a cluster of them formed the tall candelabra beside the bed, which held twelve candles-one of which the footman had lit-and more cupids surrounded an enormous mirror. “It’s…” Berta uttered as she gazed through eyes the size of saucers, “it’s…I can’t find words,” she breathed, but Elizabeth had passed through her own state of shock and was perilously close to hilarity. “Unspeakable?” Elizabeth suggested helpfully, and a giggle bubbled up from her throat. “U-Unbelievable?” she volunteered, her shoulders beginning to shake with mirth. Berta made a nervous, strangled sound, and suddenly it was too much for both of them. Days of relentless tension erupted into gales of hilarity, and they gave in to it with shared abandon. Great gusty shouts of laughter erupted from them, sending tears trickling down their cheeks. Berta snatched for her missing apron, then remembered her new, elevated station in life and instead withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbing at the corners of her eyes; Elizabeth simply clutched the forgotten bust to her chest, perched her chin upon its smooth head, and laughed until she ached. So complete was their absorption that neither of them realized their host was entering the bedchamber until Sir Francis boomed enthusiastically, “Lady Elizabeth and Lady Berta!” Berta let out a muffled scream of surprised alarm and quickly shifted her handkerchief from the corners of her eyes to her mouth. Elizabeth took one look at the satin-clad figure who rather resembled the cupids he obviously admired, and the dire reality of her predicament hit her like a bucket of icy water, banishing all thoughts of laughter. She dropped her gaze to the floor, trying wildly to remember her plan and to believe she could make it work. She had to make it work, for if she failed, this aging roué with the penchant for gilded cupids could very likely become her husband.

While I was researching this book, an official with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission learned I was writing about specialization and contacted me to make sure I knew that specialization had played a critical role in the 2008 global financial crisis. “Insurance regulators regulated insurance, bank regulators regulated banks, securities regulators regulated securities, and consumer regulators regulated consumers,” the official told me. “But the provision of credit goes across all those markets. So we specialized products, we specialized regulation, and the question is, ‘Who looks across those markets?’ The specialized approach to regulation missed systemic issues.

TO MY BELOVED, Its neither a piece of paper nor a letter, rather it's my small heart which I'm gifting it to you darling.It seems time stood still without ur presence around me. My days and nights have gone worthless. All my heart could do is to recall the memories of time which we have spend together. My heart gets rejoiced whenever your beautiful face comes before my eyes. Your mesmerizing eyes drive me to another world. Your flowing hair looks tantalizing and your rosy lips seems to be meant only for saying lovely words. While having a cup of coffee yesterday, numerous moments striked my heart. Our first meeting, when you were looking like a fairy in white salwar-suit. Still fresh in my mind, your pretty smile and bowing your head down to laugh with your hand on your lips. I confess that your every action was stealing my heart and I couldn't withdraw myself from lookig you. The gift you presented me on my birthday gives me a sigh of relief that you are always there with me. Sweetheart, In the classroom, I cracked useless jokes and PJ's just to see your charming smile. Kept gazing your lips, just to heat some golden words. You had stolen my heart. Dedicated '' I don't know when and how you arrived in my life, Don't know when my heart star beating for you, day n night.... My eyes kept staring the window pane, Wishing one day u'll come in my lane.... Darling you're the only one whom I admire, It's you whom my heart desperately desires... Being with you is my only need, You are now the medicine of my heartbeat... I Craved your name on my heart, The day when I decided not to loose you ever, And I promise you sweetheart that, I love you & i'll love you for ever, ever n ever...... It's true my baby that, i love you like anything. Miss you from very morning 2 the night. MY senses are active to feel you, to hear you, to see you, to taste every sorrow and happiness of your life. Jaana, get embedded in me, in my soul so that i can live with you, for you........ Dying to have your reply..... Truly Your's PK

But Holms had proven stalwart and valiant. When Miss Jones had shown up to discover them in the castle hallway, because she’d heard a suspicious noise and had feared for her schoolchums’ safety, they’ d had to bring her along. She’d wanted to run straight to the headmistress, of course, but Armand had persuaded her not to. How he regretted that decision now! The duke had fired his guns at them all. They’d retreated, thought to go to the automobile to fetch a doctor and the sheriff, but they’d stumbled the wrong way and fallen down the slope to the beach instead. All three of them. And there, noble Jesse had died. Fact. Fiction. Likely because so much of it had happened, and because Armand’s red-eyed, stoic distress seemed so genuine, the adults around us had accepted it as truth. Mostly. I think if I hadn’t been discovered wearing only Armand’s coat as I knelt next to Jesse’s body, Mrs. Westcliffe might have found the whole thing easier to swallow. Yet the official version ruled the day. And here we all were basking in it, breathing fresh sea air, warmed by the generous spring sun. Burying a hero. A far, far greater hero than anyone standing around me at his funeral would ever suspect. Somewhere in deep-blue briny waters, a U-boat rested, filled with live torpedoes and solid-gold men. I thought I better understood Rue’s letters now. I understood her warning about the pain that would come with my Gifts. I understood my sacrifice.

The last encounter was one Ian enjoyed, because Elizabeth was with him after they’d had their second-and last permissible-dance. Viscount Mondevale had approached them with Valerie hanging on his arm, and the rest of their group fanned around them. The sight of the young woman who’d caused them both so much pain evoked almost as much ire in Ian as the sight of Mondevale watching Elizabeth like a lovelorn swain. “Mondevale,” Ian had said curtly, feeling the tension in Elizabeth’s fingers when she looked at Valerie, “I applaud your taste. I’m certain Miss Jamison will make you a fine wife, if you ever get up the spine to ask her. If you do, however, take my advice, and hire her a tutor, because she can’t write and she can’t spell.” Transferring his blistering gaze to the gaping young woman, Ian clipped, “’Greenhouse’ has a ‘u’ in it. Shall I spell ‘malice’ for you as well?” “Ian,” Elizabeth chided gently as they walked away. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” She looked up at him and smiled, and Ian grinned back at her. Suddenly he felt completely in harmony with the world. The feeling was so lasting that he managed to endure the remaining three weeks-with all the requisite social and courtship rituals and betrothal formalities-with equanimity while he mentally marked off each day before he could make her his and join his starving body with hers. With a polite smile on his face Ian appeared at teas and mentally composed letters to his secretary; he sat through the opera and slowly undressed her in his mind; he endured eleven Venetian breakfasts where he mentally designed an entirely new kind of mast for his fleet of ships; he escorted her to eighteen balls and politely refrained from acting our his recurring fantasy of dismembering the fops who clustered around her, eyeing her lush curves and mouthing platitudes to her. It was the longest three weeks of his life. It was the shortest three weeks of hers.

KNEE SURGERY I’D FIRST HURT MY KNEES IN FALLUJAH WHEN THE WALL FELL on me. Cortisone shots helped for a while, but the pain kept coming back and getting worse. The docs told me I needed to have my legs operated on, but doing that would have meant I would have to take time off and miss the war. So I kept putting it off. I settled into a routine where I’d go to the doc, get a shot, go back to work. The time between shots became shorter and shorter. It got down to every two months, then every month. I made it through Ramadi, but just barely. My knees started locking and it was difficult to get down the stairs. I no longer had a choice, so, soon after I got home in 2007, I went under the knife. The surgeons cut my tendons to relieve pressure so my kneecaps would slide back over. They had to shave down my kneecaps because I had worn grooves in them. They injected synthetic cartilage material and shaved the meniscus. Somewhere along the way they also repaired an ACL. I was like a racing car, being repaired from the ground up. When they were done, they sent me to see Jason, a physical therapist who specializes in working with SEALs. He’d been a trainer for the Pittsburgh Pirates. After 9/11, he decided to devote himself to helping the country. He chose to do that by working with the military. He took a massive pay cut to help put us back together. I DIDN’T KNOW ALL THAT THE FIRST DAY WE MET. ALL I WANTED to hear was how long it was going to take to rehab. He gave me a pensive look. “This surgery—civilians need a year to get back,” he said finally. “Football players, they’re out eight months. SEALs—it’s hard to say. You hate being out of action and will punish yourselves to get back.” He finally predicted six months. I think we did it in five. But I thought I would surely die along the way. JASON PUT ME INTO A MACHINE THAT WOULD STRETCH MY knee. Every day I had to see how much further I could adjust it. I would sweat up a storm as it bent my knee. I finally got it to ninety degrees. “That’s outstanding,” he told me. “Now get more.” “More?” “More!” He also had a machine that sent a shock to my muscle through electrodes. Depending on the muscle, I would have to stretch and point my toes up and down. It doesn’t sound like much, but it is clearly a form of torture that should be outlawed by the Geneva Convention, even for use on SEALs. Naturally, Jason kept upping the voltage. But the worst of all was the simplest: the exercise. I had to do more, more, more. I remember calling Taya many times and telling her I was sure I was going to puke if not die before the day was out. She seemed sympathetic but, come to think of it in retrospect, she and Jason may have been in on it together. There was a stretch where Jason had me doing crazy amounts of ab exercises and other things to my core muscles. “Do you understand it’s my knees that were operated on?” I asked him one day when I thought I’d reached my limit. He just laughed. He had a scientific explanation about how everything in the body depends on strong core muscles, but I think he just liked kicking my ass around the gym. I swear I heard a bullwhip crack over my head any time I started to slack. I always thought the best shape I was ever in was straight out of BUD/S. But I was in far better shape after spending five months with him. Not only were my knees okay, the rest of me was in top condition. When I came back to my platoon, they all asked if I had been taking steroids.

From the day I entered in to this world and opened My eyes N to The day I passed away from this world and closed My eyes U cared of me ...... U taught me...... U shown d ryt path.... U cried for me.... U missed me... U loved me.... I never forget d moment ... I hold ur hand to start walking on d floor I never forget d moment .. U r afraid of me when I started walking for d first time U taught me how to eat U showed me how to read U taught me how to respect others U cared of me when I felt sick U prayed for god for my happiness U blessed me to achieve all my goals U cherished me when I won medals U fought with others when they spoke wrong abt me U buyed clothes for d spcl moment of mine U prepared fruit salads n made me to eat U roamed along with me U waited for me N U made me believe U r my first sight U r my first luv U r my first teacher U r my first guide U r my first goddesses U r my belief N u r the only one who gives every thing N expects nothing in all aspects of my life Forgive if i can't love u more than u love me Give me some time to make u realize I am loving u...... ♡♡♡♡ MOM ♡◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆●●●●●●●◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆♡

The rise of loneliness as a health hazard tracks with the entrenchment of values and practices that supersede any notion of "individual choices." The dynamics include reduced social programs, less available "common" spaces such as public libraries, cuts in services for the vulnerable and the elderly, stress, poverty, and the inexorable monopolization of economic life that shreds local communities. By way of illustration, let's take a familiar scenario: Walmart or some other megastore decides to open one of its facilities in a municipality. Developers are happy, politicians welcome the new investment, and consumers are pleased at finding a wide variety of goods at lower prices. But what are the social impacts? Locally owned and operated small businesses cannot compete with the marketing behemoth and must close. People lose their jobs or must find new work for lower pay. Neighborhoods are stripped of the familiar hardware store, pharmacy, butcher, baker, candlestick maker. People no longer walk to their local establishment, where they meet and greet one another and familiar merchants they have known, but drive, each isolated in their car, to a windowless, aesthetically bereft warehouse, miles away from home. They might not even leave home at all — why bother, when you can order online? No wonder international surveys show a rise in loneliness. The percentage of Americans identifying themselves as lonely has doubled from 20 to 40 percent since the 1980s, the New York Times reported in 2016. Alarmed by the health ravages, Britain has even found it necessary to appoint a minister of loneliness. Describing the systemic founts of loneliness, the U.S. surgeon general Vivek Murthy wrote: "Our twenty-first-century world demands that we focus on pursuits that seem to be in constant competition for our time, attention, energy, and commitment. Many of these pursuits are themselves competitions. We compete for jobs and status. We compete over possessions, money, and reputations. We strive to stay afloat and to get ahead. Meanwhile, the relationships we prize often get neglected in the chase." It is easy to miss the point that what Dr. Murthy calls "our twenty-first-century world" is no abstract entity, but the concrete manifestation of a particular socioeconomic system, a distinct worldview, and a way of life.

HUNGER AND OBESITY The change in diets around the world is also creating a global obesity epidemic—and in its wake a global diabetes epidemic—even as more than 900 million people in the world still suffer from chronic hunger. In the United States, where many global trends begin, the weight of the average American has increased by approximately twenty pounds in the last forty years. A recent study projects that half the adult population of the United States will be obese by 2030, with one quarter of them “severely obese.” At a time when hunger and malnutrition are continuing at still grossly unacceptable levels in poor countries around the world (and in some pockets within developed countries), few have missed the irony that simultaneously obesity is at record levels in developed countries and growing in many developing countries. How could this be? Well, first of all, it is encouraging to note that the world community has been slowly but steadily decreasing the number of people suffering from chronic hunger. Secondly, on a global basis, obesity has more than doubled in the last thirty years. According to the World Health Organization, almost 1.5 billion adults above the age of twenty are overweight, and more than a third of them are classified as obese. Two thirds of the world’s population now live in countries where more people die from conditions related to being obese and overweight than from conditions related to being underweight. Obesity represents a major risk factor for the world’s leading cause of death—cardiovascular diseases, principally heart disease and stroke—and is the major risk factor for diabetes, which has now become the first global pandemic involving a noncommunicable disease.* Adults with diabetes are two to four times more likely to suffer heart disease or a stroke, and approximately two thirds of those suffering from diabetes die from either stroke or heart disease.† The tragic increase in obesity among children is particularly troubling; almost 17 percent of U.S. children are obese today, as are almost 7 percent of all children in the world. One respected study indicates that 77 percent of obese children will suffer from obesity as adults. If there is any good news in the latest statistics, it is that the prevalence of obesity in the U.S. appears to be reaching a plateau, though the increases in childhood obesity ensure that the epidemic will continue to grow in the future, both in the U.S. and globally. The causes of this surge in obesity are both simple—in that people are eating too much and exercising

Eight Bells: Robert J. Kane ‘55D died June 3, 2017, in Palm Harbor, Florida. He came to MMA by way of Boston College. Bob or “Killer,” as he was affectionately known, was an independent and eccentric soul, enjoying the freedom of life. After a career at sea as an Officer in the U.S. Navy and in the Merchant Marine he retired to an adventurous single life living with his two dogs in a mobile home, which had originally been a “Yellow School Bus.” He loved watching the races at Daytona, Florida, telling stories about his interesting deeds about flying groceries to exotic Caribbean Islands, and misdeeds with mysterious ladies he had known. For years he spent his summers touring Canada and his winters appreciating the more temperate weather at Fort De Soto in St. Petersburg, Florida…. Enjoying life in the shadow of the Sunshine Bridge, Bob had an artistic flare, a positive attitude and a quick sense of humor. Not having a family, few people were aware that he became crippled by a hip replacement operation gone bad at the Bay Pines VA Hospital. His condition became so bad that he could hardly get around, but he remained in good spirits until he suffered a totally debilitating stroke. For the past 6 years Bob spent his time at various Florida Assisted Living Facilities, Nursing Homes and Palliative Care Hospitals. His end came when he finally wound up as a terminal patient at the Hospice Facility in Palm Harbor, Florida. Bob was 86 years old when he passed. He will be missed….

As he was moaning heavily in my ear, he looked at me and asked: "what are we doing?" I didn't bother myself to understand his question, I countinued grapping him harder and deeper.. So he repeated it, "Tell me, what are we doing?" I answered with a moquing yet assertive tone "HHm, we re FUCKING OFC" He stopped, I swear I could hear his heart dropped to his balls Come again? Fucking you said?? Yes arent we? No, we are making love I laughed as hard as I can Making Love you said? Oh love, we would be making love if we were couple we are just one night stand, it just happens that, that one night is on loop "When did you become so cruel?" as he was leaving my body.. Cruel? oh I've learnt from the best don't you agree? You are the one who said u're not ready for a relationship and you gave me all the bs about how you're not the one, and you're gonna deny me the opp to be with a better man bla bla bla So please spare me the emotions and dnt give me those puppy eyes I said those words as if I was possesed with all the hate and anger I have for him for the past 6 years I stopped for a moment and said I guess we r no longer fucking right? A tear came down to his cheek and I could feel it burning the ashes in my heart I dressed up and as I was leaving the motel, he grabbed me from behind hands over my breast breathing behind my neck Fucking you said..huh? I promise you that I'm finished you won't be able to walk".. he groans into my ear And i could feel him hard as stone again.. "“I believe that is what they call an erection." teasing him I said つづく

ethanol may actually make some kinds of air pollution worse. It evaporates faster than pure gasoline, contributing to ozone problems in hot temperatures. A 2006 study published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences concluded that ethanol does reduce greenhouse gas emissions by 12 percent relative to gasoline, but it calculated that devoting the entire U.S. corn crop to make ethanol would replace only a small fraction of American gasoline consumption. Corn farming also contributes to environmental degradation due to runoff from fertilizer and pesticides. But to dwell on the science is to miss the point. As the New York Times noted in the throes of the 2000 presidential race, ―Regardless of whether ethanol is a great fuel for cars, it certainly works wonders in Iowa campaigns. The ethanol tax subsidy increases the demand for corn, which puts money in farmers‘ pockets. Just before the Iowa caucuses, corn farmer Marvin Flier told the Times, ―Sometimes I think [the candidates] just come out and pander to us, he said. Then he added, ―Of course, that may not be the worst thing. The National Corn Growers Association figures that the ethanol program increases the demand for corn, which adds 30 cents to the price of every bushel sold. Bill Bradley opposed the ethanol subsidy during his three terms as a senator from New Jersey (not a big corn-growing state). Indeed, some of his most important accomplishments as a senator involved purging the tax code of subsidies and loopholes that collectively do more harm than good. But when Bill Bradley arrived in Iowa as a Democratic presidential candidate back in 1992, he ―spoke to some farmers‖ and suddenly found it in his heart to support tax breaks for ethanol. In short, he realized that ethanol is crucial to Iowa voters, and Iowa is crucial to the presidential race.

Prvog samostalnog putovanja sjećam se kao da je bilo jučer. Imao sam šesnaest godina, bila je zima, a prijatelj i ja htjeli smo novogodišnje školske praznike provesti u jednom bečkom skvotu, a do tamo doći autostopom. Roditelji me, naravno, nisu pustili. Roditeljima su djeca uvijek premlada za to što žele učiniti. Bilo je tu moljakanja, suza, svađe i svega, ali nisam odustao. Toliko sam to želio, da sam bio spreman otići i bez njihovog blagoslova. Djeca uvijek misle da su dovoljno stara za ono što žele učiniti. Nikad nisam bježao od kuće i nije mi bila draga pomisao da to prvi put napravim, ali čuo sam srce onim jasnim, razgovjetnim tonom i znao sam da ga moram poslušati, da imam pravo na to. Stoga sam mirno objesnio roditeljima da idem. Ne znam jesu li iz odlučnosti moga glasa shvatili da sam dovoljno star za to što želim učiniti ili da jednostavno nemaju izbora, pa su popustili. Otac je mene i prijatelja odvezao do naplatnih kućica na autocesti i poželio nam sretan put. U trenutku kada smo na cestu spustili stare ruksake te prvi put ispružili palčeve, osjetio sam Beskraj u svojim plućima. Uopće mi nije bilo važno hoće li pasti novi snijeg ili sjekire, hoće li prvi auto koji stane voziti miss svijeta ili serijski ubojica. Mi smo bili na Cesti. Prepustili smo se njezinoj režiji. Iako je do Beča samo 400 km, a iz priča smo znali da stoperi to riješe unutar jednog dana, nama se ta sreća nije nasmješila. Do popodneva smo jedva stigli do obilaznice oko Graza, a potom tamo opet zapeli. Pao je mrak, pa nije bilo više smisla stopirati. Našli smo komad suhog tla ispod jednog nadvožnjaka i tamo se zavukli u stare vojne vreće za spavanje. Padao je snijeg, vlaga je bila u zraku, autocesta je bila osvijetljena i bučna, a loše vojne vreće nisu nas nimalo grijale, ali ja sam bio sretan kao nikad dotad. Osjećao sam se kao da sam se upravo rodio. Došao sam na ovaj svijet nekim čudom šesnaest godina ranije, ali toga dana sam JA odlučio postojati. Taj miris vlažnog snijega, hladnog betona mosta i spaljenih guma na cesti, bio je miris koji me opijao. Bio je to miris slobode. Isti taj miris zapuhne me kao dašak Beskraja svaki put kada sjednem u avion, na bicikl, u kajak, kad zakoračim svijetom, kada uzmem stvar u svoje ruke, kad donesem pravu odluku, kada slušam srce. Tada kao da se ponovno hvatam na taj kotač života i živim život kakav bih trebao biti. Taj miris slobode najčešće osjećam na putovanjima. ... Zašto je sloboda tako blisko povezana s putovanjem? Zato što se na putu oslobađamo svih onih utega svakodnevnice. U našoj svakodnevnici zapravo se ponašamo po brojnim obrascima, kalupima. Rutina nas određuje. Iz dana u dan učvršćujemo kalupe i gradimo identitet. Kad jednom odemo na put, kad se izmjestimo, svi ti kalupi ostaju iza nas. Doma možemo biti predsjednik države ili rock-zvijezda, ali kada se nađemo u nekom selu u Africi gdje nas nitko ne zna, možemo se samo zapitati tko smo zaista. Naš dan u svakodnevnici često određuje niz nužnosti, a naše svakodnevne odluke nisu samo naše. Na putu, pak, svako jutro donosi novi start i novi paket mogućnosti, a mi svakim korakom i svakom odlukom kreiramo svoju sudbinu. Ta mogućnost biranja, ta mogućnost upravljanja svojim životom, zove se sloboda. … Sloboda je mogućnost izbora, a na Putu je možemo kudikamo intenzivnije i dublje doživjeti nego kod kuće. No, naši izbori mogu nas odvesti u pakao zatvora i u blaženstvo Beskraja. Razlika je ponajviše u tome da li prilikom prakticiranja vlastite slobode marimo i za slobodu drugih bića s kojima dijelimo planet.

Ah şeftalim kapıyı açman niye bu kadar uzun sürdü?” Drew’u karşısında bir tepsiyle görünce Lana’nın bütün öfkesi geri dönmüştü. Tepsideki elma tartını alıp onun suratına yapıştırdı. Of, of, of hayır, olamaz! Nefesini tutup bir adım geriye gitti. Ne yaptığını sanıyordu? Bu sefer fazla ileri gitmişti ve asil bir ailenin üyesine hakaret etmişti. Hem de elma tartıyla. Drew tepsiyi yan sehpaya yerleştirmeden önce bacağıyla kapıyı kapattı. İşaret parmağıyla suratından aşağıya akan tartı çenesinden silmeye çalıştı. “Tanrı aşkına, Lana! Sana elma sevmediğimi söylemiştim.” Gülerken dudağının bir tarafının yukarı kıvrılması bulaşıcıydı sanki. Lana bile bu berbat durum karşısında gülmeye başladı. “Ç-çok özür dilerim lordum. Bana ne olduğunu anlayamadım.” Hemen ellerini yıkadığı kabın yanına gitti ve oradaki bezi ona uzattı. Drew bezi kabul etmedi. ”Sen yap. Senin marifetini ben niye temizleyecek mişim?” Drew sandalyelerden birine oturdu ve Lana’yı bacaklarının arasında duracak şekilde önüne çekti. Lana kıpırdanarak sırtındaki ellerden kurtulmaya çalıştı, ancak bu sadece Drew’un ellerinin yer değiştirmesine ve kalçasının üzerinde gezinmesine yardımcı oldu. “Lord Andrew.” “Efendim, Bayan Hillary?” “Lütfen ellerinizi üzerimden çeker misiniz?” “Drew ellerini dizlerinin üzerine koydu. “Özürlerimi kabul edin, Bayan Hillary. Birden kendimi kaybettim.

im thinking why am i here what did i do what should i do when im greving over u mom i really miss you i cryed the first night i was gone so i sang our favorite song i started balling and panicking knowing i was going to a new place im siting in my room as my thoughts are roming there all on you im happy stressed and confused at the same time i fill like im walking on a thin line and to get my life back together its going to take time

Save ur chat history. When u miss someone. Just open it. Read it again long conv you've ever had.

Remember always...friends............. Dislike:----- There are some people who do not want to see your success ... There are some people who will envy you ... There are some people who will make you a fool ... There are some people who will not like u anytime... There are some people who want to make you fall down... Like:---- There are some people, who want to see your success ... There are some people ,who want your good . .. There are some people , who like you very much... There are some people who will try to help you all the time ... There are some people who will miss you ... Dislike:------ কিছু মানুষ আছে,যারা আপনার সাফল্য দেখতে চায় না । কিছু মানুষ আছে,যারা আপনাকে হিংসা করবে। কিছু মানুষ আছে,যারা আপনাকে বোকা বানাবে । কিছু মানুষ আছে,যারা আপনাকে কখনই পছন্দ করবে না । কিছু মানুষ আছে,যারা আপনাকে পিছন থেকে ফেলে দেয়ার চেস্টা করবে। Like:------ কিছু মানুষ আছে,যারা আপনার সাফল্য দেখতে চায়। কিছু মানুষ আছে,যারা আপনার ভাল চায় । কিছু মানুষ আছে,যারা আপনাকে খুব পছন্দ করে । কিছু মানুষ আছে,যারা আপনাকে সব সময় সাহায্য করার চেস্টা করবে । কিছু মানুষ আছে,যারা আপনাকে মিস করবে। আসুন আমরা বেছে নিই Like .এবং আমাদের মন থেকে দূর করি Dislikes..

I only have one thing to say,but i dont know what to say , i really miss u my best friend....<3 :'(

When it's time for you to write how you want your life to go just write right before your pen run out of ink because i know the opportunity is jusT once and if u miss it, then you hustle very hard to get it

it hurts yar lot alot :'( tried my best to let u go ,tried alot to forget u but kunai yesto din xaina that i dont miss u even a single second ,i miss u lot ,m sorry but i cant yar just cant :'( just want to cry loudly cry all my tears i luv u my bab i am dying every day thinking of u even after knowing that u cant b mine i miss u alot want to hug u so tight yar ,i feel so lonly surrounded by strangers my heart is hurting yar i just want to die i cant handle this pain any more ,to pretend that m ok is not easy, every day i try to pretend m strong enought to let u go start my life happily once again but i cant yar it really hurt inside to pretend strong when i dont have left any thing inside to give to others :( i know u also get hurt when u hav to pretend to ignore my cal nd msgs but i cant stay away from u sorry m really really sorry that u hav to do that

It’s easy to hate someone, but its really difficult to like them how they are, what they are & even in any situations! Since it was not the situation that let they leave you down for their mistake its a fate that it was happening like this and will never let u down, and will be waiting always for the good, inspite of all the mistake that have been committed nothing stays long, since we won’t be here all along, for ever long!!!!

When I lifted my head, Christian was sending a text message. “Give me that!” I sprang to my knees and snatched it away. “What the hell did you say?” “Only that I had you on your back. I made sure to sign my name.” “You idiot!” I punched his shoulder and he smirked. “In-service massage?” Silver: It’s not what you think, Logan. I’ll call you later. Miss u. “It’s your funeral. Logan is a Chitah.” Christian’s eyes widened. “You’re serious? You? And a Chitah?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Shite, why didn’t you tell me you were dating a fecking lunatic? Those bastards have a thing about hunting you for life.

In GTMO, interrogators are taught more about the potential behavior of detainees than about their actual Intelligence value, and so the U.S. Interrogators consistently succeeded in missing the most trivial information about their own detainees. I’m not speaking about second hand information; I’m speaking about my own experience.

they missed that the number of U.S. casualties is negligible compared to the Somalis who were attacked in their own homes.

You missed that I’m a computer specialist, and I know that the U.S. government would have no problem forging a passport for me,” he said. The interrogators quickly took the passport back and never talked about it again. Scenarios like that made me very paranoid about the government making up something about me.

The point is that we really have no conception of how to consider linear superpositions of states when the states themselves involve different space-time geometries. A fundamental difficulty with 'standard theory' is that when the geometries become significantly different from each other, we have no absolute means of identifying a point in one geometry with any particular point in the other-the two geometries are strictly separate spaces-so the very idea that one could form a superposition of the matter states within these two separate spaces becomes profoundly obscure. Now, we should ask when are two geometries to be considered as actually 'significantly different' from one another? It is here, in effect, that the Planck scale of 10^-33 cm comes in. The argument would roughly be that the scale of the difference between these geometries has to be, in an appropriate sense, something like 10^-33 cm or more for reduction to take place. We might, for example, attempt to imagine (Fig. 6.5) that these two geometries are trying to be forced into coincidence, but when the measure of the difference becomes too large, on this kind of scale, reduction R takes place-so, rather than the superposition involved in U being maintained, Nature must choose one geometry or the other. What kind of scale of mass or of distance moved would such a tiny change in geometry correspond to? In fact, owing to the smallness of gravitational effects, this turns out to be quite large, and not at all unreasonable as a demarcation line between the quantum and classical levels. In order to get a feeling for such matters, it will be useful to say something about absolute (or Planckian) units.

Applying the standard U-procedures of quantum mechanics, we find that the photon's state, after it has encountered the mirror, would consist of two parts in two very different locations. One of these parts then becomes entangled with the device and finally with the lump, so we have a quantum state which involves a linear superposition of two quite different positions for the lump. Now the lump will have its gravitational field, which must also be involved in this superposition. Thus, the state involves a superposition of two different gravitational fields. According to Einstein's theory, this implies that we have two different space-time geometries superposed! The question is: is there a point at which the two geometries become sufficiently different from each other that the rules of quantum mechanics must change, and rather than forcing the different geometries into superposition, Nature chooses between one or the other of them and actually effects some kind of reduction procedure resembling R?

As Albert Einstein wrote, “Everything that is really great and inspiring is created by the individual who can labor in freedom.” Many creatives follow this edict in pursuing their own projects. But if this approach is followed too closely, we can miss out on valuable help that can advance our work.

In Libya in 2011, fourteen NATO members and four partner countries prevented Muammar Qaddafi from carrying out a promise to slaughter tens of thousands of his own people—and then they removed him from power. France, Britain, Italy, Canada, Denmark, Norway, Belgium, and others struck 90 percent of all NATO targets. Spain, the Netherlands, Turkey, Greece, and Romania enforced an arms embargo at sea. Sweden, not a NATO member, contributed naval and air force personnel and equipment. The United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Jordan, and Morocco also contributed.18 There was not a single U.S. casualty.19 The point is not that Washington should persuade others to do all the heavy lifting. NATO jets were able to hit their targets only because U.S. cruise missiles had already wiped out Libya’s air defenses. When Europeans ran short on precision-guided missiles, Washington sent them more.20 Without the United States, there would have been no mission. Critics carp that while NATO rid the world of a dangerous monster, it hasn’t created a stable Libya. That charge misses the point. From a Moneyball perspective, the goal was not to bomb Libya into democracy, start a war, or launch another improvisational bout of nation-building. It was to give Libyans a chance to escape the fate Qaddafi intended for them, and to enable them to begin the long-term process of building their own future.

I must have missed the fine print disclaimer in my school textbooks while learning about the Declaration of Independence and U.S. Constitution. It must have read: Warning – by learning this material it will make you a future enemy of the state.

The 1948 war’s diplomatic maneuvers and military campaigns are well engraved in Israeli Jewish historiography. What is missing is the chapter on the ethnic cleansing carried out by the Jews in 1948. As a result of that campaign, five hundred Palestinian villages and eleven urban neighborhoods were destroyed, seven hundred thousand Palestinians were expelled, and several thousand were massacred.2 Even today, it is hard to find a succinct summary of the planning, execution, and repercussions of these tragic results.

America has the highest gun homicide rate, the highest number of guns per capita,” recites Charles Blow of the New York Times.3 In another story, the New York Times quotes researcher David Hemenway as saying: “Generally, if you live in a civilized society, more guns mean more death.”4 Bloomberg’s Businessweek also makes similar claims.5 Like most international comparisons of gun ownership rates, all of these claims make use of something called the 2007 Small Arms Survey, a group that receives funding from and often works closely with George Soros’s Open Society Institute.6 The UN provides homicide data for 192 countries, but the Small Arms Survey only lists gun ownership and homicide data for 116. All of the countries that are missing are countries that have homicide rates higher than the U.S. rate. The Small Arms Survey makes it look as though there are only twenty-five countries with higher homicide rates than the U.S. In fact, there are 101 countries with higher rates. So how do homicide rates compare across all 192 countries for which the UN provides data?7 For 2008, the U.S. rate was slightly less than 5.4 homicides per 100,000 people. The worldwide rate was 10.5 (about twice the U.S. rate), and the median was six per 100,000. Yet there is one important caveat to realize when looking at these numbers—they are provided by the countries themselves, and you can’t always trust their numbers. Politicians and dictators like to give the impression that they are doing a better job than they actually are. This is a problem in some United States jurisdictions such as Chicago, where what look like murders are reclassified as “noncriminal death investigations.”8

The German losses are still being toted up, but at last count they stand at $21 billion in the Icelandic banks, $100 billion in Irish banks, $60 billion in various U.S. subprime-backed bonds, and some yet to be determined amount in Greek bonds. The only financial disaster in the last decade German bankers appear to have missed was investing with Bernie Madoff