Myron Golden Quotes

Until one morning, one of the coldest mornings of the year, when I came in with the book cart and found Jean Hollis Clark, a fellow librarian, standing dead still in the middle of the staff room. "I heard a noise from the drop box," Jean said. "What kind of noise?" "I think it's an animal." "A what?" "An animal," Jean said. "I think there's an animal in the drop box." That was when I heard it, a low rumble from under the metal cover. It didn't sound like an animal. It sounded like an old man clearing his throat. Gurr-gug-gug. Gurr-gug-gug. But the opening at the top of the chute was only a few inches wide, so that would be quite a squeeze for an old man. It had to be an animal. But what kind? I got down on my knees, reached over the lid, and hoped for a chipmunk. What I got instead was a blast of freezing air. The night before, the temperature had reached minus fifteen degrees, and that didn't take into account the wind, which cut under your coat and squeezed your bones. And on that night, of all nights, someone had jammed a book into return slot, wedging it open. It was as cold in the box as it was outside, maybe colder, since the box was lined with metal. It was the kind of cold that made it almost painful to breathe. I was still catching my breath, in fact, when I saw the kitten huddled in the front left corner of the box. It was tucked up in a little space underneath a book, so all I could see at first was its head. It looked grey in the shadows, almost like a little rock, and I could tell its fur was dirty and tangled. Carefully, I lifted the book. The kitten looked up at me, slowly and sadly, and for a second I looked straight into its huge golden eyes. The it lowered its head and sank back down into its hole. At that moment, I lost every bone in my body and just melted.

For instance, let’s say that we come to an apple tree and it has a dozen apples on it. I take an apple and eat it. People with a lack of mentality would say, “Myron, there are less apples now because you ate the apple.” I say, “No, there are potentially many more apples because I ate the apple. Because I’m going to take these six seeds in my hand and I’m going to plant them in the ground. They are going to become apple trees. Now I have six more apple trees and they each produce 100 apples a year. So because I ate the apple, in just a few years, there will literally be 600 more apples per year than there were before I ate the apple.

little book called “Common Sense: A Simple Approach to Financial Independence”.

Poor people focus on the obstacle. Rich people focus on the opportunity. It’s

Poor people only take financial advice from people who are as poor as they are or poorer.

AAAAA! HELP!" Snow Pea Screamed. "I got it!" Penny said. She pulled out a cage and put Zombie Sunflower in. "That wont hold her back for long," Penny said. Just then, they smelled Brains and Burgers. "Yuck!" Peashooter and Repeater and Snow Pea said together. It was Zomboss in his Zombot (Plants vs. Zombies 1). He upgraded a little bit even though it looked the same. The life was now 1,000,000,000! Bonk Choy came. "Hey punks!" He said. "I killed the Football dudes and I found 5 gold pieces!" "That's not gold, that's Golden Plant Food!" Penny said. All 5 Plants used GOLDEN PLANT FOOD. Peashooter shot 3,600 peas. Repeater shot 8,100 peas, then shot a big pea which is worth 900. Snow Pea shot 3,600 frozen peas. Wall-Nut Put on a CRYSTAL shield. Bonk Choy punched 5,625 times. "Zomboss was still laughing. His Zombot still looked clean. "NOOO!" Snow Pea said. "Penny, do you have any potions?" Peashooter asked. "Only a revive potion!" Penny said as Peashooter took it. He threw it. It only revives people. The potion spread around everywhere. Zomboss put down a Giga-Gargantuar. They killed it quickly and a golden Plant Food came out. Zomboss smashed it. They needed help so Penny called extra plants. She called Squash and Torch-wood. "Nice!" Peashooter said. "Now we are cooking with gas!" Repeater said. Torch-wood stood in front of Peashooter and Repeater. Squash jumped on Zomboss's head. Zomboss grabbed Squash. Squash accidentally landed on Torch-wood. Torch-wood got SQUASHED by squash. Then squash set on fire. "Grrrrr...

But not here,” she added. “Let’s take a walk around the block.” Myron nodded and they rose. Before they reached the door, his cell phone rang. Myron snatched it up with a speed that would have made Wyatt Earp step back. He put the phone to his ear and cleared his throat. “MB SportsReps,” he said, silky-smooth, professional-like. “This is Myron Bolitar speaking.” “Nice phone voice,” Esperanza said. “You sound like Billy Dee ordering two Colt 45s.” Esperanza Diaz was his longtime assistant and now sports-agent partner at MB SportsReps (M for Myron, the B for Bolitar—for those keeping score). “I was hoping you were Lamar,” he said. “He hasn’t called yet?” “Nope.” He could almost see Esperanza frown. “We’re in deep doo-doo here,” she said. “We’re not in deep doo-doo. We’re just sucking a little wind, that’s all.” “Sucking a little wind,” Esperanza repeated. “Like Pavarotti running the Boston Marathon.” “Good one,” Myron said. “Thanks.” Lamar Richardson was a power-hitting Golden Glove shortstop who’d just become a free agent—“free agent” being a phrase agents whisper in the same way a mufti might whisper “Praise Allah.” Lamar was shopping for new representation and had whittled his final list down to three agencies: two supersized conglomerates with enough office space to house a Price Club and the aforementioned pimple-on-the-buttocks but oh-so-personal MB SportsReps. Go, pimple-butt! Myron watched his mother standing by the door. He switched ears and said, “Anything else?” “You’ll never guess who called,” Esperanza said. “Elle and Claudia demanding another ménage à trois?” “Oooo, close.” She

When you say ‘specialty clubs’—?” “Let’s see. If you care for flaxen-haired women, you go to On Golden Blonde. That’s on the second floor, far right. If you’re into African-American men, you head up to the third floor and visit a place called—you might like this, Mr. Bolitar—Malcolm Sex.” Myron

When you say ‘specialty clubs’—?” “Let’s see. If you care for flaxen-haired women, you go to On Golden Blonde. That’s on the second floor, far right. If you’re into African-American men, you head up to the third floor and visit a place called—you might like this, Mr. Bolitar—Malcolm Sex.” Myron looked at Win. Win shrugged. Big Cyndi continued in her tour guide voice: “Those with an Asian fetish will enjoy the Joy Suck Club—” “Yeah,” Myron said, “I think I get the picture. So how do I get in and find Katie Rochester?” Big Cyndi thought about that for a moment. “I can pose as a job applicant.

The waitresses maneuvered through the boisterous crowd clad in black dresses, bright lipstick, slicked-back hair, and nearly Kabuki whiteface. Guitars hung from around their necks. They were supposed to look like the models in that Robert Palmer “Addicted to Love” video except, well, they were rather, uh, more mature and less attractive. Like the video had been remade with the cast of The Golden Girls.

If you want to become wealthy, then you have to find out what the top 5% of people do financially and do the same thing.” That is sentence number one. The second sentence in The Two-Sentence Wealth Formula is even more important than the first: “You’ve got to find out what the bottom 95% are doing financially and, whatever else you do, don’t do what they do.” 

Another problem with television is that it promotes the philosophy that the main purpose of money is consumption (or buying things), but the truth is that the more important function of money is for creating wealth.

Follow the principles that rich people follow and stop following the principles that poor people follow, and you will become rich. It’s that simple.