N Sparks Quotes

neither myths nor mysteries can hold a candle to the most infinitesimal spark of hope.

We each have a spark of life inside of us, that can start a fire. You can choose to burn down a room or to brighten it with light.

I figured if I was tired enough, I wouldn’t miss Travis. Which kind of worked, until after the three o’clock fussing-wombat feed and I got back into bed and his side of the bed was cold. Or until I tripped over his laundry that he’d left on the bathroom floor. That he always left on the bathroom floor. Or until I sat at the table at breakfast time and his chair was too damn empty. There was no smartarse comments, no bursts of laughter. His blue eyes didn’t spark with humour and his sandy-blond hair didn't spike out just so. There was no foot-holding under the table.

How was I to know this tiny spark would spread like wildfire.

Some forms of music spark the freedom of singers to say, in words or how words are sung, in pace, hesitation, timbre, shouts, or silences, what they most deeply and desperately want to say; other forms take it away.

I’m adrift, suspended in a pool of senselessness, but something about her keeps tugging, sparking my nerves, errant currents pushing me to the surface of something—an emotional revelation—that trembles into existence only to evaporate, seconds later, as if it might be terrified to exist. This goes on and on and on and on and on Lightyears. Eons. over and over whispers of clarity g a s p s o f o x y g e n and I’m tossed back out to sea.

So if you ’n her scrape together a bit and make some sparks from time to time, like steel against flint, that’s why. No one is to blame. But you have to remember, Fran, she’s too old to change, but you are getting old enough to understand that.

The essence of the adolescent brain changes that are the essence of healthy ways of living throughout the life span spell the word essence itself: ES: Emotional Spark—honoring these important internal sensations that are more intense during adolescence but serve to create meaning and vitality throughout our lives. SE: Social Engagement—the important connections we have with others that support our journeys through life with meaningful, mutually rewarding relationships. N: Novelty—how we seek out and create new experiences that engage us fully, stimulating our senses, emotions, thinking, and bodies in new and challenging ways. CE: Creative Explorations—the conceptual thinking, abstract reasoning, and expanded consciousness that create a gateway to seeing the world through new lenses.

You have witnessed the rebirth of an old war, the rekindling of a fire that once consumed nations like parched grass. The blame may not be yours, but you held the spark that set the flame. It is young and growing. Maybe, maybe it may still be quenched, so long as the Almighty bathes us in courage and luck and we do not rest and we do not tire and we do not listen to our own pain.

rotten fruits and vegetables n. distressed produce sewage plant n. wastewater conveyance facility sewage sludge n. 1. regulated organic ingredients 2. bioslurp 3. organic biomass Some people may call the residue of treated sewage "sludge," but to John Gonzales of the Reno-Sparks, Nevada, sewage treatment plant it's "organic biomass." 4. biosolids It might look like sludge to you, but others call it "biosolids." 5. regulated wastewater residuals

Étranger à moi-même, je sais. Hors nature, contre nature, sans excuse, sans autre recours qu'en moi. Mais je ne reviendrai pas sous ta loi: je suis condamné à n'avoir d'autre loi que la mienne. Je ne reviendrai pas à ta nature: mille chemins y sont tracés qui conduisent vers toi, mais je ne peux suivre que mon chemin. Car je suis un homme, Jupiter, et chaque homme doit inventer son chemin. La nature a horreur de l'homme, et toi, toi, souverain des Dieux, toi aussi tu as les hommes en horreur.

A light was flashing on the desktop display when Kira entered. Another message. With a sense of trepidation, she pulled it up. I am the spark in the center of the void. I am the wider shin scream that cleaves the night. I am your eschatological nightmare. I am the one and the word and the fullness of the light. Would you like to play a game? Y/N -Gregorovitch As a rule, ship minds tended to be eccentric, and the larger they were, the more eccentricities they displayed. Gregorovich was on the outer tail of that bell curve, though. She couldn’t tell if it was just his personality or if his behavior was the result of too much isolation. Surely, Falconi isn’t crazy enough to fly around with an unstable ship mind… Right? Either way, best to play it safe: No. -Kira An instant later, a reply popped up: ☹️ -Gregorovich

A light was flashing on the desktop display when Kira entered. Another message. With a sense of trepidation, she pulled it up. I am the spark in the center of the void. I am the widdershin scream that cleaves the night. I am your eschatological nightmare. I am the one and the word and the fullness of the light. Would you like to play a game? Y/N -Gregorovitch As a rule, ship minds tended to be eccentric, and the larger they were, the more eccentricities they displayed. Gregorovich was on the outer tail of that bell curve, though. She couldn’t tell if it was just his personality or if his behavior was the result of too much isolation. Surely, Falconi isn’t crazy enough to fly around with an unstable ship mind… Right? Either way, best to play it safe: No. -Kira An instant later, a reply popped up: ☹️ -Gregorovich

It’s 56.43 N, 2.87 W, I think,” the awful voice continued. “Osman is dead, and Baines and Boswell and Rudd are dead, and I think Wilton may be gone as well. There are just too many—” Phillip had written down all coordinates but underlined the last set. He hated the voice’s gasping quality. The way every breath seemed to pain it. The phlegmy gurgle at the back of its throat. “What’s your situation? What happened?” “They’re in the walls.” The voice gasped, a choked laugh that curdled and quickly died. It seemed to say something else, but a hissing burst of static cut through the channel. Phillip frowned, straining to hear. “Repeat, please.” “In the walls…” The voice from the radio groaned, and the sound seemed to travel not only through Phillip’s headset but into his bones as well, causing them to ache. “The walls.” “Please repeat—” The bridge’s lights shimmered, flickering. Phillip pressed himself back against the desk as he stared up at the bulbs that sparked and threatened to blow. Then the voice rose, flooding his ears, filling his head, raw and battered with terror: “There are bodies in the walls.

she picked up a jug of distilled water and poured it into a flask, plugging the flask with a stopper outfitted with a tube wriggling from its top. Next, she clipped the flask onto one of two metal stands that stood between two Bunsen burners and struck a strange metal gadget that sparked like flint striking steel. A flame appeared; the water began to heat. Reaching up to a shelf, she grabbed a sack labeled “C8H10N4O2,” dumped some into a mortar, ground it with a pestle, overturned the resulting dirtlike substance onto a strange little scale, then dumped the scale’s contents into a 6- x 6-inch piece of cheesecloth and tied the small bundle off. Stuffing the cheesecloth into a larger beaker, she attached it to the second metal stand, clamping the tube coming out of the first flask into the large beaker’s bottom. As the water in the flask started to bubble, Mrs. Sloane, her jaw practically on the floor, watched as the water forced its way up the tube and into the beaker. Soon the smaller flask was almost empty and Elizabeth shut off the Bunsen burner. She stirred the contents of the beaker with a glass rod. Then the brown liquid did the strangest thing: it rose up like a poltergeist and returned to the original flask. “Cream and sugar?” Elizabeth

Winslow wants you to learn this"- he waved a few sheets of stapled pages- "and that." He pointed to the book in my lap. Fifty French Conversations. It was one of our textbooks. I'd stopped at the seventeenth: Mon hamster a mange trop de fromage. Il a mal au ventre maintenant. "The rest is the Bainbridge Method." "You have a method?" "Patented and proven." I waved the book. "Does it include greedy, cheese-guzzling hamsters with stomachaches?" He nodded. "Absolutely.French conversations is nothing without rodents and cheese.Is there something shameful in your past involving either?" "Not that I can think of off the top of my head." "Tant pis." "And that means...?" "Fuhgeddaboudit," he translated, grinning. I sighed. "Do people make Russian jokes in your presence?" "How do you get five Russians to agree on anything?" "How?" I asked. "Shoot four of them." I thought for a sec. "I'm not sure that's funny." "No," Alex said. "People don't tell many Russian jokes in my presence." "I should start my three things, huh?" "Yeah.That would be good." I did some speedy translating in my head. "Je n'ai jamais lu Huckleberry Finn, Beloved, ou Moby-Dick." "Ella,no one has read Moby-Dick. The French was passable, but as far as revelations go,that sucked." "Ah, but there's a part deux. All three of those books were required reading last year in my American lit class. I used SparkNotes." "You're kidding, right?" "See?" I daintily brushed Dorito crumbs from my fingertips. "Changes your perception of me, doesn't it?" "No,I mean, 'That's a revelation?' You can do better than that." "Maybe," I agreed, "but it's still early in the game.

Emotional intelligence truly came to the forefront of public consciousness in 1995, when science journalist Daniel Goleman published his groundbreaking book, Emotional Intelligence: Why It Can Matter More Than IQ. Goleman expanded on Salovey and Mayer's model and proposed that EQ was a more significant determinant of success and well-being than traditional intelligence measured by IQ. His book sparked a revolution, not just in psychological circles but in businesses, schools, and homes worldwide. Over time, the concept of emotional intelligence has evolved and been refined. Despite the different models and definitions, its essence remains consistent: it's about recognizing, understanding, managing, and effectively using emotions in ourselves and others. Let's consider a practical scenario to illustrate this. Suppose you're in a team meeting at work, and tension is rising over a disagreement about a project. An emotionally intelligent person would recognize and manage their increasing frustration and notice the subtle signs of distress in others—clenched jaws, impatient foot tapping, and avoiding eye contact. They would then use this understanding to navigate the situation, perhaps by suggesting a short break or calmly expressing their viewpoint and encouraging others to do the same. They

you move to follow her, because neither myths nor mysteries can hold a candle to the most infinitesimal spark

Licata were answering to,” Jackson says. Jimmy can hear the excitement in his voice, like he’s giving off sparks at his end. “Don’t tell me. It was Salvatore.” “Bigger.” The next morning Jimmy is sitting with Lieutenant Paul Harrington, the kind of boss he wished he had with the cops, at the Sip ’N Soda in Southampton, just down from Town

But in all honesty, how you write, how much you write, how often, and what you write is all up to you. The prompt is just the spark. How much it ignites and how long it burns is up to the writer.

Maybe we can help. Where are you from? I've never seen you around here before. And, how did you get that cut? Where are you staying?” He shook his head and giggled. “Are you the police? You ask a lot of questions Phoenix.” “No. I just ... never mind.” I wanted to know more about him. The way those sparkly green eyes gazed at me. The way his dimples sunk deep into his cheeks, as he smiled and said my name with his deep voice.

says N. T. Wright, bring “two sets of ideas close together, close enough for a spark to jump, but not too close, so that the spark, in jumping, illuminates for a moment the whole area around.”[12]

Because you need me.” Sparks’ eyes looked serious; a little sad. “And you know it, Ollie.

So what are you doing lurking out here?” Madison asked, cradling the sticker with Blue’s number in her hand, so Jeremy wouldn’t see it. Jeremy leaned in until his face was only inches from hers, and whispered, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” “Ahem!” a deep voice sounded behind them. “I hate to interrupt this little tete-a-tete, but don’t you have someplace else you ought to be right now?” Madison and Jeremy sprang away from each other like startled pigeons. They turned and guiltily faced the principal. Madison spoke first. “Hello, Mr. Kaufman. I left some, um, material for my report for Mr. Dalberg’s class in my locker and I was just about to get it.” “Is that your locker?” Mr. Kaufman asked. Jeremy cut in. “Actually, it’s my locker. Madison forgot to mention that she had asked me to keep it for her.” Jeremy spun the combination on the lock to show Mr. Kaufman that he was actually getting the report. He swung open the locker and grabbed the first thing he could put his hands on--a MAD magazine. Without skipping a beat, Madison took it and started talking. “You see, Mr. Kaufman, we’re studying the role that periodicals and newspapers have played in American historical events. For instance, um, Tom Paine’s pamphlet Common Sense helped start the American Revolution, and, well, Horace Greeley’s editorials in the New York Tribune sparked the great Westward migration and the idea of Manifest Destiny, and now MAD magazine has, um, er--” “Redefined the concept of social satire in the twentieth century,” Jeremy jumped in. “Without MAD, there’d have been no National Lampoon. Without the National Lampoon, no Saturday Night Live. Without SNL, there’d be no Bill Murray. Eddie Murphy. Adam Sandler. The list goes on and on.” “Really?” Mr. Kaufman raised one eyebrow. “Very interesting.” Madison plastered a grateful smile on her face and extended her hand to Jeremy. “Thanks for keeping this, um, research material for me.” Jeremy shook her hand politely. “Anytime, Madison. I have room in here for lots more of your, uh, reports.” Before Mr. Kaufman could say anything, Jeremy shut his locker, and the two of them marched off in opposite directions away from the principal. As she walked away, Madison held her breath waiting for Mr. Kaufman to call them back. But he didn’t. Madison couldn’t believe her luck. What a bizarre encounter! And yes, she had to admit it: Jeremy had really bailed her out when she’d run out of gas with her excuse.

I think mentoring is simply an inborn passion and not something you can learn in a classroom. It can only be mastered by observation and practice. I also realized that most mentees select you, and not the other way round. The mentor’s role is to create a sense of comfort so that people can approach you and hierarchy has no role to play in that situation. The mentee has to believe that when they share anything, they are sharing as an equal and that their professional well-being is protected, that they won’t be ridiculed or their confidentiality breached. As a mentor you have to create that comfort zone. It is somewhat like being a doctor or a psychiatrist, but mentoring does not necessarily have to take place only in the office. For example, if I was travelling I would often take along a junior colleague to meet a client. I made sure they had a chance to speak and then afterwards I would give them feedback and say, ‘You could have done this or that’. Similarly, if I observed somebody when they were giving a pitch or a talk, I would meet them afterwards or send them an e-mail to say ‘well done’ or coach them about how they could have done better. This trait of consciously looking for the bright spark amongst the crowd has paid me rich dividends. I spotted N. Chandrasekaran (Chandra), TCS’s current Chief Executive, when he was working on a project in Washington, DC in the early 1990s; the client said good things about him so I asked him to come and meet me. We took it from there. Similarly urging Maha and Paddy to move out of their comfort zones and take up challenging corporate roles was a successful move. From a leadership perspective I believe it is important to have experienced a wide range of functions within an organization. If a person hasn’t done a stint in HR, finance or operations, or in a particular geography or more than one vertical, they stand limited in your learning. A general manager needs to know about all functions. You don’t have to do a deep dive—a few months exploring a function is enough so long as you have an aptitude to learn and the ability to probe. This experience is very necessary today even from a governance perspective.

​ Tant que les lions n'auront pas leurs propres historiens, l'histoire de la chasse glorifiera toujours le chasseur

(Verse 1) In the glow of a **dawn's early light**, With the dew on the grass, shining so bright, A cup of coffee, a **gentle breeze**, These little things, oh how they please. (Chorus) **Grab your hat and dance in the rain,** **Kick off your boots, forget the pain,** **Laugh with friends, under the sun's reign,** **Life's a sweet ride, hop on the train!** **Raise your glass to the stars above,** **Sing with heart, push and shove,** **Every little moment, fit like a glove,** **It's the simple things that we love!** (Verse 2) A **dog's wagging tail**, a **porch swing's sway**, The **colors of flowers** that brighten the day, A **song on the radio** that takes you back, To the **sweet old memories** that never lack. (Bridge) **Lights down low, we're just starting up,** **Fill up the tank, let's raise our cup,** **To the moments that feel like a live wire,** **Simple sparks igniting our fire.** **Sync to the beat of the city's pulse,** **Every little win, every single result,** **We're living loud in the here and now,** **In the simple life, we take our bow.** (Verse 3) **Under the wide-open sky so blue,** **Life's painting scenes, each one anew,** **A simple hello, a wave goodbye,** **In these little things, our dreams fly high.** **With every sunrise, we start again,** **Finding joy in the whisper of the wind,** **A hearty laugh, a warm embrace,** **In the simple life, we find our grace.** (Chorus) **Turn it up, let the bass line roll,** **Simple life's got that rock 'n' roll soul,** **Snap your fingers, tap your feet,** **Living for the moment, life's so sweet.** **Catch the vibe, let it take control,** **These little things are how we roll,** **From the heartland to the city's grip,** **It's the simple life that makes us flip.** (Verse 4) **The jukebox plays a tune that's bittersweet,** **Echoing tales of love and deceit,** **But in the neon glow, we find our truth,** **In simple things, we reclaim our youth.** **A twist of fate, a turn of the key,** **Life's full of surprises, as we can see,** **A chance encounter, a new beginning,** **In the simple life, we keep on winning.**

Une pensée horrible traversa l’esprit de Caroline : C’est une liste de condamnés. Quelqu’un nous a marqués du sceau de la mort. Cela lui vint de manière automatique, tout comme elle pensait automatiquement, chaque fois que le téléphone sonnait, qu’on l’appelait pour lui annoncer une indicible tragédie. Elle relut la liste, puis rit intérieurement de sa propre morbidité. Évidemment, s’il s’agissait d’une liste de personnes vivantes, alors tous ces gens étaient condamnés à mourir, tôt ou tard. Il n’empêche que cette lettre avait quelque chose d’inhabituel et d’angoissant ; elle lui rappelait un roman de Muriel Spark : Memento Mori. Sans doute décortiquait-elle trop ce qui n’était sûrement qu’une banale suite de noms.

[I]n Greece, the distinctive political situation that arose beginning around 800 BCE and persisted for at least the next half-millennium was the differentiator that enabled the world of the city-states to perform economically and culturally at a level much higher than the premodern normal, defined by conditions in the Late Bronze, Early Iron, and early modern periods of Greek history - and indeed, at a level that in some respects matched the exceptionally high-performing early modern societies of Holland and Britain. Those conclusions are important to us in modernity, not because Greece was the unique origin of the Western tradition or the spark that ignited a putative 'great divergence' between East and West but because classical Greece is the earliest documented case of 'democratic exceptionalism plus efflorescence' - a historically rare combination of economic, cultural, and political conditions pertaining among developed countries in the contemporary world. Insofar as we value democracy and prefer wealth to poverty, then we have good reason to care about explaining the rise of the society in which the wealth and democracy package is first documented. We have equally good reasons for wanting to explain why the major states within that society failed to maintain their full independence in the face of entrepreneurial authoritarians willing and able to appropriate institutions and technology. In the long run, the loss of city-state independence was coincident with a long economic decline. By the seventh century CE, core Greece had reverted to the relatively impoverished condition of the 'premodern normal.' The world of Greek antiquity was obviously very different from our own, and some of the factors that led to both the rise and fall of classical Greece are unlikely to be repeated. Yet for those who do recognize certain features of our modernity in the history of classical Greece, that history may serve as a cautionary tale.

So now deal with me as you will; command my spirit to be taken from me, so that I may be released from the face of the earth and become dust.

We are not, after all, defined by whatever longings and aspirations come out of our hearts, despite the remarkable rhetoric of our times. In the area of human well-being, that is the road to radical instability; in the area of theological beliefs, it leads to Gnosticism (where you try to discern the hidden divine spark within yourself and then be true to it). Jesus himself was quite clear, following in the prophetic tradition: the human heart is deceitful, and out of it come all kinds of things that defile people, that is, that make them unable to function as genuine human beings, as the royal priesthood they were called to be. The gospel Jesus announced was not about getting in touch with your deepest feelings or accepting yourself as you really are. It was about taking up your cross and following him.

It was as two asteroids colliding, the impact rippling through space. Of a meteor burning through atmosphere. Of nebulous storms popping and sparking. Like a new cosmos was born in that moment, a universe all our own. And the universe, and all the worlds that were and are and will be, revolved around us, for truly no love in all creation was greater than ours.

Because his smile was contagious, and the spark in his eyes did absurd things to my belly. And the logical part of my brain knew I was heading for trouble, but my heart didn’t seem to care.

Those who are grasped by grace in the gospel and who bear witness to that in their loyal belief in the One God, focused on Jesus, are not merely beneficiaries, recipients of God’s mercy; they are also agents. They are poems in which God is addressing his world, and, as poems are designed to do, they break open existing ways of looking at things and spark the mind to imagine a different way to be human.

ROSALIND He’s fall’n in love with your foulness. (to SILVIUS) And 70 she’ll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I’ll sauce her with bitter words. (to PHOEBE) Why look you so upon me?

Ik hoopte dat het op zo'n film over weerwolven zou lijken, dat hij zou worden uitgerekt en gaan gillen, dat er haar en slagtanden uit hem zouden komen schieten en dat hij van pijn zou liggen te kronkelen.' 'Het spijt me dat ik zo'n teleurstelling ben,' zei Dax.

He left their door cracked when he rejoined the others and Toby could hear him allowing that he was mighty proud of his grandsons but was still hankering for a granddaughter. “Don’t look at me,” Aunt Maribeth said. “Looks like I’ll have to look to you and Ben,” he said. Uncle Ben spoke up. “Well now, I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Judging from the gleam in Jake Ransom’s eyes tonight, it wouldn’t shock me a tall to hear wedding bells before another Christmas rolls around.” “Don’t be silly,” Mama said. “Jake’s just got the Christmas spirit, same as the rest of us.” Grandpa chuckled. “I wa’n’t none too sure which one Ben meant, you or Jenny, till you spoke up.” “Aw shucks, Pa,” Aunt Jenny said. “You know good and well I’m too old to put a spark in Jake’s eyes.” “You ain’t more’n five years older’n Jake and he’s been a widower fer a long time.” “Thanky fer the backhanded compliment but don’t count on me for your granddaughter.

Les gens parlent de la vérité comme si c’était l’élixir miracle pour tous les problèmes de la vie. Je suis là depuis assez longtemps pour savoir que ce n’est pas le cas, et que parfois la vérité peut faire plus de mal que de bien.

We are not, after all, defined by whatever longings and aspirations come out of our hearts, despite the remarkable rhetoric of our times. In the area of human well-being, that is the road to radical instability; in the area of theological beliefs, it leads to Gnosticism (where you try to discern the hidden divine spark within yourself and then be true to it). Jesus himself was quite clear, following in the prophetic tradition: the human heart is deceitful, and out of it come all kinds of things that defile people, that is, that make them unable to function as genuine human beings, as the royal priesthood they were called to be. The gospel Jesus announced was not about getting in touch with your deepest feelings or accepting yourself as you really are. It was about taking up your cross and following him. That is tough, and it doesn’t stop being tough when you’ve done it for a year, or a decade, or a lifetime. The victory won through suffering on the cross is implemented, here as elsewhere, through the suffering of Jesus’s followers, most of whom will continue to be troubled from time to time by temptation in relation to money and sex and many other things beside.

Instead, bright white sparks flew all over when his claws met resistance. When they met my shield. Excuse me for just a moment. What the actual fuck?

Once upon a time…there lived a young artist. Many of the works that he created seemed to have the spark of life within them, and they captured the hearts of the people. One of those people was another young man…who was entranced by the artist’s work. He wished to possess those works of art by any means possible. And in reality…their wishes were one and the same.

Others have more beauty in their face/Without thy heart:/To some is giv'n more honour, birth or grace,/And ye thou art/To my thoughts as the star,/That sparks so bright above,/Seems to the moth so far/Yet holds his love

I nodded back, the spark inside me burning a little brighter—almost enough for me to imagine it being warm. How strange it was to see a genuine smile directed toward me.

For other would-be movers and shakers, the poet had sparked intense dreams of transformation beyond the literary sphere,” Simon Warner writes in Text and Drugs and Rock ’n’ Roll: The Beats and Rock Culture.1

They allow the spark of sensation to ignite a raging fire before trying to extinguish it, needlessly making difficulties for themselves. But if they learn to observe the sensations within the body objectively, they permit each spark to burn itself out without starting a conflagration.

Au trecut patruzeci de ani si pastrez inca vie in mintea mea ziua aceea. Se poate sa fiu mai batran si mai intelept, este posibil sa fi trait o alta viata, dar stiu ca atunci cand imi va veni ceasul, amintirile din ziua aceea vor fi ultimele imagini care mi se vor perinda prin minte. Inca o iubesc si nu mi-am scos niciodata inelul de pe deget. In toti acesti ani, n-am simtit niciodata dorinta sa o fac.