Oversized Book Quotes

In my junior year I discovered books. . . . Devoured [them] the way other kids did candy or sandwiches, spent days hunched over . . . my spine an oversized question mark.

A newspaper is an oversized book with adverts and an expiry date.

if a man believed all that other people choose to say in their own favor, he might get an oversized opinion of them, and an undersized opinion of himself.

Wooed by a vivid cover, she picked one up and leafed through it. She loved thee way it smelled, the ink, the fine paper, the oversized photographs.

She’s wearing bike shorts and a cute, oversized sweater with the word Velaris written across it. I think that’s from a favourite book of hers, but if I ask, we’ll never get out of here on time.

Well, we all come to it in time - we are broken down to ground-level, and must construct ourselves anew. If we survive, we become stronger: with few exceptions we do not become better. For most of us, when all else has failed, turn to the demon. ("The Overseer")

And then I turn another corner, and my chest constricts so tightly, so painfully, that I can no longer breathe. Because there he is. He's engrossed in an oversize book, hunched over and completely absorbed. A breeze ruffles his dark hair, and he bites his nails. . . . Several other people are soaking up the rare sunshine, but as soon as they're registered, they're forgotten. Because of him. I grip the edge of a sidewalk café table to keep from falling. The diners stare in alarm, but I don't care. I'm reeling, and I gasp for air. How can I have been so stupid? How could I have ever for a moment believed I wasn't in love with him?

Automation promises to execute certain tasks with superhuman speed and precision. But its brittle limitations reveal themselves when the unexpected arises. Studies consistently show that, as overseers, humans make for fickle partners to algorithms. Charged with monitoring for rare failures, boredom and passivity render human supervision unreliable.

I liked being comfortable, and that usually meant oversized T-shirts and frizzy curls scraped back into a ponytail.

Proof that the freedoms once accorded non-Letherii peoples were born of both paternalism and a self-serving posturing as a benign overseer. What is given is taken away, just like that.

We must realize that we don’t live in a vacuum; the consequences of our actions ripple throughout the world. Would you still run the water while you brush your teeth, if it meant someone else would suffer from thirst? Would you still drive a gas guzzler, if you knew a world oil shortage would bring poverty and chaos? Would you still build an oversized house, if you witnessed first-hand the effects of deforestation? If we understood how our lifestyles impact other people, perhaps we would live a little more lightly. Our choices as consumers have an environmental toll. Every item we buy, from food to books to televisions to cars, uses up some of the earth’s bounty. Not only does its production and distribution require energy and natural resources; its disposal is also cause for concern. Do we really want our grandchildren to live among giant landfills? The less we need to get by, the better off everyone (and our planet) will be. Therefore, we should reduce our consumption as much as possible, and favor products and packaging made from minimal, biodegradable, or recyclable materials.

Paul: “If any man aspires to the office of overseer, it is a fine work he desires to do. An overseer, then, must be above reproach, the husband of one wife, temperate, prudent, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, not addicted to wine or pugnacious, but gentle, uncontentious, free from the love of money” (1 Timothy 3:1–3).

So, Mr. Nick,' murmured the valet, applying shaving soap to his employer's face with an ivory-handled brush, 'are you writing a book?' Damn him, thought Lerner. He knows I detest conversation with a razor at my throat. 'My memoirs,' he muttered. 'A few jottings only. Waiting to die is such a bore, I write to pass the time.' ("The Overseer")

I must have had a dozen rides that evening. They blear into a nightmare, the one scarcely distinguishable from the other. It quickly became obvious why they picked me up. All but two picked me up the way they would pick up a pornographic photograph or book - except that this was verbal pornography. With a Negro, they assumed they need give no semblance of self-respect or respectability. The visual element entered into it. In a car at night visibility is reduced. A man will reveal himself in the dark, which gives the illusion of anonymity, more than he will in the bright light. Some were shamelessly open, some shamelessly subtle. All showed morbid curiosity about the sexual life of the Negro, and all had, at base, the same stereotyped image of the Negro as an inexhaustible sex-machine with oversized genitals and a vast store of experiences, immensely varied. They appeared to think that the Negro has done all of those “special” things they themselves have never dared to do. They carried the conversations into depths of depravity.

two in the morning, and this time she was home. She answered the door still half asleep, wearing yoga pants and an oversized Ohio State sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back, tucked beneath a scarf with a red-and-white gingham pattern. She must have been expecting someone else—a boyfriend, perhaps, or possibly even one of them—because it took her a moment to recognize

he got up and went and picked up this book, an oversized photo album, and brought it back to the table. “I’ve been following you,” he said, and he opened it up. It was a scrapbook of everything I had ever done, every time my name was mentioned in a newspaper, everything from magazine covers to the tiniest club listings, from the beginning of my career all the way through to that week.

On a cloudy day, when the dim dance of the firelight and the warmth of the sconces are not enough, the books shed their own form of light. By the hundreds, they fill the shelves that stretch across every inch of exposed wall. They rise up to the ceiling, warriors of an impenetrable army, encircling my over-sized armchair and keeping me safe as they whisper their stories softly in my ear.

There may be little room for the display of this supreme qualification in the retail book business, but there is room for some. Be enterprising. Get good people about you. Make your shop windows and your shops attractive. The fact that so many young men and women enter the teaching profession shows that there are still some people willing to scrape along on comparatively little money for the pleasure of following an occupation in which they delight. It is as true to-day as it was in Chaucer's time that there is a class of men who "gladly learn and gladly teach," and our college trustees and overseers and rich alumni take advantage of this and expect them to live on wages which an expert chauffeur would regard as insufficient. Any bookshop worthy of survival can offer inducements at least as great as the average school or college. Under pleasant conditions you will meet pleasant people, for the most part, whom you can teach and form whom you may learn something.

During the months (or years) it takes me to put my ideas together, I don’t take notes or make outlines; I’m figuring things out, and all the while the book makes a breeze around my head like an oversized butterfly whose wings were cut from the rose window in Notre Dame. This book I have not yet written one word of is a thing of indescribable beauty, unpredictable in its patterns, piercing in its color, so wild and loyal in its nature that my love for this book, and my faith in it as I track its lazy flight, is the single perfect joy in my life. It is the greatest novel in the history of literature, and I have thought it up, and all I have to do is put it down on paper and then everyone can see this beauty that I see. And so I do. When I can’t think of another stall, when putting it off has actually become more painful than doing it, I reach up and pluck the butterfly from the air. I take it from the region of my head and I press it down against my desk, and there, with my own hand, I kill it. It’s not that I want to kill it, but it’s the only way I can get something that is so three-dimensional onto the flat page. Just to make sure the job is done I stick it into place with a pin. Imagine running over a butterfly with an SUV. Everything that was beautiful about this living thing—all the color, the light and movement—is gone. What I’m left with is the dry husk of my friend, the broken body chipped, dismantled, and poorly reassembled. Dead. That’s my book.

Of course he wept at the funeral and knew how colossal this thing was that, without warning, had been taken away. When the minister read, along with the biblical stuff, a selection from Julius Caesar out of his father's cherished volume of Shakespeare's plays —the oversized book with the floppy leather binding that, when Coleman was a small boy, always reminded him of a cocker spaniel —the son felt his father's majesty as never before: the grandeur of both his rise and his fall, the grandeur that, as a college freshman away for barely a month from the tiny enclosure of his East Orange home, Coleman had begun faintly to discern for what it was. "Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come." The word "valiant," as the preacher intoned it, stripped away Coleman's manly effort at sober, stoical self-control and laid bare a child's longing for that man closest to him that he'd never see again, the mammoth, secretly suffering father who talked so easily, so sweepingly, who with just his powers of speech had inadvertently taught Coleman to want to be stupendous. Coleman wept with the most fundamental and copious of all emotions, reduced helplessly to everything he could not bear. As an adolescent complaining about his father to his friends, he would characterize him with far more scorn than he felt or had the capacity to feel—pretending to an impersonal way of judging his own father was one more method he'd devised to invent and claim impregnability. But to be no longer circumscribed and defined by his father was like finding that all the clocks wherever he looked had stopped, and all the watches, and that there was no way of knowing what time it was. Down to the day he arrived in Washington and entered Howard, it was, like it or not, his father who had been making up Coleman's story for him; now he would have to make it up himself, and the prospect was terrifying.

On Claud, though, the look is very cool.) For example, today she was wearing a neon green tank top under a white oversized man’s shirt and fuschia pink stirrup pants. The shirt was rolled at the sleeves and belted with a colorful woven belt. Claud finished the outfit with dangly ceramic-bead earrings she’d made herself in pottery class. She’s super artistic. She paints, sketches, draws, sculpts. You name it! Besides art and cool clothing, Claudia loves junk food. Her parents disapprove of Ho-Ho’s and Twinkies and stuff like that, so she hides them all over her room. You never know when you’re going to pick up a pillow and find a bag of potato chips or something behind it. The other thing she stashes away are her Nancy Drew books. Her parents don’t approve of those, either. They don’t think the mysteries are “intellectual” enough. Claudia couldn’t care less if the books are “intellectual.” One thing Claud is not interested in is school work. Although she can’t spell for anything, she’s definitely not dumb. She just doesn’t like school. And, unfortunately, her grades show it. She’s the complete

The modern world is ruled by larger and more impersonal forces, from faceless bureaucracies to abstractions such as “inflation,” or “the rule of law.” Where abstract forces take over the work of coercion from the landlord, the executioner, and the overseer, it is not surprising that there should emerge cosmologies ruled by equally abstract forces.

Cassie perched on an oversize recliner, her butt barely on the cushion. If she’d scooted back, her feet wouldn’t have reached the floor. One of the pitfalls of being short.

I am the autonomous of God Almighty. Overseer to all nations and continents, speaking the will and purpose of God Almighty for a people, a country and a world, in the powerful power of the Holy Spirit of a Sovereign God. I am global Stellah Mupanduki of Jesus Christ, for the salvation, stability and peace of all nations, in the Word of God, for justice and peace...Ndiri weMusiki. Vessel of God’s Glory and Honour.

Next door was a vegetarian café and deli, and next to that was the Wooly Bear yarn shop. Its logo was a caterpillar in shades of yellow, green, and scarlet. Maggie went in. The shop was warm and bright, with one entire wall given over to cubbyholes filled with yarns of every hue in many weights and fibers. The opposite wall held small skeins and spools of thread on pegs for embroidery and quilting. There were racks of pattern books and magazines, and in the back a mini classroom was set up with a small maple table and folding chairs, now accommodating a group of eight-year-olds wielding fat knitting needles and balls of oversize wool. A girl of about sixteen wearing a Rye Manor sweatshirt was helping a little boy to cast on stitches.

The first known perfumer was a woman, Tapputi, an overseer at a palace in Mesopotamia in the second millennium BCE. Clay tablets tell us that she used oil, reeds, flowers, resin, and water to make perfumes by a process of distillation and filtration.

After a parting eyebrow arch into the mirror, I drift into my room and spend a second staring longingly at a an oversized gray hoodie picturing the cover of one of my favorite books, My Antonia, before tossing it aside and grabbing a boring, cream sweater that hits me about mid-thigh. I have these ridiculously awesome Prada combat boots that would breathe some life into this bleh, but I don’t want to draw that kind of attention tonight, so I settle on a pair of brown Tory Burch riding boots that would only look expensive to the most discerning eye. I shake my head around a few more times, letting my armpit-length auburn waves cascade around my face, before I fasten my hair into a casual French braid. Then I grab my backpack purse, my adorable bear keychain, and my phone out of the Bose dock, and sprint toward the garage door:

Paul’s passion was to proclaim Him who had done so much for him. Katangellō (proclaim) means to publicly declare a completed truth or happening. It is a general term and is not restricted to formal preaching. Paul’s proclamation included two aspects, one negative, one positive. Admonishing is from noutheteō. It speaks of encouraging counsel in view of sin and coming punishment. It is the responsibility of church leaders. In Acts 20:31, Paul described his ministry at Ephesus: “Night and day for a period of three years I did not cease to admonish each one with tears.” But it is also the responsibility of every believer. Paul wrote to the Thessalonians, “If anyone does not obey our instruction in this letter, take special note of that man and do not associate with him, so that he may be put to shame. And yet do not regard him as an enemy, but admonish him as a brother” (2 Thess. 3:14-15). Colossians 3:16 commands, “Let the word of Christ richly dwell within you, with all wisdom teaching and admonishing one another.” Paul expressed his confidence that the Romans were “full of goodness, filled with all knowledge, and able also to admonish one another” (Rom. 15:14). If there is sin in the life of a believer, other believers have the responsibility to lovingly, gently admonish them to forsake that sin. Teaching refers to imparting positive truth. It, too, is the responsibility of every believer (Col. 3:16), and is part of the Great Commission (Matt. 28:20). It is especially the responsibility of church leaders. “An overseer, then, must be … able to teach” (1 Tim. 3:2). Admonishing and teaching must be done with all wisdom. This is the larger context. As discussed in chapter 2, wisdom refers to practical discernment—understanding the biblical principles for holy conduct. The consistent pattern of Paul’s ministry was to link teaching and admonishment and bring them together in the context of the general doctrinal truths of the Word. Doctrinal teaching was invariably followed by practical admonitions. That must also be the pattern for all ministries.

This is increasingly a rule-based, bureaucratic form of discipline—the “overseer’s book of penalties replaces the slave-driver’s lash”.[

It is the stuff of fairy tales and comic books: a hero marches headlong into the fiery jaws of hell to confront some great manifestation of evil. The odds are impossible. The rationale is laughable. Yet our fantastical hero never hesitates, never flinches. He stands tall and slays the dragon, crushes the demon invaders, saves the planet and maybe even a princess or two. And for a brief time, there is hope. But this is not a story of hope. This is a story of everything being completely and utterly fucked. Fucked in proportions and on scales that today, with the comfort of our free Wi-Fi and oversize Snuggie blankets, you and I can hardly imagine.

This son was also a grandson of the overseer. Yes, relationships could become complicated in those days, with the masters having children outside marriage by their slaves or by the local women. Okeke was that grandson’s name. He would be my age if he is still alive. For a few years he was educated and then he worked for Mr. Stratford-Rice. When times were hard Mr. Stratford-Rice went into the slave-trading business. They brought slaves from Cuba and sold them to countries that continued slavery. Sometimes when their cargo was low they took some easy pickings from the shores of Black River.

Okeke took Art O’Neill’s grandson, Akeem, and sold him.” For several moments nobody spoke. “There is a story that Blair Stratford’s wife, Lydia, hated her husband as much as their crippled son did. Fearing that the truth would be revealed – that her crippled boy had killed his father – she fled, taking the only witness, the overseer’s son, Leon O’Neill, with her.

Good to go?” I asked once Grover had disentangled himself. “Good to go,” Annabeth agreed. We were definitely not good to go. As soon as I opened the front door, Hecuba tore down the sidewalk, dragging Annabeth behind her. Gale did her best to keep up, forcing Grover into a brisk jog. I started to bolt after them. Then the door knockers yelled, “Lock the door! No, leave the door open! CRÊPES SUZETTE!” I raced back inside, grabbed the keys, then locked up and ran after my friends, who were now disappearing up Lexington Avenue. The only things that saved Annabeth from being dragged to death were her own fast feet and the fact that Hecuba was a sprinter, not a marathoner. The oversize Labrador would race a block, stop to smell a trash can, race another block, look back to see if Annabeth had been killed in traffic, sniff another trash can, and so on. Because life is short. You have to take time to stop and smell the trash cans.

Hayley adds with a grin as she glances down at my oversized purse, which she no doubt knows holds my Kindle and at least one paperback. For backup of course. I can’t help it. I love books so much. She calls it my “Rory Gilmore-ing” when I bring an extra book in my

I was just finishing up a particularly good chapter—the second-to-last in the book—a shaft of buttery afternoon sunlight warming my feet, when Rhysand slid between two of the oversized armchairs, twin plates of food in his hands, and set them on the low-lying table before me. “Since you seem hell-bent on a sedentary lifestyle,” he said, “I thought I’d go one step further and bring your food to you.

second category, practitioners who, instead of studying future events, try to understand how things react to volatility (but practitioners are usually too busy practitioning to write books, articles, papers, speeches, equations, theories and get honored by Highly Constipated and Honorable Members of Academies). The difference between the two categories is central: as we saw, it is much easier to understand if something is harmed by volatility—hence fragile—than try to forecast harmful events, such as these oversized Black Swans. But only practitioners (or people who do things) tend to spontaneously get the point.

This would be the only chance I had to utter those famous last words like you see in the films. Ahem. “Your head is fairly oversized your highness,” I sniggered. “BEGONE!” he roared, as the crowd exploded into a fit of laughter, despite the situation. Even B.B. cracked a smile. I turned away, stepping into the water tunnel. Never to return.

Measuring learning is education’s principal problem—one that stunts the growth of our students even more than a lack of technology, oversized classrooms, and standardized testing.

Second, the Holy Spirit endues the church with God's authority. In responding to some Pentecostal exegetes who emphasize the role of the Holy Spirit only in empowering believers for witness, Max Turner makes the observation that several of the key manifestations of the Holy Spirit in the book of Acts are not linked to an empowerment-for-witness theme.' In several texts people are filled with the Holy Spirit to give service or direction to the church. For example, in Acts 6 the seven deacons are filled with the Holy Spirit to serve the church (6:1-7). Similarly, in Paul's farewell to the elders at Ephesus, he acknowledges that it was the Holy Spirit who had appointed them as overseers of the church (20:28). In Acts 11:27-28, Agabus is filled with the Holy Spirit to inform the church that a severe famine will spread over the entire Roman world. In Acts 15 the Holy Spirit directs the church in their decision regarding the terms through which Gentile believers were to be admitted into the church (15:28). The Holy Spirit extends the judgment of God on both the church and on the unbelieving world (5:3, 9; 13:9-12). Thus, the Holy Spirit serves not only to empower the church to witness but also is the "teacher of the church" and the "executor of Christ's will in the world" (John 15:26; 16:14-15).7 The Holy Spirit conveys revelation to the church by communicating to the church the will of God, thereby helping to bring the church under the authority of Christ. The early church regularly confesses that it is the Holy Spirit who inspired the biblical authors and, thereby, delivered to the church the Word of God (Acts 1:16; 4:25).

Are you afraid of me, Lily?” She hugged herself and shook her head, aware that she must look very silly in that oversized coat. “No. I don’t believe you’d ever hurt me or force me to do anything I didn’t want to.” He spread his hands. “Well, then?” “But I am afraid of your power over me,” Lily went on. “Sometimes I think you could make me do anything.” “Has it ever occurred to you that you might have the same kind of power over me?” Lily shook her head. “I know I don’t.” Suddenly she started to cry. “Any woman could do what I did last night.” Caleb came to her and drew her close. “Lily, that isn’t true.” She let her forehead rest against his shoulder and wept. “It is!” she wailed. Caleb held her face, hooking his thumbs beneath her chin, and made her look at him. She closed her eyes, only to have him gently kiss her lids. “Lily, listen to me. I’ve got feelings for you that I’ve never had for anyone else. Ever.” Her hands were drawn to his shoulders, where they rested lightly. “But why? Why me, Caleb?” He kissed her lips lightly. “Because you’re beautiful—because you’re strong—because somewhere, sometime, an angel wrote our names in a book. I don’t know why, Lily. And the why of it doesn’t matter.” Lily

She stepped back into the house. “I want to show you something.” Trying to get his legs back, his head wobbly, and his internal referee still giving him the eight count, Myron followed her silently up the stairway. She led him down a darkened corridor lined with modern lithographs. She stopped, opened a door, and flipped on the lights. The room was teenage-cluttered, as if someone had put all the belongings in the center of the room and dropped a hand grenade on them. The posters on the walls—Michael Jordan, Keith Van Horn, Greg Downing, Austin Powers, the words YEAH, BABY! across his middle in pink tie-dye lettering—had been hung askew, all tattered corners and missing pushpins. There was a Nerf basketball hoop on the closet door. There was a computer on the desk and a baseball cap dangling from a desk lamp. The corkboard had a mix of family snapshots and construction-paper crayons signed by Jeremy’s sister, all held up by oversized pushpins. There were footballs and autographed baseballs and cheap trophies and a couple of blue ribbons and three basketballs, one with no air in it. There were stacks of computer-game CD-ROMs and a Game Boy on the unmade bed and a surprising amount of books, several opened and facedown. Clothes littered the floor like war wounded; the drawers were half open, shirts and underwear hanging out like they’d been shot mid-escape. The room had the slight, oddly comforting smell of kids’ socks.

In addition to working as hard as men, women and girls were susceptible to sexual exploitation in ways and at rates that did not apply to men (the subject of males as victims of sexual assault has received little scholarly attention, with the exception of lynching and its attendant castration ritual). Absentee owners had to rely on managers and overseers, both white and black, who viewed sexual access as their right. Many enslaved children resulted from these unions; the question of how these interactions should be understood is a matter of debate. The rewards of voluntary cooperation could have included

With a loud screeching noise, Aaron dragged his lab stool over to Scarlet’s table and sat down beside her. He leaned into her, his shoulder brushing hers. “I had a great Christmas. Want to know why?” he asked. Not really. He answered himself. “Because I got a new car.” Scarlet managed not to roll her eyes as she turned from her chemistry book and gave Aaron a forced smile. “From Santa?” “What kind of car?” Kristy scooted her stool closer to Scarlet and leaned in as well. “A sexy one?” Kristy was on the left side of Scarlet, clogging her nose with the scent of flowery perfume. And Aaron was on Scarlet’s right, brushing her shoulder with his over-sized bicep. She was in a Kristy and Aaron sandwich. Kill me now. Aaron flashed Kristy a smile that was probably supposed to look charming. It came across as smug. “A Challenger.” His breath drifted across Scarlet’s cheek, smelling like chocolate. In an attempt to be closer to Aaron, Kristy scooted even closer to Scarlet. “Ooh, that is sexy.” Kristy gave Aaron a flirty smile and leaned even further, her chest pressing up against Scarlet’s arm. The sandwich was becoming a Panini. A flower-and-chocolate Panini

Yancy surveyed the items on the sheriff’s desk: a glass leaping-dolphin paperweight from the Kiwanis Club, an oversized Rubik’s Cube, a MacBook, a coffee mug from America’s Most Wanted and a half dozen photographs featuring Mrs. Summers and their three children, the youngest of whom wore in every frame the hollow stare of a future serial killer.

She’s wearing leggings and a cute, oversized sweater with the word Velaris written across it. I think that’s from a favorite book of hers, but if I ask, we’ll never get out of here on time.

That is delicious," she stated, dropping down into the oversized chair I’d made for her. "Marvelously complex. Notes of fire, gravity, light, and kinetic, a whisper of wind, overtones of pressure, and other things I’ve never tasted before." I knew she was a thaumovore, that she could taste mana, and I’d even see her do so before, but hearing Ansae critique it like fine wine was a still incredibly weird.

These seven attributes of the worldview Jesus initiated account for an obvious truth; Jesus followers have had an oversized impact on the sciences. 1. Christ followers believed matter was good and worthy of study 2. Christ followers believed their world was the product of a singular, orderly, rational God 3. Christ followers believed God was distinct from his creation 4. Christ followers were motivated by their desire to worship the God of the universe 5. Christ followers believed they could better understand God by observing His activity in the 'book of nature' 6. Christ followers pursued physical and intellectual investigations of their environment 7. Christ followers created a place to advance the sciences

For a scientist, the only valid question is to decide whether the phenomenon can be studied by itself, or whether it is an instance of a deeper problem. This book attempts to illustrate, and only to illustrate, the latter approach. And my conclusion is that, through the UFO phenomenon, we have the unique opportunities to observe folklore in the making and to gather scientific material at the deepest source of human imagination. We will be the object of much contempt by future students of our civilization if we allow this material to be lost, for "tradition is a meteor which, once it falls, cannot be rekindled." If we decide to avoid extreme speculation, but make certain basic observations from the existing data, five principal facts stand out rather clearly from our analysis so far: Fact 1. There has been among the public, in all countries, since the middle of 1946, an extremely active generation of colorful rumors. They center on a considerable number of observations of unknown machines close to the ground in rural areas, the physical traces left by these machines, and their various effects on humans and animals. Fact 2. When the underlying archetypes are extracted from these rumors, the extraterrestrial myth is seen to coincide to a remarkable degree with the fairy-faith of Celtic countries, the observations of the scholars of past ages, and the widespread belief among all peoples concerning entities whose physical and psychological description place them in the same category as the present-day ufonauts. Fact 3. The entities human witnesses report to have seen, heard, and touched fall into various biological types. Among them are beings of giant stature, men indistinguishable from us, winged creatures, and various types of monsters. Most of the so-called pilots, however, are dwarfs and form two main groups: (1) dark, hairy beings – identical to the gnomes of medieval theory – with small, bright eyes and deep, rugged, "old" voices; and (2) beings – who answer the description of the sylphs of the Middle Ages or the elves of the fairy-faith – with human complexions, oversized heads, and silvery voices. All the beings have been described with and without breathing apparatus. Beings of various categories have been reported together. The overwhelming majority are humanoid. Fact 4. The entities' reported behavior is as consistently absurd as the appearance of their craft is ludicrous. In numerous instances of verbal communications with them, their assertions have been systematically misleading. This is true for all cases on record, from encounters with the Gentry in the British Isles to conversations with airship engineers during the 1897 Midwest flap and discussions with the alleged Martians in Europe, North and South America, and elsewhere. This absurd behavior has had the effect of keeping professional scientists away from the area where that activity was taking place. It has also served to give the saucer myth its religious and mystical overtones. Fact 5. The mechanism of the apparitions, in legendary, historical, and modern times, is standard and follows the model of religious miracles. Several cases, which bear the official stamp of the Catholic Church (such as those in Fatima and Guadalupe), are in fact – if one applies the deffinitions strictly – nothing more than UFO phenomena where the entity has delivered a message having to do with religious beliefs rather than with space or engineering.

She’s wearing bike shorts and a cute, oversized sweater with the word Velaris written across it. I think that’s from a favourite book of hers,

There is another me in the remaining cell. He is wearing a white tennis shirt, shorts and oversized mirrorshades, lounging in a deck chair by a swimming pool. He has a book in his lap: Le Bouchon de cristal. One of my favorites, too. ‘It got you again,’ he says, not bothering to look up. ‘Again. What is that, three times in a row now? You should know by now that it always goes for tit-for-tat.’ ‘I almost got it this time.’ ‘That whole false memory of cooperation thing is a good idea,’ he says. ‘Except, you know, it will never work. The warminds have non-standard occipital lobes, non-sequential dorsal stream. You can’t fool it with visual illusions. Too bad the Archons don’t give points for effort.’ I blink. ‘Wait a minute. How do you know that, but I don’t?’ ‘Did you think you are the only le Flambeur in here? I’ve been around. Anyway, you need ten more points to beat it, so get over here and let me help you out.’ ‘Rub it in, smartass.’ I walk to the blue line, taking my first relieved breath of this round. He gets up as well, pulling his sleek automatic from beneath the book. I point a forefinger at him. ‘Boom boom,’ I say. ‘I cooperate.’ ‘Very funny,’ he says and raises his gun, grinning. My double reflection in his shades looks small and naked. ‘Hey. Hey. We’re in this together, right?’ And this is me thinking I had a sense of humor. ‘Gamblers and high rollers, isn’t that who we are?’ Something clicks. Compelling smile, elaborate cell, putting me at ease, reminding me of myself but somehow not quite right— ‘Oh fuck.’ Every prison has its rumours and monsters and this place is no different. I heard this one from a zoku renegade I cooperated with for a while: the legend of the anomaly. The All-Defector. The thing that never cooperates and gets away with it. It found a glitch in the system so that it always appears as you. And if you can’t trust yourself, who can you trust? ‘Oh yes,’ says the All-Defector, and pulls the trigger

A Hood-damned Seguleh. High ranked, too. We’d never have got our shots off – no way. Our heads would have rolled like a pair of oversized snowballs. ‘I looked away, Fid. I looked right down at the ground when she turned my way.’ ‘Me too.’ ‘And that’s why we’re still alive.’ ‘Aye.

The room was a deep purple and accented with an eclectic blend of antiques and comfortable furnishings. It was the kind of room that made a person long to grab a book and cozy into the oversized couch for a several hours.

Opened September 2012; 1,500 sq. ft. The Oxford Exchange houses a coffee and tea bar, a restaurant, a private-membership library, and conference rooms, as well as a retail shop with furniture, jewelry, and oversized books from Taschen and Chronicle. The Exchange’s entrance is through the bookstore, which has nine-foot bookcases, with most books displayed face-out; a marble floor; and a green leather ceiling. Literary advisor Alison Powell—who had

Ballistae, target the oversized pig monster.

I've won each and every game that I've played. Won every opinion I've ever conveyed. Won every debate, no matter the topic. I once had a tie--I felt philanthropic." Making a deal? It has no superior! Building a wall? The rest are inferior. "My wall will be numero uno primero. I'll pay for it using another's dinero." And there is the crux of the Americus Trumpus: The swagger, the boasting, the oversized rump-us.

Resa longed for the kitchen, always full of the humming of the oversize fridge, for mo's workshop in the garden, and the armchair in the library where you could sit and visit strange worlds without getting lost in them

✈️☎️[[+1 (855)-235-1834.]]What happens if I miss the deadline to reschedule my Air Canada flight? What happens if I miss the deadline to reschedule my Air Canada flight? If you miss the deadline to reschedule your Air Canada flight, you may be subject to a no-show penalty or cancellation fees. If your ticket is flexible, you may still have the opportunity to reschedule with fees. However, if your ticket is non-refundable or restricted, you may not be able to reschedule or may lose the value of your ticket. In this case, you might have to purchase a new ticket. It’s best to contact Air Canada at ✈️☎️+1 (855)-235-1834 as soon as possible to explore your options and minimize penalties. Is rescheduling an Air Canada flight possible for connecting flights? Yes, you can reschedule an Air Canada flight with connecting flights, but the process may be more complex. If your flight is part of a connecting itinerary, you’ll need to coordinate both legs of the journey when rescheduling. You may be able to change the entire itinerary or just the segments that are impacted. Contact Air Canada customer service at ✈️☎️+1 (855)-235-1834 for guidance. Rescheduling connecting flights may involve additional fees or changes to your booking. Be sure to confirm with Air Canada the availability of the new connecting flight times. Can I reschedule my Air Canada flight to a different class of service? Yes, you can reschedule your Air Canada flight to a different class of service, subject to availability. If you wish to upgrade or downgrade your seat, you’ll likely have to pay the difference in fare. Air Canada allows changes to your class of service depending on your ticket type and the availability of seats in the desired class. To reschedule, call customer service at ✈️☎️+1 (855)-235-1834 or use the “Manage Booking” tool online. Be prepared to pay any fare difference if you change to a higher class of service. Can I reschedule my Air Canada flight if I have a special request, like extra luggage? Yes, you can reschedule your Air Canada flight even if you have a special request, such as extra luggage. When rescheduling, inform Air Canada of your specific requests so they can accommodate them. You may need to adjust your luggage allowance depending on your new travel dates. Extra fees may apply, especially for additional checked bags or oversized luggage. Air Canada’s customer service team at ✈️☎️+1 (855)-235-1834 can assist you with managing your special requests when rescheduling your flight. Always confirm the availability of any additional services before making changes. How do I reschedule an Air Canada flight if it was booked with a credit voucher? To reschedule an Air Canada flight booked with a credit voucher, first check the terms of the voucher for any restrictions. Then, contact Air Canada customer service at ✈️☎️+1 (855)-235-1834 or use the “Manage Booking” section on their website. When rescheduling, the voucher value will be applied to the new ticket, and you may need to pay any fare differences. It’s important to confirm that the voucher’s validity period has not expired, and to ensure the new flight is within the voucher’s conditions. If needed, customer service will help you with the process. Does Air Canada offer flexible rescheduling options? Yes, Air Canada offers flexible rescheduling options depending on your ticket type. Flexible tickets typically allow you to change your flight dates with minimal or no fees. However, if you have a non-flexible ticket, you may be subject to change fees and fare differences. Contact Air Canada at ✈️☎️+1 (855)-235-1834 for assistance with rescheduling. They may also offer options to waive fees in special circumstances such as flight cancellations or significant delays. Always verify your ticket’s terms before proceeding with rescheduling to avoid unexpected charges.

There’s just so much bureaucracy nowadays, you need permits, sanctions, your proposals signed off by numerous overseers of ethics, and then the moment you enter a careless word like genocide into the fray, the cogs of the machine start to turn very slowly indeed, I assure you.