Pea Brain Quotes

Sometimes when you are trying not to think about something it keeps popping back in your head you can't help it you think about it and think about it and think about it until your brain feels like a squashed pea.

Every single person is a fool, insane, a failure, or a bad person to at least ten people.

Damen felt Laurent start shaking against him, and realised that, silently, helplessly, he was laughing. There came the sound of at least two more sets of footsteps striding into the room, greeted with: 'Here he is. We found him fucking this derelict, disguised as the tavern prostitute.' 'This is the tavern prostitute. You idiot, the Prince of Vere is so celibate I doubt he even touches himself once every ten years. You. We're looking for two men. One was a barbarian soldier, a giant animal. The other was blond. Not like this boy. Attractive.' 'There was a blond lord's pet downstairs,' said Volo. 'Brained like a pea and easy to hoodwink. I don't think he was the Prince.' 'I wouldn't call him blond. More like mousy. And he wasn't that attractive,' said the boy, sulkily. The shaking, progressively, had worsened. 'Stop enjoying yourself,' Damen murmured. 'We're going to be killed, any minute.' 'Giant animal,' said Laurent. 'Stop it.

Though my stomach is only the size of a pea, I could eat two politicians’ brains.

She could not explain or quite understand that it wasn't altogether jealousy she felt, it was rage. And not because she couldn't shop like that or dress like that. It was because that was what girls were supposed to be like. That was what men - people, everybody - thought they should be like. Beautiful, treasured, spoiled, selfish, pea-brained. That was what a girl should be, to be fallen in love with. Then she would become a mother and she'd be all mushily devoted to her babies. Not selfish anymore, but just as pea-brained. Forever.

If humans one day become extinct from a catastrophic collision, there would be no greater tragedy in the history of life in the universe. Not because we lacked the brain power to protect ourselves but because we lacked the foresight. The dominant species that replaces us in post-apocalyptic Earth just might wonder, as they gaze upon our mounted skeletons in their natural history museums, why large-headed Homo sapiens fared no better than the proverbially pea-brained dinosaurs.

There’s only so many times a person can call you a pea-brain before you just snap and slap the shit out of them.

Please don't feel hurt, Satan, but my parents raised me to believe you didn't exist. My mom and dad said you and God were invented in the superstitious, backward pea brains of hillbilly preachers and Republican hypocrites.

Infatuation is the fun part of falling in love. Infatuation triggers a chemical in the brain called PEA, your heart races, and you get breathless and dizzy, you tremble, and you can't think. It's what most people think of when they think of falling in love, and everybody goes through it.

The president is selling the country down the river with the help of the Supreme Court. Agree with us or you are a marked traitor. You know the sort of thing, all that tiresome pea-brained nonsense that attracts those people who are so dim-witted that the only way they can understand the world is to believe that it is all some kind of conspiracy.

You don't have to say a thing except yes. You don't have to do anything, either, I'm quite willing to plan it all." "You?" "Yes me." "You'd plan all of it? Even the wedding?" "Why not?" "You don't even like to plan your own breakfast." He grinned. "You mean more to me tban bacon." "More than [i]bacon?[/i] I'm honored." "You should be, my foolish pea brain.

You’re the pea and I’m the pod.

She sighed, knowing she couldn't push it any further. "Thank you for being so... merciful," Allie said. "But I would appreciate it if Pea-brain here would keep his hands off me." "That's Pinhead," corrected the boy. "Pea-brain works in the engine room.

A brain the size of a pea, cannot achieve what a brain the size of a melon can!!

Sometimes that’s all you can do, I think. Hold hands. Because life gets so scary sometimes, so bleak, so cold, that you are beyond being able to be comforted by mere words. ‘Men are for amusement only. They are treats. Like candy. Like ice cream on an Alabama afternoon. A dessert. They are not the main course. As soon as you have a man in your life who becomes the main course, that is the time, my sweet, when you should go on a diet. Right that second. Men are for dessert only.’ Envision: honey. ‘Yum, yum,’ I told her. ‘They are yummy.’ She winked at me. ‘But never take them seriously. A bite here and there is puh-lenty. All three of my husbands died, bless their pea-brained souls, but I never thought of them as the chicken and potatoes. They were always the flamin’ cherries jubilee at the end of dinner.’ She stared off into space. ‘And there was many a time, darlin’, that I wanted to set them on fire.

And no resident in their right mind would go over their heads to the mighty Housing Authority honchos in Manhattan, who did not like their afternoon naps disturbed with minor complaints about ants, toilets, murders, child molestation, rape, heatless apartments, and lead paint that shrunk children’s brains to the size of a full-grown pea in one of their Brooklyn locations, unless they wanted a new home sleeping on a bench at the Port Authority Bus Terminal.

(Letty, Robin thought unkindly, was not helping the general feminist case that women were not nervous, pea-brained hysterics.)

What can I do for you, Mother?" he asked. "And don't say 'Dance with Hermione Smythe-Smith.' Last time I did that I nearly lost three toes in the process." "I wasn't going to ask anything of the sort," Violet replied. "I was going to ask you to dance with Prudence Featherington." "Have Mercy, Mother," he moaned. "She's even worse." "I'm not asking you to marry the chit," she said. "Just dance with her." Benedict fought a groan. Prudence Featherington, while essentially a nice person, had a brain the size of a pea and a laugh so grating he'd seen grown men flee with their hands over their ears. "I'll tell you what," he wheedled. "I'll dance with Penelope Featherington if you keep Prudence at bay." "That'll do," his mother said with a satisfied nod, leaving Benedict with the sinking sensation that she'd wanted him to dance with Penelope all along. "She's over there by the lemonade table," Violet said, "dressed as a leprechaun, poor thing.The color is good for her,but someone really must take her mother in hand next time they venture out to the dressmaker. A more unfortunate costume,I can't imagine." "You obviously haven't seen the mermaid," Benedict murmured. She swatted him lightly on the arm. "No poking fun at the guests." "But they make it so easy.

Slade blinked at them, and it actually took him a moment to retrace his steps and figure out what the hell had happened in the moron’s pea brain to create such a catastrophic /fail.  Realizing the inebriates probably had no idea what a palanquin was—and that they had heard the ‘port’ part of porter and thought he meant a sweet red wine, Slade almost walked over, took Tyson’s gun, and blew off his own head rather than spend one more minute surrounded by such painfully clear dumbassery. 

Night must fall. It fell hard tonight in Downtown Oakland, like a lead blanket. Started to sink in. What happened today. Slowly at first, like a dull ache. Then like a midnight jackhammer excavating my brain. That ordeal with the cops was a distraction that insulated me. Numbed me to the cold reality. But when I hit San Pablo driving past Phil’s place, a sensation started welling up from my gut—washing over me—pea-green nausea topped with a dollop of white rage. I gripped the wheel, composed myself.

Pea-brain?” Tom knew exactly how to push Harry’s buttons. Harry pulled his arm away from Tom. “Hey, all right! Are you kiddin’ me? I have the best brain, ya know? That’s just not accurate.” Tom searched his vocabulary for an obscure word with a similar meaning. “Nincompoop?” “What’s that?” Tom grinned. “Nincompoop! That’s settled, then.

I have noticed that most people don’t use more than a pea size equivalent of their brain. They can’t process more than one idea each time. If I say that my grandparents were from Switzerland and then I was born somewhere else, they will forget the somewhere else and focus on Switzerland; If I say that my name originates in the South of France before saying my nationality, it becomes irrelevant as well. And I’m surprised at how many people get offended when I tell them I can easily brainwash them with new ideas and convince them that I’m right. It’s not my fault but theirs, for not knowing how to think. They shouldn’t blame the overthinker but the underthinker. And yet, I hear so many times this explanation for any kind of life problem: “You think too much”. Everything serves as an excuse to be stupid in this world. And then the majority wonders why getting a job is so difficult for them. It’s not for overthinkers. I used to be called for job interviews because I was a rule breaker; I would hide my age and be called because the interviewer wanted to ask me how old I am; or paint the letters of my CV in green and be called because it was the first to be noticed among thousands in black and white. The only problem about overthinking is that you will eventually overcome the norm. That’s why I don’t need a job anymore; I have outthought the majority.

An animal that can change itself to match its surroundings, just by contracting its skin? That can weigh as many stone as a man and stretch the length of a carriage, and yet fold its body through a crevice? Whose brain is wrapped about its throat—a brain no larger than a pea—but who is clever enough to play actual games? An animal with this much ingenuity, this much intelligence, who will sadly die within five years? I would not call that strange, but magisterial. Your nudibranch is nothing, dear George Washington Black. Octopodes are the gods of the sea.” “I think it is octopi.

People rely on intelligence to solve problems, and they are naturally baffled when comprehension proves impotent to effect emotional change. To the neocortical brain, rich in the power of abstractions, understanding makes all the difference, but it doesn’t count for much in the neural systems that evolved before understanding existed. Ideas bounce like so many peas off the sturdy incomprehension of the limbic and reptilian brains. The dogged implicitness of emotional knowledge, its relentless unreasoning force, prevents logic from granting salvation just as it precludes self-help books from helping. The sheer volume and variety of self-help paraphernalia testify at once to the vastness of the appetite they address and their inability to satisfy it.

She looked at me with gentle indignation. She was what we have after sixty million years of the Cenozoic. There were a lot of random starts and dead ends. Those big plated pea-brain lizards didn’t make it. Sharks, scorpions and cockroaches, as living fossils, are lasting pretty well. Savagery, venom and guile are good survival quotients. This forked female mammal didn’t seem to have enough tools. One night in the swamps would kill her. Yet behind all that fragility was a marvelous toughness. A Junior Allen was less evolved. He was a skull-cracker, two steps away from the cave. They were at the two ends of our bell curve, with all the rest of us lumped in the middle. If the trend is still supposed to be up, she was of the kind we should breed, accepting sensitivity as a strength rather than a weakness. But there is too much Junior Allen seed around.

There are Californians who waiver in their allegiance to the climate of California. Sometimes the climate of San Francisco has made me cross. Sometimes I have thought that the winds in summer were too cold, that the fogs in summer were too thick. But whenever I have crossed the continent—when I have emerged from New York at ninety-five degrees, and entered Chicago at one hundred degrees—when I have been breathing the dust of alkali deserts and the fiery air of sagebrush plains—these are the times when I have always been buoyed up by the anticipation of inhaling the salt air of San Francisco Bay. If ever a summer wanderer is glad to get back to his native land, it is I, returning to my native fog. Like the prodigal youth who returned to his home and filled himself with husks, so I always yearn in summer to return to mine, and fill myself up with fog. Not a thin, insignificant mist, but a fog—a thick fog—one of those rich pea-soup August fogs that blow in from the Pacific Ocean over San Francisco. When I leave the heated capitals of other lands and get back to California uncooked, I always offer up a thank-offering to Santa Niebla, Our Lady of the Fogs. Out near the Presidio, where Don Joaquin de Arillaga, the old comandante, revisits the glimpses of the moon, clad in rusty armor, with his Spanish spindle-shanks thrust into tall leathern boots—there some day I shall erect a chapel to Santa Niebla. And I have vowed to her as an ex-voto a silver fog-horn, which horn will be wound by the winds of the broad Pacific, and will ceaselessly sound through the centuries the litany of Our Lady of the Fogs. Every Californian has good reason to be loyal to his native land. If even the Swiss villagers, born in the high Alps, long to return to their birthplace, how much more does the exiled Californian yearn to return to the land which bore him. There are other, richer, and more populous lands, but to the Californian born, California is the only place in which to live. And to the returning Californian, particularly if he be native-born, the love of his birthplace is only intensified by visits to other lands. Why do men so love their native soil? It is perhaps a phase of human love for the mother. For we are compact of the soil. Out of the crumbling granite eroded from the ribs of California’s Sierras by California’s mountain streams—out of earth washed into California’s great valleys by her mighty rivers—out of this the sons of California are made, brain, and muscle, and bone. Why then should they not love their mother, even as the mountaineers of Montenegro, of Switzerland, of Savoy, lover their mountain birth-place? Why should not exiled Californians yearn to return? And we sons of California always do return; we are always brought back by the potent charm of our native land—back to the soil which gave us birth—and at the last back to Earth, the great mother, from whom we sprung, and on whose bosom we repose our tired bodies when our work is done.

Dear Kitty, Another birthday has gone by, so now I’m fifteen. I received quite a lot of presents. All five parts of Sprenger’s History of Art, a set of underwear, a handkerchief, two bottles of yoghurt, a pot of jam, a spiced gingerbread cake, and a book on botany from Mummy and Daddy, a double bracelet from Margot, a book from the Van Daans, sweet peas from Dussel, sweets and exercise books from Miep and Elli and, the high spot of all, the book Maria Theresa and three slices of full-cream cheese from Kraler. A lovely bunch of peonies from Peter, the poor boy took a lot of trouble to try and find something, but didn’t have any luck. There’s still excellent news of the invasion, in spite of the wretched weather, countless gales, heavy rains, and high seas. Yesterday Churchill, Smuts, Eisenhower, and Arnold visited French villages which have been conquered and liberated. The torpedo boat that Churchill was in shelled the coast. He appears, like so many men, not to know what fear is—makes me envious! It’s difficult for us to judge from our secret redoubt how people outside have reacted to the news. Undoubtedly people are pleased that the idle (?) English have rolled up their sleeves and are doing something at last. Any Dutch people who still look down on the English, scoff at England and her government of old gentlemen, call the English cowards, and yet hate the Germans deserve a good shaking. Perhaps it would put some sense into their woolly brains. I hadn’t had a period for over two months, but it finally started again on Saturday. Still, in spite of all the unpleasantness and bother, I’m glad it hasn’t failed me any longer. Yours, Anne

COUNT. What’s to stop you taking her with you to London? FIGARO. A man who was married and had to be away so much? I’d never hear the end of it. COUNT. But with your qualities and brains you could climb the ladder and end up with an important government post one of these days. FIGARO. Brains? Climb the ladder? Your Lordship must think I’m stupid. Second-rate and grovelling, that’s the thing to be, and then the world’s your oyster. COUNT. All you’d have to do is take a few lessons in politics from me. FIGARO. I know what politics is. COUNT. Like you know the key to the English language? FIGARO. Not that it’s anything to boast about. It means pretending you don’t know what you do know and knowing what you don’t, listening to what you don’t understand and not hearing what you do, and especially, claiming you can do more than you have the ability to deliver. More often that not, it means making a great secret of the fact that there are no secrets; locking yourself in your inner sanctum where you sharpen pens and give the impression of being profound and wise, whereas you are, as they say, hollow and shallow; playing a role well or badly; sending spies everywhere and rewarding the traitors; tampering with seals, intercepting letters, and trying to dignify your sordid means by stressing your glorious ends. That’s all there is to politics, and you can have me shot if it’s not. COUNT. But what you’ve defined is intrigue. FIGARO. Call it politics, intrigue, whatever you want. But since to me the two things are as alike as peas in a pod, I say good luck to whoever has anything to do with either. ‘Truly, I love my sweetheart more’, as old King Henry’s song goes.

There is a reason why they call it a pea brain when we get angry.

It’s only by shopping around and sampling a wide variety of art that we learn to appreciate which skills are common (banging two rocks together) and which are rare (elaborate rhythms). An unrefined palate won’t appreciate a Michelin-starred restaurant. An untrained ear can’t appreciate the genius of Bach. Only the princess, accustomed as she’d become to royal fineries, could feel the pea beneath 20 mattresses and 20 featherbeds. In this way, discernment becomes important not only for differentiating high quality from low quality (and good artists from mediocre ones), but also as a fitness display unto itself. The fact that the princess could feel the pea, even under the mattresses (i.e., when handicapped), is itself an impressive feat, a mark of her high birth.

But who will I say you are? How will I explain you? People don't just appear out of nowhere." "Lord A'mighty," Andrew exclaimed. "Have you no brains? We're as alike as two peas in a pod. All we need to do is switch places.

It takes thousands of people to turn an illegal political order into a democratic injustice. And as it happens, a huge portion of those people are civil servants. So, if even a handful of civil servants stand strong, responsible and conscientious, then no politician has the power in his pea-brain to do injustice to the people.

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...

Do you do it on purpose?” “Do what?” he asked, confused. “Leave me with images that no amount of psychotherapy could remove? Burnt peas and rancid hummus are now seared into my brain along with you and Granny and the fact that you clearly sang in a glee club.” “Those were difficult times, Essie. You think you have problems? Try running naked through coals while being pelted with boar’s teeth.” Nothing. I had nothing. “You

He did take her to the movies. They saw Father of the Bride. Grace hated it. She hated girls like Elizabeth Taylor in that movie, she hated spoiled rich girls of whom nothing was ever asked but that they wheedle and demand. Maury said that it was only supposed to be a comedy, but she said that was not the point. She could not make clear what the point was. Anybody would think that it was because she worked as a waitress and was too poor to go to college, and that if she wanted anything like that kind of wedding she would have to spend years saving up to pay for it herself. (Maury did think this, and was stricken with respect for her, almost with reverence.) She could not explain or quite understand that it wasn’t altogether jealousy she felt, it was rage. And not because she couldn’t shop like that or dress like that. It was because that was what girls were supposed to be like. That was what men— people, everybody—thought they should be like. Beautiful, treasured, spoiled, selfish, pea-brained. That was what a girl should be, to be fallen in love with. Then she would become a mother and she’d be all mushily devoted to her babies. Not selfish anymore, but just as pea-brained. Forever. She was fuming about this while sitting beside a boy who had fallen in love with her because he had believed—instantly—in the integrity and uniqueness of her mind and soul, and had seen her poverty as a romantic gloss on that.

For those who don’t know, the pigeonhole principle is the logical, mathematical, and scientific principle that if you have too many pigeons and not enough pigeonholes, the pigeons will get mad at you. A lot of people might wonder where these uppity pigeons get off, refusing to room together - they’re only pigeons, brains the size of peas - whereas humans share rooms quite happily, but no, His Majesty the pigeon needs his own fancy hole to live in, otherwise he gets mad... but, as anyone who lives in a big city knows, pigeons have ways to make your life very unpleasant if they don’t have enough pigeonholes. If you have ever woken up to find your house, car, roof, or dog covered in pigeon poop, it is probably because you have angered the pigeons by failing to provide them enough pigeonholes. Build them more pigeonholes and they won’t poop on your car anymore. That is the crux of the pigeonhole principle.

Even the arch-British diplomat Harold Nicolson joined in, insisting it was not that the Europeans ‘were anti-American, just that they were frightened that the destinies of the world should be in the hands of a giant with the limbs of an undergraduate, the emotions of a spinster and the brain of a pea hen’.

Next came a sequence of weirdly static shots of a dark, watery expanse. The quality was blurred and seemed alternately too close and too far. Milk-white mist crept into the frame. Eventually something large disturbed the flat ocean—a whale breaching, an iceberg bobbing to the surface. Ropes, or cables lashed and writhed and whipped the water to a sudsy froth. Scores of ropes, scores of cables. The spectacle hurt my brain. Mist thickened to pea soup and swallowed the final frame.

They still don't know you were the creepy intruder,' Moxie says. 'But I'll claim you as my friend and they'll forget I said you weren't. They're boys. Their brains are the collective size of a pea.' She looks at him. 'Hmm, oops.

Oy, pea-brain!” yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it.

It’s like a giant game of hide ‘n seek where one of us is a near-genius and the other has a pea-sized brain.

I know it's hard for you to wrap your pea-sized brain around, Benji boy, but when all this fades away, love remains. If I had to choose between never winning this trophy or having my wife, I would choose her. Every. Single. Time.

Benedict!” Damn. He’d nearly made a clean escape. He looked up to see his mother hurrying toward him. She was dressed in some sort of Elizabethan costume. He supposed she was meant to be a character in one of Shakespeare’s plays, but for the life of him, he had no idea which. “What can I do for you, Mother?” he asked. “And don’t say ‘Dance with Hermione Smythe-Smith.’ Last time I did that I nearly lost three toes in the process.” “I wasn’t going to ask anything of the sort,” Violet replied. “I was going to ask you to dance with Prudence Featherington.” “Have mercy, Mother,” he moaned. “She’s even worse.” “I’m not asking you to marry the chit,” she said. “Just dance with her.” Benedict fought a groan. Prudence Featherington, while essentially a nice person, had a brain the size of a pea and a laugh so grating he’d seen grown men flee with their hands over their ears. “I’ll tell you what,” he wheedled. “I’ll dance with Penelope Featherington if you keep Prudence at bay.” “That’ll do,” his mother said with a satisfied nod, leaving Benedict with the sinking sensation that she’d wanted him to dance with Penelope all along. “She’s over there by the lemonade table,” Violet said, “dressed as a leprechaun, poor thing. The color is good for her, but someone really must take her mother in hand next time they venture out to the dressmaker. A more unfortunate costume, I can’t imagine.” “You obviously haven’t seen the mermaid,” Benedict murmured. She swatted him lightly on the arm. “No poking fun at the guests.” “But they make it so easy.” She shot him a look of warning before saying, “I’m off to find your sister.” “Which one?” “One of the ones who isn’t married,” Violet said pertly.

The good news, as a senior scientist at the Center for Alzheimer’s Research entitled a review article, is that “Alzheimer’s Disease Is Incurable but Preventable.”61 Diet and lifestyle changes could potentially prevent millions of cases a year.62 How? There is an emerging consensus that “what is good for our hearts is also good for our heads,”63 because clogging of the arteries inside of the brain with atherosclerotic plaque is thought to play a pivotal role in the development of Alzheimer’s disease.64 It is not surprising, then, that the dietary centerpiece of the 2014 “Dietary and Lifestyle Guidelines for the Prevention of Alzheimer’s Disease,” published in the journal Neurobiology of Aging, was: “Vegetables, legumes (beans, peas, and lentils), fruits, and whole grains should replace meats and dairy products as primary staples of the diet.”65

The navy took them from all walks of life and winnowed out anyone who showed signs of self-doubt—in other words, anyone who carried the usual baggage of humility that weighed down most of the human race—and retained only those with balls the size of grapefruit and a brain the size of a pea, or so Marty liked to announce after a couple of drinks at the officers’ club. Still, he reflected, Lundeen had a remarkable ability to look disaster in the face, flip it a bird, and go merrily on his way. Tonight the bombardier’s eyes kept swiveling back to the fuel gauge. Greve had not been able to find the target on the first bomb run. Lundeen had insisted on flying a racetrack pattern and making a second attempt. Lundeen was driving, so that is what they did. But as they turned onto the final bearing for the second try, they had run right into a flak trap. Lundeen had cussed and

Delbert Bumpus entered Warren G. Harding like a small, truculent rhinoceros. His hair grew low down on his almost nonexistent forehead, and he had the greatest pair of ears that Warren G. Harding had ever seen, extending at absolutely right angles from his head. Between those ears festered a pea-sized but malevolent brain that almost immediately made him the most feared kid below sixth grade. He had a direct way of settling disagreements that he established on the second day of his brief but spectacular period at W.G.H.

How much for a picture with the girl?” one of the men called, nodding at Lily. Another man whistled and others chortled. Oren stiffened. He tipped up his derby, and his eyebrows narrowed into a scowl. “I’ve got two rules here today, boys.” Lily stifled a smile. She’d heard Oren’s lecture plenty of times. She could only imagine what he’d say if he found out about Jimmy Neil’s attack of the night before. He’d never let her go anywhere by herself again. Oren pulled his corncob pipe out of his mouth and pointed the stem at the men. “One—you keep your filthy hands off Lily, and I’ll keep my hands off your puny chicken necks.” Except for the rhythmic ring of hammer on anvil coming from the crudely built log cabin that served as a shop for the camp blacksmith, silence descended over the clearing. “Two,” Oren continued, “you keep your shifty eyes off Lily, and I’ll keep from blowing a hole through your pea-brain heads.” With that, he toed the rifle, which he always laid on the ground in front of the tripod. She saw no need to tell them Oren had never shot anyone, at least not yet.

Dietary Changes to Improve the 2:16 Ratio There are great foods that can help improve the conversion of estrogen into good metabolites and away from the bad ones. These foods include insoluble dietary fibers, such as lignin found in green beans, peas, carrots, seeds, and Brazil nuts. The reason that dietary fiber, especially lignin, is so beneficial is that it can bind harmful estrogens in the digestive tract, so they can be excreted in the feces instead of being reabsorbed. Dietary fiber also improves the composition of intestinal bacteria so that harmful estrogen metabolites can be excreted from the body. It also decreases the conversion of testosterone into estrogens, maintaining a healthy testosterone level. Sugar and simple carbohydrates cause unfriendly flora to grow in the gastrointestinal tract and disrupt estrogen metabolism. These foods also raise blood sugar and insulin levels, resulting in adverse influences in sex hormone balance. Too many simple carbohydrates have been associated with postmenopausal breast cancer risk among overweight women and women with a large waist

Many readers say they also feel like outcasts in their hometowns, oppressed by religionists, racists, homophobes, or other pea-brained busybodies. The advice I give them is this: If you feel like a misfit in the place where you were born, move somewhere else. I did. I now reside in the most progressive town in the country—Berkeley, California.

Mapenzi, kama ilivyo kwa vitu vyote hapa ulimwenguni, hayawezi kuwepo bila kujumuishwa na fizikia na kemia yake! Bila kemia hakuna mapenzi ya kudumu. Tamaa ya ngono kimsingi huanza pindi unapokutana na mtu. Tamaa hiyo huweza kukua na kuwa kitu kingine kadiri muda unavyokwenda lakini chanzo kinakuwepo toka siku ya kwanza mlipokutana. Kemikali inayosababisha tamaa ya ngono na hata kuikuza tamaa hiyo ni 'phenyl ethylamine' ('fino itholamine') au PEA ambayo ni kemikali ya mapenzi ndani ya ubongo. Husisimua watu na huongeza nguvu za kimwili (fizikia) na kihisia (kemia). Tamaa husababisha mtu azalishe PEA nyingi zaidi, kitu kinachosababisha kujisikia kizunguzungu (cha hisia za kimapenzi) na dalili zingine kama magoti kutetemeka, jasho kutoka viganjani na kutokutulia. Kemikali hii inapozalishwa kwa kiwango kikubwa, hutuma alamu ('signals') kutoka kwenye ubongo mpaka kwenye viungo vingine vya mwili na kutumika kama 'dopamine' au 'amphetamine' ambazo ni kemikali za ulevi ndani ya ubongo. Iwapo unajiuliza kwa nini wewe au mtu mwingine unavutiwa na mtu ambaye hamwendani kimapenzi, inaweza kuwa ni kwa sababu una kiwango kikubwa cha kemikali hizo kuliko mwenzako, kitu ambacho huzidi uwezo wa kutumia kichwa na kutoa maamuzi bora kulingana na akili ya kuzaliwa. Kwa jumla, mapenzi yote ya kweli uhitaji angalau kiwango kidogo cha PEA kwa wale wanaopendana. Cha msingi kukumbuka ni kwamba kemikali hizi huja kwa vituo, nikiwa simaanishi kwamba tamaa ya ngono hupotea pale mtu anapoelekea kwenye uhusiano wa kudumu. Lakini mambo hubadilika. Hatuwezi kuvumilia zile hisia kali kadiri tunavyozidi kusafiri kuelekea kwenye uhusiano wa kudumu na kwenye maisha ya pamoja yenye furaha. Katika uhusiano wenye afya hata hivyo matatizo hutokea hapa na pale. Chanzo cha Murphy na Debbie kupendana kilikuwa kemia zaidi kuliko fizikia. Kama hakuna kemia hakuna mapenzi.

FIRE’S HORSE WAS named Small, and he was another of Cansrel’s gifts. She had chosen him over all the other horses because his coat was dun and drab and because of the quiet way he’d followed her back and forth, the pasture fence between them, the day she’d gone to one of Cutter’s shows to choose. The other horses had either ignored her or become jumpy and agitated around her, pushing against each other and snapping. Small had kept on the outside of the bunch of them, where he was safe from their jostling. He’d trotted along beside Fire, stopping when she stopped, blinking at her hopefully; and whenever she’d walked away from the fence he had stood waiting for her until she came back. “Small, his name is,” Cutter had said, “because his brain’s the size of a pea. Can’t teach him anything. He’s no beauty, either.

In 2011, Semir Zeki, a professor of neuroscience at University College London, used MRI scanners to track neural activity in the brains of volunteers as they looked at works of art on small screens. Zeki discovered the exact place, he announced, from which all aesthetic reactions flow—a pea-sized lobe located behind the eyes. Beauty, to be unpoetic but precise, is in the medial orbital-frontal cortex of the beholder.

pea-brained nonsense that attracts those people who are so dim-witted that the only way they can understand the world is to believe that it is all some kind of conspiracy.

During the deepest, most restful stages of sleep, the pituitary gland, a pea-size ball at the base of the brain, secretes hormones that control the release of adrenaline, endorphins, growth hormone, and other substances, including vasopressin, which communicates with cells to store more water. This is how animals can sleep through the night without feeling thirsty or needing to relieve themselves. But if the body has inadequate time in deep sleep, as it does when it experiences chronic sleep apnea, vasopressin won’t be secreted normally. The kidneys will release water, which triggers the need to urinate and signals to our brains that we should consume more liquid. We get thirsty, and we need to pee more. A lack of vasopressin explains not only my own irritable bladder but the constant, seemingly unquenchable thirst I have every night.

The Indian Sonnet All through history India has provided sanctuary, To the persecuted, shunned and alienated of the world. Everyone from everywhere has toiled in India's making, Many cultures beat together within the Indian heart. Of course, there are peddlers of intolerance and hate, Those who have been trying to build an extremist nation. These primitive apes fail to think with their pea brain, Of the word "hindu" the sanatana texts bear no mention. The ancient citizens of India had no organized religion, Life was just an expression of nonduality or undivision. Indus valley is a rare land that assimilated all, Without ever spreading the tentacles of invasion. Many fervor, many faiths, thus India is made. India without secularism is India of the dead.

Doctor Girdon Face, and his American Crusade. Oh, it’s very big lately. Lectures and tent shows and local television and so on. And special phone numbers to call any time of day or night. The liberal-socialist-commy conspiracy that is gutting all the old-time virtues. It has a kind of phonied-up religious fervor about it. And it is about ten degrees to the right of the Birchers. The president is selling the country down the river with the help of the Supreme Court. Agree with us or you are a marked traitor. You know the sort of thing, all that tiresome pea-brained nonsense that attracts those people who are so dim-witted that the only way they can understand the world is to believe that it is all some kind of conspiracy. The most amusing thing about it is the way Dr. Face keeps plugging for virtue and morality. He wants to burn everything since Tom Swift, and he is not too certain about Tom. He wants a big crackdown on movies, books, plays, song lyrics, public dancing. And he wants to be the one to weed out the evil.

Examples of complex carbohydrate are whole grains, vegetables, fruits, beans, lentils, and peas. They give you sustained energy and keep you full for longer; they are also good for your bowel movement. They are important for good sleep and brain function.

had just accomplished, we controlled the visual channel by the hand signals we gave, and we controlled smell and taste by giving either peas or hot dogs. Outputs are also easy to understand, especially if we consider movement as the main output of the brain. The earliest fMRI experiments had human subjects lying in the MRI and tapping their fingers for periods of thirty seconds. When the subjects tapped their fingers, activity in the part of the brain that controlled the hand was plainly visible. The central sulcus is a groove in the human brain that runs almost vertically down the outside of each hemisphere. Everything behind the central sulcus is broadly concerned with inputs and everything in front with outputs. It is a defining landmark that divides the frontal lobe in front of the groove from the parietal lobe behind. The frontal bank of the central sulcus, it’s important to note, contains the neurons that control movement of all the parts of the body. Toward the bottom of this groove, above the ear, we find neurons that control the hand and mouth, and as we move up toward the crown of the head, we find neurons that control the legs. The neurons found along the sulcus control the opposite side of the body. When you move your right hand, a portion of the left central sulcus will become active, and this can be seen easily with fMRI. In contrast, the neurons behind the central sulcus respond when the corresponding parts of the body are touched. These are the primary sensory neurons. As you move farther toward the back of the head, the functions of the neurons become multimodal, meaning they integrate the inputs from many senses. At the very back of the head, we find the primary visual area, which receives inputs from the eyes. Another obvious landmark of the human brain is the protuberance along the sides of the brain, just above the ear. This is the temporal lobe. Sitting directly next to the ear, parts of the temporal lobe are concerned with hearing. Other parts of the temporal lobe, along the inner crease next to the rest of the brain, contain structures critical for memory. With the dog brain, the first thing you notice is that, apart from being smaller, it has a lot fewer folds. The massive amount of folding in the human brain is the solution that evolved to cram more brain into a small space. If you could flatten out the brain, you would find that all the neurons are contained in a thin sheet just a few millimeters thick.

No. Life is not a fairy-tale. There are no happy endings. That is just some bullshit that the movie industry tries to sell us. An illusion of reality. All stories end in tears. I would like to crack open the skull of the jackass who said that every new beginning is disguised as a painful ending, and eat his fucking pea-sized brain.

The good news, as a senior scientist at the Center for Alzheimer’s Research entitled a review article, is that “Alzheimer’s Disease Is Incurable but Preventable.”61 Diet and lifestyle changes could potentially prevent millions of cases a year.62 How? There is an emerging consensus that “what is good for our hearts is also good for our heads,”63 because clogging of the arteries inside of the brain with atherosclerotic plaque is thought to play a pivotal role in the development of Alzheimer’s disease.64 It is not surprising, then, that the dietary centerpiece of the 2014 “Dietary and Lifestyle Guidelines for the Prevention of Alzheimer’s Disease,” published in the journal Neurobiology of Aging, was: “Vegetables, legumes (beans, peas, and lentils), fruits, and whole grains should replace meats and dairy products as primary staples of the diet.

Oy, pea-brain! yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it.

Instead of reacting, find a positive thought or action—even a single word or action can make a big difference. For instance, when you meet someone, smile. When you smile, you will have a different disposition and cause different brain chemicals to flow. The Power of One Simple Change ​Instead of calling an inconsiderate driver a jerk (or worse), call him a genius. Changing this one word moves your thought process from your pea brain to your big brain. Using a positive word instead of a negative word will change the chemicals that are released throughout your body in that moment. Try it. You will feel the difference. So, you can see that by changing one word or a simple action—a smile—you can change your whole mood and demeanor. That’s why it’s so helpful to call a “problem” an “opportunity,” a “setback” a “discovery,” or a “jerk” a “genius.” You will be stimulating neurons in a healthy way. My, what power you have! Change one word, and you will feel the difference.

You’d get stuck on an escalator in a power outage wouldn’t you! You deserve a standing ovation, from my tallest finger! Wow, over-confidence and ignorance in one package, how efficient of you! How big a bag of stupid did you just open anyway? If stupidity were bricks you’d be the Great Wall of China! I don’t even think Google could find you any common sense! You’d be considered gifted... If stupidity was a talent! I’ve seen turtles on Prozac that can think faster than you! If you had another brain, you’d really have “two peas in a pod” !