Pg Friends Quotes

Oh, you know. Jace reminds me of an old boyfriend. Some guys look at you like they want sex. Jace looks at you like you've already had sex, it was great, and now you're just friends--even though you want more. Drives girls crazy. You know what I mean?" Yes, Clary thought. "No," she said. pg. 280

Love is a delicate plant that needs constant tending and nurturing, and this cannot be done by snorting at the adored object like a gas explosion and calling her friends lice.

Well, I hate to tell you this," she said, "but your friend is an asshole." "He's not my friend," said Simon. "And I couldn't agree with you more, actually." -Maia & Simon about Jace, pg.49-

Sleep is still difficult I sleep for three or four hours a day. Usually sometime in the afternoon. I walk in the cold, keep myself numb. I cry less, and less." (James Frey, pg.88)

Aedion shrugged. “I find pleasure in both, depending on my mood and the person.” One of his former lovers still remained one of his closest friends—and most skilled commanders in his Bane. “Attraction is attraction.

I promised I'd save him, take him home! I promised him!" . . . Thomas hugged Chuck to his chest, squeezed him as tightly as possible, as if that could somehow bring him back, or show thanks for saving his life, for being his friend when no one else would. Thomas cried, wept like he'd never wept before. His great, racking sobs echoed through the chamber like the sounds of tortured pain. (pg 358 hardback)

Because, you see, you only need one friend for a party. One is enough. Two is enough. Anything is enough.' ~pg 107; Adam on friendship

How does he look, Jeeves?" "Sir?" "What does Mr Bassington-Bassington look like?" "It is hardly my place, sir, to criticize the facial peculiarities of your friends.

It is better to learn war early from friends, than late from enemies

Wrong. Enemies don't fight with such determined passion. That kind of focus is reserved for friends at odds with one another." pg 69 Tomas to Vlad

Did you think I was helping you out of the goodness of my heart? Or am I just the only warlock you know?” (Magnus) … “No,” he said now, “but you are the only warlock we know who happens to be dating a friend of ours.” (Jace) For a moment everyone stared at him-Alec in sheer horror, Magnus un astonished anger, and Clary and Simon in surprise. It was Alec who spoke first, his voice shaking. “Why would you say something like that?” Jace looked baffled. “Something like what?” “That I‘m dating-that we‘re-its not true,” Alec said, his voice rising and dropping several octaves as he fought to control it. Jace looked at him steadily. “I didn’t say he was dating you,” he said, “but funny that you knew just what I meant, isn’t it?” “We‘re not dating,” Alec said again. “Oh?” Magnus said. “So you‘re just that friendly with everybody, is that it?” -pg.241-

We do not tell old friends beneath our roof-tree that they are an offence to the eyesight.

She raised a sharp eyebrow at him. "Vlad, no offense, but look at you. If you're not a vampire, you're clearly the most anemic goth I've ever seen."... "We believed you. Because that's what friends do." pg267 October to Vlad

Some time ago," he said, "--how long it seems! -- I remember saying to a young friend of mine of the name of Spiller, 'Comrade Spiller, never confuse the unusual with the impossible.' It is my guiding rule in life.

Yet Lysandra did not slow. She did not stop. For Evangeline. For her future. For her freedom. For the friends who had come for her.

Joan was nothing more than a friend. He was not in love with her. One does not fall in love with a girl whom one has met only three times. One is attracted, yes; but one does not fall in love. A moment's reflection enabled him to diagnose his sensations correctly. This odd impulse to leap across the compartment and kiss Joan was not love. It was merely the natural desire of a good-hearted young man to be decently chummy with his species.

Because I made a promise. A promise to my friend that I would see her kingdom freed.” She shoved her scarred palm into his face. “I made an unbreakable vow. And you and Maeve—all you gods-damned bastards—are getting in the way of that.” She went off down the hillside again. He followed. “And what of your own people? What of your own kingdom?” “They are better off without me, just as you said.” His tattoo scrunched as he snarled. “So you'd save another land, but not yours. Why can't your friend save her own kingdom?” “Because she is dead!” She screamed the last word so loudly it burned in her throat. “Because she is dead, and I am left with my worthless life!” He merely stared at her with that animal stillness. When she walked away, he didn't come after her.

Ansel smiled, a winning grin. “Half of them are on their way there now. Ready to join with Terrasen. The country of my friend Celaena Sardothien, who did not forget it, even when she was in the Red Desert; and who did not stop looking north every night that we could see the stars. There was no greater gift I could offer to repay her than saving the kingdom she did not forget. And that was before I got her letter months ago, telling me who she was and that she'd gut me if I didn't assist in her cause. I was on my way with my army already, but . . . then the next letter arrived. Telling me to go to the Gulf of Oro. To meet her here and follow a specific set of instructions.

Kylie stormed into Holiday's office. She dropped down into the seat across from the desk and looked her friend and camp leader right in the eyes. "I hate boys. I'm seriously considering going lesbian." Holiday's expression was part grin, part groan. "If it was that easy, ninety percent of the women in the world would be gay." She made a funny little face and then asked, "So...boy problems?

I sleep during the day. I still dream about drinking and drugs. Sometimes I wake to a hang-over, sometimes I wake to a trickle of blood from my nose, sometimes I wake scared and shaking. I read, go to museums and visit Lilly in the afternoon. Sometimes I read to her, sometimes I talk to her, sometimes I just sit and remember the times, remember the times, remember the times." (James Frey, pg.119)

Were it up to me, I would be with Lilly. Were it up to me I would be asleep in her arms. She's dead, in a cooler in some fucking morgue, and i'll never sleep in her arms again. The thought of it makes me sick, and it makes me want to join her. The rose will help me. It is time to start the killing. Time to fucking start." (James Frey, pg.39)

Well, the natives seemed fairly friendly, so I decided to stay the night." I made a mental note never to seem fairly friendly to an explorer. If you do, he always decides to stay the night.

On my first day in jail, a three hundred pound man named Porterhouse hit me in the back of the head with a metal tray. I was standing in line for lunch and I didn't see it coming. I went down. When I got up, I turned around and started throwing punches." (James Frey, pg.1)

Yes, sir,' said Jeeves in a low, cold voice, as if he had been bitten in the leg by a personal friend.

It seems to me that you and I were made for each other. I am your best friend’s best friend and we both have a taste for stealing other people’s jewellery.

He was rigidly truthful, where the issue concerned only himself. Where it was a case of saving a friend, he was prepared to act in a manner reminiscent of an American expert witness.

When there is nothing left to give somone in need, we give them what we do have. We give them Divine Love, faith, and friendship. This is always enough to see anyone through anything. This, my friends, is how we save the world. (pg.99 of A Journey In to Divine Love)

A hoarse shout from within and a small china ornament whizzing past my head informed me that my old friend was at home.

I say, Bertie, is it really true that you were once engaged to Honoria?" "It is." Biffy coughed. "How did you get out - I mean, what was the nature of the tragedy that prevented the marriage?" "Jeeves worked it. He thought out the entire scheme." "I think, before I go," said Biffy thoughtfully, "I'll just step into the kitchen and have a word with Jeeves." I felt that the situation called for complete candour. "Biffy, old egg," I said, "as man to man, do you want to oil out of this thing?" "Bertie, old cork," said Biffy earnestly, "as one friend to another, I do.

What I mean is, if you're absolutely off your rocker, but don't find it convenient to be scooped into the luny-bin, you simply explain that, when you said you were a teapot, it was just your Artistic Temperament, and they apologize and go away. So I stood by to hear just how the A.T. had affected Clarence, the Cat's Friend, ready for anything.

It was the least she could do. For Nehemia—for. . . a lot of other people. There was nothing left in her, not really. Only ash and an abyss and the unbreakable vow she'd carved into her flesh, to the friend who had seen her for what she truly was.

If I meet a bird, I wave a friendly hand at it, to let it know that I wish it well, but I don’t want to crouch behind a bush observing its habits.

Most sincere things feel at least a little embarrassing. It’s part of our defense mechanisms. Our heart’s way of protecting us from potential hurt.

I think,' said the little Queen, smiling, 'that your friend must be the richest man in all the world.' 'I am,' returned the Scarecrow; 'but not on account of my money. For I consider brains to be far superior to money, in every way. You may have noticed that if one has money without brains, he cannot use it to advantage; but if one has brains without money, they will enable him to live comfortably to the end of days.' 'At the same time,' declared the Tin Woodman, 'you must acknowledge that a good heart is a thing that brains cannot create, and that money cannot buy. Perhaps, after all it is I who am the richest man in all the world.' 'You are both rich, my friends,' said Ozma gently; 'and your riches are the only riches worth having - the riches of content!' - The Marvellous Land Of Oz by L. Frank Baum pg 192 chapter 24

Normally he was fond of most things. He was a good-natured and cheerful young man, who liked life and the great majority of those who lived it contemporaneously with himself. He had no enemies and many friends. But today he had noticed from the moment he had got out of bed that something was amiss with the world. Either he was in the grip of some divine discontent due to the highly developed condition of his soul, or else he had a grouch. One of the two.

Now look here, old friend," I said. "I know your bally heart is broken and all that, and at some future time I shall be delighted to hear all about it, but - " "I didn't come to talk about that." "No? Good egg!" "The past," said young Bingo, "is dead. Let us say no more about it." "Right-o!" "I have been wounded to the very depths of my soul, but don't speak about it." "I won't." "Ignore it. Forget it." "Absolutely!" I hadn't seen him so dashed reasonable for days.

One of the first lessons life teaches us is that on these occasions of back-chat between the delicately-natured, a man should retire into the offing, curl up in a ball, and imitate the prudent tactics of the opossum, which, when danger is in the air, pretends to be dead, frequently going to the length of hanging out crêpe and instructing its friends to gather round and say what a pity it all is.

one person who showed her what it meant to have a friend, a friend who you could share everything with. But more than the happiness he gave her, he gave her ten times more pain, and that was the moment she decided to wipe him out of her life and to never think about him again.

At home there were cards and calls from friends and family. I heard from people I had not seen in years and was surprised they even knew I had cancer. These messages in particular gave me what I think ill people need most, a sense that many others, more than you can think of, care deeply that you live.

This,’ said Psmith, ‘is becoming more and more gratifying every moment. It seems to me that you and I were made for each other. I am your best friend’s best friend and we both have a taste for stealing other people’s jewellery. I cannot see how you can very well resist the conclusion that we are twin-souls.

No one is perfect. No one is exactly who you want them to be. There is something in every person, even your closest friend, that you don't like.” •pg.374 - Nita's thoughts

My conduct with my friends is motivated: each being is, I believe, incapable on his own, of going to the end of being. If he tries, he is submerged within a "private being" which has meaning only for himself. Now there is no meaning for a lone individual: bing alone would of itself reject the "private being" if it saw it as such (if I wish my life to have meaning for me, it is necessary that it have meaning for others: no one would dare give to life a meaning which he alone would perceive, from which life in its entirety would escape, except within himself). At the extreme limit of the "possible", it is true, there is nonsense . . . but only of that which had a prior sense: this is fulguration, even "apotheosis" of nonsense. But I don't attain the extreme limit on my own and, in actual fact, I can't believe the extreme limit attained, for I never remain there. If I had to be the only one having attained it (assuming that I had . . .), it would be as thought it had not occurred. For if there subsisted a satisfaction, as small as I can imagine it to be, it would distance me as much from the extreme limit. I cannot for a moment cease to incite myself to attain the extreme limit, and cannot make a distinction between myself and those with whom I desire to communicate. ~George Bataille, "Inner Experience" pg. 42

Every young man starting life ought to know how to cope with an angry swan, so I will briefly relate the proper procedure. You begin by picking up the raincoat which somebody has dropped; and then, judging the distance to a nicety, you simply shove the raincoat over the bird’s head; and, taking the boat-hook which you have prudently brought with you, you insert it underneath the swan and heave. The swan goes into a bush and starts trying to unscramble itself; and you saunter back to your boat, taking with you any friends who may happen at the moment to be sitting on roofs in the vicinity. That was Jeeves’s method, and I cannot see how it could have been improved upon.

He didn’t want to try to make Jude, or himself, do something neither of them wanted to because they were supposed to. Their relationship was, he felt, singular but workable: he didn’t want to be taught otherwise. He sometimes wondered if it was simple lack of creativity — his and Jude’s — that had made them both think that their relationship had to include sex at all. But it had seemed, then, the only way to express a deeper level of feeling. The word “friend” was so vague, so undescriptive and unsatisfying — how could he use the same term to describe what Jude was to him that he used for India or the Henry Youngs? And so they had chosen another, more familiar form of relationship, one that hadn’t worked. But now they were inventing their own type of relationship, one that wasn’t officially recognized by history or immortalized in poetry or song, but which felt truer and less constraining.

I believe, if you played your cards right, you could still marry her, Pongo.’ ‘Aren’t you overlooking the trifling fact that I happen to be engaged to Hermione?’ ‘Slide out of it.’ ‘Ha!’ ‘It is what your best friends would advise. You are a moody, introspective young man, all too prone to look on the dark side of things. I shall never forget you that day at the dog races. Sombre is the only word to describe your attitude as the cop’s fingers closed on your coat collar.

If you’re ever short on cash, you could set up a booth and charge the ladies to massage your bod.” “Oh yeah?” His voice was wary. “Sure. Say, fifteen bucks for a two minute fondle. Strictly PG-13, above the waist, of course. I’ll sell the tickets, if you give me a cut.” His hands stopped moving. She babbled on, dazed and thoughtless. “The gay guys would go for it, too. We’d rake in the dough.” “I’d let you do it for free,” he said. His voice was devoid of irony. Her eyes popped open in alarm. She looked back over her shoulder. The hot glow in his eyes brought her feminine instincts to high alert. She pulled away. She and her big dumb mouth. Sexy banter with a guy she barely knew, but no nerve to back it up.

They have undoubtedly come to a bad end by this time. If bears were sent to attend to the children who criticised Elijah, your little friends were in line for a troupe of tigers. But there were some of a finer fibre? There were a few who didn't call you Carrots?

Emerson,” I reminded him, “says a friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of Nature, sir.” “Well, you can tell Emerson from me next time you see him that he’s an ass.” “Very good, sir.” “What I want—Jeeves, have you seen that play called I-forget-its-dashed-name?

But I say, really, you know, I am an old friend of the family. Why, by Jove, now I remember, there's a photograph of me in the drawing-room. Well, I mean, that shows you!" "If there is," said the policeman. "I've never seen it," said the parlourmaid. I absolutely hated this girl. "You would have seen it if you had done your dusting more conscientiously," I said severely. And I meant it to sting, by Jove! "It is not a parlourmaid's place to dust the drawing-room," she sniffed haughtily. "No," I said bitterly. "It seems to be a parlourmaid's place to lurk about and hang about and - er - waste her time fooling about in the garden with policemen who ought to be busy about their duties elsewhere." "It's a parlourmaid's place to open the front door to visitors. Them that don't come in through windows." I perceived that I was getting the loser's end of the thing.

Not everyone has to be the guy who saves the world. Most people just have to live their lives the best they can, doing things that are great for them, having great friends, trying to make their lives better, loving people properly. All the while knowing that the world makes no sense but trying to find a way to be happy anyway. pg 216

But Kovit? Kovit has you. And how long he has you, I don't know. One day, someone will have more anger than fear, and they will come, and they will kill him." Gold's gaze was steady. "And on that day, I will light a candle for the loss of the friend who could have been, and then I will celebrate the death of the monster that was." •pg.49 - Gold

Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.' (Prov. 27:17) In a similar way that conversation sharpens a man's countenance, conversation with men throughout history sharpens a man's mind... If this is the case, and it is, then a point should be made to seek out profitable companions in a disciplined fashion throughout your life with books.

Come to the bit about soft silk shirts for evening wear?" I asked carelessly. "Yes, sir," said Jeeves, in a low, cold voice, as if he had been bitten in the leg by a personal friend. "And if I may be pardoned for saying so - " "You don't like it?" "No, sir. I do not. Soft silk shirts with evening costume are not worn, sir." "Jeeves," I said, looking the blighter diametrically in the centre of the eyeball, "they're dashed well going to be. I may as well tell you now that I have ordered a dozen of those shirtings from Peabody and Simms, and it's no good looking like that, because I am jolly well adamant." "If I might - " "No, Jeeves," I said, raising my hand, "argument is useless. Nobody has a greater respect than I have for your judgment in socks, in ties, and - I will go farther - in spats; but when it comes to evening shirts your nerve seems to fail you. You have no vision. You are prejudiced and reactionary. Hidebound is the word that suggests itself. It may interest you to learn that when I was at Le Touquet the Prince of Wales buzzed into the Casino one night with soft silk shirt complete." "His Royal Highness, sir, may permit himself a certain licence which in your own case - " "No, Jeeves," I said, firmly, "it's no use. When we Woosters are adamant, we are - well, adamant, if you know what I mean." "Very good, sir." I could see the man was wounded, and, of course, the whole episode had been extremely jarring and unpleasant; but these things have to be gone through. Is one a serf or isn't one? That's what it all boils down to.

Pretty soft!' he cried. 'To have to come and live in New York! To have to leave my little cottage and take a stuffy, smelly, over-heated hole of an apartment in this Heaven-forsaken, festering Gehenna. To have to mix night after night with a mob who think that life is a sort of St Vitus's dance, and imagine that they're having a good time because they're making enough noise for six and drinking too much for ten. I loathe New York, Bertie. I wouldn't come near the place if I hadn't got to see editors occasionally. There's a blight on it. It's got moral delirium tremens. It's the limit. The very thought of staying more than a day in it makes me sick. And you call this thing pretty soft for me!' I felt rather like Lot's friends must have done when they dropped in for a quiet chat and their genial host began to criticise the Cities of the Plain. I had no idea old Rocky could be so eloquent. 'It would kill me to have to live in New York,' he went on. 'To have to share the air with six million people! TO have to wear stiff collars and decent clothes all the time! To - ' He started. 'Good Lord! I suppose I should have to dress for dinner in the evenings. What a ghastly notion!' I was shocked, absolutely shocked. 'My dear chap!' I said, reproachfully. 'Do you dress for dinner every night, Bertie?' 'Jeeves,' I said coldly. 'How many suits of evening clothes have we?' 'We have three suits full of evening dress, sir; two dinner jackets- ' 'Three.' 'For practical purposes, two only, sir. If you remember, we cannot wear the third. We have also seven white waistcoats.' 'And shirts?' 'Four dozen, sir.' 'And white ties?' 'The first two shallow shelves in the chest of drawers are completely filled with our white ties, sir.' I turned to Rocky. 'You see?' The chappie writhed like an electric fan. 'I won't do it! I can't do it! I'll be hanged if I'll do it! How on earth can I dress up like that? Do you realise that most days I don't get out of my pyjamas till five in the afternoon and then I just put on an old sweater?' I saw Jeeves wince, poor chap. This sort of revelation shocked his finest feelings.

On some level it all comes down to Feeling Better versus Getting Better. Repressing information about ourselves and our friends, creating scapegoats as a way to avoid our problems, using shunning to unite a clique and create group identity--all of these make people feel better because it makes them feel superior. But the only way to truly get better is to face and deal with each other, sit down and communicate. And I think the difference between these two choice is determined by what groups (cliques, families, nations) we belong to. If we are in groups that cannot be self-critical and therefore punish difference, we will join in on the shunning, excluding, and cold-shouldering. But if we are in groups that promote acceptance, intervene to create communication, and recognize that people have contradictions, we will be able to face and deal with the true nature of Conflict: that it is participatory, and cannot be solved by being cruel, spreading rumors, enacting laws, or incarcerating, invading, and occupying.

Which brings us to a little book that may provide a clue to the cure. My wife got it as a gift from a friend. It is titled Porn for Women. It’s a picture book of hunks, photographed in all their chiseled, muscle-bound, testosterone-marinated, PG-rated glory. Lots of naked chests and low-cut jeans, complete with tousled hair and beckoning eyes. And they are ALL doing housework. There’s a picture of a well-cut Adonis, and he’s loading the washing machine. The caption reads: “As soon as I finish the laundry, I’ll do the grocery shopping. And I’ll take the kids with me so you can relax.” There’s another hunk, the cover guy, vacuuming the floor. A particularly athletic-looking man peers up from the sports section and declares, “Ooh, look, the NFL playoffs are today. I bet we’ll have no trouble parking at the crafts fair”. Porn for Women. Available at a marriage near you.

There are many who believe in God, and who are perfectly orthodox in their conception of God, but after all God is to them only an intellectual theological proposition. It is the work of the [pg 051] Holy Spirit to make God something vastly more than a theological notion, no matter how orthodox; He is the Spirit of the living God , and it is His work to make God a living God to us, a Being whom we know, with whom we have personal acquaintance, a Being more real to us than the most intimate human friend we have.

Children whose paretns whithdraw when they start setting limits learn to accentuate and develop their compliant, loving, sensitive parts. At the same time, they learn to fear, distrust and hate their aggressive, truth-telling and separate parts. If someone they love pulls away when they become angry, cantankerous or experimental, children learn to hide these parts of themselves. Parents who tell their children, "It hurts us when you're angry" make the child responsible for the emotional health of the parent. In effect, the child has just been made the parent of the parent - sometimes at two or three years old. It's far, far better to say, "I know you're angry, but you still can't have that toy." And then take your hurt feelings to a spouse, friend or the Lord. pg. 75

God desires to heal you - Jehovah Rapha - God's nature is to heal, as can be seen through the life of Christ who came to heal and to save. God wants to heal you, but healing requires that you reach out and tough Him and that you allow Him to touch you. Matt 14:36 - All who touched him were healed. A spiritual touch - a touch in the deepest part of your soul where your strongest passions and emotions lie. Because your abuser wounded you in this tender place - you have built up a protective wall around this area to keep others out. The wall has successfully kept out those who would hurt you, but it has also kept out God, who longs to heal you. God is not like your abuser. He doesn't want something from you, He wants to give to you. He has gifts for you - joy, freedom, love,acceptance, and purpose. He wants to hold you and comfort you, but unlike your abuser, He will not touch you against your will. He will not force Himself upon you or demand that you love Him. So, He waits. He waits for you to turn to Him, waits for you to extend your hand and receive the gifts He longs to give. Oh friend, God's heart breaks over what your abuser did. But there is something that grieves Him even more, and it is this - You are afraid to treust Him. You do not love Him with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. Your focus is upon your suffering and doing everything you can to keep from being hurt again rather than trusting the One who loves you and wants to heal you. The choice is yours. If you choose to pour your emotions and energies into things other than God, God will respect your wishes. But if you choose Him, He wants nothing held back. Trust Him! He is trustworthy. pg 168-9

pg 41-42 The angels rejoice when we come home. We don't grieve when babies enter the world. The hosts of heaven don't weep when we leave it.... Do you dread your own death? Robbing you of life? Jesus came to deliver those who have lived all their lives as slaves to the fear of dying. Heb 2:15 Think of Lazarus called back to this place. Lazarus doesn't question the call. Everyone knows that voice. This showed who runs the show. A warmup for the big day when all those in Christ will rise. 1 Cor 15:54-44. Prepare for death by making sure Jesus refers to you with the same term of endearment as with Lazarus - friend. Ps 116:15, not relying on my own feeble strength (Prov 11:7). Dread of death ends when you know heaven is your true home. May your death find you pointing in the same direction. Give God your death. I entrust you with my departure from earth. Paraphrase

Subtlety #1: Not giving a fuck does not mean being indifferent; it means being comfortable with being different.” (Pg. no. 14) “This is what is so admirable. The overcoming adversity stuff, the willingness to be different, an outcast, a pariah, all for the sake of one’s own values. The willingness to stare failure in the face and shove your middle finger back at it. The people who don’t give a fuck about adversity or failure or embarrassing themselves or shitting the bed a few times. The people who just laugh and then do what they believe in anyway. Because they know it’s right. They know it’s more important than they are, more important than their own feelings and their own pride and their own ego. They say, “Fuck it,” not to everything in life, but rather to everything unimportant in life. They reserve their fucks for what truly matters. Friends. Family. Purpose. Burritos. And an occasional lawsuit or two. And because of that, because they reserve their fucks for only the big things that matter, people give a fuck about them in return.” (Pg. no. 16) “The point isn’t to get away from the shit. The point is to find the shit you enjoy dealing with.” (Pg. no. 17)

On some level it all comes down to Feeling Better versus Getting Better. Repressing information about ourselves and our friends, creating scapegoats as a way to avoid our problems, using shunning to unite a clique and create group identity--all of these make people feel better because it makes them feel superior. But the only way to truly get better is to face and deal with each other, sit down and communicate. And I think the difference between these two choices is determined by what groups (cliques, families, nations) we belong to. If we are in groups that cannot be self-critical and therefore punish difference, we will join in on the shunning, excluding, and cold-shouldering. But if we are in groups that promote acceptance, intervene to create communication, and recognize that people have contradictions, we will be able to face and deal with the true nature of Conflict: that it is participatory, and cannot be solved by being cruel, spreading rumors, enacting laws, or incarcerating, invading, and occupying.

On some level it all comes down to Feeling Better versus Getting Better. Repressing information about ourselves and our friends, creating scapegoats as a way to avoid our problems, using shunning to unite a clique and create group identity—all of these make people feel better because it makes them feel superior. But the only way to truly get better is to face and deal with each other, sit down and communicate. And I think the difference between these two choices is determined by what groups (cliques, families, nations) we belong to. If we are in groups that cannot be self-critical and therefore punish difference, we will join in on the shunning, excluding, and cold-shouldering. But if we are in groups that promote acceptance, intervene to create communication, and recognize that people have contradictions, we will be able to face and deal with the true nature of Conflict: that it is participatory, and cannot be solved by being cruel, spreading rumors, enacting laws, or incarcerating, invading, and occupying.

The years are cruel. They rob us of our health and our friends and our hopes, and give nothing back. - Pg. 146

…luckless Poggio vegetated in Constance, far from his friends and patrons, without any prospect of a brighter future.” - "The Life of Poggio," pg. x in The Facetiae or Jocose Tales of Poggio: Now Translated into English with the Latin Text Volume 1

And you," I said, pointing at his friend. Mal gave my foot a warning nudge but I ignored him. "You weeel catch the korpa." "The what?" "The korpa!" I declared in dire tones. "Your private parts weeel shrink to nothink!

And while we are look back- each writer takes their own path to this profession. Mine was made clearer by Holly Smith- reader, writer, bookseller, friend- who some three decades ago taught me that a great book is on that you love. May you find many. pg. 311

A couple recently came to my office. Let’s call them Mark and Elizabeth Schuler. They came in for a consultation at Elizabeth’s request. Mark’s best friend was a stockbroker who had handled the couple’s investment portfolio for decades. All they wanted from me was a second opinion. If all went well, they planned to stop working within five years. After a quick chat about their goals, I organized the mess of financial paperwork they’d brought and set about assessing their situation. As my team and I prepared their “Retirement Map Review,” it was immediately apparent the Schulers were carrying significant market risk. We scheduled a follow-up appointment for two weeks later. When they returned, I asked them to estimate their comfortable risk tolerance. In other words, how much of their savings could they comfortably afford to have exposed to stock market losses? Elizabeth laughed at the question. “We’re not comfortable losing any of it,” she said. I had to laugh too. Of course, no one wants to lose any of their money. But with assets housed in mutual funds, 401(k)s, and stocks, there’s always going to be some measure of risk, not to mention fees to maintain such accounts. We always stand to lose something. So how much could they tolerate losing and still be okay to retire? The Schulers had to think about that for a while. After some quick calculations and hurried deliberation, they finally came up with a number. “I guess if we’re just roughly estimating,” Mark said, “I could see us subjecting about 10 percent of our retirement savings to the market’s ups and downs and still being all right.” Can you guess what percentage of their assets were at risk? After a careful examination of the Schulers’ portfolio, my team and I discovered 100 percent of their portfolio was actually invested in individual stocks—an investment option with very high risk! In fact, a large chunk of the Schulers’ money was invested in Pacific Gas & Electric Company (PG&E), a utility company that has been around for over one hundred years. Does that name sound familiar? When I met with the Schulers, PG&E stock was soaring. But you may remember the company name from several 2019 news headlines in which the electric and natural gas giant was accused of negligence that contributed to 30 billion dollars’ worth of damage caused by California wild fires. In the wake of that disaster, the company’s stock dropped by more than 60 percent in a matter of months. That’s how volatile individual stocks can be.

My mother started singing Mick's lower line as I sang Carly's high lead vocal. without realizing it.. I was harmonizing! just as they do in the song! my heart lit up! my eyes wide and! and then something clicked… the sound over two voices, singing two different Melody lines, made me realize one of music's most basic principles: different notes, when sung together in harmony, create a chord. This moment is burned in my heart and mind as my first love. It is the Michelangelo and the Sistine Chapel. My baptism. My musical “Big Bang” if you will. Hell, this was the chicken AND the egg! From that moment on, I heard life with an entirely new set of ears. I scored the radio for harmony. I searched every record in the house to find more. Did every song have this amazing new trick I just learned? Did everyone know about this? Had this been going on forever? Why hadn’t anyone bothered to tell me?! songs became more than songs; they became my toys. They became my puzzles. They became challenges and mysteries. Some became my best friends. Some picking my worst enemies. I was fascinated, and raptured, obsessed! I was hooked! (pg. xiii)

• And then she reached out and embraced her life as it already was, only more fiercely. Not for an overseas trip of a lifetime, fancy dinners out, or a string of intense experiences. All she wanted was her own ordinary days, the more of them the better. She wanted to read the newspaper at the breakfast table, take a walk with her friends, weed the garden, make her sons favorite cake, cook dinner, watch tv with her husband, take the dog outside, and head upstairs to bed with a book in her hand. She wanted more of what she already had. Pg25

It is you who need to go, Amende. Go home; your friends are waiting for you. Pg.63

Twenty good friends cannot live together in twenty good years”. We were more than twenty who left the school and the simple statement was beginning to echo hard in my ear, as if grandma actually had that particular day in mind. Pg.100

…I know I’m going to have a long life starting in this exact moment like I’m watching the violent birth of my new life as someone who was there when his cousin and best friend got shot in the brain and I’m always going to be that person because how can you possibly hope to change after something like that something where everything changes something where everything you know is just gone and you were directly involved and you know that…

1. I realised how short this life is, how something you think belongs to you can be snatched away at a moment’s notice. ( Pg. 8) 2. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about life, it’s this: when you are not supposed to do something, you will find it near impossible to resist and when you have to do something, you’ll find any number of excuses to avoid doing it. ( Pg. 44) 3. I guess that is a mercy for the dead: they don’t have to watch the living falling apart as they grieve.( Pg 92) 4. someone can’t hear you doesn’t mean that they can’t understand you, that they can’t be your friend. ( Pg 95) 5. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt in my short time on earth, it is that you don’t have to look, behave or think like everyone else to achieve. Just be sincere, work hard and Allah will take care of the rest. ( Pg 112) 6. I was a boy with a Muslim name, lost in the world. ( Pg 154)