Pick Your Battles Quotes

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How to be Like RBG: Work for what you believe in, but pick your battles, and don’t burn your bridges. Don’t be afraid to take charge, think about what you want, then do the work, but then enjoy what makes you happy, bring along your crew, have a sense of humor. -Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Notorious RBG by Irin Carmon
Ruth Bader Ginsburg
Do you think you could persuade that horse of yours to stay with the other horses for a minute or two?” he said with a mock severity. “Otherwise he’ll wind up believing he’s one of us.” He’s been driving Halt crazy since we found your tracks,” Horace put in. “He must have picked up your scent and known it was you we were following, although Halt didn’t realize it.” At that, Halt raised an eyebrow. “Halt didn’t realize it?” he repeated. “And I suppose you did?” Horace shrugged. “I’m just a warrior,” he replied. “I’m not supposed to be the thinker. I leave that to you Rangers.
John Flanagan (The Battle for Skandia (Ranger's Apprentice, #4))
Don’t push me, Savitar.(Apollymi) And don’t push me. You may be a goddess by birth, but I’m a lot more than just a Chthonian and you know that. I survived a hell you can’t even imagine and its fires forged a core of steel within me. You want to battle, pick up your sword. But remember the number of gods before you who sought to kill me and failed. (Savitar)
Sherrilyn Kenyon (Acheron (Dark-Hunter, #14))
Pick your battles, and accept yourself for who you are.
Chrissie Wellington (A Life Without Limits: A World Champion's Journey)
You've got to pick your battles, Pen, but then fight to the death for the ones that matter.
Tiffany Schmidt (Hold Me Like a Breath (Once Upon a Crime Family, #1))
What did she say?” asked Matthias. Nina coughed and took his arm, leading him away. “She said you’re a very nice fellow, and a credit to the Fjerdan race. Ooh, look, blini! I haven’t had proper blini in forever.” “That word she used: babink,” he said. “You’ve called me that before. What does it mean?” Nina directed her attention to a stack of paper-thin buttered pancakes. “It means sweetie pie.” “Nina—” “Barbarian.” “I was just asking, there’s no need to name-call.” “No, babink means barbarian.” Matthias’ gaze snapped back to the old woman, his glower returning to full force. Nina grabbed his arm. It was like trying to hold on to a boulder. “She wasn’t insulting you! I swear!” “Barbarian isn’t an insult?” he asked, voice rising. “No. Well, yes. But not in this context. She wanted to know if you’d like to play Princess and Barbarian.” “It’s a game?” “Not exactly.” “Then what is it?” Nina couldn’t believe she was actually going to attempt to explain this. As they continued up the street, she said, “In Ravka, there’s a popular series of stories about, um, a brave Fjerdan warrior—” “Really?” Matthias asked. “He’s the hero?” “In a manner of speaking. He kidnaps a Ravkan princess—” “That would never happen.” “In the story it does, and”—she cleared her throat—“they spend a long time getting to know each other. In his cave.” “He lives in a cave?” “It’s a very nice cave. Furs. Jeweled cups. Mead.” “Ah,” he said approvingly. “A treasure hoard like Ansgar the Mighty. They become allies, then?” Nina picked up a pair of embroidered gloves from another stand. “Do you like these? Maybe we could get Kaz to wear something with flowers. Liven up his look.” “How does the story end? Do they fight battles?” Nina tossed the gloves back on the pile in defeat. “They get to know each other intimately.” Matthias’ jaw dropped. “In the cave?” “You see, he’s very brooding, very manly,” Nina hurried on. “But he falls in love with the Ravkan princess and that allows her to civilize him—” “To civilize him?” “Yes, but that’s not until the third book.” “There are three?” “Matthias, do you need to sit down?” “This culture is disgusting. The idea that a Ravkan could civilize a Fjerdan—” “Calm down, Matthias.” “Perhaps I’ll write a story about insatiable Ravkans who like to get drunk and take their clothes off and make unseemly advances toward hapless Fjerdans.” “Now that sounds like a party.” Matthias shook his head, but she could see a smile tugging at his lips. She decided to push the advantage. “We could play,” she murmured, quietly enough so that no one around them could hear. “We most certainly could not.” “At one point he bathes her.” Matthias’ steps faltered. “Why would he—” “She’s tied up, so he has to.” “Be silent.” “Already giving orders. That’s very barbarian of you. Or we could mix it up. I’ll be the barbarian and you can be the princess. But you’ll have to do a lot more sighing and trembling and biting your lip.” “How about I bite your lip?” “Now you’re getting the hang of it, Helvar.
Leigh Bardugo (Crooked Kingdom (Six of Crows, #2))
You've gotta pick your battles in this world...
John Green (The Fault in Our Stars)
Standing up for yourself is about more than flinging barbed-wire insults around. Its about picking your battles, knowing when to fight, knowing exactly what and who is worth fighting for.
Paula Stokes (The Art of Lainey (The Art of Lainey, #1))
I want to have scrambled eggs for dinner without this ridiculous construction that a scrambled egg-inclusive meal is breakfast even when it occurs at dinnertime." "You've gotta pick your battles in this world, Hazel," my mom said. "But if this is the issue you want to champion, we will stand behind you.
John Green (The Fault in Our Stars)
That was what I’d learned from the women in my life—pick your battles.
Louise Bay (King of Wall Street (The Royals Collection, #1))
When you pick your battles, look beyond the immediate challenges and put your life in perspective. Are you where you want to be? What could be better?
Roy F. Baumeister (Willpower: Rediscovering the Greatest Human Strength)
The day my father came to claim me, my mother did not wish for me to go. ‘She is a girl,' she said, ‘and I do not think that she is yours. I had a thousand other men.' He tossed his spear at my feet and gave my mother the back of his hand across the face, so she began to weep. ‘Girl or boy, we fight our battles,' he said, ‘but the gods let us choose our weapons.' He pointed to the spear, then to my mother's tears, and I picked up the spear.
George R.R. Martin (A Feast for Crows (A Song of Ice and Fire, #4))
Sir, people never wanted me to make it to squire. They won't like it any better if I become a knight. I doubt I'll ever get to command a force larger than, well, just me.' Raoul shook his head. 'You're wrong.' As she started to protest, he raised a hand. 'Hear me out. I have some idea of what you've had to bear to get this far, and it won't get easier. But there are larger issues than your fitness for knighthood, issues that involve lives and livelihoods. Attend,' he said, so much like Yayin, one of her Mithran teachers, that Kel had to smile. 'At our level, there are four kids of warrior,' he told Kel. He raised a fist and held up one large finger. 'Heroes, like Alanna the Lioness. Warriors who find dark places and fight in them alone. This is wonderful, but we live in the real world. There aren't many places without any hope or light.' He raised a second finger. 'We have knights- plain, everyday knights, like your brothers. They patrol their borders and protect their tenants, or they go into troubled areas at the king's command and sort them out. They fight in battles, usually against other knights. A hero will work like an everyday knight for a time- it's expected. And most knights must be clever enough to manage alone.' Kel nodded. 'We have soldiers,' Raoul continued, raising a third finger. 'Those warriors, including knights, who can manage so long as they're told what to do. These are more common, thank Mithros, and you'll find them in charge of companies in the army, under the eye of a general. Without people who can take orders, we'd be in real trouble. 'Commanders.' He raised his little finger. 'Good ones, people with a knack for it, like, say, the queen, or Buri, or young Dom, they're as rare as heroes. Commanders have an eye not just for what they do, but for what those around them do. Commanders size up people's strengths and weaknesses. They know where someone will shine and where they will collapse. Other warriors will obey a true commander because they can tell that the commander knows what he- or she- is doing.' Raoul picked up a quill and toyed with it. 'You've shown flashes of being a commander. I've seen it. So has Qasim, your friend Neal, even Wyldon, though it would be like pulling teeth to get him to admit it. My job is to see if you will do more than flash, with the right training. The realm needs commanders. Tortall is big. We have too many still-untamed pockets, too curse many hideyholes for rogues, and plenty of hungry enemies to nibble at our borders and our seafaring trade. If you have what it takes, the Crown will use you. We're too desperate for good commanders to let one slip away, even a female one. Now, finish that'- he pointed to the slate- 'and you can stop for tonight.
Tamora Pierce (Squire (Protector of the Small, #3))
You should choose your battles if you can, but if the battle chooses you then kick the sod in his fuse box!
Fredrik Backman (My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry)
Pick your battles," she muttered in her ear. "I am! I'm picking this one! I'm picking all of them!
Lauren James (Another Beginning (The Next Together, #2.5))
Before picking fights, learn to assess your opponents.
Tamuna Tsertsvadze (Galaxy Pirates)
Will picked a single blossom from a gorse bush beside him; it shone bright yellow on his grubby hand. "People are very complicated," he said sadly. "So they are," John Rowlands said. His voice deepened a little, louder and clearer than it had been. "But when the battles between you and your adversaries are done, Will Stanton, in the end the fate of all the world will depend on just those people, and on how many of them are good or bad, stupid or wise. And indeed it is all so complicated that I would not dare foretell what they will do with their world. Our world.
Susan Cooper
time is a nonrenewable resource. If you waste it, you never get it back, so it’s essential to pick your battles wisely.
Urban Meyer (Above the Line: Lessons in Leadership and Life from a Championship Program)
This is a Lucent PBX with Audix voice mail, right? I used this kind at all of my old jobs, so I'm pretty familiar with them." Completely ignoring me, Pat continues to demonstrate every single one of the phone's features, half of which she describes incorrectly. I don't bother taking notes because I've used this system a thousand times. I have no need to transcribe an erroneous refresher course. "Hey, you should be writing this down." Like I said, I've used this system extensively and--" WRITE IT DOWN," Pat growls. "If you screw up the phone, Jerry's gonna be on my ass." No problem." I'm slowly learning to choose my battles and figure this isn't the hill I want to die on. I pull a portfolio out of my briefcase and begin to take notes. When the phone rings and Jerry isn't there to answer, you pick it up and hold it to your mouth like this. You say, 'Hello, Jerry Jenkins' office.'" I write: When phone rings, place receiver next to your word hole and not your hoo-hoo or other bodily aperature, and say, "Shalom.
Jen Lancaster (Bitter Is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass, Or, Why You Should Never Carry A Prada Bag to the Unemployment Office)
I know I get crazy when it comes to you, but God knows I’m tryin’, Pidge. I don’t wanna screw this up.” “Then don’t.” “This is hard for me, ya know. I feel like any second you’re going to figure out what a piece of shit I am and leave me. When you were dancing last night, I saw a dozen different guys watching you. You go to the bar, and I see you thank that guy for your drink. Then that douchebag on the dance floor grabs you.” “You don’t see me throwing punches every time a girl talks to you. I can’t stay locked up in the apartment all the time. You’re going to have to get a handle on your temper.” “I will. I’ve never wanted a girlfriend before, Pigeon. I’m not used to feeling this way about someone…about anyone. If you’ll be patient with me, I swear I’ll get it figured out.” “Let’s get something straight; you’re not a piece of shit, you’re amazing. It doesn’t matter who buys me drinks, or who asks me to dance, or who flirts with me. I’m going home with you. You’ve asked me to trust you, and you don’t seem to trust me.” He frowned. “That’s not true.” “If you think I’m going to leave you for the next guy that comes along, then you don’t have much faith in me.” He tightened his grip. “I’m not good enough for you, Pidge. That doesn’t mean I don’t trust you, I’m just bracing for the inevitable.” “Don’t say that. When we’re alone, you’re perfect. We’re perfect. But then you let everyone else ruin it. I don’t expect a one-eighty, but you have to pick your battles. You can’t come out swinging every time someone looks at me.” He nodded. “I’ll do anything you want. Just…tell me you love me.” “You know I do.” “I need to hear you say it,” he said, his brows pulling together. “I love you,” I said, touching my lips to his. “Now quit being such a baby.” He laughed, crawling into the bed with me. We spent the next hour in the same spot under the covers, giggling and kissing, barely noticing when Kara returned from the shower.
Jamie McGuire (Beautiful Disaster (Beautiful, #1))
See, you teach people how to treat you. If you don't like someone's behavior toward you, educate them. Your Girl Logic might be urging you to crawl into a corner, to cry or sulk and pretend it's not happening. And of course you need to pick your battles... But if you aren't getting the respect you deserve, demand it.
Iliza Shlesinger (Girl Logic: The Genius and the Absurdity)
The only way to move forward is to focus on the good in your life and the good that you are doing for others and yourself. My past has shown me things in life, others and myself that I wouldn't wish upon anyone, but I can choose to pick up the pieces and build a beautiful life for myself and help others to do the same.
Brittany Burgunder (Safety in Numbers: From 56 to 221 Pounds, My Battle with Eating Disorders)
Why are breakfast foods breakfast foods?” I asked them. “Like, why don’t we have curry for breakfast?” “Hazel, eat.” “But why?” I asked. “I mean, seriously: How did scrambled eggs get stuck with breakfast exclusivity? You can put bacon on a sandwich without anyone freaking out. But the moment your sandwich has an egg, boom, it’s a breakfast sandwich.” Dad answered with his mouth full. “When you come back, we’ll have breakfast for dinner. Deal?” “I don’t want to have ‘breakfast for dinner,’” I answered, crossing knife and fork over my mostly full plate. “I want to have scrambled eggs for dinner without this ridiculous construction that a scrambled egg–inclusive meal is breakfast even when it occurs at dinnertime.” “You’ve gotta pick your battles in this world, Hazel,” my mom said. “But if this is the issue you want to champion, we will stand behind you.
John Green (The Fault in Our Stars)
pick your battles wisely.  They’re not all meant to be won.  And not all yours to fight.
Debora Geary (An Unlikely Witch (Witch Central, #2))
I let it go, for all the many reasons that we let a lot of things go as women. You can’t fight everything, everyone. You pick your battles because it’s a long life.
Cate Ray (Good Husbands)
When we feel like giving up, like we are beyond help, we must remember that we are never beyond hope. Holding on to hope has always motivated me to keep trying. I have found this hope by connecting with others. I’ve found it not only in individuals who have dealt with eating disorders but also in people who have battled addictions and those who have survived abuse, cancer, and broken hearts. I have found much-needed hope in my passions and dreams for the future. I’ve found it in prayer. Real hope combined with real actions has always pulled me through difficult times. Real hope combined with doing nothing has never pulled me through. In other words, sitting around and simply hoping that things will change won’t pick you up after a fall. Hope only gives you strength when you use it as a tool to move forward. Taking real action with a hopeful mind will pull you off the ground that eighth time and beyond.
Jenni Schaefer (Goodbye Ed, Hello Me: Recover from Your Eating Disorder and Fall in Love with Life)
You love the person, not their bullshit. I call her out when she needs it, and I try to be understanding otherwise. You pick your battles. You love 'em for who they are, not who you want 'em to be." -Esther
Jennifer Dugan (Melt With You)
I sing strange battle songs to myself in the darkness to scare away the demons. I am a fighter when I need to be. And for that I am proud. I celebrate every one of you reading this. I celebrate the fact that you’ve fought your battle and continue to win. I celebrate the fact that you may not understand the battle, but you pick up the baton dropped by someone you love until they can carry it again. I survived and I remind myself that each time we go through this, we get a little stronger. We learn new tricks on the battlefield. We learn them in terrible ways, but we use them. We don’t struggle in vain. We win. We are alive.
Jenny Lawson (Furiously Happy: A Funny Book About Horrible Things)
The Bible isn’t just a book about religion; it’s a book about relationships, and it’s filled with practical suggestions for making our own relationships work. Here are some examples: Don’t bring up issues that have already been dealt with in the past. (Prov. 17:9) Don’t stretch the truth, but be honest in your conversation. (Eph. 4:25) If someone gets upset, don’t respond with anger. (Prov. 15:1; 25:15; 29:11) Listen carefully, and don’t interrupt until you’ve really heard the other person. (Prov. 18:13) Look for ways to encourage the other person. (1 Thess. 5:11) Pick your battles; avoid arguing whenever possible. (Prov. 17:14) Put energy into seeing things from the other person’s point of view. (Phil. 2:4) Spend a lot more time listening than talking. (James 1:19; Prov. 10:19) Think before you respond to someone. (Prov. 15:28) Watch carefully what you say so you don’t get yourself in trouble. (Prov. 21:23)
Mike Bechtle (People Can't Drive You Crazy If You Don't Give Them the Keys)
You won’t win every fight… but the key to success isn’t dominating every single battle; sometimes it’s retreating - living to fight another day when the odds are better, find your strengths, learn your weaknesses, pick your battles.
Caleb Roehrig (Death Prefers Blondes)
Attempts to locate oneself within history are as natural, and as absurd, as attempts to locate oneself within astronomy. On the day that I was born, 13 April 1949, nineteen senior Nazi officials were convicted at Nuremberg, including Hitler's former envoy to the Vatican, Baron Ernst von Weizsacker, who was found guilty of planning aggression against Czechoslovakia and committing atrocities against the Jewish people. On the same day, the State of Israel celebrated its first Passover seder and the United Nations, still meeting in those days at Flushing Meadow in Queens, voted to consider the Jewish state's application for membership. In Damascus, eleven newspapers were closed by the regime of General Hosni Zayim. In America, the National Committee on Alcoholism announced an upcoming 'A-Day' under the non-uplifting slogan: 'You can drink—help the alcoholic who can't.' ('Can't'?) The International Court of Justice at The Hague ruled in favor of Britain in the Corfu Channel dispute with Albania. At the UN, Soviet Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko denounced the newly formed NATO alliance as a tool for aggression against the USSR. The rising Chinese Communists, under a man then known to Western readership as Mao Tze-Tung, announced a limited willingness to bargain with the still-existing Chinese government in a city then known to the outside world as 'Peiping.' All this was unknown to me as I nuzzled my mother's breast for the first time, and would certainly have happened in just the same way if I had not been born at all, or even conceived. One of the newspaper astrologists for that day addressed those whose birthday it was: There are powerful rays from the planet Mars, the war god, in your horoscope for your coming year, and this always means a chance to battle if you want to take it up. Try to avoid such disturbances where women relatives or friends are concerned, because the outlook for victory upon your part in such circumstances is rather dark. If you must fight, pick a man! Sage counsel no doubt, which I wish I had imbibed with that same maternal lactation, but impartially offered also to the many people born on that day who were also destined to die on it.
Christopher Hitchens (Hitch 22: A Memoir)
Joyce, you know you can't pick a fight with everyone who has something to say about us, don't you?' 'I know,' she whispered into the darkness. 'There's too many of them, and not enough hours in the day.' 'It's funny,' said Hubert. 'Until me came to this country me went my whole life thinking me was just plain old Hubert Bird and then me come and find that actually me the devil himself.
Mike Gayle (All the Lonely People)
You’ve gotta pick your battles in this world, Hazel,” my mom said. “But if this is the issue you want to champion, we will stand behind you.” “Quite a bit behind you,” my dad added, and Mom laughed. Anyway, I knew it was stupid, but I felt kind of bad for scrambled eggs.
John Green (The Fault in Our Stars)
Why would anybody be a Satanist, anyway? I don’t get it. You can’t believe in Satan without believing in God, and then you’re just picking the wrong side in a big mythic battle thing.
Charlie Jane Anders (All the Birds in the Sky (All the Birds in the Sky, #1))
An hour later, thoroughly appalled with the state of the cabin now that she had given it a thorough assessment, Camilla sailed into the shed. She was armed with a long list. "You need supplies." "Hand me that damn wrench." She picked up the tool and considered herself beyond civilized for not simply bashing him over the head with it. "Your home is an abomination. I'll require cleaning supplies - preferably industrial strength. And if you want a decent meal, I'll need some food to stock the kitchen. You have to go into town." He battled the bolt into submission, shoved the switch on. And got nothing but a wheezy chuckle out of the generator. "I don't have time to go into town." "If you want food for your belly and clean sheets on which to sleep, you'll make time.
Nora Roberts (Cordina's Crown Jewel (Cordina's Royal Family, #4))
Eurytion." Geryon said, "the boy is starting to annoy me. Kill him." Eurytion studied me. I didn't like my odds against him and that huge club. "Kill him yourself," Eurytion said. Geryon raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?" "You heard me," Eurytion grumbled. "you keep sending me out to do your dirty work. You pick up fights for no good reason, and I'm tired of dying for you. You want to fight the kid, do it yourself.
Rick Riordan (The Battle of the Labyrinth (Percy Jackson and the Olympians, #4))
Peter, Adam's Son," said Father Christmas. "Here, sir," said Peter. "These are your presents," was the answer, "and they are tools, not toys. The time to use them is perhaps near at hand. Bear them well." With these words he handed to Peter a shield and a sword. The shield was the color of silver and across it there ramped a red lion, as bright as a ripe strawberry at the moment when you pick it. The hilt of the sword was of gold and it had a sheath and a sword belt and everything it needed, and it was just the right size and weight for Peter to use. Peter was silent and solemn as he received these gifts, for he felt they were a very serious kind of present. "Susan, Eve's Daughter," said Father Christmas. "These are for you," and he handed her a bow and a quiver full of arrows and a little ivory horn. "You must use the bow only in great need," he said, "for I do not mean you to fight in the battle. It does not easily miss. And when you put this horn to your lips and blow it, then, wherever you are, I think help of some kind will come to you." Last of all he said, "Lucy, Eve's Daughter," and Lucy came forward. He gave her a little bottle of what looked like glass (but people said afterwards that it was made of diamond) and a small dagger. "In this bottle," he said, "there is a cordial made of the juice of one of the fire-flowers that grow on the mountains of the sun. If you or any of your friends is hurt, a few drops of this will restore them. And the dagger is to defend yourself at great need. For you also are not to be in the battle." "Why, sir?" said Lucy. "I think- I don't know- but I think I could be brave enough." "That is not the point," he said. "But battles are ugly when women fight.
C.S. Lewis (The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (Chronicles of Narnia, #1))
Margaret Mitchell won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction for Gone With the Wind in 1937. She was 37 years old at the time. Margaret Chase Smith was elected to the Senate for the first time in 1948 at the age of 49. Ruth Gordon picked up her first Oscar in 1968 for Rosemary’s Baby. She was 72 years old. Billie Jean King took the battle of women’s worth to a tennis court in Houston’s Astrodome to outplay Bobby Riggs. She was 31 years of age. Grandma Moses began a painting career at the age of 76. Anne Morrow Lindbergh followed in the shadow of her husband until she began to question the meaning of existence for individual women. She published her thoughts in Gift from the Sea in 1955, at 49. Shirley Temple Black was Ambassador to Ghana at the age of 47. Golda Meir in 1969 was elected prime minister of Israel. She had just turned 71. This summer Barbara Jordan was given official duties as a speaker at the Democratic National Convention. She is 40 years old. You can tell yourself these people started out as exceptional. You can tell yourself they had influence before they started. You can tell yourself the conditions under which they achieved were different from yours. Or you can be like a woman I knew who sat at her kitchen window year after year and watched everyone else do it and then said to herself, “It’s my turn.” I was 37 years old at the time.
Erma Bombeck (Forever, Erma)
If she captured Tamlin’s power once, who’s to say she can’t do it again?” It was the question I hadn’t yet dared voice. “He won’t be tricked again so easily,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. “Her biggest weapon is that she keeps our powers contained. But she can’t access them, not wholly—though she can control us through them. It’s why I’ve never been able to shatter her mind—why she’s not dead already. The moment you break Amarantha’s curse, Tamlin’s wrath will be so great that no force in the world will keep him from splattering her on the walls.” A chill went through me. “Why do you think I’m doing this?” He waved a hand to me. “Because you’re a monster.” He laughed. “True, but I’m also a pragmatist. Working Tamlin into a senseless fury is the best weapon we have against her. Seeing you enter into a fool’s bargain with Amarantha was one thing, but when Tamlin saw my tattoo on your arm … Oh, you should have been born with my abilities, if only to have felt the rage that seeped from him.” I didn’t want to think much about his abilities. “Who’s to say he won’t splatter you as well?” “Perhaps he’ll try—but I have a feeling he’ll kill Amarantha first. That’s what it all boils down to, anyway: even your servitude to me can be blamed on her. So he’ll kill her tomorrow, and I’ll be free before he can start a fight with me that will reduce our once-sacred mountain to rubble.” He picked at his nails. “And I have a few other cards to play.” I lifted my brows in silent question. “Feyre, for Cauldron’s sake. I drug you, but you don’t wonder why I never touch you beyond your waist or arms?” Until tonight—until that damned kiss. I gritted my teeth, but even as my anger rose, a picture cleared. “It’s the only claim I have to innocence,” he said, “the only thing that will make Tamlin think twice before entering into a battle with me that would cause a catastrophic loss of innocent life. It’s the only way I can convince him I was on your side. Believe me, I would have liked nothing more than to enjoy you—but there are bigger things at stake than taking a human woman to my bed.” I knew, but I still asked, “Like what?” “Like my territory,” he said, and his eyes held a far-off look that I hadn’t yet seen. “Like my remaining people, enslaved to a tyrant queen who can end their lives with a single word. Surely Tamlin expressed similar sentiments to you.” He hadn’t—not entirely. He hadn’t been able to, thanks to the curse. “Why did Amarantha target you?” I dared ask. “Why make you her whore?” “Beyond the obvious?” He gestured to his perfect face. When I didn’t smile, he loosed a breath. “My father killed Tamlin’s father—and his brothers.” I started. Tamlin had never said—never told me the Night Court was responsible for that. “It’s a long story, and I don’t feel like getting into it, but let’s just say that when she stole our lands out from under us, Amarantha decided that she especially wanted to punish the son of her friend’s murderer—decided that she hated me enough for my father’s deeds that I was to suffer.” I might have reached a hand toward him, might have offered my apologies—but every thought had dried up in my head. What Amarantha had done to him … “So,” he said wearily, “here we are, with the fate of our immortal world in the hands of an illiterate human.
Sarah J. Maas (A Court of Thorns and Roses (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #1))
The majority of things in life are about picking your battles. You'll learn that too. And that will never be clearer than when you're at IKEA. You'd have to visit a Danish vacation village after two weeks of pouring rain and no beer to come across as many couples arguing as you'll hear in the IKEA section for changeable sofa covers on any given Tuesday. People take this whole interior design thing really seriously these days. It's become a national pastime to over interpret the symbolism of the fact that "he wants frosted glass, that just proves he never listens to my FEELINGS." "Ahhhhh! She wants beech veneer. Do you hear me? Beech veneer! Sometimes, it feels like I've woken up next to a stranger!" That's how it is, every single time you go there. And I'm not going to lecture you, but if there's just one thing I can get across then let it be this: no one has ever, in the history of the world, had an argument in IKEA that really is about IKEA. People can say whatever they life, but when a couple who has been married for ten years walks around the bookshelves section calling one another words normally only used by alcoholic crime fiction detectives, they might be arguing about a number of things, but trust me: cupboard doors is not one of them. Believe me. You're a Backman. Regardless of how many shortcomings the person you fall in love with might have, I can guarantee that you still come out on top of that bargain. So find someone who doesn't love you for the person you are, but despite the person you are. And when you're standing there, in the storage section at IKEA, don't focus too much on the furniture. Focus on the fact that you've actually found someone who can see themselves storing their crap in the same place as your crap. Because, hand on heart: you have a lot of crap.
Fredrik Backman (Saker min son behöver veta om världen)
THE FORTRESS Under the pink quilted covers I hold the pulse that counts your blood. I think the woods outdoors are half asleep, left over from summer like a stack of books after a flood, left over like those promises I never keep. On the right, the scrub pine tree waits like a fruit store holding up bunches of tufted broccoli. We watch the wind from our square bed. I press down my index finger -- half in jest, half in dread -- on the brown mole under your left eye, inherited from my right cheek: a spot of danger where a bewitched worm ate its way through our soul in search of beauty. My child, since July the leaves have been fed secretly from a pool of beet-red dye. And sometimes they are battle green with trunks as wet as hunters' boots, smacked hard by the wind, clean as oilskins. No, the wind's not off the ocean. Yes, it cried in your room like a wolf and your pony tail hurt you. That was a long time ago. The wind rolled the tide like a dying woman. She wouldn't sleep, she rolled there all night, grunting and sighing. Darling, life is not in my hands; life with its terrible changes will take you, bombs or glands, your own child at your breast, your own house on your own land. Outside the bittersweet turns orange. Before she died, my mother and I picked those fat branches, finding orange nipples on the gray wire strands. We weeded the forest, curing trees like cripples. Your feet thump-thump against my back and you whisper to yourself. Child, what are you wishing? What pact are you making? What mouse runs between your eyes? What ark can I fill for you when the world goes wild? The woods are underwater, their weeds are shaking in the tide; birches like zebra fish flash by in a pack. Child, I cannot promise that you will get your wish. I cannot promise very much. I give you the images I know. Lie still with me and watch. A pheasant moves by like a seal, pulled through the mulch by his thick white collar. He's on show like a clown. He drags a beige feather that he removed, one time, from an old lady's hat. We laugh and we touch. I promise you love. Time will not take away that.
Anne Sexton (Selected Poems)
History only became more challenging when it became less neat. Every time I pick up a book or document from the past, I'm in a battle with people who lived hundreds of years ago. They have their secrets and obsessions - all the things they won't or can't reveal. It's my job to discover and explain them.' 'What if you can't? What if they defy explanation?' 'That's never happened,' I said after considering his question. 'At least I don't think it has. All you have to do is be a good listener. Nobody really wants to keep secrets, not even the dead. People leave clues everywhere, and if you pay attention, you can piece them together.' 'So you're the historian as detective,' he observed.
Deborah Harkness (A Discovery of Witches (All Souls, #1))
Hubris you say, brother? Please, tell us the nature of the prince's actions against you. Let everyone know exactly how Prince Styxx offended you." Bethany Disguised as Athena "He has held himself up as a god. His arrogance and pride are an affront to us all." Apollo "Held himself up as a god? Pray tell, when was this? .... Ah, yes, I remember... It was when he dared to slay your Atlantean grandson during battle. Is that not right, brother? I'm sure, like me, you remember that day well. The Atlanteans, led to our shores by your own blood kin, were slaughtering hundreds of Greeks until the beach sands turned red from good Greek blood. The onslaught was so fierce that entire veteran regiments fled from the Atlanteans and cowered. Even the brave, noble Dorians pulled back in fear. But not Prince Styxx. He rode in like a lion and jumped from his horse to save the life of a young shield-bearer who was about to be killed by one of the Atlantean giants." Bethany/Athena Bethany swept her gaze around the people there, who were completely silent now. "And with reckless disregard for his own life and limb, this prince picked the boy up and put him on the back of his royal steed and told him to ride to safety. He spent the rest of the day fighting on foot. Not as a prince or a god, but as a mere, heroic Greek soldier." She turned back to Apollo. "His actions so enraged the Atlantean gods that they turned all of their animosity toward him. And still Prince Styxx fought on for his people, wounded, bloody, and tired. He never backed off or backed down. Not even when your own grandson almost buried his axe through the prince's skull. He hit Styxx's hoplon so hard, it splintered a portion of it off. And as Xan held the prince down, the prince, who was barely more than a child, managed to stab him through the ribs. But now that I think about it, you don't remember that day, do you, Apollo? You weren't even there when it was fought, but later that very night-
Sherrilyn Kenyon (Styxx (Dark-Hunter, #22))
This isn't a courtroom, pal," I said to Nelson, "this is the gutter. No fancy robes, no platitudes engraved in marble, no brass railing dividing the sides. This is the streets and the alleys. this is the Chicago we really live in. Here justice isn't dispensed with a wooden gavel, it's taken with your bare hands. It may be Tubby's world, a part of it, but it's also August Jansen's world, and my world, and yours. Darrow's a great man but this work comes after the fact, after the real battles of life are fought. Lawyers and judges pick up the pieces after the dust settles. Their job is to make sense of what's happened, not make it happen. That occurs in the gutter where blood and bone and horse manure and coal dust and sweat and fear blend and roil. In the end you either have hope or sewage. It can go either way, but it goes on.
James Conroy (Literally Dead)
The woman thought a moment; her voice came up through her bandaged face afflicted with subterranean melodies: "I'm sharing the fate of the women of my time who challenged men to battle." "To your vast surprise it was just like all battles," he answered, adopting her formal diction. "Just like all battles." She thought this over. "You pick a set-up, or else win a Pyrrhic victory, or you're wrecked and ruined—you're a ghostly echo from a broken wall.
There were battles ahead, dangers she and Hanne would have to face. What they were attempting was audacious, maybe impossible, but somehow she knew they would manage it. Nina rested her cheek against Hanne’s. She’d honored Matthias, and this path, somewhere between revenge and redemption, was the right one. My place is with the wolves. Nina sat up straight. “Hanne, what do I call you now? Rasmus?” Hanne shuddered. “I can’t stand that. We’ll have to choose a new name. A Saint’s name. To honor the prince’s newfound faith in the Children of Djel.” “All Saints, you’re a quick learner. That’s a politician’s move.” “But we have to pick a good one.” “How about Demyan? Or Ilya? He was famous. And he changed the world.” Her prince smiled. “I don’t know the story.” “I’ll tell it to you,” Nina said. Outside, night was falling and the sky was full of stars. “I’ll tell you a thousand stories, my love. We’ll write the new endings, one by one.
Leigh Bardugo (Rule of Wolves (King of Scars, #2))
The Dogs were still with them. They joined in the conversation but not very much because they were too busy racing on ahead and racing back and rushing off to sniff at smells in the grass till they made themselves sneeze. Suddenly they picked up a scent which seemed to excite them very much. They all started arguing about it — “Yes it is — No it isn’t — That’s just what I said — anyone can smell what that is — Take your great nose out of the way and let someone else smell.
C.S. Lewis (The Last Battle (Chronicles of Narnia, #7))
Screw all mental illness stigma. Having the courage to admit yourself for psychiatric care to heal is phenomenal. Shrugging off a panic attack is badass. Battling through intense spells of fatigue and demotivation is incredible. Going to the psychologist to attend to your mental health is a boss move. Achieving things despite having little to no interest or pleasure is impressive. Frequently practicing self-care is fantastic. Picking yourself up after hitting rock bottom is exceptional. Openly talking about your mental health struggles is courageous. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
K.J. Redelinghuys (Unfiltered: Grappling with Mental Illness)
Hush, Sonia! I am not laughing. I know myself that it was the devil leading me. Hush, Sonia, hush!” he repeated with gloomy insistence. “I know it all, I have thought it all over and over and whispered it all over to myself, lying there in the dark.… I've argued it all over with myself, every point of it, and I know it all, all! And how sick, how sick I was then of going over it all! I kept wanting to forget it and make a new beginning, Sonia, and leave off thinking. And you don’t suppose that I went into it headlong like a fool? I went into it like a wise man, and that was just my destruction. And you mustn't suppose that I didn't know, for instance, that if I began to question myself whether I had the right to gain power—I certainly hadn't the right—or that if I asked myself whether a human being is a louse it proved that it wasn't so for me, though it might be for a man who would go straight to his goal without asking questions.… If I worried myself all those days, wondering whether Napoleon would have done it or not, I felt clearly of course that I wasn't Napoleon. I had to endure all the agony of that battle of ideas, Sonia, and I longed to throw it off: I wanted to murder without casuistry, to murder for my own sake, for myself alone! I didn't want to lie about it even to myself. It wasn't to help my mother I did the murder—that’s nonsense—I didn't do the murder to gain wealth and power and to become a benefactor of mankind. Nonsense! I simply did it; I did the murder for myself, for myself alone, and whether I became a benefactor to others, or spent my life like a spider, catching men in my web and sucking the life out of men, I couldn't have cared at that moment.… And it was not the money I wanted, Sonia, when I did it. It was not so much the money I wanted, but something else.… I know it all now.… Understand me! Perhaps I should never have committed a murder again. I wanted to find out something else; it was something else led me on. I wanted to find out then and quickly whether I was a louse like everybody else or a man. Whether I can step over barriers or not, whether I dare stoop to pick up or not, whether I am a trembling creature or whether I have the right …” “To kill? Have the right to kill?” Sonia clasped her hands. “Ach, Sonia!” he cried irritably and seemed about to make some retort, but was contemptuously silent. “Don’t interrupt me, Sonia. I want to prove one thing only, that the devil led me on then and he has shown me since that I had not the right to take that path, because I am just such a louse as all the rest. He was mocking me and here I've come to you now! Welcome your guest! If I were not a louse, should I have come to you? Listen: when I went then to the old woman’s I only went to try. … You may be sure of that!” “And you murdered her!” “But how did I murder her? Is that how men do murders? Do men go to commit a murder as I went then? I will tell you some day how I went! Did I murder the old woman? I murdered myself, not her! I crushed myself once for all, for ever.… But it was the devil that killed that old woman, not I. Enough, enough, Sonia, enough! Let me be!” he cried in a sudden spasm of agony, “let me be!
Fyodor Dostoevsky (Crime and Punishment)
Leaning back in his chair, Ian listened to Larimore’s irate summation of the wild and fruitless chase he’d been sent on for two days by Lady Thornton and her butler: “And after all that,” Larimore flung out in high dudgeon, “I returned to the house on Promenade Street to demand the butler allow me past the stoop, only to have the man-“ “Slam the door in your face?” Ian suggested dispassionately. “No, my lord, he invited me in,” Larimore bit out. “He invited me to search the house to my complete satisfaction. She’s left London,” Larimore finished, avoiding his employer’s narrowed gaze. “She’ll go to Havenhurst,” Ian said decisively, and he gave Larimore directions to find the small estate. When Larimore left, Ian picked up a contract he needed to read and approve; but before he’d read two lines Jordan stalked into his study unannounced, carrying a newspaper and wearing an expression Ian hadn’t seen before. “Have you seen the paper today?” Ian ignored the paper and studied his friend’s angry face instead. “No, why?” “Read it,” Jordan said, slapping it down on the desk. “Elizabeth allowed herself to be questioned by a reporter from the Times. Read that.” He jabbed his finger at a few lines near the bottom of the article about Elizabeth by one Mr. Thomas Tyson. “That was your wife’s response when Tyson asked her how she felt when she saw you on trial before your peers.” Frowning at Jordan’s tone, Ian read Elizabeth’s reply: My husband was not tried before his peers. He was merely tried before the Lords of the British Realm. Ian Thornton has no peers. Ian tore his gaze from the article, refusing to react to the incredible sweetness of her response, but Jordan would not let it go. “My compliments to you, Ian,” he said angrily. “You serve your wife with a divorce petition, and she responds by giving you what constitutes a public apology!” He turned and stalked out of the room, leaving Ian behind to stare with clenched jaw at the article. One month later Elizabeth had still not been found. Ian continued trying to purge her from his mind and tear her from his heart, but with decreasing success. He knew he was losing ground in the battle, just as he had been slowly losing it from the moment he’d looked up and seen her walking into the House of Lords.
Judith McNaught (Almost Heaven (Sequels, #3))
Maxims & Other Quotes II Exactly how we deal with our souls was at this moment the only question I thought worth asking. 181 Borges: What I most admire about Whitman is that he created Walt Whitman, an ideal projection not of himself but someone like him, a character every reader could find in his heart and admire. 184 Borges: Mythos, in Greek, is not a story that is false, it’s a story that is more than true. Myth is a tear in the fabric of reality, and immense energies pour through those holy fissures. Our stories, our poems, are rips in these holy fissures, as well, however slight. 193 Borges: Don’t question survival, mine or yours. More powers lie at your disposal than you realize. 194 Parini: I just don’t know enough. Borges: Nor I. But we all proceed on insufficient knowledge. 195 Borges: I’ve found a name for myself. Borges the Reenactor! The problem is, one never wins old battles. The losses only mount. 250 Borges: Remember that the battle between good and evil persists, and the writer’s work is constantly to reframe the argument, so that readers make the right choices. Never work from vanity. … What does Eliot say? ‘Humility is endless’ … We fail, and we fail again. We pick ourselves up. I’ve done it a thousand times, Guiseppe. Borges only deepens. 251
Jay Parini (Borges and Me: An Encounter)
We end up at an outdoor paintball course in Jersey. A woodsy, rural kind of place that’s probably brimming with mosquitos and Lyme disease. When I find out Logan has never played paintball before, I sign us both up. There’s really no other option. And our timing is perfect—they’re just about to start a new battle. The worker gathers all the players in a field and divides us into two teams, handing out thin blue and yellow vests to distinguish friend from foe. Since Logan and I are the oldest players, we both become the team captains. The wide-eyed little faces of Logan’s squad follow him as he marches back and forth in front of them, lecturing like a hot, modern-day Winston Churchill. “We’ll fight them from the hills, we’ll fight them in the trees. We’ll hunker down in the river and take them out, sniper-style. Save your ammo—fire only when you see the whites of their eyes. Use your heads.” I turn to my own ragtag crew. “Use your hearts. We’ll give them everything we’ve got—leave it all on the field. You know what wins battles? Desire! Guts! Today, we’ll all be frigging Rudy!” A blond boy whispers to his friend, “Who’s Rudy?” The kid shrugs. And another raises his hand. “Can we start now? It’s my birthday and I really want to have cake.” “It’s my birthday too.” I give him a high-five. “Twinning!” I raise my gun. “And yes, birthday cake will be our spoils of war! Here’s how it’s gonna go.” I point to the giant on the other side of the field. “You see him, the big guy? We converge on him first. Work together to take him down. Cut off the head,” I slice my finger across my neck like I’m beheading myself, “and the old dog dies.” A skinny kid in glasses makes a grossed-out face. “Why would you kill a dog? Why would you cut its head off?” And a little girl in braids squeaks, “Mommy! Mommy, I don’t want to play anymore.” “No,” I try, “that’s not what I—” But she’s already running into her mom’s arms. The woman picks her up—glaring at me like I’m a demon—and carries her away. “Darn.” Then a soft voice whispers right against my ear. “They’re already going AWOL on you, lass? You’re fucked.” I turn to face the bold, tough Wessconian . . . and he’s so close, I can feel the heat from his hard body, see the small sprigs of stubble on that perfect, gorgeous jaw. My brain stutters, but I find the resolve to tease him. “Dear God, Logan, are you smiling? Careful—you might pull a muscle in your face.” And then Logan does something that melts my insides and turns my knees to quivery goo. He laughs. And it’s beautiful. It’s a crime he doesn’t do it more often. Or maybe a blessing. Because Logan St. James is a sexy, stunning man on any given day. But when he laughs? He’s heart-stopping. He swaggers confidently back to his side and I sneer at his retreating form. The uniformed paintball worker blows a whistle and explains the rules. We get seven minutes to hide first. I cock my paintball shotgun with one hand—like Charlize Theron in Fury fucking Road—and lead my team into the wilderness. “Come on, children. Let’s go be heroes.” It was a massacre. We never stood a chance. In the end, we tried to rush them—overpower them—but we just ended up running into a hail of balls, getting our hearts and guts splattered with blue paint. But we tried—I think Rudy and Charlize would be proud
Emma Chase (Royally Endowed (Royally, #3))
Godly grief readily confesses. After seeing your sin, and sorrowing over your sin, the worst thing you can do is to try stuffing your sin, hoping nobody ever finds out who you really are. Turns out, the best way to avoid being found out a fake is just not to be one—to be open with people about your struggles, while being equally as open in your praise of God for what He’s making of you, despite your many messes and problems. This is where the church comes in so beautifully, because it gets us around people who can help us carry the nagging issues of our hearts—people to whom we can confess our battles with sin and confess our need for a Savior—while we’re doing the same for them. When the only person that truly knows all about us is the person who uses our hairbrush, we are easy pickings for the Enemy, ripe for being outmaneuvered and outsmarted. That’s how we remain slaves to our repeated failures, by basically resisting the redeeming love of God and the needed, encouraging support of others. Because even if we’re as much as 99 percent known (or much less, as is more often the case) to our spouse, our friends, our family, and the people around us, we are still not fully known. We’re still hiding out. We’re still covering up. We don’t want them to know everything. But true sorrow over sin begs to be vented—both vertically to God and horizontally to others. So mark this down: You have no shot at experiencing real change in life if you’re habitually protecting your image, hyping your spiritual brand, and putting out the vibe that you’re a lot more unfazed by temptation than the reality you know and live would suggest. Even Satan himself cannot succeed at clobbering you with condemnation when the stuff he’s accusing you of doing is the same stuff you’ve been honestly admitting before God and others and trusting the Lord for His help with. That’s some of the best action you can take against the sin in your life. That’s responsible repentance.
Matt Chandler (Recovering Redemption: A Gospel Saturated Perspective on How to Change)
It is a well known fact that warriors and wizards do not get along, because one side considers the other side to be a collection of bloodthirsty idiots who can't walk and think at the same time, while the other side is naturally suspicious of a body of men who mumble a lot and wear long dresses. Oh, say the wizards, if we're going to be like that, then, what about all those studded collars and oiled muscles down at the Young Men's Pagan Association? To which the heroes reply, that's a pretty good allegation coming from a bunch of wimpsoes who won't go near a woman on account, can you believe it, of their mystical power being sort of drained out. Right, say the wizards, that just about does it, you and your leather posing pouches. Oh yeah, say the heroes, why don't you... And so on. This sort of thing has been going on for centuries, and caused a number of major battles which have left large tracts of land uninhabitable because of magical harmonics. In fact, the hero even at this moment galloping towards the Vortex Plains didn't get involved in this kind of argument, because they didn't take it seriously, mainly because this particular hero was a heroine. A redheaded one. Now, there is a tendency at a point like this to look over one's shoulder at the cover artist and start going on at length about leather, thigh-boots and naked blades. Words like "full", "round" and even "pert" creep into the narrative, until the writer has to go and have a cold shower and lie down. Which is all rather silly, because any woman setting out to make a living by the sword isn't about to go around looking like something off the cover of the more advanced kind of lingerie catalogue for the specialised buyer. Oh well, all right. The point that must be made is that although Herrena the Henna-Haired Harridan would look quite stunning after a good bath, a heavy-duty manicure, and the pick of the leather racks in Woo Hun Ling's Oriental Exotica and Martial Aids on Heroes Street, she was currently quite sensibly dressed in light chain mail, soft boots, and a short sword.
Terry Pratchett (The Light Fantastic (Discworld, #2; Rincewind, #2))
Slowly the big gates opened. Red-gold fire glow from inside silhouetted a number of figures who moved out toward the bridge, where the strengthening light picked out the drawn swords, the spears, the dark cloaks, and the helmed heads of the Renselaeus warriors. They were wearing their own colors, and battle gear. No liveries, no pretense of being mere servants. In the center of their formation were Khesot and the four others--unarmed. There were no shouts, no trumpets, nothing but the ringing of iron-shod boots on the stones of the bridge, and the clank of ready weaponry. Could we rescue them? I could not see Khesot’s face, but in the utter stillness with which they stood, I read hopelessness. I readied myself once again-- Then from the center of their forces stepped a single equerry, with a white scarf tied to a pole. He started up the path that we meant to descend. As he walked the light strengthened, now illuminating details. Still with that weird detachment I looked at his curly hair, the freckles on his face, his small nose. We could cut him down in moments, I thought, and then winced the thought away. We were not Galdran. I waited. He stopped not twenty-five paces from me and said loudly, “Countess, we request a parley.” Which made it obvious they knew we were there. Questions skittered through my mind. Had Khesot talked? How otherwise could the enemy have seen us? The only noise now was the rain, pattering softly with the magnificent indifference of nature for the tangled passions of humans. I stood up. “Here. State your message.” “A choice. You surrender, and your people can then disperse to their homes. Otherwise, we start with them.” He pointed to the bridge. “Then everyone else.” He lifted his hand, indicating the ridge up behind us. I turned, and shock burned through me when I saw an uncountable host lined along the rocks we’d descended from half a night ago. They had us boxed. Which meant that we had walked right into a waiting trap. I looked down at the bridge again. Through the curtain of rain the figures were clearer now. Khesot, in the center, stood next to a tall slim man with pale yellow hair. I closed my eyes, fought for control, then opened my eyes again. “Everyone goes to their homes? Including Khesot and the four down there?” “Everyone,” the boy said flatly, “except you, Countess.
Sherwood Smith (Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1))
for later. Keep it safe. If the child has collapsed into a tantrum in a place where he might hurt himself, move him to an area where he will be safe—an open, carpeted area, away from the glass coffee table. A child in the midst of a tantrum often flails, grabs for things to throw, or reaches for people to hit. Keep the child away from everything, including your body.       Sometimes very young children feel totally out of control and will need you to contain them. Sit on the floor and gently but firmly hold your child’s back to your front, on the floor between your legs, both arms crossed in front of him. This is not an angry hold, but rather one that says I am keeping you safe. Soon (or maybe not so soon!) he will stop resisting you, relax a bit, and take it down a notch to crying. This hold should not become a physical battle. It is, instead, a form of support and safety that you provide for your child. Do not leave the child alone. There are those who believe in sending the child to his room to have the meltdown. I believe the child is better served by your not abandoning him to his out-of-control feelings and behavior. Stay close by. Even though you are not talking to him, he knows you are there, and your presence is comforting. He might command you to “Go away” or “Leave me alone,” but he doesn’t mean it. Sit in a chair across the room and pick up a magazine. If the child is holding on to your leg, try to ignore it. In fact, try to ignore him altogether as best as you can. You can say: “You are really angry right now. I will wait until you are done.” Or, “Let me know when you are done.”       If the child is trying to hurt you, hit you, or grab at you, stand up and step away. Tell him: “I will not let you hurt me. Let me know when you are done, and we can talk.”       When you are standing, your legs are the only target he can reach. He’ll wrap his arms around your calves in a death grip. Ignore it. It will end eventually, I promise. The End Save. You can usually tell when the tantrum is winding down. When you hear and see that your child is starting to come back down to earth—his crying has calmed to sobs, his breaths are broken and quick, he is sniffling a bit—it is a good time to step in and accompany him on his journey back. Scoop him up and say something diverting, like: “C’mon, Sam, let’s go see if there are any squirrels outside.” By this point, most children are ready to be saved. They just don’t know how to do so gracefully. A paradigm shift offers the child the chance to reenter the world and save face.
Betsy Brown Braun (Just Tell Me What to Say)
No matter what bosses say, it’s all about them. You are just an instrument to them. They’ll treat you well as long as you’re useful.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
Keep your personal life private. Take the risk of people not knowing you. Anything you do reveal, trust me, will eventually come back to haunt you.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
If you try to fit the mold of your organization too much, the rap will be that you are too dull or too dry or too sycophantic. So you might as well be yourself and get points for having the courage of your own style.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
You must learn to take risks in a calculated way. The worst sin is not to be able to understand the risks you face, either because you are so risk-averse that you say “No” to everything or because you have no risk filter whatsoever.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
You must learn to take risks in a calculated way. The worst sin is not to be able to understand the risks you face, either because you are so risk-averse that you say “No” to everything or because you have no risk filter whatsoever.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
Playing safe is often the riskiest thing you can do in a career. If you stand still, the odds are overwhelming that the world will leave you behind.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
Finding the Competitive Levers When there’s a battle between two networks, there are competitive levers that shift users from one into the other—what are they? The best place to focus in the rideshare market was the hard side of the network: drivers. More drivers meant that prices would be lower, attracting valuable high-frequency riders that often comparison shop for fares. Attract more riders, and it more efficiently fills the time of drivers, and vice versa. There was a double benefit to moving drivers from a competitor’s network to yours—it would push their network into surging prices while yours would lower in price. Uber’s competitive levers would combine financial incentives—paying up for more sign-ups, more hours—with product improvements to improve Acquisition, Engagement, and Economic forces. Drawing in more drivers through product improvements is straightforward—the better the experience of picking up riders and routing the car to their destination, the more the app would be used. Building a better product is one of the classic levers in the tech industry, but Uber focused much of its effort on targeted bonuses for drivers. Why bonuses? Because for drivers, that was their primary motivation for using the app, and improving their earnings would make them sticky. But these bonuses weren’t just any bonuses—they were targeted at quickly flipping over the most valuable drivers in the networks of Uber’s rivals, targeting so-called dual apping drivers that were active on multiple networks. They were given large, special bonuses that compelled them to stick to Uber, and every hour they drove was an hour that the other networks couldn’t utilize. There was a sophisticated effort to tag drivers as dual appers. Some of these efforts were just manual—Uber employees who took trips would just ask if the drivers drove for other services, and they could mark them manually in a special UI within the app. There were also behavioral signals when drivers were running two apps—they would often pause their Uber session for a few minutes while they drove for another company, then unpause it. On Android, there were direct APIs that could tell if someone was running Uber and Lyft at the same time. Eventually a large number of these signals were fed into a machine learning model where each driver would receive a score based on how likely they were to be a dual apper. It didn’t have to be perfect, just good enough to aid the targeting.
Andrew Chen (The Cold Start Problem: How to Start and Scale Network Effects)
Three-year-olds have only one goal: to make you look like a bitch-ass punk in public. Once you know this, you’ll pick your battles. Pick none of them. Don’t engage in arguments with a three-year-old, because if you’re yelling or explaining, they’ve already won.
Bunmi Laditan (Toddlers Are A**holes: It's Not Your Fault)
Thank you, Roa," said Instructor Ally. "And, Topher, is your mother still out of work?" "Uh, yeah," Topher growled, picking at his fingernails. "Thought so," said Instructor Ally. "If you're going to make fun of someone in my class, you might consider that you have yet to pass a single test and are more useful to your family as dragon food than as a student.
Alex London (City of Thieves (Battle Dragons #1))
Network television is a commercial medium. Conversations about the palatability of stories are commonplace. You pick your battles, and none of these were battles worth picking.
Ronan Farrow (Catch and Kill: Lies, Spies, and a Conspiracy to Protect Predators)
Everyone is fighting something on the inside. We all have a dark spot that flares when times are tough. I’ve found the important thing is to pick your battles wisely, because winning each of them is impossible. And every time you lose, because you will from time to time, take a moment and breathe.” His hand slipped into mine, and it squeezed. “Remember, you’re not alone.
Belle Aurora (Vik (Shot Callers #2))
Pick your battles, boy. It had been one of his father's favorite phrases and it still served him well.
Mike Kraus (Endure (Epoch's End #1))
The first rule of your relationship with your boss is to understand that it’s a business transaction.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
Work for what you believe in, but pick your battles, and don’t burn your bridges. Don’t be afraid to take charge, think about what you want, then do the work, but then enjoy what makes you happy, bring along your crew, have a sense of humour.’ From Notorious RBG: The Life and Times of Ruth Bader Ginsburg by Irin Carmon and Shana Knizhnik
Geoff Blackwell (I Know This to Be True: Ruth Bader Ginsburg)
Pick your battles. You don’t have to show up to every argument you’re invited to.
Mandy Hale
She curled my hand into a fist and showed it to me. “Life is a battle, but you can’t fight it with your fists.” She gently tapped me on the chin with my fist and then put her hand on my chest. “You got to fight it with your heart.” She pulled me back to her chest and sucked through her teeth like she was trying to pick the corn out with her tongue. “If your knuckles are bloodier than your knees, then you’re fighting the wrong battle.
Charles Martin (Wrapped In Rain)
you let everyone else ruin it. I don’t expect a 180, but you have to pick your battles.
Jamie McGuire (Walking Disaster (Beautiful, #2))
She curled my hand into a fist and showed it to me. “Life is a battle, but you can’t fight it with your fists.” She gently tapped me on the chin with my fist and then put her hand on my chest. “You got to fight it with your heart.” She pulled me back to her chest and sucked through her teeth like she was trying to pick the corn out with her tongue. “If your knuckles are bloodier than your knees, then you’re fighting the wrong battle.” “Miss Ella, you don’t always make sense.” “In life,” she placed her finger on my knee, “you want the scabs here”—she placed the other on the cracked skin of my knuckle—“not here.
Charles Martin (Wrapped In Rain)
.."So you know everything now." Julian raised an eyebrow. "I can't believe that," he drawled. "There are no more secrets, no more illicit little plots percolating in your devious mind? You'll have to forgive me if I find that hard to credit, Violette." "Oh, there's one more secret," she said dully. "But only one, and you might as well know it. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. And I'll never love anyone else in the same way"..."There ,now," she said. That's all of it. I've tricked you and I've used you. I've lied to you, and rearranged your life to suit my own purposes. I forced you to leave Spain, and I'm the illegitimate daughter of a Penhallan and a robber baron. But I love you with my heart and soul, and I'd give my last drop of blood if you ever needed it." ..."But of course you won't ever need it, so I'll go now. And you need never fear that our paths will cross again." Turning from him, she began to walk back across the sand. "You omitted to mention puking all over my boots in that catalog of wrongs," Julian said. ..."I suppose you're entitled to that," she said. "Entitled to mock. Why should you believe in my love? Anyway, it's a poor thing. I know it can't excuse or make up what I've done to you." "Dear God," he said. "I'm assuming this extraordinary show of humility was brought on by that drug Penhallan gave you. I trust it's effect isn't permanent." ..."Oh you despicable bastard! You are an unmitigated cur!" She swooped down, grabbed a handful of sand, and threw it at him. Darting sideways, she picked up the empty cognac bottle. It flew through the air and caught him a glancing blow on the shoulder... ... Diabillo ! Virago! Termagant!" Julian taunted, grinning as he ducked one of Gabriel's boots. "Espadachin! Brute! Bully! Unchivalrous pig!" she hurled back.. ...He'd fought the knowledge ..he'd been fighting it for weeks..and now he'd lost the battle. She was a lawless, manipulative, illegitimate half-breed, no possible wife for a St Simon, and he didn't give a damn.
Jane Feather
back and meet with the painters later to make sure they had all the correct colors. She prayed they’d have the right colors. It was too early in the job for her to have to do battle with Aidan Shaughnessy…again. * * * She’d worked at a feverish pace to stay on schedule, completely consumed with the need to make everything perfect on this job. By the end of the day, Zoe was exhausted, and she looked it. Martha happened to walk by her office and did a double take. “Good grief, Zoe, it’s only been a day. Surely it’s not all that bad!” Slouching in her seat, Zoe combed her mass of curly hair away from her face with her fingers and tugged as if to pull it out. “The man is infuriating. I’m second-, third-, and even fourth-guessing every single item I pick out for this house. It’s…it’s…” “Maddening?” Zoe nodded. Pulling up a chair, Martha sat and looked at Zoe with a reassuring smile. “You have to be confident in what you’re doing. I think men like Aidan Shaughnessy feed on other people’s weaknesses. If you go in there with confidence and present what you’ve done, he’s not going to give you a hard time.” “Are we sure about that?” Zoe asked. “Because it seems to me that I could get every single item he handpicked for this place and he’d still find a problem with something
Samantha Chase (Made for Us (The Shaughnessy Brothers, #1))
The relationship you have with your immediate boss is one of the oddest you’ll have in life. You generally don’t choose this person, you generally don’t care for this person, yet you have to honor and obey this person.As you rise, that relationship only becomes odder and more slippery.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
You have to manage an incredibly tricky network of relationships, simultaneously, in private and in public, and in a way that announces your ability to lead.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
Most ambitious people are not naturally team players. They’re ruthlessly competitive individualists.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
The real rivals among your peers will be room-changers. Certain people, when they walk into a room, alter the atmosphere. Everybody else adjusts their posture, their willingness to listen, their ideas. This is not a full definition of leadership, only its most obvious symptom.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
Never ask one of your peers to carry bad news for you. If there’s going to be a disaster in any part of the organization that you’re running, whether it’s a personnel issue or a financial issue, always inform the boss yourself.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
Be yourself, but disarm potential critics where you can by being self-deprecating.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
Good luck often takes the form of having the right skills at the right moment.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
There is no such thing in this world as a pure meritocracy.Nobody gets to the top without being lucky. Luck happens to the most deserving of people and some of the most undeserving.
David F. D'Alessandro (Executive Warfare: Pick Your Battles and Live to Get Promoted Another Day)
Pick your battles with wisdom. Fight from a position of strength.
Amish Tripathi (Dharma: Decoding the Epics for a Meaningful Life)
You know, someday I’m gonna top,” Cash told him, his brown-eyed gaze absolutely unimpressed. “And I’ve never done it before, but I’m going to do it with you, and you are going to be at my mercy. Now ask yourself—how badly do you want to piss me off before then? Because you need to pick your battles.
Amy Lane (Safe Heart (Search & Rescue, #3))
Most people think you need tens of thousands of dollars to get started, but you can get there with just a thousand, or less,” Jared told me. “The money isn’t the obstacle. The truth is that ninety percent of the battle is getting your head right and just pushing through all the obstacles, no matter what. You have to make it your mission to find a way.
Ryan Daniel Moran (12 Months to $1 Million: How to Pick a Winning Product, Build a Real Business, and Become a Seven-Figure Entrepreneur)
Most people think you need tens of thousands of dollars to get started, but you can get there with just a thousand, or less,” Jared told me. “The money isn’t the obstacle. The truth is that ninety percent of the battle is getting your head right and just pushing through all the obstacles, no matter what. You have to make it your mission to find a way.” Jared’s obstacles didn’t end that sleepless Christmas. To this day, competitors copy his ads, and even his products. Some of them are total scam artists who take orders with no intention of fulfilling them. “When I first started, I’d get so angry at the scammers, but that wasn’t helping me,” he said. “Now, if I see someone copying my stuff, I immediately get my lawyers involved and send a cease and desist. It’s part of the game. I’ve learned to just deal with it.
Ryan Daniel Moran (12 Months to $1 Million: How to Pick a Winning Product, Build a Real Business, and Become a Seven-Figure Entrepreneur)
I’ve taught you and practice the things you’ve seen me do, and you, too, will begin to experience the presence of the God of peace. If you battle anxiety, surround yourself with others who’ve learned how to trust the Lord when life is overwhelming. Spend time with people who understand the complexities of anxiety and the keys to success. Ask them questions. Study their lives. Listen to their stories. Learn from them. Perhaps it’s time to make an appointment with a doctor or wise counselor, ask a friend to meet you for coffee, join a small group at church, or simply pick up and read an encouraging book about someone—maybe even the apostle Paul—who learned how to hand their anxious cares over to the Lord. Let God’s peace in their lives influence the anxiety in yours.
David Jeremiah (Overcomer: Finding New Strength in Claiming God’s Promises)
Pick your own act of defiance, something that says to you—and to others—that you won’t go along with the hate.
Elizabeth Warren (This Fight Is Our Fight: The Battle to Save America's Middle Class)
Green Ape CBD features in a household just spell luxury. A prospective buyer will think he gets a no more for his buck simply by home has the odd lavish touch. Of course, luxury to one person can mean a Jennair stove and just to another person it implies a workshop attached Green Ape CBD garage. How to pick which 'bonus' you could offer at your residence? But I never lost the battle and I saw results only after giving up trying figure out instant improvement. The real results came after i stuck with my weight loss program and worked it out without going from product to product searching for instant gratification.
Been biting my tongue till it bleeds- Cry over things I don't need. My mother told me - pick your battles wisely but you made me angry at the world so I chose them all.
Ashley Frangipane
Your worst battle is between what you feel and what you know; and you know you made the right decision when even after you picked the hardest and most painful choice, you are at peace.
ND Seno (Pins & Needles: Part 1)
We like to think of ourselves as civilized but contrary to popular belief the human race is still young and evolving. Many of us are only two words away from are next argument or fight and even I used to think that whenever a fight came it was my duty to take that challenge and defeat the opposing force. Today I am aware that you must pick your battles because around every corner is a fight waiting to be wrestled to the floor. Knowing this and having the maturity to pick and avoid illogical confrontations by walking away puts you Eons of Light Years ahead of ignorance.
Marlan Rico Lee
Some can struggle to a victory and the whole world may praise their winning. This also demonstrates a limited ability. Win as easily as picking up a fallen hair. Don’t use all of your forces. See the time to move. Don’t try to find something clever. Hear the clap of thunder. Don’t try to hear something subtle. Learn from the history of successful battles. Victory goes to those who make winning easy. A good battle is one that you will obviously win. It doesn’t take intelligence to win a reputation. It doesn’t take courage to achieve success. You must win your battles without effort. Avoid difficult struggles. Fight when your position must win. You always win by preventing your defeat. ~ Sun Tzu" 1
Fred Leland (Adaptive Leadership Handbook - Law Enforcement & Security)
Some types of fall not only bitterness equivalent bitter death it some drops of eye drops and some heart and some drops of memory which fall from eye drops after stages of shock, surprise and indignation, contempt and failed attempts to justify the choice of this type of fall. Either fall heart it follows the stages of love, beautiful dream and the sense of loss and regret and failed attempts to revive the feelings died. Either the fall of memory it starts after stages of recollection and nostalgia after bitter battles with oblivion resulting desire to adhere to spectra events ended. And often the downfall of memory is the last stages of the fall is the kindest types fall. Not necessarily that which falls from your eyes falling from your heart or you fall from your heart falls from your memory. Every fall the causes that may not be affected by or affect the other type of fall, some falling from your heart, but still retains clean landscapes in your eyes into your oversized bead to a sense of inflated respect they treated with discretion. Gratitude for the high capacity to retain his image color in your eyes while amtsah the image from your heart. This type of humans makes a frequency yourself whenever his ticket ... U k RA either great suffering. It is while falling from your eyes a man but not falling from your heart and remain in abeyance between the fall and fall of the eye and heart remain solely a victim feelings of annoy t h b e, but you yourself t h t s and maybe his disdain over your love. And that memory as a way to pick up most of the faces that meet her that may not mean you order something, the fall of memory is the kindest types fall for the last stages of their fall from you, which falls from the memory remains in the heart and in the eye of one b t how beautiful that we find ourselves in warm places in their hearts and their eyes, but the most beautiful is to preserve the purity of these places, and if we let us not fall fall day eye ..! Because after the spill, all clean surfaces contaminated
Scheherazade Gulf
explanatory style is the great modulator of learned helplessness. Optimists recover from their momentary helplessness immediately. Very soon after failing, they pick themselves up, shrug, and start trying again. For them, defeat is a challenge, a mere setback on the road to inevitable victory. They see defeat as temporary and specific, not pervasive. Pessimists wallow in defeat, which they see as permanent and pervasive. They become depressed and stay helpless for very long periods. A setback is a defeat. And a defeat in one battle is the loss of the war. They don’t begin to try again for weeks or months, and if they try, the slightest new setback throws them back into a helpless state.
Martin E.P. Seligman (Learned Optimism: How to Change Your Mind and Your Life)
Oftentimes, if you decide to embrace the tension and move forward, this is your first battle. To move forward, we can’t keep everything we’ve always had. We have to pick what to take, what is absolutely necessary, and leave behind some things that have been important to us. What used to provide comfort may now only take up space or be a hindrance to getting where we need to go. Pastors
Hugh Halter (The Tangible Kingdom: Creating Incarnational Community (Jossey-Bass Leadership Network Series))
He loves you. It’s plain for anyone to see. He came after you, didn’t he? Admitted he was wrong to abandon you?” I shrugged. “We’ve been friends since I was born, or almost.” “He doesn’t look at you like he thinks you’re just his friend.” “It doesn’t matter,” I insisted. The doubts that Melaina had stirred up, that I had had so long to contemplate in her cell, flared inside me again. “What can come of him loving me? He’s still an earl’s son and I’m…a scribe girl. His family would never let him marry me. They were lining up girls at court for him to pick through before we left. Girls with titles and land…noble girls. It doesn’t make any difference if he loves me. We can’t be together.” Mika pushed herself back as she blew a breath upward to stir the hair on her forehead. “What makes you think he’ll ask their permission?” I gaped at her. Kiernan, not marry who his family wanted? It wasn’t done, not in the noble families of Thorvaldor. You married to create ties to other nobles, to strengthen your family’s position. Sometimes you got love as well, but that was just luck thrown into the bargain. “And you. You’re willing to fight an impossible battle to get me on the throne, but you won’t fight for him?” “I never said that,” I said, stung. “I just--” But I could go no further, because just then I heard the jingle of horse tack, and then Kiernan rode into view.
Eilis O'Neal (The False Princess)
I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” he said in a dangerous drawl, “and you just gave me the excuse I needed.” “What—what are you talking about?” Lily demanded, stepping backwards. A drop of rainwater from the leaky roof landed with a disconcerting ker-plop on the top of her head. Caleb was unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves. “I’m talking,” he replied evenly, “about raising blisters on your sweet little backside.” Lily was careful to keep to the opposite side of the table. “Now, Caleb, that wouldn’t be wise.” “Oh, I think it would be about the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” Caleb answered, advancing on her again. Lily kept the table between them. “I might be pregnant!” she reasoned desperately. “Then again,” Caleb countered, “you might not.” The muscles of his forearms were corded, the skin covered with maple-sugar hair. “I wasn’t going to shoot you—I only wanted to scare you away.” Lily dodged him, moving from one side of the table to the other, always keeping it between them. “Caleb, be reasonable. I wouldn’t shoot you—I love you!” “I love you, too,” Caleb returned in a furious croon, “and right now I’d like nothing better than to shoot you!” Lily picked up a chair and held it as she’d seen a lion tamer do in an illustration in one of her beloved dime novels. Helga of the Circus, if she remembered correctly. “Now, just stay back, Caleb. If you lay a hand on me, I assure you, you’ll regret it!” “I doubt that very much,” Caleb replied. And then he gripped one leg of the chair, and Lily realized what a pitiful defense it had been. He set it easily on the floor even as his other arm shot out like a coiled snake and caught Lily firmly by the wrist. Like a man sitting down to a cigar and a glass of port after a good dinner Caleb dropped comfortably into the chair. With a single tug he brought Lily facedown across his lap. Quick as mercury he had her skirts up and her drawers down, and when she struggled he simply imprisoned her between his thighs scissor fashion. “Caleb Halliday,” Lily gasped, writhing between his legs, “you let me go this instant!” “Or else you’ll do what?” he asked evenly. Lily felt his hand caress one cheek of her bottom and then the other, as though charting them for assault. “I’ll scream, and Hank Robbins will run over here and shoot you for the rascal you are!” Caleb laughed thunderously at that. “You’ve had your little joke,” Lily huffed, “now let me up!” “No,” Caleb replied. Lily threw back her head and screamed as loudly as she could. “You can do better than that,” Caleb said. “Hell, nobody would hear a whimper like that in this rain.” Lily filled her lungs to capacity and screamed again. She was as surprised as Caleb when the door flew open and Velvet burst in, ready for battle. Color filled her face when she understood the situation. In no particular rush, Caleb released Lily, and she scrambled to her feet unassisted, blushing painfully as she righted her drawers and lowered her skirts. Caleb chuckled at her indignation and then stood up respectfully.
Linda Lael Miller (Lily and the Major (Orphan Train, #1))
Pick your battles. You don't have to show up to every arguement you're invited to.
Mandy Hale
He looked at his wife. She had turned her back on him and moved a few steps away, perhaps embarrassed that she'd lost her temper, perhaps just giving his a chance to cool. She was bent over the baby, who was finally — thank God — beginning to quiet, her piercing screams fading to choking, hiccupping sobs. Gareth raked a hand through his hair, trying to think, trying to steady himself. Then, leading Crusader, he came up behind her. "Juliet?" She didn't turn, and Gareth was suddenly filled with shame. Shame at the way he'd behaved in front of her. Shame that he was so unprepared to deal with this situation. And shame that he had regretted, even for a moment, that he'd married her and now had full responsibility for both her and Charlotte. Responsibility. 'Sdeath, it was the worst word in the entire English language. "Juliet."  She still did not turn around. Her head was bent, and he could just see the pale curve of her nape beneath the upsweep of dark hair. Gareth swallowed — hard. Then, bowing his head, he said awkwardly, "My apologies. Perry's right, you know. I've got a temper, and sometimes it gets away from me." She turned then and gave him a level, unforgiving stare. "I don't mind your temper, Gareth. What I do mind is the fact that we don't seem to have a place to stay tonight. I suspect we don't have a place to stay tomorrow night, either, let alone next week, next month, or next year." He shrugged. "We can go to a hotel or something." "Yes, and how long will our money last if we live like that?" He flushed and looked away. "Didn't you even think about any of this before you asked to marry me and took on the responsibility of caring for us?" "Juliet, please." She looked suddenly weary. And disgusted. "No, I didn't think so." And now she was moving away again, as though she couldn't bear to be near him, much less look at him. "Juliet!" He swore and hurried after her, Crusader trotting behind him. This scrape was getting worse by the moment. "Juliet, please —" "I wish to be alone for a few minutes, Gareth. I need to think." "Everything will turn out just fine, I'm sure of it!" "I'm glad that one of us is." He picked up his pace. "Look, I know you're angry with me, but I am rather new at this husband-stuff. I'll get better at it. Just takes a bit of practice, you know? Why, even Charles would surely have made a few mistakes along the way —" She kept walking. "I doubt it." "I beg your pardon?" "I said, I doubt it." He halted in his tracks, Crusader's broad head crashing into his shoulder blades as he watched her walk away. The words had cut deeply, and he could think of nothing to say in his defense. The truth was, of course, that the incomparable Charles probably wouldn't have made any mistakes. She took a few more steps before she, too, paused. Her shoulders slumped, and she gave a heavy, tired sigh. She stood there for a moment, her back to him as though she was fighting some inner battle, and then, slowly, she turned and faced him, her face haunted by sadness. "That was unfair. I'm sorry." He
Danelle Harmon (The Wild One (The de Montforte Brothers, #1))
How to be Like RBG: Work for what you believe in, but pick your battles, and don’t burn your bridges. Don’t be afraid to take charge, think about what you want, then do the work, but then enjoy what makes you happy, bring along your crew, have a sense of humor.
Irin Carmon
I stepped into the room and bent down to lift up two or three of the papers. Some were proposals for increases in taxes for certain nobles; the fourth was a list of people “to be watched.” I looked at him in surprise. “You found these just lying around?” “Yes,” he said, sitting back on his cushion. The morning light highlighted the smudges of tiredness under his eyes. “He did not expect to be defeated. Your brother and I rode back here in haste, as soon as we could, in order to prevent looting; but such was Galdran’s hold on the place that, even though the news had preceded us by two days, I found his rooms completely undisturbed. I don’t think anyone believed he was really dead--they expected one of his ugly little ploys to catch out ‘traitors.’” I whistled, turning over another paper. “Wish I could have been there,” I said. “You could have been.” This brought me back to reality with a jolt. Of course I could have been there--but I had left without warning, without saying good-bye even to my own brother, in my haste to retreat to home and sanity. And memory. I glanced at him just in time to see him wince slightly and shake his head. Was that regret? For his words--or for my actions that day? “What you said last night,” I demanded, “about battles and me being used to them. What did you mean by that?” “It was merely an attempt to make you laugh.” “I did laugh,” I admitted, then frowned. “But did you really intend some kind of courtly double meaning? Hinting that I’m used to battles in the sense that I lost every one I was in? Or merely that I get into quarrels?” “Neither.” His tone was flat. “Forgive my maladroitness.” “Well, I don’t get into quarrels,” I said, suddenly desperate to explain, to accuse. “Except with--” There came a tap outside the opposite doorway then. I shut my mouth; and for a moment, there we were, in silence, me wishing I could run but feeling I ought not to. There was--something--I had to do, or say, though I had no idea what. So I watched him rise, move the few steps to the other tapestry, and lift it. I did not see whoever was outside--I realized he was shielding me from sight. I could not hear the voice beyond, but I heard his: “Please inform Lady Trishe I will be along shortly. Thank you.” He dropped the tapestry back into place and stood with his back to it, looking at me across the width of the room. “It seems,” he said, “that seeking your opinion will not cease to embroil us in argument, whatever the cause. I apologize. I also realize trying to convince you of my good intentions is a fruitless effort, but my own conscience demanded that I make the attempt.” I couldn’t think of any reply to make to that, so I whirled around and retreated into the library, my insides boiling with a nasty mixture of embarrassment and anger. Why did I always have to bring up that war--and pick a fight? What kind of answer was I looking for? All I do is repeat the humiliations of last year. As if I haven’t had enough of those, I thought grimly. And the worst thing was, I wouldn’t dare to go near that room again, despite his offer at the beginning of the encounter--an encounter which was thoroughly my own fault.
Sherwood Smith (Court Duel (Crown & Court, #2))
curriculum companies provide more work than is needed. I never finished the complete curriculum when I taught in a classroom or at home. If your race is with your curriculum, learn to pick and choose what to use, and please do not attempt to cover it all or your race will be ongoing and you will be exhausted. Even races require pit stops to refuel.
Tamara L. Chilver
Dear Christopher, This is the perfume of March: rain, loam, feathers, mint. Every morning and afternoon I drink fresh mint tea sweetened with honey. I’ve done a great deal of walking lately. I seem to think better outdoors. Last night was remarkably clear. I looked up at the sky to find the Argo. I’m terrible at constellations. I can never make out any of them except for Orion and his belt. But the longer I stared, the more the sky seemed like an ocean, and then I saw an entire fleet of ships made of stars. A flotilla was anchored at the moon, while others were casting off. I imagined we were on one of those ships, sailing on moonlight. In truth, I find the ocean unnerving. Too vast. I must prefer the forests around Stony Cross. They’re always fascinating, and full of commonplace miracles…spiderwebs glittering with rain, new trees growing from the trunks of fallen oaks. I wish you could see them with me. And together we would listen to the wind rushing through the leaves overhead, a lovely swooshy melody…tree music! As I sit here writing to you, I have propped my stocking feet much too close to the hearth. I’ve actually singed my stockings on occasion, and once I had to stomp out my feet when they started smoking. Even after that, I still can’t seem to rid myself of the habit. There, now you could pick me out of a crowd blindfolded. Simply follow the scent of scorched stockings. Enclosed is a robin’s feather that I found during my walk this morning. It’s for luck. Keep it in your pocket. Just now I had the oddest feeling while writing this letter, as if you were standing in the room with me. As if my pen had become a magic wand, and I had conjured you right here. If I wish hard enough… Dearest Prudence, I have the robin’s feather in my pocket. How did you know I needed token to carry into battle? For the past two weeks I’ve been in a rifle pit, sniping back and forth with the Russians. It’s no longer a cavalry war, it’s all engineers and artillery. Albert stayed in the trench with me, only going out to carry messages up and down the line. During the lulls, I try to imagine being in some other place. I imagine you with your feet propped near the hearth, and your breath sweet with mint tea. I imagine walking through the Stony Cross forests with you. I would love to see some commonplace miracles, but I don’t think I could find them without you. I need your help, Pru. I think you might be my only chance of becoming part of the world again. I feel as if I have more memories of you than I actually do. I was with you on only a handful of occasions. A dance. A conversation. A kiss. I wish I could relive those moments. I would appreciate them more. I would appreciate everything more. Last night I dreamed of you again. I couldn’t see your face, but I felt you near me. You were whispering to me. The last time I held you, I didn’t know who you truly were. Or who I was, for that matter. We never looked beneath the surface. Perhaps it’s better we didn’t--I don’t think I could have left you, had I felt for you then what I do now. I’ll tell you what I’m fighting for. Not for England, nor her allies, nor any patriotic cause. It’s all come down to the hope of being with you.
Lisa Kleypas (Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways, #5))
The first time I noticed Francesca in the Rialto, I thought she was alone. Then the crowd shifted and I saw her massive Mother Superior standing at the stall of a spice merchant, picking through a sack of peppercorns, her nose twitching like a rabbit's, her face set and ready to do battle over the price. Francesca waited nearby, swinging her market basket and smiling at passersby. That smile snagged me, held me, and wouldn't let me go. She had all her teeth and they were white, so white, and her face was clean and sunstruck. A dog, small and wiry, sniffed the hem of her robe, and she knelt down to pet it. I heard her cooing and the dog nuzzled into her arms. She glanced around to be sure Mother Superior wasn't watching, then quickly took a sausage from her basket and fed it to the dog. He bolted it down greedily and then looked up at her with naked adoration. She laughed, and her laughter made me think of a field of wildflowers. Francesca pulled a square of lace from her sleeve to wipe the sausage grease from her fingers, and I had the fleeting thought that I'd never before seen a nun with such a fine lace handkerchief. But that thought vanished with the sight of Mother Superior rising up behind her. The older nun stood over her, shouting. "Don't you know better than to touch a stray animal? I swear, you're hopeless, girl. Hopeless." The light went out of Francesca's face. She moved off behind the older woman but looked back at the little dog and rolled her eyes. She waved good-bye and her fingers moved like butterflies.
Elle Newmark (The Book of Unholy Mischief)
She followed Wally up front where Miss Applebaum was placing two chairs, face to face, about three feet apart. “I want you to sit here,” she told them, “and I want you to talk to each other for ten minutes. Perhaps at the end of that time you will have said everything there is to say, and there will be no more disturbances in class.” No! Caroline thought. She would rather be paddled! One minute would be bad enough, five minutes would be cruel and unusual punishment, and ten was torture! She lowered herself sideways into one of the chairs. What was she supposed to say to a boy who, up until that morning, had thought she was dead? Miss Applebaum stood with arms folded. “Well? I’m waiting.” Caroline crossed her ankles. “You started it,” she said to Wally. “What did I do?” he mumbled, sitting sideways himself. “Dumping all that dead stuff on our side of the river.” “So you pretended to die.” “Is this a normal conversation?” asked Miss Applebaum as she picked up a box of supplies and headed for the closet at the back of the room. “No,” said Caroline, but she was talking to Wally, not her teacher. “This is not a normal conversation because you and your brothers aren’t normal human beings. Normal people don’t go dumping dead fish and birds around the neighborhood.” “It wasn’t my idea,” said Wally. “Well, actually it was my idea—dead fish, I mean—but it was Jake and Josh who—” “So none of you are normal.” “We’re not normal?” said Wally, his voice rising. “What do you call people who go burying each other in the river?” “It was a great performance, and you know it.” “It was dumb.” “You believed I was dead.” “I believe you’re crazy.” “We’ll see about that.” “Whatever you two are arguing about, you’d better get it out of your systems now, because when you come to school tomorrow, I expect you to pay attention,” Miss Applebaum called, sticking her head out of the supply closet. “You and your dumb brothers,” Caroline muttered because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. “You and your stupid sisters,” said Wally. “We’re smarter than the four of you put together,” Caroline told him. “We’ll see,” said Wally. “If you’d just left us alone instead of dumping that dead stuff, things would be okay,” said Caroline. “If you’d go back where you came from, there wouldn’t be any more trouble,” Wally replied. “Oh, yeah? If you went back to where you came from, you’d live in a cave!” “That does it,” said Wally hotly. “The war is on.” “Okay,” called Miss Applebaum, coming back to the front of the room for another box. “If you two have settled things, you may leave now.” She looked from Caroline to Wally. “Unless, of course, you are not agreed.” “We agree,” said Caroline emphatically. The war is definitely on. She could hardly wait to get home and tell her sisters. What she discovered when she got outside was that she wasn’t the only member of her family who had been kept after school. Eddie had stumbled over Jake’s foot in the cafeteria and, sure that he’d tripped her on purpose, brought her tray down on his head. Beth, of course, had waited for Eddie, so there they were again, the three of them coming home late on the very first day. Mother was dusting shelves in the hallway. “Whatever happened to your nose?” she asked, looking at Caroline. “She bumped into something that needs a little fixing,” said Beth. “Needs a lot of straightening out,” put in Eddie. “Well, how was school?” Mother asked. “Urk,” said Eddie. “Ugh,” said Beth. “It has possibilities,” said Caroline.
Phyllis Reynolds Naylor (The Boys Start the War (Boy/Girl Battle, #1))
Choose a dojo. There’s Ross Jeffries and the school of Speed Seduction, where subliminal language patterns are used to get a girl aroused. Or Mystery and the Mystery Method, in which social dynamics are manipulated to snag the most desirable woman in a club. Or David DeAngelo and Double Your Dating, in which he advocates keeping the upper hand over a woman through a combination of humor and arrogance that he calls cocky funny. Or Gunwitch and Gunwitch Method, in which the only thing students have to do is project animalistic sexuality and escalate physical contact until the woman stops them. His crude motto: “Make the ho say no.” Or there’s David X, David Shade, Rick H., Major Mark, and Juggler—the newest guru on the scene, who appeared online one day claiming he could pick up women better and faster than any other PUA simply by reading his grocery list. Then there are the inner-circle teachers, like Steve P. and Rasputin, who reveal their techniques only to those they deem worthy. Yes, there are plenty of mentors to choose from, each with his own methods and disciples, each operating under the belief that his way is the way. And the giants do battle constantly
Neil Strauss (The Game)
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I don’t know what transgression Rava committed which, in your eyes, makes her deserving of punishment, but this is not how she should be treated during her time of grief.” “Then you had best remove her to Cokyri. I won’t release her here.” The High Priestess was not amused by Narian’s response, and she approached him, her lips compressed into a thin line. Laying a hand against the side of his head, she grasped a handful of his hair. “That is for me to decide,” she said, her voice dangerously soft. Narian pushed her hand away, and she raised a displeased eyebrow. Feeling like an intruder, I racked my brain for a way to leave, for the sake of my own comfort. “Your party was intercepted?” I asked, reminding Nantilam of my presence. “Then you were traveling here for some other reason?” “Yes,” she said, shifting her focus to me, her tone rounding into the rich, controlled cadence of a ruler. “Rava sent word to me about the festival you are hosting.” Now I wished I had not spoken. I looked to Narian for help, but he offered none, perhaps could offer none. Still, the issue needed to be addressed at some point, and she didn’t sound angry. “Yes, I am reinstating, on a smaller scale, Hytanica’s annual Harvest Festival.” “Rava wished me to put a stop to it, but I see no need to do so. I believe, along with you, that it will lift the people’s spirits. But I share Rava’s concerns about rebellion, and have come so that my presence may discourage such foolishness.” “Your presence is most welcome,” I said, relieved that she did not intend to interfere with my plans. “I’m glad you thought to come.” “Thank you, Alera,” she said, bestowing a slight smile on me as though making a point to Narian about his rudeness. She turned on her heel to go, picking up her gloves as she did so. Just before she stepped into the Hearing Hall, she spoke once more to her commander. “Narian, you will release Rava at once and escort her to my rooms.” “I won’t,” he said, a simple, firm refusal. A simple, firm refusal that merited a significant reaction. The High Priestess closed the door again and stood facing it for a long moment, then she turned toward us, her quiet anger heating the room. “You will, Narian.” “You haven’t even asked after Rava’s crimes. I will not release her, and if I see her free within the Bastion, I will personally return her to the dungeon.” “Tell me, then, what she’s done. Justify your defiance if you can.” I foresaw this battle between them growing lengthy, for neither of them was disposed on principle to give ground.
Cayla Kluver (Sacrifice (Legacy, #3))
Almost by definition, yuccies possess enormous privilege. My professional drift towards a creative field (writing) is an implicit statement of privilege. Being a yuccie is synonymous with the sort of self-centered cynicism that can only exist in the absence of hardship. It’s the convenience of being unburdened by conviction; it’s the luxury of getting to pick your battles. In this context, cynicism is maybe the yuccie’s most defining trait.
BUT PICK YOUR BATTLES RBG survived the indignities of pre-feminist life mostly by deciding that anger was counterproductive. “This wonderful woman whose statue I have in my chambers, Eleanor Roosevelt, said, ‘Anger, resentment, envy. These are emotions that just sap your energy,” RBG says. “They’re not productive and don’t get you anyplace, so get over it.’” To be like RBG in dissent, save your public anger for when there’s lots at stake and when you’ve tried everything else.
Irin Carmon (Notorious RBG: The Life and Times of Ruth Bader Ginsburg)
Work like playing a video game, we can't move to a higher level by skipping or being bad at lower levels, the lower levels are made easy to polish our skill sets & analytic skills, like video games, treat even the daily routine work as a preparation to be battle worthy for the tougher stages, never pick & chose the occasion or situation to perform better, just focus & give your best at the current level & life will take you to the next.
Shahenshah Hafeez Khan
she did. Another story that blessed me tremendously was about a Jewish man who accidentally knocked over a stack of books in a Barnes and Noble bookstore. While picking up the books and trying to restack them, he ended up with Battlefield of the Mind. He opened it up expecting to find something he could make fun of and ended up purchasing the book. He hid it from his wife because he did not want her to catch him reading a book by a Christian author. He became interested in the principles he read and bought a Bible that he also hid from his wife. Eventually he discovered that his wife was also secretly reading a Bible she had hidden. They both received Jesus as their Savior and were instrumental in leading other family members to salvation through Jesus as well.
Joyce Meyer (Battlefield of the Mind: Winning the Battle in Your Mind)
Always pick your battles carefully, and let karma take care of the rest.
Anthon St. Maarten
How to stay positive in your life? Learn positivity You can characterize positive speculation as positive symbolism, positive self-talk, or general good faith, however, these are on the whole despite everything general, vague ideas.They are clear about objectives and they are certain that they will achieve them, at some point or another. Second, confident people search for the positive qualities in each issue or trouble. At the point when things turn out badly, as they frequently do, they state, "That is acceptable!" And then set about discovering something positive about the circumstance. At the point when we attempt to transform ourselves to improve things; we quite often center around our practices. We believe that in the event that we change what we are doing and pick a progressively positive conduct, we will see better outcomes. Fundamentally, this is valid however it truly streamlines the issue. Over and over again, we overlook our considerations and convictions about the things that we need to change when our musings massively affect how we act. Thinking emphatically is basic to effective living. For instance, on the off chance that you need to be increasingly emphatic and go to bat for your privileges, you should initially accept that you have those rights; that you are qualified for shield those rights and that you can impart your privileges in a powerful way. On the off chance that you do not have any of those musings or convictions, you are going to battle to be self-assured. On the off chance that you need trust in any everyday issue, you are going battle to make an accomplishment of that part of your life. 7 Important positive thoughts about life 1. How you start the morning establishes the pace for the remainder of the day. Have you at any point woken up late, froze, and afterward felt like no good thing happened the remainder of the day? This is likely on the grounds that you began the day with a negative feeling and a cynical view that conveyed into each other occasion you encountered. 2. Positive reasoning can add such a great amount to your life – both regarding quality and amount. At the point when you think positively you dispose of pressure and will in general carry on with a more beneficial life and settle on better decisions. In case you're normally a negative mastermind, there are ways you can change that reasoning and jump on the way to a life getting an updated perspective. 3. Note that you don't need to acknowledge your musings as realities. On the off chance that you are feeling terrible, you are probably going to see everything in a negative light yet you can challenge this. We as a whole experience the ill effects of what is alluded to as deduction blunders every now and then. It is significant that we challenge these negative considerations, pick increasingly positive and steady contemplation, and search out proof to help those new musings. 4. Permit yourself to encounter humor in even the darkest or most difficult circumstances. Advise yourself that this circumstance will presumably make for a decent story later and attempt to break a joke about it. 5. It's useful on the off chance that you can see toward the day's end what your considerations have been. Set aside the effort to record them. You'll see what turned out badly with your musings and have the option to improve them. A diary is one of the least difficult however most useful assets that you can use in your endeavors to be increasingly sure and positive. 6. When something turns out badly, cataclysmic reasoning can without much of a stretch dominate. This is the place you lose all viewpoints and believe that since one thing has turned out badly; everything is destroyed. 7. Thinking emphatically comes normal to certain individuals yet there are those. Can also Check: Things Which Is Important To Get Success.
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Frank Chacon
Pick Your Battles You’ll be pretty worn out, and friendless, if you try to fight every battle that comes your way on the relationship front. In fact, people who try to fight every battle are often seen as reactive and extremist, and are rarely taken seriously. But the wise among us know that people make mistakes, they have general human failings, and the wise know that we have to let bygones be bygones many times in our relationships with people. If you take a live-and-let-live approach to dealing with people, you will find that they will give the same to you. Let the petty go, let it roll off your back, and save your energy for the bigger things that can bring real meaning to your life. Not only will this help you stay balanced, but it will also make people more apt to forgive and forget quickly when you mess up yourself—and you will, from time to time.
Robert Dittmer (151 Quick Ideas to Improve Your People Skills)
... We'll see i f we can take advantage of what others do." Bound Boat said. "Woah, if you say it like this... then you're saying we should run away from battles against God Ye Qiu and sit bad and watch God Ye Qiu clean up these other arrogant guys?" Blue River said?" "That's the only thing that can be done," Blue River thought. "was that an advantage? It sounds like we are killing the other guilds with a borrowed knife . But in reality, the knife does whatever it wants to and we can only follow it with our tails tucked between our legs and pick up the leftovers." "Next up is Line Canyon, What do you think Tyrannical Ambition will do?" Bound Boat said, but Blue River didn't respond. "Uh, are you there?" Bound Boat asked. "I say..." Blue River was still there. "What" [Bound Boat] "If I go ask Lord Grim for a signature, would that be bad?
Blue Butterfly
Pick your battles and learn to live with the consequences.
James D. Prescott (Extinction Crisis (Extinction, #3))
Pick your friends like you pick your battles; wisely.
Matshona Dhliwayo
the important thing to understand is that in the field of nutrition, to have real evidence of something and to prevent cherry-picking of the data, we need to be operating at the level of systematic reviews done on large bodies of well-controlled RCTs, not engaged in silly battles with each group adhering to a particular type of dietary dogma while cherry-picking their handful of studies to “prove” their approach is the best.
Ari Whitten (The Low Carb Myth: Free Yourself from Carb Myths, and Discover the Secret Keys That Really Determine Your Health and Fat Loss Destiny)
Are you all right?” he asked, pushing away from the wall and coming towards her. “I’m fine.” Lucien frowned and cupped her chin in one hand, turning her to face him. “I can always tell when you lie,” he said, as if the knowledge of this surprised him. “Yes. I hate that.” She needed to get away from him. She needed room to breathe. He dogged her steps as she left and picked a room at random to try and hide from him. She shut the door and slid the lock into place, relaxing when he tried the knob and couldn’t get inside. Leaning back against the door, she listened to him walk away. Her heartbeat slowed in her chest. Suddenly one of the study bookshelves swung open. Lucien emerged and eased the bookshelf back into its place, grinning. Horatia gaped. Rochester Hall had secret passageways? How had she not known about them? She truly ought to have been nosier as a child. “Why do you hate that I can read you so easily?” he asked. Horatia studied the room with a slight frown. This was Lucien’s study. His scent filled the air and a messy pile of letters littered his large desk. She couldn’t have picked a worse room to try and escape from him. He was everywhere. And she would not be able to hide from him anywhere on the estate. There were likely passageways all through the house connecting all the rooms. “Lucien, could you please just leave me alone? You’ve made your peace with me, and I with you. Can we not leave it at that?” She turned her back to him but he chuckled, coming closer. “My dear Horatia, I fear you and I are England and France. We quarrel and battle and therein lies the pleasure of our relationship.” -Lucien & Horatia. His Wicked Seduction
Lauren Smith
Alternatives to time-out Isolating children for a period of time has become a popular discipline strategy advocated by many child psychologists and pediatricians. However, newly adopted toddlers seem to be more upset than helped by time-outs. Time-outs are intended to provide an opportunity for both parents and children to calm down and change their behaviors, but it isn’t effective for children who do not have self-calming strategies. Isolation can be traumatic for a toddler who is struggling with grief and/or attachment, and so perceives time-out as further rejection. If the child becomes angrier or more withdrawn as a result of being timed-out, try another strategy. One alternative is for parents to impose a brief time-out on themselves by temporarily withdrawing their attention from their child. For example, the parent whose child is throwing toys stops playing, looks away, and firmly tells the child, “I can’t continue playing until you stop throwing your toys.” Sitting passively next to the child may be effective, especially if the child previously was engaged in an enjoyable activity with the parent. Another alternative to parent enforced time-outs is self-determined time-outs, where the child is provided the opportunity to withdraw from a conflict voluntarily or at least have some input into the time-out arrangement. The parent could say, “I understand that you got very upset when you had to go to your room yesterday after you hit Sara. Can you think of a different place you would like to go to calm down if you feel like getting in a fight?” If the child suggests going out on the porch, the next time a battle seems to be brewing, Mom or Dad can say, “Do you need to go outside to the porch and calm down before we talk more?” Some children eventually reach the level of self-control where they remove themselves from a volatile situation without encouragement from Mom or Dad. These types of negotiations usually work better with older preschoolers or school-age children than they do with toddlers because of the reasoning skills involved. As an alternative to being timed-out, toddlers also can be timed-in while in the safety of a parent’s lap. Holding allows parents to talk to their child about why she’s being removed from an activity. For example, the toddler who has thrown her truck at the cat could be picked up and held for a few minutes while being told, “I can’t let you throw your toys at Misty. That hurts her, and in our family we don’t hurt animals. We’ll sit here together until you’re able to calm down.” Calming strategies could incorporate music, back rubs, or encouraging the child to breathe slowly. Objects that children are misusing should also be removed. For example, in the situation just discussed, the truck could be timed-out to a high shelf. If parents still decide to physically remove their child for a time-out, it should never be done in a way or place that frightens a toddler. Toddlers who have been frightened in the past by closed doors, dark rooms, or a particular room such as a bathroom should never be subjected to those settings. I know toddlers who, in their terror, have literally trashed the furniture and broken windows when they were locked in their rooms for a time-out. If parents feel a time-out is essential, it should be very brief, and in a location where the child can be supervised.
Mary Hopkins-Best (Toddler Adoption: The Weaver's Craft Revised Edition)
Shelly looked around the jamb again as though whatever animal that had been terrorizing her had a weapon. “That doesn’t look like typical rat shit. You may be right. This needs to be handled right now. You’re a lesbian, get in there and do battle.” “What does being gay have to do with trapping a squirrel?” “Two women live together, who kills the vermin?” Shelly asked with a hand on her hip. “The pest control people, that’s who.” “Butch up and get your ass in there. I won’t tell anyone if you scream like a five-year-old girl.” “I’m a femme lesbian, which puts me in the same class as you.” Ryann pointed to her face. “Note the makeup. Besides, you were the one who always played in the dirt and rode horses.” “There weren’t any squirrels in that dirt with me! I’ll pick up a bug or a frog, I even handled a grass snake once, but I do not deal with rodents.” Ryann leaned against the doorjamb and stared into the room. “It’s most likely under the couch. Where’s Grant?” “After-school detention for piercing his and the noses of his friends with pushpins.” Ryann stared at her in horror. “What is wrong with your kids?
Robin Alexander (Next Time)
After the Wedding … • Relax, relax, relax, and enjoy that honeymoon! • Don’t panic if it takes some time to adjust to being married--it can take up to a year to find your marriage “sea legs.” • Talk about feelings with your husband, not your friends. • Set aside time to be alone when you need it. • Have a date once a week (with your husband, of course). • Learn to pick your battles--remember, marriage is about compromise. • Schedule time with the girls, and allow him time with the boys. • Don’t sweat the small stuff--Grits don’t sweat…we glisten!
Deborah Ford (Grits (Girls Raised in the South) Guide to Life)
Gentle Sir Conan, I'll venture that few have been Half as prodigiously lucky as you have been. Fortune, the flirt! has been wondrously kind to you. Ever beneficent, sweet and refined to you. Doomed to the practise of physic and surgery, Yet, growing weary of pills and physicianing, Off to the Arctic you packed, expeditioning. Roving and dreaming, Ambition, that heady sin, Gave you a spirit too restless for medicine: That, I presume, as Romance is the quest of us, Made you an Author-the same as the rest of us. Ah, but the rest of us clamor distressfully, "How do you manage the game so successfully? Tell us, disclose to us how under Heaven you Squeeze from the inkpot so splendid a revenue!" Then, when you'd published your volume that vindicates England's South African raid (or the Syndicate's), Pleading that Britain's extreme bellicosity Wasn't (as most of us think) an atrocity Straightaway they gave you a cross with a chain to it (Oh, what an honor! I could not attain to it, Not if I lived to the age of Methusalem!) Made you a knight of St. John of Jerusalem! Faith! as a teller of tales you've the trick with you! Still there's a bone I've been wanting to pick with you: Holmes is your hero of drama and serial: All of us know where you dug the material! Whence he was moulded-'tis almost a platitude; Yet your detective, in shameless ingratitude Sherlock your sleuthhound with motives ulterior Sneers at Poe's "Dupin" as "very inferior!" Labels Gaboriau's clever "Lecoq," indeed, Merely "a bungler," a creature to mock, indeed! This, when your plots and your methods in story owe More than a trifle to Poe and Gaboriau, Sets all the Muses of Helicon sorrowing. Borrow, Sir Knight, but in decent borrowing! Still let us own that your bent is a cheery one, Little you've written to bore or to weary one, Plenty that's slovenly, nothing with harm in it, Give me detective with brains analytical Rather than weaklings with morals mephitical Stories of battles and man's intrepidity Rather than wails of neurotic morbidity! Give me adventures and fierce dinotheriums Rather than Hewlett's ecstatic deliriums! Frankly, Sir Conan, some hours I've eased with you And, on the whole, I am pretty well pleased with you
Arthur Guiterman
Remember,” he said, not realizing the floodgates he would open by raising his children, his son, the way he did. “The world as you see it was not made brick by brick, every piece falling where it must. What you see is the overlap, what is left when all mistakes have been made—castles built from rubble, broken things passing for whole. A battle lost can be fought again, if you know to pick up the weapons of the fallen and arm the ones who stand. Not many realize this. Most think the fates decide, and like fools let fate dictate the rest of their lives. Follow your heart. It will see you through the darkness and guide you through hellfire.
K.S. Villoso (Sapphire's Flight (The Agartes Epilogues, #3))
It was always wise to pick your battles and this was one they could not win. Not, yet, anyway.
Jason Medina (The Manhattanville Incident: An Undead Novel)
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Without Zero, you’d still be out there getting picked apart by turret fire. Zero won this battle.” She pointed at him and he noticed Volts and mech-Stacey nodding in agreement. Human Stacey took a close look at him. “You’re Jack, aren’t you? I’m not surprised you prevailed. You were designed with victory in mind.
Adam Moon (Zero (Mech. Chronicles Book 1))
Discipline When the child loses control, avoid punishment. Loss of self-control is scary enough; punishment adds guilt and shame. Comment on the child’s negative behavior, not on the child: “Your yelling makes me angry,” rather than “You infuriate me!” Help the child find a quiet space, away from sensory overload, as a technique to regain self-control. Let him decide the length of the time-out, if possible. Set limits, to make a child feel secure. Pick one battle at a time to help him develop self-control and appropriate behavior. Be firm about the limits you set. Show him that his feelings won’t change the outcome; a rule is a rule. “I know you’re mad because you want to play with the puppy, but it is suppertime.” Discipline consistently. Use gestures and empathy to explain why you are disciplining him. (Discipline means to teach or instruct, not punish.) After you tell him what you are going to do, then do it. Determine appropriate consequences for misbehavior. A natural consequence is best, because it is reasonable, factual, and you don’t impose it: “If you skip breakfast, you will be hungry.” A logical consequence, in which the child is responsible for the outcome of his behavior, is second best: “If you throw food, you must mop it up.” An applied consequence, in which the punishment doesn’t exactly fit the crime, is useful when nothing else works: “If you spit on the baby, you may not play with your friends,” or “If you hit me, you may not watch TV.” Reward appropriate behavior with approval.
Carol Stock Kranowitz (The Out-of-Sync Child: Recognizing and Coping with Sensory Processing Disorder)
Aaarrgghheeee….” There was a pounding of feet and a yell that would make a ninja master proud. I spun around just as Shawn dashed past me in a mindless panic. Before I could understand the reason behind his mad dash for freedom, I felt the brush of feathers. A black swan was madly flapping his wings and chasing after my boyfriend, reaching his long neck to peck at his butt. Shawn ran for his life, darting across the lawn and running in a circle before making his way back toward me. “Shawn!” I gasped in shock and panic. He attempted to jump over a small tree in the garden, but caught his foot and went sprawling on the lakeside path, knocking me off balance as he fell. I took a step backward with the impact of his body against mine, but there was nothing behind me apart from lake. The water was knee deep, and I fell, spread eagle on my back, and splashed into it without hurting myself. But it was cold, wet, and dirty. Birds scattered in fright as I picked myself up with disgust. Ow, help, ow, help, ow, get off, ow.” Shawn was still yelling, and I looked up to see a swan attacking his prone body, pecking at his arms, legs, and face. His mother came to the rescue, using her handbag like a battle-ax, knocking the bird away from Shawn, then swinging the bag in front of the swan’s face until he gave up the fight and retreated to the water. I climbed out of the lake, dripping and stinking like a sewer. “Shawn?” There was blood on his clothes, and my heart stopped. “Shawn? Baby? You’re bleeding.” He sat up gingerly and inspected a couple of peck marks on his arms before touching his chin. “Oh, fiddlesticks,” he exclaimed. “I hit my chin when I fell. How bad is it, Harley?” Still soaking wet, I drove him to the hospital, where Christine exclaimed with delight over his injuries before the doctor slipped in three stitches under his chin. Christine patched up his peck marks and cleaned his grazed palms before we went home.
Renae Kaye (Shawn's Law)
As human beings, we must help one another to bear all kinds of human misfortune and the curse that has come upon us. We must be ready to live among wicked people, and there everyone must be ready to prove his holiness instead of becoming impatient and running away. On earth, we have to live amid thorns and thistles (Gen. 3:18), in a situation full of temptation, hostility, and misfortune. Hence, it does not help you at all to run away from other people, for within you are still carrying the same old scoundrel, the lust and evil appetite that clings to your flesh and blood. Even fi you are all alone, with the door locked, you still cannot deny your father and mother; nor can you discard your flesh and blood and leave them on the ground. You have no call to pick up your feet and run away, but to stay put, to stand and battle against every kind of temptation like a knight, and with patience to see it through and to triumph.
Martin Luther (Luther's Works, Volume 21 (Sermon on the Mount and the Magnificat))
The most important thing was how faithful you were to the Great Leader. Teachers and every other adult I knew tried to brainwash us into becoming slavish members of their pseudo-religious cult. I played along. I learned quickly that in that sort of situation, if you want to survive, you have to stifle your critical faculties and just get on with things. I had to pick my battles carefully and not let myself get riled up by every little thing. But the trouble is that some people really do end up brainwashed.
Masaji Ishikawa (A River in Darkness: One Man's Escape from North Korea)
The Crusades. In 1095 Pope Urban 11 called for the knights of Europe to unite and march to Jerusalem to save the Holy Land from the rule of the Islamic infidels. Just decades earlier, Pope Gregory VII had declared, "Cursed he the man who holds back his sword from shedding blood," and now his wishes were coming to pass. The Crusaders rode into battle with the cry Deus volt-"God wills it!" Raymond of Agiles accompanied the Crusaders as a representative of the church during the first Crusade. He documented the taking of Jerusalem with these words: Wonderful things were to be seen. Numbers of Saracens (Muslims) were beheaded.... Others were shot with arrows, or forced to jump from the towers; others were tortured for several days, then burned with flames. Piles of heads, hands, and feet were to be seen in the streets of the city. It was necessary to pick one's way over the bodies of men and horses. But these were small matters compared to what happened at the temple of Solomon.... What happened there? If I tell the truth, it will exceed your powers of belief. So let it suffice to say this much at least, that in the temple and portico of Solomon, men rode in blood up to their knees and the bridle reins. Indeed, it was a just and splendid judgment of God, that this place should be filled with the blood of the unbelievers, when it had suffered so long from their blasphemies.5
Bruxy Cavey (The End of Religion: Encountering the Subversive Spirituality of Jesus)
Education was still considered a privilege in England. At Oxford you took responsibility for your efforts and for your performance. No one coddled, and no one uproariously encouraged. British respect for the individual, both learner and teacher, reigned. If you wanted to learn, you applied yourself and did it. Grades were posted publicly by your name after exams. People failed regularly. These realities never ceased to bewilder those used to “democracy” without any of the responsibility. For me, however, my expectations were rattled in another way. I arrived anticipating to be snubbed by a culture of privilege, but when looked at from a British angle, I actually found North American students owned a far greater sense of entitlement when it came to a college education. I did not realize just how much expectations fetter—these “mind-forged manacles,”2 as Blake wrote. Oxford upholds something larger than self as a reference point, embedded in the deep respect for all that a community of learning entails. At my very first tutorial, for instance, an American student entered wearing a baseball cap on backward. The professor quietly asked him to remove it. The student froze, stunned. In the United States such a request would be fodder for a laundry list of wrongs done against the student, followed by threatening the teacher’s job and suing the university. But Oxford sits unruffled: if you don’t like it, you can simply leave. A handy formula since, of course, no one wants to leave. “No caps in my classroom,” the professor repeated, adding, “Men and women have died for your education.” Instead of being disgruntled, the student nodded thoughtfully as he removed his hat and joined us. With its expanses of beautiful architecture, quads (or walled lawns) spilling into lush gardens, mist rising from rivers, cows lowing in meadows, spires reaching high into skies, Oxford remained unapologetically absolute. And did I mention? Practically every college within the university has its own pub. Pubs, as I came to learn, represented far more for the Brits than merely a place where alcohol was served. They were important gathering places, overflowing with good conversation over comforting food: vital humming hubs of community in communication. So faced with a thousand-year-old institution, I learned to pick my battles. Rather than resist, for instance, the archaic book-ordering system in the Bodleian Library with technological mortification, I discovered the treasure in embracing its seeming quirkiness. Often, when the wrong book came up from the annals after my order, I found it to be right in some way after all. Oxford often works such. After one particularly serendipitous day of research, I asked Robert, the usual morning porter on duty at the Bodleian Library, about the lack of any kind of sophisticated security system, especially in one of the world’s most famous libraries. The Bodleian was not a loaning library, though you were allowed to work freely amid priceless artifacts. Individual college libraries entrusted you to simply sign a book out and then return it when you were done. “It’s funny; Americans ask me about that all the time,” Robert said as he stirred his tea. “But then again, they’re not used to having u in honour,” he said with a shrug.
Carolyn Weber (Surprised by Oxford)
David strode through the battle raging between his men and the castle defenders in the courtyard and headed straight for the keep, intent on his goal. The castle would fall quickly. The defenders lacked leadership and were in disarray. His only concern was whether the castle had a secret tunnel for escape. During the siege, he had spread his men out through the fields surrounding the fortress to keep watch. But he had concentrated his forces for the attack and most were now inside the castle. If there was a tunnel, he must secure the widow and her daughters before they had a chance to escape. He did not relish the idea of having to chase them down through the fields with dogs. The defenders had foolishly waited too long to withdraw to the keep, and most were caught in the courtyard when David’s men burst through the gate. He barely spared them a glance as he ran up the steps of the keep. With several of his warriors at his back, he burst through the doors brandishing his sword. He paused inside the entrance to hall. Women and children were screaming, and the few Blackadder warriors who had made it inside were overturning tables in a useless attempt to set up a defense. “If ye hope for mercy, drop your weapons,” David shouted, making his voice heard above the chaos. He locked gazes with the men who hesitated to obey his order until every weapon clanked to the floor, then he swept his gaze over the women. Their clothing confirmed what he’d known the moment he entered the hall. Blackadder’s widow was not in the room. “Where is she?” he demanded of the closest Blackadder man. “Who, m’lord?” the man said, shifting his gaze to the side. “Your mistress!” David picked him up by the front of his tunic and leaned in close. “Tell me now.” “In her bedchamber,” the man squeaked, pointing to an arched doorway. “’Tis up the stairs.” David caught a sudden whiff of urine and dropped the man to the floor in disgust. The wretch had wet himself. “Take him to the dungeon,” he ordered. The coward had given up his mistress far too easily.
Margaret Mallory (Captured by a Laird (The Douglas Legacy, #1))
What have you got in the truck? What’s that awful smell?” “A bear. Wanna see?” he asked, smiling. “A bear? Why on earth…?” “He was really pissed,” Jack said. “Come and see—he’s huge.” “Who shot him?” she asked. “Who’s taking credit or who actually shot him? Because I think everyone is taking credit.” He slipped an arm around her waist and walked her the rest of the way. She began to pick up the voices. “I swear, I heard Preacher scream,” someone said. “I didn’t scream, jag-off. That was a battle cry.” “Sounded like a little girl.” “More holes in that bear than in my head.” “He didn’t like that repellant so much, did he?” “I never saw one go through that stuff before. They usually just rub their little punkin eyes and run back in the woods.” “I’m telling you, Preacher screamed. Thought he was gonna cry like a baby.” “You wanna eat, jag-off?” There was laughter all around. A carnival-like atmosphere ensued. The serious group that had left town in the morning had come back like soldiers from war, elated, victorious. Except this war turned out to be with a bear. Mel glanced in the back of the truck and jumped back. The bear not only filled the bed, he hung out the end. The claws on his paws were terrifying. He was tied in, tied down, even though he was dead. His eyes were open but sightless and his tongue hung out of his mouth. And he stunk to high heaven. “Who’s calling Fish and Game?” “Aw, do we have to call them? You know they’re gonna take the frickin’ bear. That’s my bear!” “It ain’t your bear, jag-off. I shot the bear,” Preacher insisted loudly. “You screamed like a girl and the rest of us shot the bear.” “Who really shot the bear?” Mel asked Jack. “I think Preacher shot the bear when he came at him. Then so did everybody else. And yeah, I think he screamed. I would have. That bear got so damn close.” But as he said this, he grinned like a boy who had just made a touchdown. Preacher stomped over to Jack and Mel. He bent down and whispered to Mel, “I did not scream.” He turned and stomped off. “Honey,
Robyn Carr (Virgin River (Virgin River, #1))
You will wear what I choose, do what I choose," he said in a silken voice. "You know that, don't you?" She wanted to agree. She wanted to do anything to get him to move away from her, release her from his impaling gaze. She felt like a hunted rabbit caught in a snare, facing the inexorable death in her hunter's eyes. But she couldn't. She couldn't cower and waffle and let him know how very much he terrorized her. "And elf I refuse?" Her voice quavered slightly, but at least she fought. The dress was very low-cut, exposing a great deal of her chest. Her tangled red hair lay around her shoulders, and he picked up a strand, running it between his long, bejeweled fingers like a merchant testing silk. And then he brushed it slowly across the exposed swell of her breast. She couldn't control her start of shock at the subtle caress. It shouldn't have affected her, it was only her own lamentably red hair, yet the touch against her soft skin was shocking, arousing, and she made a frightened little noise. "You won't refuse, Emma," he said softly, repeating the caress. "You're a very clever child, far too wise for your own good. You know when you can win a battle, and you know when the price of putting up a fight is too high. You'll wear what I want you to wear. Won't you?" For a third time the lock of hair danced across her breast, dipping below the décolletage to slip inside the bodice of the dress. Emma wanted to scream. Instead she bit her lip. "For now," she said, amazed that her voice didn't shake. She kept her expression stonily unmoved, but he was too observant to miss the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the heightened color of her cheeks. Doubtless he would make of it what he wanted.
Anne Stuart (To Love a Dark Lord)
You have to pick your battles.
Ellen Klages (Out of Left Field (The Gordon Family Saga Book 3))
Here’s a clue: everyone says it’s maximizing sale price, and while that’s true, I have never seen a deal where the seller didn’t have qualitative goals associated with their exit. Remember, this is a severely emotional and personal transaction with a lot at stake for the seller. Identifying the deal points other than price will allow you to know where to focus your offer in order to give easy wins where you can. In fact, if the seller wants three specific things and it costs you nothing and you’re willing to do them, do all of them. This comes at no cost to you, and you can pick your battles in the areas that are important to you. This is the win-win approach (we both get what we want) to the situation, as opposed to the win-lose (if you win, that means I have lost something). Figuring this out ahead of time will give you an edge in the nuances of the deal structure.
Walker Deibel (Buy Then Build: How Acquisition Entrepreneurs Outsmart the Startup Game)
I am Fenris,” said the man. He started to say something more, to add another name or rank, but cut himself short. “Fenris,” he repeated. “Marra.” “Fenris,” said the dust-wife. She snorted, looking over at Marra. “So you built yourself a dog and found yourself a wolf. If a fox shows up looking for you, we’ll have a proper fairy tale and I’ll start to worry.” “Why?” asked Marra. “If I’m in a fairy tale, I might actually have a chance.” “Fairy tales,” said the dust-wife heavily, “are very hard on bystanders. Particularly old women. I’d rather not dance myself to death in iron shoes, if it’s all the same to you.” “Perhaps you’re the fox,” said Marra. “Ha!” the dust-wife’s laugh really did have a bit of a fox’s bark to it. “I deserved that.” “Do you have a name, Lady Fox?” asked Fenris. Marra could not tell if he was amused or irked by the conversation. “Yes,” said the dust-wife. The silence stretched out. Marra picked at a thread of the nettle cloak, waiting. If there was a battle of wills, the dust-wife won. Fenris’s laugh was not terribly unlike the dust-wife’s, the short, self-deprecating sound of a man who could still recognize absurdity. “What do you wish me to call you, ma’am?” “Ma’am will work very well indeed. I am a dust-wife.
T. Kingfisher (Nettle & Bone)
it, in the code that dictated our lives in Alabama. Knowing when to keep your mouth shut. Picking your battles. Letting them think what they wanted because you weren’t going to change their minds about certain things.
Dolen Perkins-Valdez (Take My Hand)
The world is filled with broken places. Pick your battles, and go win some.
Samantha Power (The Education of an Idealist: A Memoir)
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You need to pick your battles once you’re the wrong side of thirty.
Alice Coldbreath (A Contracted Spouse for the Prizefighter (Victorian Prizefighters, #3))
Why are breakfast food breakfast foods?" I asked them. "Like, why don't we have curry for breakfast?" "Hazel, eat." "But why?" I asked. "I mean seriously: How did scrambled eggs get stuck with breakfast exclusivity? You can put bacon on a sandwich without anyone freaking out. But the moment your sandwich has an egg, boom, it's a breakfast sandwich.” Dad answered with his mouth full. "When you come back, we'll have breakfast for dinner deal?" “I don't want to have breakfast for dinner." I answered, crossing knife and fork over my mostly full plate, "I want to have scrambled eggs for dinner without this ridiculous construction that a scrambled egg inclusive meal is breakfast even when it occurs at dinner time." “You gotta pick your battles in this world Hazel.” My mom said, “But if this is the issue you want to champion, we will stand behind you.” “Quite a bit behind you.” My dad added, and mom laughed. Anyway, I knew it was stupid, but I felt kind of bad for scrambled eggs.
John Green (The Fault in Our Stars)
Why are breakfast food breakfast foods?" I asked them. "Like, why don't we have curry for breakfast?" "Hazel, eat." "But why?" I asked. "I mean seriously: How did scrambled eggs get stuck with breakfast exclusivity? You can put bacon on a sandwich without anyone freaking out. But the moment your sandwich has an egg, boom, it's a breakfast sandwich." Dad answered with his mouth full. "When you come back, we'll have breakfast for dinner deal?" "I don't want to have breakfast for dinner." I answered, crossing knife and fork over my mostly full plate, "I want to have scrambled eggs for dinner without this ridiculous construction that a scrambled egg inclusive meal is breakfast even when it occurs at dinner time." “You gotta pick your battles in this world Hazel.” My mom said, “But if this is the issue you want to champion, we will stand behind you.” “Quite a bit behind you.” My dad added, and mom laughed. Anyway, I knew it was stupid but I felt kind of bad for scrambled eggs.
John Green (The Fault in Our Stars)