Pique Interest Quotes

Her beauty satisfied [his] artistic eye, her peculiarities piqued his curiosity, her vivacity lightened his ennui, and her character interested him by the unconscious hints it gave of power, pride and passion. So entirely natural and unconventional was she that he soon found himself on a familiar footing, asking all manner of unusual questions, and receiving rather piquant replies.

Human, you’ve piqued my interest—a rare accomplishment. Don’t squander it.” “Squander it?” This guy. “You mean by refusing to talk to you?” That’s real cute. “I’ll tell you a rare accomplishment—pissing me off.” He guffaws. “You mean this hellcat nature of yours is atypical?” Bringing out all my stabby tendencies.

You’re not normal?” I ask, my curiosity piquing. “The interesting people never are, demon slayer.

Dear, my life is just as confined as yours, but I am all right with it. Who knows what’s out there. We are all meant for different things. But if something piques your interest, then perhaps you are one of those to find out what can still your heart.

I had never been in love before Abby, and no one had even piqued my interest since. My life was the woman standing before me, and the family we’d made together.

Im used to being adored, but i have no interest in being adored. If you want me to fall in love with you, ignore me, pique my interest by being completely uninterested.

WAKE Dealing with an alcoholic single mother and endless hours of working at Heather Nursing Home to raise money for college, high-school senior Janie Hannagan doesn’t need more problems. But inexplicably, since she was eight years old, she has been pulled in to people’s dreams, witnessing their recurring fears, fantasies and secrets. Through Miss Stubin at Heather Home, Janie discovers that she is a dream catcher with the ability to help others resolve their haunting dreams. After taking an interest in former bad boy Cabel, she must distinguish between the monster she sees in his nightmares and her romantic feelings for him. And when she learns more about Cabel’s covert identity, Janie just may be able to use her special dream powers to help solve crimes in a suspense-building ending with potential for a sequel. McMann lures teens in by piquing their interest in the mysteries of the unknown, and keeps them with quick-paced, gripping narration and supportive characters.

Why do we love anyone? It just happens. There’s something about the person which speaks to us. Then, in exploring it, we discover that those qualities which piqued our interest are far more outstanding than we knew. We continue to reach for each other, and somewhere along the line our souls communicate.

Do you want me to drive you home? Because I was thinking of taking you somewhere else first, if you’re interested.” My curiosity is piqued. “Where?” His blue eyes twinkle mischievously. “It’s a surprise.” “A good surprise?” “Is there any other kind?” “Um, yeah. I can think of a hundred bad surprises off the top of my head.” “Name one,” he challenges. “Okay—you’re set up on a blind date, and you show up at the restaurant and Ted Bundy is sitting at the table.” Logan grins at me. “Bundy is your go-to answer for everything, huh?” “It appears so.” “Fine. Well, point taken. And I promise, it’s a good surprise. Or in the very least, it’s neutral.” “All right. Surprise away then.

Wishing for things could sometimes call them forth. Wishing to study could incite a desire to do so, stimulate an interest. Reading about a region could pique interest in it, make you want to travel there and experience it. But passion could not be piped forth, could not be lured from its den by any known device or trick. It seemed to have a stubborn, independent life of its own, slumbering when it would be convenient for it to dance, springing forth when there was no reason for it, nowhere for it to spend itself.

If the regular length of a shot is increased, one becomes bored, but if you keep on making it longer, it piques your interest, and if you make it even longer, a new quality emerges, a special intensity of attention.’ This is Tarkovsky’s aesthetic in a nutshell.

I’ve opened the door to find her naked on her bed, her legs spread wide, while she teases her pussy and begs me to come fuck her. She stopped doing that a while back. Still, every once in a while she’ll try something like this, something designed to pique my interest. She should know by know that crazy bitches don’t get my dick hard.

Ruthanna said, her interest piqued. Maya shook her head

Now their interest was piqued.

So far no female piqued his interest, tempted the dark bastard inside of him. But then he saw her, and everything in him stilled.

I pity those reviewers above, and people like them, who ridicule authors like R.A. Boulay and other proponents of similar Ancient Astronaut theories, simply for putting forth so many interesting questions (because that's really what he often throughout openly admits is all he does does) in light of fascinating and thought-provoking references which are all from copious sources. Some people will perhaps only read the cover and introduction and dismiss it as soon as any little bit of information flies in the face of their beliefs or normalcy biases. Some of those people, I'm sure, are some of the ones who reviewed this book so negatively without any constructive criticism or plausible rebuttal. It's sad to see how programmed and indoctrinated the vast majority of humanity has become to the ills of dogma, indoctrination, unverified status quos and basic ignorance; not to mention the laziness and conformity that results in such acquiescence and lack of critical thinking or lack of information gathering to confirm or debunk something. Too many people just take what's spoon fed to them all their lives and settle for it unquestioningly. For those people I like to offer a great Einstein quote and one of my personal favorites and that is: "Condemnation without investigation is the highest form of ignorance" I found this book to be a very interesting gathering of information and collection of obscure and/or remote antiquated information, i.e. biblical, sacred, mythological and otherwise, that we were not exactly taught to us in bible school, or any other public school for that matter. And I am of the school of thought that has been so for intended purposes. The author clearly cites all his fascinating sources and cross-references them rather plausibly. He organizes the information in a sequential manner that piques ones interest even as he jumps from one set of information to the next. The information, although eclectic as it spans from different cultures and time periods, interestingly ties together in several respects and it is this synchronicity that makes the information all the more remarkable. For those of you who continue to seek truth and enlightenment because you understand that an open mind makes for and lifelong pursuit of such things I leave you with these Socrates quotes: "True wisdom comes to each of us when we realize how little we understand about life, ourselves, and the world around us.

I’ll admit the situation piqued my interest, but there are 101 things in life I simply don’t have the patience for, and finding someone else’s rotting heart in the floorboards of my shop just about topped the list.

What I've done here this evening is just create a string of metaphors to try and pique your interest. Not once did I do justice to the truth of the situation or the depth of the psychedelic experience, because it cannot be told. It cannot be told. My technique is to tell the wildest, strangest story I can think of, claim that's the psychedelic experience, and leave it at that. But you should all know that the journey begins where the words stop.

doesn’t matter because his whole demeanor spells p-r-i-c-k. When Cookie opened the cognac to sweeten his coffee, the major had sniffled to himself and said something to the captain sitting next to him. The captain was from the 101st and more or less ignored whatever the major seemed to have on his mind. The captain was looking forward to the same pleasures that we were, and obviously had no interest in engaging in some chickenshit games. Obviously the major’s pique is heightened

And I begin to see it. How a man may hardly know his sister, and meet her as a grown woman. She is like himself, yet not. She is familiar, yet piques his interest. One day his brotherly embrace is a little longer than usual. The business progresses from there. Perhaps neither party feels they are doing anything wrong, till some frontier is crossed.

Barbie seemed much more emotional. “Alicia, darling, I’ve missed you. You’re so thin, there’s nothing left of you. I’m so jealous. How are you? That awful woman nearly didn’t let me see you. It’s been a nightmare—” So it went, an endless stream of inane chatter from Barbie, details of her trip to San Diego to visit her mother and brother. Alicia just sat there, silent, her face a mask, betraying nothing, showing nothing. After about twenty minutes, the monologue mercifully ended. Alicia was led away by Yuri, as uninterested as she was when she had entered. I approached Barbie as she was leaving the Grove. “Can I have a word?” Barbie nodded, as if she had been expecting this. “You want to talk to me about Alicia? It’s about time somebody asked me some goddamn questions. The police didn’t want to hear anything—which was crazy, because Alicia confided in me all the time, you know? About everything. She told me things you wouldn’t believe.” Barbie said this with a definite emphasis and gave me a coy smile. She knew she had piqued my interest.

The first true newspapers, which conveyed information from around the world and were intended for a wide audience, started to be circulated in the early seventeenth century….By 1640, there were nine newspapers in Amsterdam alone…A few decades later there were hundreds of dailies across Europe. The news had finally become a business. Anything that might pique readers’ interest and boost sales was considered newsworthy by the publishers, regardless of whether it was actually important. This fundamental fraud - the new being sold as the relevant - has persisted to this day. It remains the dominant model in print, online, on social media, the radio and television.

Cribbage!” I declared, pulling out the board, a deck of cards, and pen and paper, “Ben and I are going to teach you. Then we can all play.” “What makes you think I don’t know how to play cribbage?” Sage asked. “You do?” Ben sounded surprised. “I happen to be an excellent cribbage player,” Sage said. “Really…because I’m what one might call a cribbage master,” Ben said. “I bet I’ve been playing longer than you,” Sage said, and I cast my eyes his way. Was he trying to tell u something? “I highly doubt that,” Ben said, “but I believe we’ll see the proof when I double-skunk you.” “Clearly you’re both forgetting it’s a three-person game, and I’m ready to destroy you both,” I said. “Deal ‘em,” Ben said. Being a horse person, my mother was absolutely convinced she could achieve world peace if she just got the right parties together on a long enough ride. I didn’t know about that, but apparently cribbage might do the trick. I didn’t know about that, but apparently cribbage might do the trick. The three of us were pretty evenly matched, and Ben was impressed enough to ask sage how he learned to play. Turned out Sage’s parents were historians, he said, so they first taught him the precursor to cribbage, a game called noddy. “Really?” Ben asked, his professional curiosity piqued. “Your parents were historians? Did they teach?” “European history. In Europe,” Sage said. “Small college. They taught me a lot.” Yep, there was the metaphorical gauntlet. I saw the gleam in Ben’s eye as he picked it up. “Interesting,” he said. “So you’d say you know a lot about European history?” “I would say that. In fact, I believe I just did.” Ben grinned, and immediately set out to expose Sage as an intellectual fraud. He’d ask questions to trip Sage up and test his story, things I had no idea were tests until I heard Sage’s reactions. “So which of Shakespeare’s plays do you think was better served by the Globe Theatre: Henry VIII or Troilus and Cressida?” Ben asked, cracking his knuckles. “Troilus and Cressida was never performed at the Globe,” Sage replied. “As for Henry VIII, the original Globe caught fire during the show and burned to the ground, so I’d say that’s the show that really brought down the house…wouldn’t you?” “Nice…very nice.” Ben nodded. “Well done.” It was the cerebral version of bamboo under the fingernails, and while they both tried to seem casual about their conversation, they were soon leaning forward with sweat beading on their brows. It was fascinating…and weird. After several hours of this, Ben had to admit that he’d found a historical peer, and he gleefully involved Sage in all kinds of debates about the minutiae of eras I knew nothing about…except that I had the nagging sense I might have been there for some of them. For his part, Sage seemed to relish talking about the past with someone who could truly appreciate the detailed anecdotes and stories he’d discovered in his “research.” By the time we started our descent to Miami, the two were leaning over my seat to chat and laugh together. On the very full flight from Miami to New York, Ben and Sage took the two seats next to each other and gabbed and giggled like middle-school girls. I sat across from them stuck next to an older woman wearing far too much perfume.

Rockton is no more Oliver than Churchgrove is Lord Kirkwood,” Lady Minerva said stoutly. “Then why did you steal my name for him?” Oliver asked. “It’s not quite your name, old chap,” Lord Gabriel said. “And you know perfectly well that Minerva likes to tweak your nose from time to time.” “Stop calling me ‘old,’ blast it,” Oliver grumbled. “I’m not some doddering fool.” “How old are you, anyway?” Maria asked him, amused by his vanity. “Thirty-five.” Mrs. Plumtree had said little until now, but apparently the conversation had piqued her interest. “That’s long past the age when a man should marry, don’t you think, Miss Butterfield?” Aware of Oliver’s gaze on her, Maria chose her words carefully. “I suppose it depends on the man. Papa didn’t marry until he was nearly that age. He was too busy fighting in the Revolutionary War to court anyone.” When the blood drained from Mrs. Plumtree’s face, Oliver’s eyes held a glint of triumph. “Ah, yes, the Revolutionary War. Did I forget to mention, Gran, that Mr. Butterfield was a soldier in the Continental Marines?” The table got very quiet. Lady Minerva focused on eating her soup. Lady Celia took several sips of wine, one after another, and Lord Jarret stared into his soup bowl as if it contained the secret to life. The only real sound punctuating the silence was Lord Gabriel’s muttered “bloody hell.” Clearly, there was some undercurrent here that Maria didn’t understand. Oliver was watching his grandmother again like a wolf about to pounce, and Mrs. Plumtree was clearly contemplating which weapon would best hold the wolf at bay. “Uncle Adam was a hero,” Freddy put in, oblivious as usual to undercurrents of any kind. “At the Battle of Princeton, he held off ten of the British until help could arrive. It was just him and his bayonet, slashing and stabbing-“ “Freddy,” Maria chided under her breath, “our hosts are British, remember?

But what about the things that you CANNOT do with the electronic version [of a book]? You cannot drop the computer on the floor in a fit of pique, or slam it shut. You cannot leave a bookmark with a note on it in a computer and then come upon it after several years and feel happy you've found something you thought you had lost. You cannot get any sort of tactile pleasure from rubbing the pages of a computer. (Maybe some people do get a tactile pleasure from rubbing their computers, but they are not people I have any interest in knowing anything about.) Reading on a computer screen gives you no sense of time or investment. The page always looks the same, and everything else is always in the same exact spot. When reading a book, no matter how large or small it is, a tension builds, concurrent with your progress through its pages. I get a nervous excitement as I see the number of pages that remain to be read draining inexorably from the right to the left... I've never sat down at a new computer and, prior to using it, felt a deep and abiding need to open it up and sniff it as deeply as I can, the way I have with my a book...and though a computer will inarguably hold far more information than even the largest of books, sitting down at a computer has never provided me with that delicious anticipatory sense that I am about to be utterly and rhapsodically transported by the words within it. I've never looked across the room at my computer and fondly remembered things that I once read in it. I can while away hours at a time just standing in front of my books and relive my favourite passages by merely gazing at their spines. I have never walked into a room full of computers, far from home, and immediately felt a warm familiarity come over me, the way I have with every library I've ever set foot in. It is not so much that I am anti-computer; I am resolutely and stubbornly pro-book.

Feature dumps: I dislike them and so do buyers, but without an ample grasp of the problems your buyers face you will fall into this inept selling practice. Feature dumping is when salespeople blindly list the various features and benefits of their product or service in the hope that one may pique their potential customer’s curiosity. This does more harm than good, because even if one feature or benefit does kindle interest, the salesperson has also given the buyer numerous other reasons why his product or service is not a good fit.

Push versus Pull Marketing. Who wants to be pushed around? I certainly don’t. Statements push and questions pull. Don’t you prefer the latter? Questions pique interest and can keep the dialogue flowing when your other alternatives aren’t as attractive or magnetic.

do you need me to imply she was a distant relative of mine to have your interest piqued? And should that pique then be used to encourage an emotional investment in her? And for you to be emotionally invested in the well-being of an unknown woman, must she be someone you like? You know, she might not have been but, sure, I also might not be and you might be absolutely horrific. Let’s face it, we can never know. So,

A taboo enticement that piqued his interest, something that challenged his male nature to possess?

Then he tried to connect the dots by asking lots of questions only about what had just piqued his interest.

You have piqued my interest since the moment I laid eyes on you. Since I saw you and knew you were the last woman I ever wanted to look at.

Yet because Midas has made me a symbol, they can say whatever they want to assuage their curiosity. They believe my notoriety gives them the right to ask whatever obnoxious question piques their interest. But this is different. It’s not about what my gold body means to her. It’s what it meant for me.

Mark’s eternal bachelor status, Aaron’s fear of commitment, and my inability to meet a man who even remotely piqued my interest.

In further studies of the sun, his uncle’s research evaluated the accepted assumption that the sun is 4.5 billion years old. He tested it with a sophisticated computer model that piques Jeff’s interest. The model depicts a time-lapse history of the sun using the principles of nuclear fusion to calculate the sun’s brightness, given its age, size, and fuel.

People can't process all the information being presented to them. As a result, the person has a split mind that is easily distracted. Today's typical individual has an attention span of eight seconds, which is one second less than a goldfish. People run the actual risk of getting passed over if they can't pique others' interest and hold it.

Take him home, Kimmuriel. He is piquing the interest of too many now, and I fear his antics might lead them into situations that will confuse the entire collective!” Another joke? An exclamation spoken aloud and with passion? Kimmuriel had been desperately worried about subjecting his dearest friend to the intrusions of the mind flayers. Perhaps he should have been more worried about subjecting the illithids to the sensibilities of Jarlaxle.

And there is yet another possibility: our interest piqued, we may actually read or see that so-called original after we have experienced the adaptation, thereby challenging the authority of any notion of priority. Multiple versions exist laterally, not vertically.

nodded. “I met a Valtain, Zeryth, who teach me about them. He said he would introduce me, but…” Sammerin and Max exchanged a look. Max sat up straighter, suddenly attentive. “Zeryth Aldris?” “Yes.” I flicked my eyes between the two men across from me, my own interest piqued by theirs. “You know him?” “What was Zeryth doing in Threll?” Max asked. “He said — Order things.” I tried not to look too interested. “Why?” Silence for a second too long. “We’re just curious,” Sammerin said. “How do you know him?” “It’s a long story. We—

207, 2nd Floor, 3rd Main Rd, Chamrajpet, Bengaluru, Karnataka 560018 Call – +91 7022122121 ### The Development of Kannada Literature and the Rise of Online Accessibility The rich history of Kannada literature, which stretches back more than a millennium and is littered with vibrant narratives, poetic forms, and academic works, is extensive. The development of Kannada writing has been both rich and varied, ranging from the ancient texts of the 9th century to contemporary novels and essays. The way readers interact with their literary heritage has changed significantly as the digital age has progressed, making Kannada literature significantly more accessible. Thanks to platforms like Veeraloka Books, readers can now explore the depths of Kannada literature without being restricted by location. By making it possible for customers to purchase books with just a single click, these online retailers have created a link between readers and authors. This progress from customary physical book shops to computerized stages has been critical in advancing Kannada writing, guaranteeing its significance in a quickly impacting world. The extensive selection of titles offered by Kannada books online is one of the most significant benefits. Poetry, fiction, historical novels, and biographies are all forms of Kannada literature. Stages, for example, Veeraloka Books curate a huge determination of these works, taking care of different peruser interests. Because literature has become more accessible to everyone, you can find something that piques your interest whether you're a casual reader or an avid collector. In addition, readers can get their beloved books delivered to their homes through Kannada books online, saving them the hassle of going through crowded stores or standing in long lines. People who live in remote areas or in areas with few bookstore options will appreciate this convenience. Online platforms remove barriers and foster a deeper connection between authors and their audiences by delivering Kannada literature to your doorstep. Sales alone are not enough to stop the digital transformation of Kannada literature; It also includes promoting fresh and upcoming authors. Online platforms make it easier for aspiring authors to have their voices heard in a more democratic setting than traditional publishing avenues. Self-publishing on platforms like Veeraloka Books has helped numerous authors reach a larger audience than ever before. This change ensures that the literary landscape remains dynamic and vibrant by encouraging experimentation and innovation in Kannada writing. E-books and audiobooks have also become more widely available, making them more accessible. These choices provide readers who prefer digital formats with portability and flexibility. Younger readers who are accustomed to using smartphones and tablets can now more easily access Kannada literature. Audiobooks cater to those who enjoy listening to stories during their daily commutes or while multitasking, while e-books are portable, making it simple to read on the go. Moreover, the web empowers perusers to draw in with writing in manners that were already impossible. Discussions of books, authors, and literary themes can flourish on social media, online forums, and other platforms. Perusers can associate with one another, share surveys, and effectively partake in the abstract talk encompassing Kannada composing. The community of readers of Kannada literature is also bolstered by this interaction, which not only enhances the reading experience. In conclusion, Kannada literature faces both challenges and opportunities in the digital age. Platforms like Veeraloka Books make it easier for people with disabilities to access literature, allowing it to flourish.

207, 2nd Floor, 3rd Main Rd, Chamrajpet, Bengaluru, Karnataka 560018 Call – +91 7022122121 Kannada Books Purchase: Where to Buy Kannada Books? Finding a good place to buy authentic, diverse, and high-quality Kannada books is essential for readers. Veeraloka Books is a beacon for readers who are enthusiastic about Karnataka's extensive literary heritage. Veeraloka Books is a reliable resource for all things Kannada literature, including contemporary fiction, poetry, and academic titles. Why literature in Kannada? One of India's oldest languages, Kannada has a rich and varied literary tradition. The world of Kannada literature is vast and rich, from epics like Pampa Bharata to contemporary works by Jnanpith award winners like Kuvempu and U.R. Ananthamurthy. Whether they are interested in folklore, spiritual texts, history, or contemporary novels, readers of all ages and interests can find books that pique their interest. It is difficult to locate a dependable and dedicated platform for Kannada Books Purchase in the digital age of today. Veeraloka Books, with its extensive collection of Kannada literature for book lovers, emerges as an essential destination in this area. Veeraloka Books – Your Reliable Source for Kannada Books Veeraloka Books is more than just a bookstore; it is also a gathering place for Kannada literature enthusiasts looking for a wide range of books in one location. The goal of the platform is to make high-quality Kannada books available to readers in Karnataka and elsewhere. Veeraloka Books has books for everyone, whether you're looking for new releases, classics, or rare books. Characteristics of Veeraloka Books: Complete Collection: Veeraloka Books takes great pride in its extensive collection of Kannada books. The platform ensures that readers have access to a diverse selection of options, ranging from literary works to academic publications, children's books to biographies, and everything in between. Support for Authors in the Area: Veeraloka Books is focused on advancing neighborhood writers and distributers. Veeraloka Books not only helps readers discover new voices but also supports the development of Kannada literature by providing a platform for upcoming authors. Titles that are hard to find: Veeraloka Books is a good option if you want to buy rare Kannada books or are a book collector. They make it easier for readers to complete their collections or discover long-lost literary treasures by curating rare and difficult-to-find books. Easy-to-Use Online Purchase: Convenience is essential in the fast-paced world of today. Veeraloka Books makes it simple to buy books online. You can browse, select, and purchase your favorite Kannada books with just a few clicks, and they will be delivered to your door. A focus on the customer: Customer satisfaction is a top priority at Veeraloka Books. They make sure that customers have a pleasant and easy shopping experience with their dedicated customer service. Their team is always ready to help, whether you need advice, have questions, or run into problems. Why Shop at Veeraloka Books for Kannada Books? Platforms like Veeraloka Books are crucial to the preservation and promotion of Kannada literature in a time when mainstream content frequently takes precedence over regional literature. You are not only adding to your personal library by purchasing Kannada books from Veeraloka, but you are also supporting the ongoing development of Kannada literary culture. In addition, Veeraloka Books provides competitive pricing, making it possible for readers from all walks of life to purchase their preferred books without breaking the bank. In conclusion, Veeraloka Books is your one-stop shop if you want to buy Kannada books. Veeraloka Books makes purchasing Kannada literature a pleasurable and enriching experience with a large collection, a strong emphasis on author promotion, and a simple platform.

The last thing I needed on this earth was to involve myself with a man. And that man, in particular? He was regret waiting to happen. Something about the predatory grace of his movements filled me with unease. He didn’t have to ink tattoos on his skin or carry a gun on his hip to broadcast a threat. The lethal confidence he exuded did the job far more efficiently than any overt warning. He carried himself with a kind of self-possessed aloofness that distinguished him from every person around him. That was probably why he was the only man who’d piqued my interest since I had arrived in New York. I seemed to enjoy picking especially challenging men. It was a talent of mine.

Emily was different. I knew so because as often as she found herself watching me, I studied her just as intently. Unlike her, I’d had years to master my skills of observation. She had no idea she’d even registered on my radar, but she’d piqued my interest from the moment she first slipped into the back of my class. It quickly became clear that she didn’t talk with others out of a desire to connect. She did it out of obligation, only engaging in minimal conversations to maintain propriety

It was that intangible sense of irregularity that piqued my interest to an irresistible degree. Beautiful women were everywhere, but this one had secrets. Dark secrets.

Where does this lead?” I asked, untangling my hair from a low-hanging branch. “The ruins,” Ravyn answered. “The original castle. Or what’s left of it.” Piqued, the Nightmare’s interest spurred my steps, and I followed the Captain of the Destriers through a particularly dense thicket to a meadow beyond. My eyes widened as I took in the landscape—the dewy grass, the enormous trees, and the graveyard of stonework: the last remains of a crumbled castle, nestled in the mist.

I could never be in a relationship with someone who didn’t pique my interest. I needed a man who kept me engaged. Someone who brought excitement to each day and anticipation to my nights.

Going to Moscow was a dream for us,' Ilich said years later. He and his younger brother started the course within weeks of Soviet tanks rolling into Czechoslovakia to crush the heady 'Prague Spring'. But they soon found that discipline at the cosmopolitan university, whose 6000 students were all selected through the Communist Party of their country of origin, was as stifling as its modernist architecture. Drab grey concrete blocks squatted around a charmless artificial pond. The only dash of colour was a map of the world painted on to the façade of one block in a valiant attempt to symbolise the ideals of the university: from an open book, symbol of learning, a torch emerges, issuing multicoloured flames that spread like waves across the planisphere. Perhaps Ilich drew some comfort from glancing up at the mural as, huddled against the rigours of the Russian winter and wearing a black beret in tribute to Che Guevara who had died riddled by bullets in October of the previous year, he trudged across the bleak square on his way to lectures. Coincidentally, the base of the flame is very close to Venezuela. Rules and regulations governed virtually every aspect of Ilich's life from the moment he started the first year's induction course, which was designed to flesh out his knowledge of the Russian language and introduce him to the delights of Marxist society before he launched into his chosen subjects, languages and chemistry. Like father, like son. Ilich rebelled against the rules, preferring to spend his time chasing girls. He would often crawl back to his room drunk. His professors at the university, some of them children of Spanish Civil War veterans who had sought refuge in Moscow, were unimpressed by his academic performance. 'His name alone, Ilich Ramírez Sánchez, was so strange that people were curious about him,' relates Kirill Privalov, a journalist on the newspaper Druzhba (Friendship) which was printed at the small university press, and an acquaintance of Ilich. The Venezuelan's escapades, wildly excessive by the standards of the university, only fanned people's interest. 'llich was not at all the typical student sent by his country's Communist Party, nothing to do with the good little soldier of Mao who laboured in the fields every summer. He was a handsome young man although his cheeks looked swollen, and he was a great bon viveur. Flush with cash sent by his parents, Ilich could afford to spend lavishly on whisky and champagne in the special stores that only accepted payment in hard currencies and which were off-limits to most people. More Russian than the Russians, the privileged student and his friends would throw over their shoulders not only empty glasses but bottles as well. The university authorities, frustrated in their attempts to impose discipline on Ilich, reasoned that his freedom of action would be drastically limited if the allowance that his father sent him were reduced. But when they asked Ramírez Navas to be less generous, the father, piqued, retorted that his son had never wanted for anything. 'The university had a sort of vice squad, and at night students were supposed either to study or sleep,' recounts Privalov. "One night the patrol entered Ilich's room and saw empty bottles of alcohol and glasses on the table, but he was apparently alone. The squad opened the cupboard door and a girl who was completely drunk fell out. She was naked and was clutching her clothes in her hands. They asked her what she was doing there and she answered: 'I feel pity for the oppressed.' She was obviously a prostitute. Another time, and with another girl, Ilich didn't bother to hide her in the cupboard. He threw her out of the window. This one was fully dressed and landed in two metres of snow a foor or two below. She got up unhurt and shouted abuse at him.

That’s when I first saw her—the most compelling woman I’d ever laid eyes on. Gorgeous, yes, but it was more than that. She radiated a power, a confidence, and a no-holds-barred attitude that really piqued my interest.

 “Isn’t that kind of an intimate thing to say to a stranger?” Her tone betrayed her. I knew how to read body language, and hers was telling me that she was interested. I’d more than piqued her curiosity. “Ah, we’re not strangers, Annie,” I whispered against her lips. “We’ve already shared a cozy elevator ride, I’ve cleaned your top, and you’ve sent me a very odd a picture of a question-mark clock. We’re practically dating.

Stanbridge’s text continues with a variety of phrases a schoolboy needs to know, presented in seemingly random order: “I am weary of study. I am weary of my life… . I am almost beshitten. You stink… . Turd in your teeth… . I will kill you with my own knife. He is the biggest coward that ever pissed.” Clearly Stanbridge chose topics that would interest young boys, but he is not trying to pique their interest by using bad words.

So.....you’re the guy Maggie’s got the hots for.” Maggie rolled her eyes and dropped her head into her hands. Leave it to Shad to just come right out with it. From her dejected position, she couldn’t see Johnny’s response, but she felt his interest pique like a blow torch aimed right at her face. Her neck and cheeks flamed hot. “Johnny Kinross - in the flesh,” Shad was warming up to the subject now, his lines right out of a poorly-written made-for-TV movie. “You are Johnny Kinross, right? I mean...I never saw you. But I think we had a pretty good relationship.” Maggie sputtered, a laugh erupting from her chest. Shad swiveled his head and gave her his “Shut-up-woman!” lips and his “domineering male” chin thrust. He was talking again before Maggie could give him her “you’ve-got-ten-seconds-to-vacate-the-premises-before-I-cut-you” glare in response.

After all, your life is just as valuable as the other person’s life, isn’t it?” “Yes, of course,” the recorded me replied. The recorded Aldous nodded. “Thank you,” he said, turning to leave the room. “But I’d still sacrifice myself,” the recorded me suddenly called after him. That selfless admission caused the holographic Aldous to turn, his expression intrigued, his interest piqued for the first time in the conversation. “You would?” he asked, tilting his head quizzically. “Why? That would be illogical.” “Would it?” the recorded me reacted, appearing confused. “It appears logical to me.” “How so?” “Because the one who has the power to choose who lives and who dies should use that power to save the other. To do otherwise would still be selfish. It would still be monstrous.

My Teacher Told Me     Monsieur Dubois waited for me at his suite to commence our private tutorial. Since his other students Albert and Narnia had their lessons in the morning, they were at The Imperial’s swimming pool frolicking with their respective chaperones, leaving me alone with my professor. The moment I walked in, he said, “Young, you did well at last evening’s TransZendental session.” “I thought I had been summoned by the prince but he wasn’t there,” I commented. “He was! Didn’t you see him?” Alain remarked sarcastically. “He was?” This piece of information piqued my interest. I continued, “By the way, who was the man I was paired with?” “Don’t you recognize him?” my teacher teased. “No, who?” “Couldn’t you identify his touch and smell?” I remarked fondly, “All I could smell was sandalwood and the man’s loving touch. I couldn’t help melting into his gallantry. Who was he?” Just then my Valet came into the room. “Talking about the devil, here he is.” “Andy! It was Andy!” I exclaimed. “Your burka harnesses had worked wonders to revivify the fervent connections you felt for each other. That’s the reason I chose the two of you, to demonstrate to the prince and the sheik how they, too, could open themselves up to one another,” my teacher declared. Surprised by Dubois’ exposition, I questioned, “You mean they are together? I mean, they’re an item?” Alain gave a gratifying laugh before answering, “That’s correct. They are now unofficially a couple.

Talking Dog One day, while driving in the country, a man noticed a sign that said “Talking Dog for Sale.”  The sign pointed to a farm house off the road just a bit.  The man’s interest was piqued so he pulled off the road and headed up to the farm house. When he got there and inquired about the talking dog, the farmer told him the talking dog was around the back of the farm house.  The farmer said the man was welcome to go in back and talk with the dog. The man was in a serious state of disbelief, because he knew dogs couldn’t talk.  Still he was very curious so he headed around to the backyard. In the backyard the man noticed a poodle that quickly came up to him.  The man thought to himself, “Hmmm poodles are supposed to be smart dogs.” “Can you really talk?” the man asked the poodle. “I sure can,” replied back the poodle. “Wow,” exclaimed the man.  Wanting to hear more he asked, “So what’s your story?” “I discovered I could talk when I was very young,” said the poodle.  “I knew I had a real gift so I thought I should do something about it.  I joined the CIA and became one of their very best spies.  I was sent on many secret missions.  I traveled all around the world and was involved in many interesting and intriguing cases. I even helped save the life of the President on two occasions. After eight years I got tired of all the jetting around and decided to retire.  I was given several awards for all my achievements and a gala dinner, attended by many important people, was held in my honor.  I was given a full government pension and brought to this farm to enjoy the rest of my life.” After hearing all this, the man was astounded.  He quickly went back to the farmer and said, “I want that dog!  I will buy it at any price.  How much do you want for that dog?” “Ten dollars,” was the farmer’s reply. “Ten dollars?” the man said in disbelief.  “That dog is amazing, why on earth would you sell it for so little?” “Because he’s a big liar; he didn’t do any of those things!

What piqued my interest was a presentation your lead UI designer made about the different methods you use for data analysis, and how this helps you build a better product. I’m very quantitative, so I really want to work for such a data-driven company.

It was just enough pique his interest.

Customers are not interested in your story. They are, rather, interested in being invited into a story that has them surviving and winning in the end. Instead of telling your story, the first stage of your marketing plan should pique a customer’s curiosity about how their own story could be made better.

Celeste’s brother died in a car accident.” “Yeah,” he confirms. “Drag racing.” “Right.” I focus on the billowing flame while I spill. Even the thought of this guy incites a murderous rage inside me, but I don’t want to reveal that now. “She has a picture of him with his best friend, who was in the car with him. It’s Easton Lancaster, Pruitt’s older brother.” That piques his interest. He chucks his sucker stick and straightens to attention, jaw tight. “And?” “Before she even told me the guy’s name, I recognized him. His face is familiar. I couldn’t place him, but—” “You don’t think he’s dead?” He starts sifting through a box of USB flash drives in his drawer. “I don’t.” My pulse accelerates. Snick. Flick. Flame. Curling and uncurling my fist in my lap, I clarify the hunch part. “My gut tells me he’s a missing piece.

crying—which piques Sophia’s interest. This is like some middle-aged version of Love Island.

Dolores stops, covers her face with her hands. She’s crying—which piques Sophia’s interest. This is like some middle-aged version of Love Island.

The fact this girl has tweaked my interest even a modicum amount has my curiosity piqued.

The Queen and I attended many of the sales calls in person, to explain these complexities. I traveled to Boston to meet with some of the top U.S. fund managers, including the managers of two of the largest emerging markets mutual funds in the world, Rob Citrone, portfolio manager at Fidelity Investments, and Mark Siegel, vice president and head of emerging markets at Putnam Investment Management. Both of them, as well as dozens of other fund managers, gave BIDS a big thumbs down. The trade was too complicated, and the fees we were charging were too large. The BIDS deal ended a failure, although it probably would have been worse if Scarecrow had been involved throughout. On the one hand, we were only able to sell $21 million of BIDS in total, mostly because we couldn’t pique the interest of U.S. investors. On the other hand, we were able to charge such an enormous fee on the BIDS we actually sold that the group still grossed half a million dollars in profits.

There’s something about her that’s piqued my interest, the sass, maybe, or the sarcasm. There’s a softness to her, too, something lurking just beneath the surface, like she’s trying to hide.

Thank you.” She began to butter the bread, placed a sliver of cheese on top, and continued. “Apparently he referred to himself as a ‘foundling.’ The term is a bit old-fashioned, and was enough to pique my interest. I remembered the Foundling Hospital, the one built by Thomas Coram in the 1700s. It only moved out of London about four or five years ago, and now it’s in Redhill.

eliminate it from their records?” Wheeler snorted his disgust. “Mr. McRyan, I’ve been cooperative with you because that’s generally my nature. I’m not looking for trouble, but I think I’ve had quite enough of your questioning. Are you a cop with any jurisdiction up here?” “Nope,” Mac responded, holding his ground. “But let me ask you a question. Do you really think that makes me less dangerous to you?” “Is that a threat?” Wheeler asked. “What do you think?” Mac retorted, glaring. Wheeler looked at Rawlings. “Sheriff, is Mr. McRyan working with your office, either officially or unofficially?” “No, Mr. Wheeler, he is not. But he is someone who is a serious person that I have to respect. He’s asking questions, interesting questions, about a case I care very much about.” “Sheriff, do you have a search warrant for my premises?” “No, I don’t, Mr. Wheeler.” “Am I or my company under investigation?” Rawlings shook his head. “Not by my office at the moment, but I remain interested in the Buller case. Four people were murdered, including two very young children. Mr. McRyan has raised certain specific issues that have once again piqued my interest in that case.” “I understood that case to be closed.” “It is perhaps not an active investigation, but it is not closed,” Rawlings replied. “There’s been no arrest. There is a theory as to what happened, but that’s all it is—a theory.” Mac looked back with a cunning smile and said, “Theories change, Mr. Wheeler. Evidence, like oil, bubbles up to the surface.” “That’s enough,” Wheeler retorted, standing up, coming around the desk, and getting into McRyan’s space. “I don’t like your tone or what either of you are accusing me or my company of.” Wheeler pointed to the door. “Sheriff, you want to get a search warrant, get a search warrant, but I think you won’t. And Mr. McRyan, if you want any more information, here’s the number for our lawyer.

Melvin Belli arrived at the jail on September 19. He met Adashek and Ruth, who had traveled on the bus all night to be there, and they went into the jail together. Belli knew he didn’t have the time to represent Ramirez if his case proceeded to trial, but he thought it was a very important, interesting case, and he viewed Richard as a unique phenomenon, if all they were saying about him was true. He only knew what he’d read in the papers, and it was enough to pique his professional interest.

Books are more interesting than you can imagine. Read books of every genre. If you want to learn to live a better life, read self-help books. If you want to learn how to think better, read great philosophers. If you want to become mentally strong, read spiritual books. If you want to spice up your life, read fantasy. If you want to understand humans, read fiction. Books have it all. Read books and feed your brain. In your free time, or what you call ‘alone time’, take out a book and read at least 5 pages. Allow yourself to drown in the pool of words. Read books on the topics that pique your interest. Read books written by your industry expert and learn what they have learned after spending decades working. Read books written by people who inspire you and make yourself a tiny part of them by consuming their words. Enough of excuses and drama. You have got so much to look forward to. So much to grow and learn. And books are the easiest way to learn and grow in life.

But gold was not what piqued his interest. It was too heavy and too risky for one man to dispose of.

WHITE PEACH AND BLUEBERRY SALAD WITH ROSE SYRUP Salade de Pêches Blanches à la Rose It's nearly impossible to improve on the white peaches in Provence, but I did find a bottle of locally made rose syrup in the boulangerie that piqued my interest. This makes a quick but surprisingly elegant dessert for guests. 4 perfectly ripe white peaches, cut into 1/2-inch slices 1 cup blueberries 1-2 teaspoons rose syrup Combine all the ingredients. Serves 4. Tip: Rose syrup is available online and from some specialty supermarkets. A small bottle will keep forever in the fridge. You can use it to make champagne cocktails or raspberry smoothies, or to flavor a yogurt cake. You may find rosewater, which is unsweetened (and very concentrated), at a Middle Eastern grocery. Use it sparingly (a few drops plus 1 or 2 teaspoons of sugar for this recipe), otherwise your fruit salad will taste like soap.

Unfortunately for her, the little nymph has piqued my interest.

Scenes from Scream and Halloween pique the interest of the mask-loving part of me that usually lies dormant between my thighs.

When finished it had been the most ornate room in all of Germany, the first to be completed at the palace in the early 1880s. But no one ever slept here. Instead, it had been created only for show. Slender and Sinewy tried to act interested. But they weren’t. Their interest would be piqued shortly. In his brain he visualized the schematic of the second floor that he’d studied on the walk over. The ability came from an eidetic memory inherited from his mother’s side of the family. Not photographic, as many called it. Just a remarkable ability to recall details.

As for the incident mentioned in the article, the fact that the specific detail that piqued my interest was the date on which it occurred was perhaps because there was nothing really unusual about the main details, especially when compared with what happens daily in a place dominated by the roar of occupation and ceaseless killing.

I’ll be honest with you.” His voice turns wry. “Receiving a call out of the blue that Reverend Cornier’s daughter wished to speak with me certainly piqued my interest. My history with your daddy goes back.

Honestly, I’ve never met a woman who piqued my interest enough to give up my bachelor's status. I enjoy being a lone wolf and don’t want to change a single thing in my life.

The GOAL of the pitch deck content is to convey the 5 T’s that pique an investor’s interest. The 5 T’s are Team, Tactical Advantage, Total Addressable Market, Traction to Date, and Terms of the Deal.

3M didn’t sell raw materials, so there was no business to transact. But McKnight—curiosity piqued and on the prowl for interesting new ideas that might move the company forward—asked a simple question: “Why does Mr. Okie want these samples?”35

Despite Noetic Science’s use of cutting-edge technologies, the discoveries themselves were far more mystical than the cold, high-tech machines that were producing them. The stuff of magic and myth was fast becoming reality as the shocking new data poured in, all of it supporting the basic ideology of Noetic Science—the untapped potential of the human mind. The overall thesis was simple: We have barely scratched the surface of our mental and spiritual capabilities. Experiments at facilities like the Institute of Noetic Sciences (IONS) in California and the Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research Lab (PEAR) had categorically proven that human thought, if properly focused, had the ability to affect and change physical mass. Their experiments were no “spoon-bending” parlor tricks, but rather highly controlled inquiries that all produced the same extraordinary result: our thoughts actually interacted with the physical world, whether or not we knew it, effecting change all the way down to the subatomic realm. Mind over matter. In 2001, in the hours following the horrifying events of September 11, the field of Noetic Science made a quantum leap forward. Four scientists discovered that as the frightened world came together and focused in shared grief on this single tragedy, the outputs of thirty-seven different Random Event Generators around the world suddenly became significantly less random. Somehow, the oneness of this shared experience, the coalescing of millions of minds, had affected the randomizing function of these machines, organizing their outputs and bringing order from chaos. The shocking discovery, it seemed, paralleled the ancient spiritual belief in a “cosmic consciousness”—a vast coalescing of human intention that was actually capable of interacting with physical matter. Recently, studies in mass meditation and prayer had produced similar results in Random Event Generators, fueling the claim that human consciousness, as Noetic author Lynne McTaggart described it, was a substance outside the confines of the body . . . a highly ordered energy capable of changing the physical world. Katherine had been fascinated by McTaggart’s book The Intention Experiment, and her global, Web-based study—theintentionexperiment.com—aimed at discovering how human intention could affect the world. A handful of other progressive texts had also piqued Katherine’s interest. From this foundation, Katherine Solomon’s research had vaulted forward, proving that “focused thought” could affect literally anything—the growth rate of plants, the direction that fish swam in a bowl, the manner in which cells divided in a petri dish, the synchronization of separately automated systems, and the chemical reactions in one’s own body. Even the crystalline structure of a newly forming solid was rendered mutable by one’s mind; Katherine had created beautifully symmetrical ice crystals by sending loving thoughts to a glass of water as it froze. Incredibly, the converse was also true: when she sent negative, polluting thoughts to the water, the ice crystals froze in chaotic, fractured forms. Human thought can literally transform the physical world.

This girl should have never piqued my interest. I’m a fucking twenty-four year old man, but the second I laid my eyes on her, something happened. My pain felt her pain and the monsters in us began to merge. The pain that is blatantly clear in her eyes is consuming me. That’s not even mentioning the bruises covering her entire body, bruises I know aren’t from me. Something’s been happening to her and I’m going to find out what…

while marketing puts the right words together to pique a customer’s interest and close the deal.

I crossed my arms. "Pray, be more specific, maestro," I said. "I'm afraid we rustic peasants have not your worldly experience." Grumbles from the audience, and their pointed daggers of curiosity were aimed at Master Antonius now. "Liesl," Papa warned. "You overreach yourself." "No, no, Georg," the old violinist said. "The young lady has a point." He smirked. "True genius is not just technical skill, yes? Any fool could learn to play all the right notes. It takes a certain... passion and brilliance to bring the notes together to say something true. Something real." I nodded in agreement. "Then if true genius is performance and ability and passion," I said, not daring to look at Papa, "perhaps my brother was ill-served by the choice of music." This piqued the old master's interest. He lifted his bushy brows, his dark eyes beady in his fleshy face. "So the little Fräulein fancies herself a better tutor than her father! Well, I am tickled. You amuse me, girl.

It’s not a purse—it’s a satchel. And if this were entirely dignified, don’t you think all the guys would be doing it? It’s a core part of the strategy. Men don’t own dogs like this. They own dogs like that.” She pointed to my phone. “It’s adorable. Trust me. You’ll be a chick magnet.” I didn’t care about being a chick magnet, but I liked the idea of having an inside joke with her for some reason. “Okay. You’ve piqued my interest. I’ll test your theory.” “And if I’m right?” “Then I’ll tell you that you were right.” She twisted her lips to one side. “No. Not good enough. If I’m right, you pose in some website pictures with my dog satchels. I need a male model.” Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?“Somehow this whole deal feels like I’m the loser.” I chuckled. Whatever. I was a good sport. “How are you the loser? I’m giving you the opportunity to use my highly trained hunting dog to lure scores of women into your bed.” I smirked. “You know, without sounding like an asshole, I don’t really have a hard time getting women.” She tilted her head. “Yeah, I can see that. You have the whole sexy fireman thing going for you.” She waved a hand over my body. I took a drink of my soda and grinned at her. “So you think I’m sexy, huh?” She pivoted to face me full on. “There’s something you should know about me, Josh. I say what I think. I don’t have a coy bone in my body. Yes, you’re sexy. Enjoy the compliment because you won’t always like what I say to you, and I won’t care one way or the other if you do or don’t.

A logline is a one-or two-sentence distillation of a story. It usually tells us who the protagonist is, what challenge or conflict or situation the protagonist will confront, and when the story takes place if it isn’t set in the present. Used by writers to keep themselves on track or as a marketing tool to pique the interest of a producer or an audience, a logline is not meant to tell the whole story or to reveal a surprise ending. A logline for Jaws could be, “A shark threatens a seaside town on the Fourth of July weekend.” A logline for Little Miss Sunshine might be, “In spite of innumerable obstacles, Olive and her family are determined to get to the Little Miss Sunshine pageant on time.

Here’s how you parlay—in a nutshell. You try to pique the interest of someone else by inspiring the basest of human desires: jealousy that the other person is going to miss out on lightning. I’ve got this BIG EXCITING THING going on, and this person and this person are interested, and boy wouldn’t you be bummed if you didn’t snatch this/me/it/whatever right up? What I failed to realize at the time was this: It’s not about the connections. It’s only about the work. Only. If you don’t have work that stands up on its own, you are toast.

Carl Jung, in addition to being a practicing psychiatrist, was one of the foremost experts on the study of religious and mythological symbology. It was work in both these fields that led him to the discovery of the archetypes. In studying the myths and religions of cultures past and present Jung noticed that many of them shared similar patterns, themes, and symbols. This was interesting in its own right, but what further piqued Jung’s curiosity was that some of these same themes and symbols arose in the dreams and fantasies of patients who suffered from schizophrenia. What could account for such similarities?

At the same time, code like that of the prior section may push the complexity envelope more than it should — and, frankly, tends to disproportionately pique the interest of those holding the darker and misguided assumption that code obfuscation somehow implies talent. Because such tools tend to appeal to some people more than they probably should, I need to be clear about their scope here. This book demonstrates advanced comprehensions to teach, but in the real world, using complicated and tricky code where not warranted is both bad engineering and bad software citizenship. To repurpose a line from the first chapter: programming is not about being clever and obscure — it’s about how clearly your program communicates its purpose. Or, to quote from Python’s import this motto: Simple is better than complex.

If you have a list of numbers that you would like your fax marketing company to broadcast to, they will. It's that easy. Much of the time you can even do it throughemail, but either way, you all of them the ad and the list and they'll take care of it. The problem is, people can make a few mistakes when typing up long listsof numbers or possibly have a customer listed more than once, so their fax number should make it onto the list several times. Shredding cause some problemsonce the ad starts going out, especially when short term installment loan fax machine is overrun by multiple ads coming a person. Fortunately for businesstoday, the fax marketing industry has set up, in the majority of cases, a screening process that will guarantee that no number on your list gets more thanone fax, even in the event you listed it several times. Sure - you precisely how many leads (opt-ins) each promotion generates immediately the. you can precisely how much each lead spend you . an individual alsocan know -- generally -- simply how much your average lead will expend with you over the time. Faster Moolah: Unlike the U.S. Postal Service which takes two fax list marketing to 3 weeks to provide bulk mail, the Internet lets me deliver my sales messageand begin generating sales instantly. If to be able to pictures, or marketing plans written on a table napkin and do not want to have supply file for it, then you just take a picture associated with in yourdigital camera or phone camera that has it transferred to your computer. It is then ready for sending as an internet based fax list marketing. Now, since it's outright develop a call to action straight away, several to convince first, so lets buy fax marketing get started. Initially, you might need to pique yourprospect's interest. You'll be able to do this visually, a few eye catching design. You will do it literally start by making an appealing offer, or possibly by spellingout an edge of goods. Better still, you may make use of both approaches. Twitter.com is really a source that can announce publishing a paper, changes to your website, good books and articles, workshops that you could be offer, etc. Manyoffer free things like recordings, articles, etc. It's another strategy network with the other professionals. It's popularity is exploding. Most business people still consider direct mail to be one of the extremely credible methods in contact with them. This makes marketing your services and productswith a mailing list a choice. Be an important person - Show for ones customers that you're made of flesh and blood. Add your complete name, phone number, fax, email address contact infoand business address showing that you might be a real guy with the business! faxmarketing.club/

The applause rose again. It was coming from outside the curtain. I stood up, almost ready to run. “So, you react to simple escape reflexes? That’s a good sign.” Eldridge was behind me. My emotions surged, not sure if I should attempt to lunge at him in anger or break down and cry. But I respected him. And his sentence had piqued my interest enough to keep all my emotions concealed. “Escape reflexes? They’re just applauding,” I replied. “Yes,” Eldridge said as if pondering that. “But applause is frightening because, in its absence, silence would take its place. With no applause, there is a void of disapproval. It’s easy to be threatened by applause. It’s addicting. Let’s go, shall we?

What is it?" Her interest piqued by the heavenly aroma. "Delicious," I said. I could have told her it was soup made up of parsley, spinach, dill, sautéed onions, thin noodles, chickpeas, kidney beans, dried yogurt, dried mint, garlic, oil, and salt, but why spoil the surprise?

We know of topics that pique our interest, areas where we excel in knowledge, and the various pitfalls of our personality that cause trouble.

I would rather write poems than prose, any day, any place. Yet each has its force. Prows flows forward bravely and, often, serenely, only slowly exposing emotion. Every character, every idea piques our interest, until the complexity of it is its asset; we begin to feel a whole culture under and behind it. Poems are less cautious, and the voice of the poem remains somehow solitary. And it is a flesh and bone voice, that slips and slides and leaps over the bank and out onto any river it meets, landing, with sharp blades, on the smallest piece of ice. Working on prose and working on poems elicit different paces from the heartbeat. One is nicer to feel than the other, guess which one. When I have spent a long time with prose I feel the weight of thee work. But when I work at poems, the word is in error; it isn't like any other labor. Poems either do not succeed, or they feel as much delivered as created.

As of February 8, 1979, James Arthur Springer—Jim, as he went by—had been twice married. His first marriage, to a woman named Linda, ended in divorce. His second wife was named Betty. Jim Springer grew up in Ohio and once owned a dog named Toy. He had a son named James Allan (although perhaps with one L). He was a chain-smoker who liked beer. In his garage he had a woodworking bench. He drove a Chevy, suffered from high blood pressure and migraines, and once served as a sheriff’s deputy. His family lived on a quiet street—theirs was the only house on the block. As of February 8, 1979, James Edward Lewis—Jim, as he went by—had been twice married. His first marriage, to a woman named Linda, ended in divorce. His second wife was named Betty. Jim Lewis grew up in Ohio and once owned a dog named Toy. He had a son named James Allan (although perhaps with one L). He was a chain-smoker who liked beer. In his garage he had a woodworking bench. He drove a Chevy, suffered from high blood pressure and migraines, and once served as a sheriff’s deputy. His family lived on a quiet street—theirs was the only house on the block. As of February 8, 1979, Jim Springer and Jim Lewis had almost no knowledge of one another. They had met before, but only as infants. On February 9, 1979, the two met for the first time in nearly forty years. They were identical twins, given up for adoption as one-month-olds, now reunited. The shocking coincidence seems like that of myth, but it’s almost certainly not—shortly after the twins’ reunion, People magazine and Smithsonian magazine reported on the incredible confluence of genetically identical twins with anecdotally identical lives. The two men piqued the curiosity of a researcher named Thomas J. Bouchard, a professor of psychology and the director of the Minnesota Center for Twin and Adoption Research at the University of Minnesota.

I hadn't taken to the colonel, yet he had piqued my interest. You can be fascinated even by a tree frog if you watch it long enough. I was savoring the first drops of the poison that would carry us all to perdition.

Ah, headed to the Marriage Mart, no doubt,” the bar maid guessed as she rolled her eyes. Gabriel struggled to maintain an impassive expression. Was it that obvious? “That and ... well, let’s just say I have some reconnaissance to do before I settle in Mayfair.” The wench sat up, pulling up the bed linens to cover her generous bosom. “Reconnaissance?” Sarah repeated, her interest piqued. “Are you a spy?” She asked this with such excitement in her eyes that Gabriel nearly admitted to being one. He shook his head instead. “More like, political research, I suppose,” he countered. “I am determined that certain older members of Parliament

and thought to tart it up with a few Shakespeare quotations, having a vague recollection from my undergraduate days that the Bard was fond of joking about the great pox. I dusted off my battered copy of the Riverside Shakespeare and started leafing through it. Holy crap, I thought, there is a lot of stuff here on syphilis. My curiosity was piqued, and I did some more digging. Was there a connection between Shakespeare’s syphilitic obsession, contemporary gossip about his sexual misadventures, and the only medical fact known about him with certainty—that his handwriting became tremulous in late middle age? I wrote an article that appeared in Clinical Infectious Diseases, supposing it to be of scant interest beyond its immediate specialty audience. To my surprise, it generated a fair amount of Internet buzz, and inspired a segment on The Daily Show. I began to think that there might be interest in a book on the topic of writers and disease, written from a medical perspective.