Positive Flashlight Quotes

Four times during the first six days they were assembled and briefed and then sent back. Once, they took off and were flying in formation when the control tower summoned them down. The more it rained, the worse they suffered. The worse they suffered, the more they prayed that it would continue raining. All through the night, men looked at the sky and were saddened by the stars. All through the day, they looked at the bomb line on the big, wobbling easel map of Italy that blew over in the wind and was dragged in under the awning of the intelligence tent every time the rain began. The bomb line was a scarlet band of narrow satin ribbon that delineated the forward most position of the Allied ground forces in every sector of the Italian mainland. For hours they stared relentlessly at the scarlet ribbon on the map and hated it because it would not move up high enough to encompass the city. When night fell, they congregated in the darkness with flashlights, continuing their macabre vigil at the bomb line in brooding entreaty as though hoping to move the ribbon up by the collective weight of their sullen prayers. "I really can't believe it," Clevinger exclaimed to Yossarian in a voice rising and falling in protest and wonder. "It's a complete reversion to primitive superstition. They're confusing cause and effect. It makes as much sense as knocking on wood or crossing your fingers. They really believe that we wouldn't have to fly that mission tomorrow if someone would only tiptoe up to the map in the middle of the night and move the bomb line over Bologna. Can you imagine? You and I must be the only rational ones left." In the middle of the night Yossarian knocked on wood, crossed his fingers, and tiptoed out of his tent to move the bomb line up over Bologna.

Things must really be bad if they think so too.” Instead of pitying someone, turn on your inner flashlight, maintain your high vibration, and guide that person back to peace through your positive presence.

Now, the last one was that the demon king can’t stand either in heaven or on the earth. Urga set the demon on his lap, which means I guess I’ll have to…sit on your back.” Awkward. Even though Ren was a big tiger and it would be like riding a small pony, I was still conscious that he was a man, and I didn’t feel right about turning him into a pack animal. I took off my backpack and set it down wondering what I could do to make this a bit less embarrassing. Mustering the courage to sit on his back, I’d just decided that it wouldn’t be too bad if I sat sidesaddle, when my feet flew out from under me. Ren had changed into a man and swept me up into his arms. I wiggled for a minute, protesting, but he just gave me a look-the don’t-even-bother-coming-up-with-an-argument look. I shut my mouth. He leaned over to pick up the backpack, let it dangle from his fingers, and then said, “What’s next?” “I don’t know. That’s all that Mr. Kadam told me.” He shifted me in his arms, walked over to stand in the doorway again, then peered up at the statue. He murmured, “I don’t see any changes.” He held me securely while looking at the statue and, I have to admit, I totally stopped caring about what we were doing. The scratches on my arm that had been throbbing a moment ago didn’t bother me at all. I let myself enjoy the feeling of being cuddled up close to his muscular chest. What girl didn’t want to be swept up in the arms of a drop-dead gorgeous man? I allowed my gaze to drift up to his beautiful face. The thought occurred to me that if I were to carve a stone god, I’d pick Ren as my subject. This Urga half-lion and half-man guy had nothing on Ren. Eventually, he realized I was watching him, and said, “Hello? Kells? Breaking a curse here, remember?” I just smiled back stupidly. He quirked an eyebrow at me. “What were you thinking about just now?” “Nothing important.” He grinned. “May I remind you that you are in prime tickling position, and there’s no escape. Tell me.” Gads. His smile was brilliant, even in the fog. I laughed nervously. “If you tickle me, I’ll protest and struggle violently, which will cause you to drop me and ruin everything that we are trying to accomplish.” He grunted, leaned close to my ear, and then whispered, “That sounds like an interesting challenge, rajkumari. Perhaps we shall experiment with it later. And just for the record, Kelsey, I wouldn’t drop you.” The way he said my name made goose bumps rise all over my arms. When I looked down to quickly rub them, I noticed the flashlight had been turned off. I switched it on, but the statue remained the same. Giving up, I suggested, “Nothing’s happening. Maybe we need to wait till dawn.” He laughed throatily while nuzzling my ear and declared softly, “I’d say that something is happening, but not the something that will open the doorway.” He trailed soft, slow kisses from my ear down my neck. I sighed faintly and arched my neck to give him better access. With a last kiss, he groaned and reluctantly raised his head. Disappointed that he’d stopped, I asked, “What does rajkumari mean?” He laughed quietly, carefully set me down, and said, “It means princess.

unstable plane for a day and a half through storm and cloud and darkness while intricately balancing the flow of fuel through five tanks governed by fourteen valves, and navigating his way across a void without landmarks. When he needed to check his position or log a note, he would have to spread his work out on his lap and hold the stick between his knees; if it was nighttime he would have to grip a small flashlight between his teeth.

Which mirror now, Ms. Lane?” He glanced around the white room, scanning the ten mirrors. “Fourth from the left. Jericho.” I was sick of him calling me Ms. Lane. I picked myself up off the white floor. Once again the Silver had spit me out with entirely too much enthusiasm, and I didn’t even have the stones on me. I didn’t have anything but the spear in my holster, a protein bar, two flashlights, and a bottle of Unseelie in my pockets. “You don’t have the right to call me Jericho.” “Why? Because we haven’t been intimate enough? I’ve had sex with you in every possible position, killed you, fed you my blood in the hopes that it would bring you back to life, crammed Unseelie into your stomach, and tried to rearrange your guts. I’d say that’s pretty personal. How much more intimate do we have to get for you to feel comfortable with me calling you Jericho? Jericho.” I expected him to pounce on the sex-in-every-possible-position comment, but he only said. “You fed me your—” I pushed into the mirror, cutting him off. Like the first one, it resisted me, then grabbed me and squirted me out on the other side. His voice preceded his arrival. “You bloody fool, do you never stop to consider the consequences of your actions?” He barreled out of the mirror behind me. “Of course I do,” I said coolly. “There’s always plenty of time to consider the consequences. After I’ve screwed up.” “Funny girl, aren’t you, Ms. Lane?” “Sure am. Jericho. It’s Mac. I’m Mac. No more fake formality between us. Get with the program or get the hell out of here.” His dark eyes flared. “Big talk. Ms. Lane. Try to enforce it.” Challenge burned in his gaze. I sauntered toward him. He watched me coldly and I was reminded of the other night, when I’d pretended to be coming on to him, because I was angry. He thought I was doing it again. I wasn’t. Being in the White Mansion with him was doing something strange to me. Unraveling all my inhibitions, as if these walls had no tolerance for lies, or within them there was no need.

The rustling noise was coming from the living room. The sound of drawers opening and closing. Hugging the wall, he inched steadily toward the sound of the intruder. He held his rifle in a firing position. Bolt back, safety off, ready to fire. A careful glance around the corner showed a shadowy figure dressed in black, holding a flashlight, snooping in drawers, violating his home. Quinton raised his rifle and carefully aimed. “What the hell are you doing in my house?” he demanded. He got off one shot as the invader ducked. Then, crawling, stumbling, and diving toward the open window the thief plunged outside head first, landing with a thud six feet down. Quinton was at the window now. A second shot winged the villain in the shoulder as he tried to rise. A third shot and he was down. Flat on his face, a bullet through his head. Dead. It is said those with the most money get the most justice. And that appeared to be true in Quinton’s case. It seems the fourteen-year-old intruder came from a family with some wealth, while Quinton did not. In fact, his lawyer wasn’t up to much and the end result was a hanging judge handed down a sentence of ten years. Tried and convicted of manslaughter. Sent to Kingston Penitentiary. Locked away.

I jumped then. It seemed I heard a child laugh. My imagination, of course. And then, when I should have known better, I headed for the closet and the high and narrow door at the very back end and the steep and narrow dark stairs. A million times I’d ascended these stairs. A million times in the dark, without a candle, or a flashlight. Up into the dark, eerie, gigantic attic, and only when I was there did I feel around for the place where Chris and I had hidden our candles and matches. Still there. Time did stand still in this place. We’d had several candle holders, all of pewter with small handles to grasp. Holders we’d found in an old trunk along with boxes and boxes of short, stubby, clumsily made candles. We’d always presumed them to be homemade candles, for they had smelled so rank and old when they burned. My breath caught! Oh! It was the same! The paper flowers still dangled down, mobiles to sway in the drafts, and the giant flowers were still on the walls. Only all the colors had faded to indistinct gray—ghost flowers. The sparkling gem centers we’d glued on had loosened, and now only a few daisies had sequins, or gleaming stones, for centers. Carrie’s purple worm was there only now he too was a nothing color. Cory’s epileptic snail didn’t appear a bright, lopsided beach ball now, it was more a tepid, half-rotten squashy orange. The BEWARE signs Chris and I had painted in red were still on the walls, and the swings still dangled down from the attic rafters. Over near the record player was the barre Chris had fashioned, then nailed to the wall so I could practice my ballet positions. Even my outgrown costumes hung limply from nails, dozens of them with matching leotards and worn out pointe shoes, all faded and dusty, rotten smelling. As in an unhappy dream I was committed to, I drifted aimlessly toward the distant schoolroom, with the candelight flickering. Ghosts were unsettled, memories and specters followed me as things began to wake up, yawn and whisper. No, I told myself, it was only the floating panels of my long chiffon wings . . . that was all. The spotted rocking-horse loomed up, scary and threatening, and my hand rose to my throat as I held back a scream. The rusty red wagon seemed to move by unseen hands pushing it, so my eyes took flight to the blackboard where I’d printed my enigmatic farewell message to those who came in the future. How was I to know it would be me? We lived in the attic, Christopher, Cory, Carrie and me— Now there are only three. Behind the small desk that had been Cory’s I scrunched down, and tried to fit my legs under. I wanted to put myself into a deep reverie that would call up Cory’s spirit that would tell me where he lay.

Why reinvent the light bulb Did you have a problem with the burning light? Thanks to Thomas Edison’s effort, we don’t need to invent a flashlight, we just go to the store or our closet and pull one out and fuck in. I’m sure you realize that Thomas Edison took many attempts before the lamp was mastered by someone who once asked him if he discouraged his failure and said, “Cut, I haven’t failed yet, I’ve discovered another way not to make a light lamp. You see, there’s nothing like failure, there’s just results. Someone once said that defining madness is doing something over and over and getting the same results. To do our lives right, we have to change the things we do. Just like light can burn, so we can. Life can become dark and depressed and we feel no light, no hope of sight. This picture is certainly not clear. Let me highlight this situation (intentional). When we feel down and deep in the hole, that’s when we need light to see our way through. Some of us are lucky enough to have some light on our hands, others have to come out and get it back. Many people try to invent light for themselves by thinking about positive ideas, but so far it takes them. It just gives a lot of light and there’s more light available, but people at a secondary level are about how to get it. We must not be like Thomas Edison, continue to look at the problem and think of ways to solve it. For every problem, there’s a solution. How do we find a solution? We can try, as we have said, to try to figure it out ourselves, or we can find someone who has already crossed this obstacle and do what they did. There are many books on the market today that can help us understand how to overcome obstacles in our lives. We have to read and learn from the failure of others, they’ve been through it before, and they can help teach us how to go through it. We all need more light in our lives and sometimes we can’t see light at the end of the tunnel, but there’s always hope and assistance. You know how others overcome their challenges and keep this education in you even when you feel weak and life seems bad. Don’t try to reinvent the light lamp. Learn how to carry light in yourself.

Raphael pulled out a paperback and handed it to me. The cover, done back in the time when computer-aided imagine manipulation had risen to the level of art, featured an impossibly handsome man, leaning forward, one foot in a huge black boot resting on the carcass of some monstrous sea creature. His hair flowed down to his shoulders in a mane of white gold, in stark contrast to his tanned skin and the rakish black patch hiding his left eye. His white, translucent shirt hung open, revealing abs of steel and a massive, perfectly carved chest graced by erect nipples. His muscled thighs strained the fabric of his pants, which were unbuttoned and sat loosely on his narrow hips, a touch of a strategically positioned shadow hinting at the world’s biggest boner. The cover proclaimed in loud golden letters: The Privateer’s Virgin Mistress, by Lorna Sterling. “Novel number four for Andrea’s collection?” I guessed. Raphael nodded and took the book from my hands. “I’ve got the other one Andrea wanted, too. Can you explain something to me?” Oh boy. “I can try.” He tapped the book on his leather-covered knee. “The pirate actually holds this chick’s brother for ransom, so she’ll sleep with him. These men, they aren’t real men. They’re pseudo-bad guys just waiting for the love of a ‘good’ woman.” “You actually read the books?” He gave me a chiding glance. “Of course I read the books. It’s all pirates and the women they steal, apparently so they can enjoy lots of sex and have somebody to run their lives.” Wow. He must’ve had to hide under his blanket with a flashlight so nobody would question his manliness. Either he really was in love with Andrea or he had a terminal case of lust. “These guys, they’re all bad and aggressive as shit, and everybody wets themselves when they walk by, and then they meet some girl and suddenly they’re not uber-alphas; they are just misunderstood little boys who want to talk about their feelings.” “Is there a point to this dissertation?” He faced me. “I can’t be that. If that’s what she wants, then I shouldn’t even bother.” I sighed. “Do you have a costume kink? French maid, nurse . . .” “Catholic school girl.” Bingo. “You wouldn’t mind Andrea wearing a Catholic school uniform, would you?” “No, I wouldn’t.” His eyes glazed over and he slipped off to some faraway place. I snapped my fingers. “Raphael! Focus.” He blinked at me. “I’m guessing—and this is just a wild stab in the dark—that Andrea might not mind if once in a while you dressed up as a pirate. But I wouldn’t advise holding her relatives for ransom nookie. She might shoot you in the head. Several times. With silver bullets.

could stand to be a little scared. “No, let’s spook them,” I whispered back. Lake grinned, Carla shook her head. “They’ll turn us in,” Carla said. “They’ll tell the others.” “They won’t,” I whispered and then motioned for them to get close. When they did, I let them in on the plan. “Let’s sneak around the back. Carla, do you have your flashlight.” With it being a clear night, and the moon glowing above, we hadn’t needed the flashlight. Carla had brought it, though.  She pulled it out of her pocket and held it up. “You stand back,” I told her, figuring she’d want this job. “Shine the light toward the back of the tent. Lake, you and I stand close to the tent wall. When Carla shines the light, you pretend to be a bear and roar. And we’ll make shadows.” “Sounds good to me,” Lake said. “Only we have to be quiet from here out,” I whispered. “North can hear everything.” I wasn’t so sure he couldn’t hear us out here now with his supersonic hearing. Maybe he was asleep... The girls followed me as I tiptoed my way around wide toward the back of the tent. Carla positioned herself near the trees, so her light would cast a good glow. Lake and I stood halfway between. Lake stood really close to me. “So we don’t look like two people,” she explained when I started to back away from her. I realized she was right. Standing together, we’d make one big shadow. We stood hip to hip and I counted down with hand signals to Carla. Three. Two. One. Go! Carla lit up the beam, creating a strong enough glow to spread across the back of the tent wall. She even angled from below so the beam went up, making our shadow taller. Lake raised a curled hand like a claw and growled, doing a great bear impression. I raised my own hand on the other side—another claw. The tent erupted with the sounds of grunts, curses, and a few squeals. “Kota!” Gabriel’s voice erupted over the mix of noises. “Bear!” “Bears don’t have flashlights,” Kota said. “Shit,” Gabriel said. “Fuck. Shit. Fuck.” “Enough,” North said. The three of us outside giggled and started making our way back around the tent, when I was tackled, and on the ground in a heap before I even realized what had happened. The smell of leather and cedar wafted over me. I’d recognize the big bulk of muscle anywhere. “It’s just us!” I cried out in an eruption of giggling, struggling for breath with him on top of me. “I knew it was you,” Nathan said, leaning back while still sitting on my hips. “No one else at this campground would dare.” The others had been tackled, too. Silas was on top of Lake. Luke was on top of Carla. “Get off,” Lake said but she was laughing, pushing on Silas, only Silas

Some people say that migraines feel like bad hangovers. And some people say that migraines feel like headaches that pulse. And some people say that migraines feel like stomach flu in your head. But what migraines really feel like is being tied to a railroad track while the worlds longest, loudest, freight train thunders over you. It starts with a bright light in the corner of your vision. Very bright. Like someone is standing beside you and shining a flashlight in your eye, but you can't back a light away. Can't turn your head from it. Then you hear the train's shrill whistle, the dull angry clank of the bell, the roar of its engine. By then you're tied to the train track. Hopefully the track is your bed and not a bus stop bench or restaurant table. And you can only try to flatten yourself as the train rushes toward you. Its light flashing and horn blaring. Finally you feel the hot breath of its arrival. Feel the smoky burning exhaust fill your lungs. And then it's thundering over you. Of course the train, the noise, and the light, and the fumes is all in your head. But that's the problem. It's ALL IN YOUR HEAD! You can't escape it. You can only lie on the track, waiting for the roaring, shrieking, light splintering pain to pass. And remember, this is the world's longest train. You'll be here for hours. in this exact position. In this much pain. Lifting your head, even if you were capable of that, which you're not, results in instant decapitation. But decapitation would at least stop the pain and sometimes you wish for it.

When the plane approached the field, three team members were to position themselves on it in the shape of an inverted L. The pilot would be flying at a low altitude—usually no more than 1,500 feet—to enable him to make out the distinguishing features of the surrounding countryside. As he came near, he would flash a prearranged Morse code signal with his craft’s signal light. If the head of the reception committee, using a flashlight, responded with a prearranged signal of his own, the pilot would prepare to land; if he didn’t see the correct signal, he was under orders to return to base.

Consider an ordinary flashlight battery. Look at or visualize one. Can you imagine if the battery only had a positive end, but not a negative end? What good would it be if it had only a positive pole, but not a negative pole? It wouldn't be functional. It wouldn't work. It wouldn't even be a battery. Most importantly of all, from a magickal point of view, it wouldn't be charged!

I grabbed the flashlight and the backpack before closing the seat and resuming my sitting position. Switching on the light, I unzipped the main compartment and began to rummage in search of the key. Within it was another knife, a box of matches, a loop of rope, an unlabeled white tube of pills that looked suspiciously like Benuxupane, a compass, a camera… and then two photographs. I removed the compass and placed it in a small holder that was fixed beneath the gears. Then I picked up the photographs and shone my light down on them. My breath hitched. One of them displayed an all-too-familiar sight: the table in the queen's library, etched with the words "FOR THE BOYS OF MATRUS". The second displayed a different message.

Sideways Cross” Celebrities are the first to get a clue!!!! No one in the public, and no one in the physics community knows about this new discovery of the “X” or “Cross” in all Stars and in all “Light” throughout the universe. Celebrities are the first to get a clue!!!! Side Cross Jewelry -is a symbol of Jesus finishing his work. Why Kelly Ripa, Justin Bieber, Kim Kardashian, Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato, Jessica Biel, Jennifer Lopez, Kourtney Kardashian, and so many others have all been witnessed sporting a “Side Cross” or “Horizontal Cross” necklace”. Randy Lee Holmes has discovered that there is an "X" or "Cross” in all Stars, and in all "Light" throughout the universe in 2017. All can be found in the book "Aether-Light" a Amazon. The "X" or "Cross" exist in all Stars, and it is the electromagnetic radiation finger print of all “Light” or "Photons" throughout the universe and beyond. Due to the fact that this electromagnetic radiation consist of “Aether” and “White Light”, and was discovered by Randy Lee Holmes, it has been given the name “Aether-Light "X" or "Cross”. The "X" or "Cross" symbol is not just in Stars, it is in all “Light” or “Photons”. "Photons" of “Light” are held together by “Magnetism”, you call it “Gravity”. The "X" or "Cross" symbol in all “Light” is the Electromagnetic Radiation Blueprint of all "Light Energy". The "X" or "Cross" is found in all Stars, in all "Photons" of "Light", in all Flames, in all "Light" of Flashlights, in all Candles, in the Sun, and in all and every form of "Light"of the Electromagnetic Radiation Spectrum. The "X" or "Cross" is the symbol of the Electromagnetic Radiation Wave of all "Light", in which oscillation is triggered by source, whether it be electrical or magnetic. The right side of the "X" representing the Positive and the left side of the "X" representing the Negative side of the "X" or Electromagnetic Radiation Wave of “Light”. On one side of the "X" has both a Positive and Negative line on each opposite sides of the "X".The center has Neutral or no charge at the point of oscillation where the two lines cross each other and connect. The Electromagnetic Wave does not propagate in an empty vacuum, as a wave needs a medium, so each "Photon" is created with an antenna and all “Light” propagates by way of antenna. “Light” is not a particle and a wave, but “Light” is a wave that can perform or act like a particle. The photoelectric effect is merely an Electromagnetic Wave of “Light” knocking electrons off metal. The "X" or "Cross" is defined as the Electromagnetic Radiation Blueprint of all "Light Energy". Christians know it as the symbol of "The Cross" (Genesis 1:3, And God said, "Let there be Light"). Scientist and physicist know it as "Light" or "Electromagnetic Wave". The visible “Light” colors are the “Aether” or Jesus, and the white “Light” is GOD. All of this information can be found in the book "Aether-Light" "The Fact of Everything". Amazon or Barns & Noble