Privacy Is Peace Quotes

I should say: the house shelters day-dreaming, the house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace.

I want someone to sit beside after the day's pursuit and all its anguish, after its listening, and its waitings, and its suspicions. After quarrelling and reconciliation I need privacy - to be alone with you, to set this hubbub in order. For I am as neat as a cat in my habits.

Bene vixit, bene qui latuit." (To live well is to live concealed.)

Adults who were hurt as children inevitably exhibit a peculiar strength, a profound inner wisdom, and a remarkable creativity and insight. Deep within them - just beneath the wound - lies a profound spiritual vitality, a quiet knowing, a way of perceiving what is beautiful, right, and true. Since their early experiences were so dark and painful, they have spent much of their lives in search of the gentleness, love, and peace they have only imagined in the privacy of their own hearts.

There is a common superstition that “self-respect” is a kind of charm against snakes, something that keeps those who have it locked in some unblighted Eden, out of strange beds, ambivalent conversations, and trouble in general. It does not at all. It has nothing to do with the face of things, but concerns instead a separate peace, a private reconciliation.

We invented marriage. Couples invented marriage. We also invented divorce,mind you. And we invented infidelity,too, as well as romantic misery. In fact we invented the whole sloppy mess of love and intimacy and aversion and euphoria and failure. But most importantly of all, most subversively of all, most stubbornly of all, we invented privacy.

If we can't have world peace, I'll settle for a quiet room.

Listen, Harriet. I do unterstand. I know you don't want either to give or to take ... You don't want ever again to have to depend for happiness on another person." "That's true. That's the truest thing you ever said." "All right. I can respect that. Only you've got to play the game. Don't force an emotional situation and then blame me for it." "But I don't want any situation. I want to be left in peace.

Yes, they will trample me underfoot, the numbers marching one two three, four hundred million five hundred six, reducing me to specks of voiceless dust, just as, in all good time, they will trample my son who is not my son, and his son who will not be his, and his who will not be his, until the thousand and first generation, until a thousand and one midnights have bestowed their terrible gifts and a thousand and one children have died, because it is the privilege and the curse of midnight’s children to be both masters and victims of their times, to forsake privacy and be sucked into the annihilating whirlpool of the multitudes, and to be unable to live or die in peace.

In nature, a child finds freedom, fantasy, and privacy: a place distant from the adult world, a separate peace.

Perhaps this general degradation was the result of too much crowding, too little privacy, too much noise. You couldn't be decent if you weren't intelligent; you couldn't be intelligent if you couldn't think—and who could think in all this racket? Add the stench to the confusion of cramped quarters, and who could be self-respecting?

I dwelt there by choice in privacy and peace.

What all couples have ever wanted, a little bit of privacy in which to practice all manners of love.

...because it is the privilige and the curse of midnight's children to be both masters and victims of their times, to forsake privacy and be sucked into the annihilating whirlpool of the multitudes, and to be unable to live or die in peace.

He has impressed upon our natures or states—must be an imitation of God incarnate: our model is the Jesus, not only of Calvary, but of the workshop, the roads, the crowds, the clamorous demands and surly oppositions, the lack of all peace and privacy, the interruptions. For this, so strangely unlike anything we can attribute to the Divine life in itself, is apparently not only like, but is, the Divine life operating under human conditions.

it was impossible to imagine where in this crowded domestic arrangement you might find the happier twin sister of loneliness: privacy

Choose truth. Resist not-truth. Think courageously, meaning boldly. Reject the propaganda of the world. Choose truth. You won’t find it in the loudest, most insistent, most demanding voices. Truth is quiet. Very quiet. Truth is found in stillness and privacy. It brings peace. Be still. Choose truth. Believe. Be grateful.

Secrecy is paramount for the government and privacy is lost for the citizens during wars as well. Everyone is a suspect and liberty protections are ignored by the empire. The excuse is always that restricting liberty is required to make the people safe from enemies, seldom seen and identified but ever-present and demonized.

More than just a place of shelter, a place of comfort, or a place of privacy, the house for Bachelard “shelters daydreaming” and “allows one to dream in peace.” The

our model is the Jesus, not only of Calvary, but of the workshop, the roads, the crowds, the clamorous demands and surly oppositions, the lack of all peace and privacy, the interruptions

When you walk through hell with someone, you burn, too. The flames don’t respect your privacy, your boundaries. They consume your time, torch your dignity, and turn your peace of mind to ashes.

Retreat is a form of pause—it is a time apart in solitude, a precious space in which we can see our world in a different light—acknowledge the grief, celebrate the gifts, and honor our own unique spirit without worrying about how others see us or what jobs still have to be done. For me, retreat is a time to endure suspense; find, not seek; relish what comes by chance; repair body and soul; wait patiently; and live into the questions. It is a time to get acquainted with silence—that friend we’ve kept at a distance; a time to be open to the spaciousness of a day; a time to live on the other side, in another world, where spirit, deep thought, and a new kind of wonder can flourish. Above all, retreat is a time to honor all that we have experienced and the way it affects our hearts. Webster’s dictionary defines “retreat” as the “act or process of withdrawal . . . a receding from a position” to a place that affords peace, privacy, and security. But I prefer Jennifer Louden’s assertion that retreat is “an act of self-nurturing, a radical leap into the hallowed halls of selfhood.

The trial, despite the subserviency of the court to the Nazi authorities, cast a great deal of suspicion on Goering and the Nazis, but it came too late to have any practical effect. For Hitler had lost no time in exploiting the Reichstag fire to the limit.   On the day following the fire, February 28, he prevailed on President Hindenburg to sign a decree “for the Protection of the People and the State” suspending the seven sections of the constitution which guaranteed individual and civil liberties. Described as a “defensive measure against Communist acts of violence endangering the state,” the decree laid down that:      Restrictions on personal liberty, on the right of free expression of opinion, including freedom of the press; on the rights of assembly and association; and violations of the privacy of postal, telegraphic and telephonic communications; and warrants for house searchers, orders for confiscations as well as restrictions on property, are also permissible beyond the legal limits otherwise prescribed.   In addition, the decree authorized the Reich government to take over complete power in the federal states when necessary and imposed the death sentence for a number of crimes, including “serious disturbances of the peace” by armed persons.8   Thus with one stroke Hitler was able not only to legally gag his opponents and arrest them at his will but, by making the trumped-up Communist threat “official,” as it were, to throw millions of the middle class and the peasantry into a frenzy of fear that unless they voted for National Socialism at the elections a week hence, the Bolsheviks might take over.

When I lately retired to my house I resolved, as far as I could, to meddle in nothing, but to pass in peace and privacy what little time I had to live. It seemed to me I could not better gratify my mind than by giving it full leisure to dwell in its own thoughts and divert itself with them. And I hoped that with the passage of time, it could do this with greater ease as it became more settled and ripe. But the contrary was the case. Like a horse broke loose, it gave itself a hundred times more rein. There rose in me a horde of chimerae and fantastic creatures, one upon the other, without order or relevance. To contemplate more coolly] their queerness and ineptitude I began to put them in writing - hoping in time to make my mind ashamed of itself. A ming which has no set goal loses itself. To be everywhere is to be nowhere. No wind serves the man bound for no port.

It is not we as individuals, then, who must bend uncomfortably around the institution of marriage; rather it is the institution of marriage that has to bend uncomfortably around US. Because "they" (the powers that be) have never been entirely able to stop "us" (two people) from connecting our lives together and creating a secret world of our own. And so "they" eventually have no choice but to legally permit "us" to marry, in some shape or form, no matter how restrictive their ordinaces may appear. (...) So perhaps I've had this story deliciously backwards the whole time. To somehow suggest that society invented marriage, and then forced human beings to bond with each other, is perhaps absurd. It's like suggesting that society invented dentists, and then forced people to grow teeth. WE invented marriage. Couples invented marriage. We also invented divorce, mind you. And we invented infidelity, too, as well as romantic misery. In fact, we invented the whole damn sloppy mess of love and intimacy and aversion and euphoria and failure. But most importantly of all, most subversively of all, most stubbornly of all, we invented privacy.

This is the definition of peace. The definition is interrupted by Toraf's ringtone. Why did Rachel get Toraf a phone? Does she hate me? Fumbling behind him in the sand, Galen puts a hand on it right before it stops ringing. He waits five seconds and...Yep, he's calling again. "Hello?" he whispers. "Galen, it's Toraf." Galen snorts. "You think?" "Rayna's ready to leave. Where are you?" Galen sighs. “We’re on the beach. Emma’s still sleeping. We’ll walk back in a few minutes.” Emma braved her mom’s wrath by skipping curfew again last night to be with him. Grom’s mating ceremony is tomorrow, and Galen and Rayna’s attendance is required. He’ll have to leave her in Toraf’s care until he gets back. “Sorry, Highness. I told you, Rayna’s ready to go. You have about two minutes of privacy. She’s heading your way. “The phone disconnects. Galen leans down and sweeps his lips over her sweet neck. “Emma,” he whispers. She sighs. “I heard him,” she groans drowsily. “You should tell Toraf that he doesn’t have to yell into the phone. And if he keeps doing it, I’m going to accidentally break it.” Galen grins. “He’ll get the hang of it soon. He’s not a complete idiot.” At this, Emma opens one eye. He shrugs. “Well, three quarters maybe. But not a complete one.” “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” she says, sitting up and stretching. “You know I do. But I think this mating ceremony will be interesting enough without introducing my Half-Breed girlfriend, don’t you think?” Emma laughs and pulls her hair to one side, draping it over her shoulder. “This is our first time away from each other. You know, as a couple. We’ve only been really dating for two weeks now. What will I do without you?” He pulls her to him, leaning her back against his chest. “Well, I’m hoping that this time when I come back, it won’t be to the sight of you kissing Toraf.” The snickers beside them let them know their two minutes of privacy are up. “Yeah. Or someone’s gonna die,” Rayna says cordially. Galen helps Emma up and swats the leftover sand out of her sundress. He takes her hands into his. “Could I please just ask one thing without you getting all mad about it?” She scowls. “Let me guess. You don’t want me to get in the water while you’re gone.” “But I’m not ordering you to stay out of it. I’m asking, no begging, very politely, and with all my heart for you not to get in. It’s your choice. But it would make me the happiest man-fish on the coast if you wouldn’t.” They sense the stalker almost daily now. That and the fact that Dr. Milligan blew his theory about Emma’s dad being a Half-Breed out of the water makes Galen more nervous than he can say. It means they still don’t have any answers about who could know about Emma. Or why they keep hanging around. Emma rewards him with a breathtaking smile. “I won’t. Because you asked.” Toraf was right. I just had to ask. He shakes his head. “Now I can sleep tonight.” “That makes one of us. Don’t stay gone too long. Or Mark will sit by me at lunch.” He grimaces. “I’ll hurry.” He leans down to kiss her. Behind them, he hears Rayna’s initial splash. “She’s leaving without you,” Emma whispers on his lips. “She could have left hours ago and I’d still catch her. Good-bye, angelfish. Be good.” He places a forceful kiss on her forehead, then gets a running start and dives in. And he misses her already.

like my privacy; I want my privacy. I want Kyle gone. I want my bed and to be in it by myself. “Kyle is sleeping peacefully. There’s no reason for me to stay. Are you sure you don’t want me to leave?” “Only if you want to; there’s no rush.” “Where are your roommates?” “No idea. Probably with Jameson.” Mental groan. “Who’s Jameson?” “The nerdy girl my roommate is dating.” Then I hear myself add, “If you don’t want water I can make you some hot chocolate or something. It’s motherfucking cold out.” Shut up Zeke. For fuck’s sake, shut up. Violet smiles shyly, tripping up on her speech. “S-Sure, I can do a quick hot cocoa. That sounds toasty and delicious.” Toasty. I have a girl in my house that says shit like sounds toasty.

AT FIRST, THERE’S only a thread of frost spreading across a pane. Oboe and horn trace out their parallel privacies. The thin sinews wander, an edgy duet built up from bare fourths and fifths. The singer enters, hesitant, hinted by bassoon. She channels a man wrung out after a sleepless night, a father with nothing left to keep safe. Now the sun will rise so brightly . . . The sun rises, but the line sinks. The orchestration, the nostalgic harmonies: everything wrapped in the familiar late nineteenth century, but laced with the coming fever dream. Bassoon and horn rock an empty cradle. Scant, muted violas and cellos in their upper registers enter over a quavering harp. The line wavers between major and minor, bright and dim, peace and grief, like the old hag and lovely young thing who fight for control of the fickle ink sketch. The voice

Man tends to regard the order he lives in as natural. The houses he passes on his way to work seem more like rocks rising out of the earth than like products of human hands. He considers the work he does in his office or factory as essential to the har­monious functioning of the world. The clothes he wears are exactly what they should be, and he laughs at the idea that he might equally well be wearing a Roman toga or medieval armor. He respects and envies a minister of state or a bank director, and regards the possession of a considerable amount of money the main guarantee of peace and security. He cannot believe that one day a rider may appear on a street he knows well, where cats sleep and chil­dren play, and start catching passers-by with his lasso. He is accustomed to satisfying those of his physio­logical needs which are considered private as dis­creetly as possible, without realizing that such a pattern of behavior is not common to all human so­cieties. In a word, he behaves a little like Charlie Chaplin in The Gold Rush, bustling about in a shack poised precariously on the edge of a cliff. His first stroll along a street littered with glass from bomb-shattered windows shakes his faith in the "naturalness" of his world. The wind scatters papers from hastily evacuated offices, papers labeled "Con­fidential" or "Top Secret" that evoke visions of safes, keys, conferences, couriers, and secretaries. Now the wind blows them through the street for anyone to read; yet no one does, for each man is more urgently concerned with finding a loaf of bread. Strangely enough, the world goes on even though the offices and secret files have lost all meaning. Farther down the street, he stops before a house split in half by a bomb, the privacy of people's homes-the family smells, the warmth of the beehive life, the furniture preserving the memory of loves and hatreds-cut open to public view. The house itself, no longer a rock, but a scaffolding of plaster, concrete, and brick; and on the third floor, a solitary white bath­ tub, rain-rinsed of all recollection of those who once bathed in it. Its formerly influential and respected owners, now destitute, walk the fields in search of stray potatoes. Thus overnight money loses its value and becomes a meaningless mass of printed paper. His walk takes him past a little boy poking a stick into a heap of smoking ruins and whistling a song about the great leader who will preserve the nation against all enemies. The song remains, but the leader of yesterday is already part of an extinct past.

One New Guinea friend surprised me by telling me that what she most likes about life in the U.S. is its “anonymity.” She explained that anonymity means to her the freedom to step away from the social bonds that make life in New Guinea emotionally full, but also confining. To my friend, anonymity includes the freedom to be alone, to walk alone, to have privacy, to express oneself, to debate openly, to hold unconventional views, to be more immune to peer pressures, and not to have one’s every action scrutinized and discussed. It means the freedom to sit in a café on a crowded street and read a newspaper in peace, without being besieged by acquaintances asking for help with their problems. It means the freedom of Americans to advance themselves as individuals, with much less obligation to share their earnings with all their relatives than in New Guinea.

Creatures are made in their varying ways images of God without their own collaboration or even consent. It is not so that they become sons of God. And the likeness they receive by sonship is not that of images or portraits. It is in one way more than likeness, for it is unison or unity with God in will; but this is consistent with all the differences we have been considering. Hence, as a better writer has said, our imitation of God in this life—that is, our willed imitation as distinct from any of the likenesses which He has impressed upon our natures or states—must be an imitation of God incarnate: our model is the Jesus, not only of Calvary, but of the workshop, the roads, the crowds, the clamorous demands and surly oppositions, the lack of all peace and privacy, the interruptions. For this, so strangely unlike anything we can attribute to the Divine life in itself, is apparently not only like, but is, the Divine life operating under human conditions.

Shaya crossed one leg over the other. “How do you feel about Derren?” “Look, I’m a very self-aware person. I know I have plenty of flaws. I know I’m not very forthcoming when it comes to feelings or my past. I have constant nightmares and prefer sleeping outside in my hammock. I cook when I’m stressed—even if I’m not hungry or it’s three o’clock in the morning. Being a Seer, feeling people’s emotions all the time, means I sometimes get struck by a sensory overload, and so I’ll have my days when I need space, time, and privacy. “Derren is a very dominant, forceful, intrusive male who thinks my business is his and who is determined to have his own way all the time. But even though he pushes me to tell him things, he never pushes too hard—he shares with me so that I’ll share with him. Even though he doesn’t like any distance between us, he lets me have my space and privacy when I need it. And even though he very rarely gets a peaceful night’s sleep because of me, he never complains or sleeps anywhere but beside me. How can I not care about the fucker?

We reached the bushes beside the porch without being seen. Crouched in the dirt, we were so close I could have reached up and grabbed Hannah’s ankle. To keep from giggling, Theo pressed his hands over his mouth. Sick with jealousy, I watched John put his arm around Hannah and draw her close. As his lips met hers, I felt Theo jab my side. I teetered and lost my balance. The bushes swayed, the leaves rustled, a twig snapped under my feet. “Be quiet,” Theo hissed in my ear. “Do you want to get us killed?” We backed out of the bushes, hoping to escape, but it was too late. Leaving John in the swing, Hannah strode down the porch steps, grabbed us each by an ear, and shook us like rats. “Can’t a body have a second of privacy?” Theo and I begged her to forgive us, but Hannah’s dander was up. If she hadn’t noticed the fireflies under our shirts, I don’t know what she would’ve done to us. Snatching my jar, she gazed at my captives. The flickering glow lit her face. I wanted to tell her she was beautiful, I wanted to tell her I’d love her forever, but all I could say was “These are for you, I caught them just for you, Hannah.” “Poor things,” she said softly, her temper gone without a trace. “I’ll have to let them go, Andrew. They’ll die if I don’t.” Before I could stop her, she removed the lid and held the jar high over her head. “Fly away, fly away,” she cried. Like sparks from a bonfire, the fireflies escaped in a sparkling green mist. Theo handed his jar to Hannah. “Set mine free too.” In moments, Theo’s fireflies rose and scattered across the dark sky. “They’re going to the moon,” Theo shouted. “They’re going to the stars!” “I wish I could send the pair of you with them,” Hannah muttered. “Maybe I’d have some peace and quiet then.

... we decided to create a Nothing Place in the living room, it seemed necessary, because there are times when one needs to disappear while in the living room, and sometimes one simply wants to disappear, we made this zone slightly larger so that one of us could lie down in it, it was a rule that you never would look at that rectangle of space, it didn't exist, and when you were in it, neither did you, for a while that was enough, but only for a while, we required more rules, on our second anniversary we marked off the entire guest room as a Nothing Place, it seemed like a good idea at the time, sometimes a small patch at the foot of the bed or a rectangle in the living room isn't enough privacy, the side of the door that faced the guest room was Nothing, the side that faced the hallway was Something, the knob that connected them was neither Something nor Nothing. The walls of the hallway were Nothing, even pictures need to disappear, especially pictures, but the hallway itself was Something, the bathtub was Nothing, the bathwater was Something, the hair on our bodies was Nothing, of course, but once it collected around the drain it was Something, we were trying to make our lives easier, trying, with all of our rules, to make life effortless. But a friction began to arise between Nothing and Something, in the morning the Nothing vase cast a Something shadow, like the memory of someone you've lost, what can you say about that, at night the Nothing light from the guest room spilled under the Nothing door and stained the Something hallway, there's nothing to say. It became difficult to navigate from Something to Something without accidentally walking through Nothing, and when Something—a key, a pen, a pocketwatch—was accidentally left in a Nothing Place, it never could be retrieved, that was an unspoken rule, like nearly all of our rules have been. There came a point, a year or two ago, when our apartment was more Nothing than Something, that in itself didn't have to be a problem, it could have been a good thing, it could have saved us. We got worse. I was sitting on the sofa in the second bedroom one afternoon, thinking and thinking and thinking, when I realized I was on a Something island. "How did I get here," I wondered, surrounded by Nothing, "and how can I get back?" The longer your mother and I lived together, the more we took each other's assumptions for granted, the less was said, the more misunderstood, I'd often remember having designated a space as Nothing when she was sure we had agreed that it was Something, our unspoken agreements led to disagreements, to suffering, I started to undress right in front of her, this was just a few months ago, and she said, "Thomas! What are you doing!" and I gestured, "I thought this was Nothing," covering myself with one of my daybooks, and she said, "It's Something!" We took the blueprint of our apartment from the hallway closet and taped it to the inside of the front door, with an orange and a green marker we separated Something from Nothing. "This is Something," we decided. "This is Nothing." "Something." "Something." "Nothing." "Something." "Nothing." "Nothing." "Nothing." Everything was forever fixed, there would be only peace and happiness, it wasn't until last night, our last night together, that the inevitable question finally arose, I told her, "Something," by covering her face with my hands and then lifting them like a marriage veil. "We must be." But I knew, in the most protected part of my heart, the truth.

Hospitals, designed originally for the battle-wounded, are noisy places where clattering trolleys, early waking for medical routines and night-lighting disrupt sleep. After birth women need peace, privacy, unhurried emotional support and uninterrupted time with their babies.

Her tent was far enough away that she could call for help without necessarily being heard. Of course, she might also cry out for pleasanter reasons. Decided, he moved through the thickening dusk, drew aside the tent flap, and stepped inside. Kassandra was just finishing her bath. It was an indulgence to cart about the canvas-and-wood tub that had to be filled laboriously with buckets when she could have managed with just a basin. She admitted as much, but savored the bath all the same. After the long day, and the days before it, she needed the calming peace of hot water and blessed quiet. She would have lingered longer but the water cooled rapidly. Rising, she reached for the towel she had left on a stool beside the tub. Only to have it handed to her. She gasped and whirled around to find Royce surveying her with obvious appreciation. “You were very far away,” he said. “I was not!” Grasping the towel, she wrapped it around herself even as she felt ridiculous for doing so. It was hardly as though the man had not seen her naked before. Seen, touched, tasted, savored…Never mind about that now. “You walk too quietly,” she accused. “A hideous failing,” he replied, looking pleased with himself. He glanced around the tent. “Cozy.” “Comfortable, as I am sure yours is.” He raised a brow and with it, beckoned a blush. She was not a hypocrite. He had shared her bed for four nights and were they in the palace, he would be sharing it again. It was just that they were out in public, as it were, with none of the privacy to be found in her own quarters. But she had not moved away from him on the ship and, truth be told, she did not want to do so now. “You are caught,” he said. At her puzzled look, he added, “On the horns of propriety. It’s an awkward place to be.” “I’m not trying to conceal anything.” “I realize that, but you are trying not to make a display of what has happened between us, not force people to deal with it at a time when they are deeply concerned and anxious.” “Yes,” she said on a breath of relief. He truly did understand. “That’s it exactly.” “Kassandra…” He reached out a hand but let it fall without touching her. “Whatever lies ahead of us, my concern right now is for your safety. You are alone here in this tent and it is set a little apart from the others. If you like, I’ll sleep outside but I’m not leaving you by yourself tonight.” She had not thought of that, had not considered that he would be worried about her in such a situation. Belatedly, she realized that her own vision had blinded her. She knew this was not the time or place, but he knew nothing of the sort. And he wanted to protect her. He really did. Tears stung her eyes but she would not let them fall. The towel was a different matter. She went to him without it.

In his excellent book on classical music practice, The Perfect Wrong Note, pianist and teacher William Westney describes the need for privacy like this: The reason so many of us lose our bearings about practising early in life is that we practice in living rooms with other family members in earshot—and healthy practice would simply sound too obnoxious, intrusive, repetitious and unmusical for others to hear without annoyance.[1] There are two kinds of privacy that a practice room of your own will give you: one is inward, and the other is outward. The inward privacy is the knowledge that nobody can hear you, allowing you the freedom to experiment with any sound you want without fear of being judged. But it’s the long hours and the repetition that gets to others. In a private space, you can repeat something over and over and over again without fear of annoying anybody. Don’t assume the need for practice privacy will go away the better you get. Consider what the great composer Igor Stravinsky wrote in his autobiography: My family and I were quartered in a hotel in which it was impossible for me to compose. I was anxious, therefore, to find a piano some place where I could work in peace. I have never been able to compose unless sure that no one could hear me. A music dealer...provided me with a sort of lumber room full of empty Chocolat Suchard packing cases, which opened on to a chicken run.[2] That practice room wasn’t quite what Stravinsky was looking for, and he soon found another that suited him. Keep looking for a practice space that works for you.

In the law and culture of the West, war and peace are an on-off toggle switch. Peace is what you have when you don’t have war, and wars are declared.

Our model is the Jesus not only of Calvary, but of the workshop, the roads, the crowds, the clamorous demands, and surly oppositions, the lack of peace and privacy, the interruptions.

Look, I never meant to get involved with Lock and Deep in the first place and now everything is all messed up and my whole life feels out of control! I can feel their emotions filling me up until I think I’m drowning. Can you help me block them? Lock said you might be able to.” Mother L’rin shook her head. “Only with a full bond is mind privacy possible.” Kat’s heart sank. “So you’re saying in order to have any kind of peace I’d have to tie myself to them for life?” The wise woman nodded solemnly. “Bonded to them you must be.” “But I can’t be. I don’t want to be,” Kat protested. “Until you are, weak you will be.” Mother L’rin poked a finger at her. “The pain…return it will.” “It will?” Kat felt sick. Come to think of it, she hadn’t felt anything like the symptoms she’d had while she was aboard the Mother ship since she woke up. But just the thought of enduring that splitting headache again was hideous. “You must touch them—one at least. Both is better.” Mother L’rin nodded sagely. “As greater your weakness grows, the more deeply must you touch.” “You mean like a…” Kat cleared her throat. “Like a sexual touch?” “Yes, yes.” Mother L’rin nodded vigorously. “The bond it strengthens. Your pain will ease.” “But

Look, I never meant to get involved with Lock and Deep in the first place and now everything is all messed up and my whole life feels out of control! I can feel their emotions filling me up until I think I’m drowning. Can you help me block them? Lock said you might be able to.” Mother L’rin shook her head. “Only with a full bond is mind privacy possible.” Kat’s heart sank. “So you’re saying in order to have any kind of peace I’d have to tie myself to them for life?” The wise woman nodded solemnly. “Bonded to them you must be.” “But I can’t be. I don’t want to be,” Kat protested. “Until you are, weak you will be.” Mother L’rin poked a finger at her. “The pain…return it will.” “It will?” Kat felt sick. Come to think of it, she hadn’t felt anything like the symptoms she’d had while she was aboard the Mother ship since she woke up. But just the thought of enduring that splitting headache again was hideous. “You must touch them—one at least. Both is better.” Mother L’rin nodded sagely. “As greater your weakness grows, the more deeply must you touch.” “You mean like a…” Kat cleared her throat. “Like a sexual touch?” “Yes, yes.” Mother L’rin nodded vigorously. “The bond it strengthens. Your pain will ease.” “But I don’t want to be bonded to them,” Kat said, feeling like a broken record.

Nicholas Benteen stopped trying to pretend that he could ignore the determined creature who’d violated his privacy and his peace of mind, the same creature who’d unknowingly forced him to acknowledge the fact that he craved a woman with satiny–soft skin, a gentle, knowing touch, and the kind of passion that could restore his soul and bring his heart back to life again.

Wars have existed since the first man learned to use a stick for a weapon. But never have we seen the weaponry of death wield the destructive power of today's devises of destruction. War will continue to exist so long as some people put desires of power and conquest over the needs of the masses. People don't need to die for the political or religious ideas of others. Life was meant to be lived together in harmony and not hate. In peace and posterity and not poverty. But also let us not forget to ask What is Freedom without Security? What is Security without Privacy? What is Privacy without Living? What is Living without Choice? What is Choice without FREEDOM? I today, shall remember those who have striven to give this world a better society and those that have fallen for freedom, those who have marched over the wicked miles in jungles and highways and city streets for the enrichment of all of us and seen the devastation of evil claim a multitude of lands. I remember Vietnam, Korea, Germany, Russia, Egypt, Japan, Afghanistan, Israel, Somalia, Detroit, Chicago, Los Angeles, Philadelphia and many other battlefields where people have fallen and died for an idea of equality among all men. I ask you, ALL OF YOU - NEVER FORGET !" July 4, 2013

Our children should feel that they can peacefully say anything: questions, doubts, criticism, points of view. They should feel that we are genuine interested in what they do and think. We should not deprive them of privacy, but all our words and conduct should encourage an open relationship. One cannot overestimate the value of such relationships.

Our children should feel that they can peacefully say anything: questions, doubts, criticism, points of view. They should feel that we are genuinely interested in what they do and think. We should not deprive them of privacy, but all our words and conduct should encourage an open relationship. One cannot overestimate the value of such relationships.

Opinions, therefore, have become the one unchallenged god of this era. You have them, and therefore you are. You have a right to them, the airing of them is seen as more important than kindness and peace, they are the last thing no one can take from you, they define your identity and identity is the last field of control offered over our lives. You might not have a right to privacy or to opt out of the social contract with society, but you have the right to your opinions, god damn it! The modern ego is pretty much composed of what we support and oppose, a startling amount of what we hold opinions on have nothing at all to do with us, and probably impact us only in the most tangential of ways, yet we will fight for our right to tell everyone about them nonetheless. Social media seems to encourage us to do this belligerently by emboldening the uninformed to believe their opinions are equal to those who are more informed.

By enforcing laws which forbid men to trade peacefully as they please, the police create a social environment which breeds crime. The small-time burglar who is frightened away by the police is far outweighed by the Mafia boss who makes millions off the black market in prostitution and gambling, which activities are fraught with violence because of government prohibitions. Not only do governmental police make possible more crime than they discourage, they enforce a whole host of invasive laws designed to make everyone behave in a manner which the lawmakers considered morally proper. They see to it that you’re not permitted to foul your mind with pornography (whatever that is—even the courts aren’t too sure) or other people’s minds by appearing in public too scantily clad. They try to prevent you from experiencing the imaginary dangers of marijuana (in the ‘20s they protected you from liquor, but that’s not a no-no any more). They even have rules about marriage, divorce, and your sex life. No, the police don’t offer the citizen any protection from such invasions of privacy ... they’re too busy enforcing the invasive laws! Nor do they protect him from the many governmental violations of his rights—if you try to evade being enslaved by the draft, the police will help the army, not you. The police prevent the establishment of an effective, private enterprise defense system which could offer its customers real protection (including protection from governments). In fact, they often prevent you from protecting yourself, as in New York City, where women, even in the most crime-ridden areas, are forbidden to carry effective self-defense devices. Guns, switch-blade knives, tear gas sprayers, etc., are illegal. Of course, the criminals ignore these laws, but the peaceful citizens are effectively disarmed and left at the mercy of hoodlums. In addition to failing to protect citizens from either private criminals or the government, making it almost impossible for the citizens to protect themselves, encouraging crime by creating black markets, and invading privacy with stupid and useless “moral” laws, the police compel citizens to pay taxes to support them! If a citizen requests to be relieved of police “protection” and protests by refusing to pay taxes for the upkeep of the government and its police, the police will initiate force by picking him up and the government will fine and/or imprison him (unless he attempts to defend himself against the police’s initiated violence, in which case his survivors will be forced to bury him at their expense). With the entire weight of the law behind them, this gives the police the safest protection racket ever devised. If the police in a democracy don’t exist to protect the citizens, what is their function? It is essentially the same as that of the police in a dictatorship—to protect the government.

Act of terror does not apply only to the armed terrorists, but also upon those who violate the privacy of peaceful citizens and torture the feeling and emotions of the innocent people by any means. Such ones are the worst and ugliest terrorists under the mask. The world doesn't care yet that.

In the very beginning of her life, the girl-child has direct access to the spirit of life. It is as near to her as the breath that fills her. And it connects her to everything. She is not alone. Her spirit is one with the spirit of her beloved grandmother, her favorite rock, tree, and star. She develops her own methods for contacting the spirit in all things. She climbs a tree and sits in its branches, listening. She loves the woods and listens there too. She has a special friend—a rock. She gives it a name and eats her lunch with it whenever she can. She keeps the window open next to her bed even on the coldest of nights. She loves the fresh air on her face. She pulls the covers tight around her chin and listens to the mysterious night sky. She believes that her grandmother is present even though everyone else says she is dead. Each night, she drapes the curtain over her shoulders for privacy, looks out the window near her bed, listens for Grandma and then says silent prayers to her. Her imagination is free for a time. She does not need priest or teacher to describe god to her. Spirit erupts spontaneously in colorful and unique expressions. God is Grandma, the twinkling evening star, the gentle breeze that washes across her face, the peaceful quiet darkness after everyone has fallen asleep, and all the colors of the rainbow. And because she is a girl, her experience and expression of spirit is uniquely feminine. The spirit of the universe pulsates through her. She is full of herself.

The same evil passion influences our own contemporary attitudes to Jesus. He is still, as C. S. Lewis called him, ‘a transcendental interferer’.12 We resent his intrusions into our privacy, his demand for our homage, his expectation of our obedience. Why can’t he mind his own business, we ask petulantly, and leave us alone? To which he instantly replies that we are his business and that he will never leave us alone. So we too perceive him as a threatening rival, who disturbs our peace, upsets our status quo, undermines our authority and diminishes our self-respect. We too want to get rid of him.

Nurses must be ugly.” Dev closed his eyes. “Mistresses must be pretty. Housekeepers are not supposed to be pretty, but then we have your Mrs. Seaton.” “Hands off.” “My hands off?” Dev raised his head and eyed Westhaven. “My hands off your housekeeper?” “Yes, Dev. Hands off, and this is not a request.” “Getting into the ducal spirit, are you?” Dev closed his eyes again and folded his hands on his chest. “Well, no need to issue a decree. I’ll behave, as she is a female employed by a Windham household.” “Devlin St. Just.” Westhaven’s boots hit the floor with a thump. “Weren’t you swiving your housekeeper while she was engaged to some clueless simian in Windsor?” “Very likely.” Dev nodded peacefully, eyes closed. “And I put away that toy when honor required it.” “What sort of honor is this? I comprehend what is expected of a gentleman, generally, but must have missed the part about how we go on when swiving housekeepers.” “You were going on quite enthusiastically,” Dev said, opening one eye, “when I came down here last night to find a book.” “I see.” “On the sofa,” Dev added, “if that pinpoints my interruption of your orgy.” “It wasn’t an orgy.” “You were what?” Dev frowned. “Trying to keep her warm? Counting her teeth with your tongue? Teaching her how to sit the trot riding astride? Looked to me for all the world like you were rogering the daylights out of dear Mrs. Seaton.” “I wasn’t,” Westhaven spat, getting up and pacing to the hearth. “The next thing to it, but not quite the act itself.” “I believe you,” Dev said, “and that makes it all better. Even though it looked like rogering and sounded like rogering and probably tasted like it, too.” “Dev…” “Gayle…” Dev got up and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I am the last person to begrudge you your pleasures, but if I can walk in on you, and I’ve only been underfoot a day, then anybody else can, too.” Westhaven nodded, conceding the point. “I don’t care that you and Mrs. Seaton are providing each other some slap-and-tickle, but if you’re so far gone you forget to lock the door, then I am concerned.” “I didn’t…” Westhaven scrubbed a hand over his face. “I did forget to lock the door, and we haven’t made a habit out of what you saw. I don’t intend to make a habit of it, but if I do, I will lock the door.” “Good plan.” Dev nodded, grinning. “I have to approve of the woman on general principles, you know, if she has you spouting such inanities and dropping your pants for all the world to see.” “I thought in my own library at nigh midnight I could have privacy,” Westhaven groused. Dev’s expression became serious. “You cannot assume you have privacy anywhere. The duke owns half your staff and can buy the other half, for one thing. For another, you are considered a most eligible bachelor. If I were you, I would assume I had no privacy whatsoever, not even in your own home.” “You’re right.” Westhaven blew out a breath. “I know you’re right, but I don’t like it. We will be careful.

HIS CONTENT IN THE COUNTRY HERE, Here I live with what my board Can with the smallest cost afford; Though ne'er so mean the viands be, They well content my Prue and me: Or pea or bean, or wort or beet, Whatever comes, Content makes sweet. Here we rejoice, because no rent We pay for our poor tenement; Wherein we rest, and never fear The landlord or the usurer. The quarter-day does ne'er affright Our peaceful slumbers in the night: We eat our own, and batten more, Because we feed on no man's score; But pity those whose flanks grow great, Swell'd with the lard of other's meat. We bless our fortunes, when we see Our own beloved privacy; And like our living, where we're known To very few, or else to none.

What all these RETARDS crying to have their 'privacy' back really want is called PEACE OF MIND. and that's between you and God.

Some celebrities are longing for obscurity way more often or intensely than they chased fame.

Tracy knew prisoners often said the most difficult thing to get used to wasn’t being locked behind bars or doors, but learning to deal with the constant noise, the lack of any peace or privacy.

Nature inspires creativity in a child by demanding visualization and the full use of the senses. Given a chance, a child will bring the confusion of the world to the woods, wash it in the creek, turn it over to see what lives on the unseen side of that confusion. Nature can frighten a child, too, and this fright serves a purpose. In nature, a child finds freedom, fantasy, and privacy: a place distant from the adult world, a separate peace.

Our model is the Jesus, not only of Calvary, but of the workshop, the roads, the crowds, the clamorous demands and surly oppositions, the lack of all peace and privacy, the interruptions. Jesus is the divine life operating under human conditions. — C. S. Lewis

It’s great to be on your own for a bit, in the sun, and in the country. That’s one thing you never were in Walton. Nor in any prison, I suppose. For all their solitary confinement you were watched and your every movement – even at times when you’d give a dog a bit of privacy. What they call in Irish—’uaigneas gan ciuneas’— loneliness without peace.

them in. It’s also about the amount of pressure you apply. The controls are exquisitely sensitive.” “What controls?” snapped Wu. “What hieroglyphs?” “I’ll show you. But I want your assurances that you won’t hurt either one of us. If I live up to my end, you have to treat us well from here on out. I get that you won’t let us go, but let us live together in peace. Find a prison that gives us privacy and feels like house arrest. Remember, you never

What is Sapiens (The Sonnet) Soil can survive without sapiens, But there is no sapiens without soil. There is no us if nature goes off the rocker, Yet way more than nature, we value gas and oil. We started off using clothes as cover for privacy, And we ended up prioritizing clothes over integrity. Instead of loving people and using the products, We ended up loving products and abusing humanity. Sapiens is supposed to mean wise and aware, But in practice, sapiens is code for shallow. Sapiens has become just a synonym for show-off. Neither wise, nor aware, sapiens just means narrow. However, no error is ultimate if we're willing for reform. An expanding heart is the antidote to all narrow norm.

She glanced at the mobile phone on the night table and noted that it was still turned off. She decided she didn’t want to hear from Maisie again. She would throw the bloody thing away. She didn’t like them anyway. They were intrusive and made you accessible twenty-four hours a day. Didn’t people feel they wanted any peace any more, on call twenty-four seven? She found it almost Orwellian. No one seemed to have any privacy. CCTV cameras everywhere you went and even TV programmes dedicated to watching complete strangers make arses of themselves.

Controlling Families 1. Conditional Love • Parental love is given as a reward but withdrawn as punishment • Parents feel their children “owe” them • Children have to “earn” parental love Healthier Families 2. Respect • Children are seen and valued for who they are • Children’s choices are accepted Controlling Families 2. Disrespect • Children are treated as parental property • Parents use children to satisfy parental needs Healthier Families 3. Open Communication • Expressing honest thought is valued more than saying   something a certain way • Questioning and dissent are allowed • Problems are acknowledged and addressed Controlling Families 3. Stifled Speech • Communication is hampered by rules like “Don’t ask why” and   “Don’t say no” • Questioning and dissent are discouraged • Problems are ignored or denied Healthier Families 4. Emotional Freedom • It’s okay to feel sadness, fear, anger and joy • Feelings are accepted as natural Controlling Families 4. Emotional Intolerance • Strong emotions are discouraged or blocked • Feelings are considered dangerous Healthier Families 5. Encouragement • Children’s potentials are encouraged • Children are praised when they succeed and given compassion   when they fail Controlling Families 5. Ridicule • Children feel on trial • Children are criticized more than praised Healthier Families 6. Consistent Parenting • Parents set appropriate, consistent limits • Parents see their role as guides • Parents allow children reasonable control over their own bodies   and activities Controlling Families 6. Dogmatic or Chaotic Parenting • Discipline is often harsh and inflexible • Parents see their role as bosses • Parents accord children little privacy Healthier Families 7. Encouragement of an Inner Life • Children learn compassion for themselves • Parents communicate their values but allow children to develop   their own values • Learning, humor, growth and play are present Controlling Families 7. Denial of an Inner Life • Children don’t learn compassion for themselves • Being right is more important than learning or being curious • Family atmosphere feels stilted or chaotic Healthier Families 8. Social Connections • Connections with others are fostered • Parents pass on a broader vision of responsibility to others   and to society Controlling Families 8. Social Dysfunction • Few genuine connections exist with outsiders • Children are told “Everyone’s out to get you” • Relationships are driven by approval-seeking The Consequences of Unhealthy Parenting Healthier parents try, often intuitively and within whatever limits they face, to provide nurturing love, respect, communication, emotional freedom, consistency, encouragement of an inner life, and social connections. By and large they succeed—not all the time, perhaps not even most of the time, but often enough to compensate for normal parental mistakes and difficulties. Overcontrol, in contrast, throws young lives out of balance: Conditional love, disrespect, stifled speech, emotional intolerance, ridicule, dogmatic parenting, denial of an inner life, and social dysfunction take a cumulative toll. Controlling families are particularly difficult for sensitive children, who experience emotional blows and limits on their freedom especially acutely. Sensitive children also tend to blame themselves for family problems.

He cocked his head. "But why did you come to begin with?" "I think you know, Callum," she answered, embarrassed. "Yeah, I think I do, but I want to hear it from you." Why not tell him? This whole sequence wouldn't amount to much more than a dream tomorrow, anyway. "Because you're amazing, because you're a rock star, because you move me. There are probably a million girls on the planet who would do anything to be where I am right now." Luckily, she didn't tell him she loved him; that would have been really awkward. She made herself breathe. "But I took advantage of this ability I have. The real truth is that last night, I'm not sure I could have stopped myself even if I wanted to. I just never thought..." Sylvie trailed off, unable to continue. "What?" "I never thought you'd be able to see me. Most people can't." "Really?" His expression was almost smug. "So why do you think I can?" "I don't know. I don't think anyone really understands how this works. Most times I float around and go unnoticed. I thought if I could just see you, I could make a kind of peace with that." She looked down at her feet, feeling inexcusable. "I'm getting this all wrong. I just wanted to apologize, that's all. And now I really do sound like a stalker." He laughed. "Hey, there are worse things in the world than being stalked by a beautiful girl who has this amazing ability to fly out of her body any time she wants to. What else can you do, Sylvie?" The question lingered in the air. She had a feeling that he wasn't talking about anything spiritual at all. In fact, she got the distinct impression that he was flirting with her. "Don't you want me to leave? Aren't you pissed off?" she asked. He laughed again, totally at ease. She wished she were as relaxed. "Listen, I'm a guy who likes his privacy. But there's something about you... something special. It seems crazy, but maybe I can see you because I'm meant to see you." Sylvie didn't know what to say.

It's a story as old as time - a husband suspects his wife of cheating and seeks the truth. In this case study, we explore how Daniel Meuli Web Recovery became the hero in unraveling the secrets of a cheating wife. The husband, let's call him John, was plagued by suspicions, and Daniel Meuli Web Recovery stepped in to clear the fog and provide concrete information. With their expertise and unyielding determination, Daniel Meuli Web Recovery embarked on the investigation. They began by meticulously gathering relevant information and evidence. Through their advanced tools and techniques, they scoured the depths of the web, tracking digital footprints and uncovering hidden communication channels. They left no stone unturned, leaving John astounded by their skills and efficiency. The investigation yielded undeniable proof of infidelity. Daniel Meuli Web Recovery presented John with a comprehensive report containing irrefutable evidence of his wife's betrayal. Armed with this information, John could no longer ignore the truth. The impact was immense - it shattered the illusions he held onto and forced him to confront the harsh reality. Despite the pain, John found solace in knowing the truth, and he could finally make informed decisions about the future of his relationship. One of the pillars of Daniel Meuli Web Recovery's approach is its commitment to maintaining strict confidentiality. They understand the sensitivity of their client's cases and abide by a code of ethics that ensures utmost discretion. Trust is the foundation of their work, and they go to great lengths to protect their clients' privacy. Daniel Meuli Web Recovery recognizes the importance of operating within the boundaries of the law. They stay updated on legal regulations and ensure that their investigation techniques comply with all relevant standards. By working within legal boundaries, they offer their clients peace of mind, knowing that the truth they uncover can be used appropriately without legal repercussions. While uncovering the truth is crucial, Daniel Meuli Web Recovery doesn't stop there. They understand that emotional recovery is equally important. With their empathetic approach, they offer counseling and guidance to help individuals cope with the aftermath of infidelity. From providing a listening ear to offering sound advice, Daniel Meuli Web Recovery is there to support its clients through the healing process. Be rest assured of a good job when you contact Daniel Meuli web recovery via Email: Danielmeuliweberecovery (At) email dot com

It's a story as old as time - a husband suspects his wife of cheating and seeks the truth. In this case study, we explore how Daniel Meuli Web Recovery became the hero in unraveling the secrets of a cheating wife. The husband, let's call him John, was plagued by suspicions, and Daniel Meuli Web Recovery stepped in to clear the fog and provide concrete information. With their expertise and unyielding determination, Daniel Meuli Web Recovery embarked on the investigation. They began by meticulously gathering relevant information and evidence. Through their advanced tools and techniques, they scoured the depths of the web, tracking digital footprints and uncovering hidden communication channels. They left no stone unturned, leaving John astounded by their skills and efficiency. The investigation yielded undeniable proof of infidelity. Daniel Meuli Web Recovery presented John with a comprehensive report containing irrefutable evidence of his wife's betrayal. Armed with this information, John could no longer ignore the truth. The impact was immense - it shattered the illusions he held onto and forced him to confront the harsh reality. Despite the pain, John found solace in knowing the truth, and he could finally make informed decisions about the future of his relationship. One of the pillars of Daniel Meuli Web Recovery's approach is its commitment to maintaining strict confidentiality. They understand the sensitivity of their client's cases and abide by a code of ethics that ensures utmost discretion. Trust is the foundation of their work, and they go to great lengths to protect their clients' privacy. Daniel Meuli Web Recovery recognizes the importance of operating within the boundaries of the law. They stay updated on legal regulations and ensure that their investigation techniques comply with all relevant standards. By working within legal boundaries, they offer their clients peace of mind, knowing that the truth they uncover can be used appropriately without legal repercussions. While uncovering the truth is crucial, Daniel Meuli Web Recovery doesn't stop there. They understand that emotional recovery is equally important. With their empathetic approach, they offer counseling and guidance to help individuals cope with the aftermath of infidelity. From providing a listening ear to offering sound advice, Daniel Meuli Web Recovery is there to support its clients through the healing process. Be rest assured of a good job when you contact Daniel Meuli web recovery via Email: Danielmeuliweberecovery (At) email dot com

When I sat on display without a moment's privacy or peace to myself, and that even though people were around me, I was still alone in the universe. I was probably difficult to talk to back then, too. I distinctly remember a period in which I didn't get up from bed, didn't wash, didn't eat—until the aliens prodded me with shock-sticks to get me to do something, anything. And while Zhur could definitely benefit from the receiving end of a shock-stick, something tells me that he's getting a wake-up call right now. Even so, I won't be used. I might be nice, but I'm not an idiot. I'm not going to be taken advantage of again. If he apologizes, I'll talk to him and we can come to an agreement. If he doesn't have money, he can work around the farm to pay for room and board. The idea soothes some of my distress, and when I peek out on the porch later, I see the bowl is discarded, the clothing gone.

Whenever I attempt to understand the Pakistani military’s Inter-Services Intelligence and the civilian Intelligence Bureau, whose purpose is to collect crucial information on the security of the state, I am left with biting questions about their true roles in internal and external matters. It is a fact that such countries as India and Pakistan have always suffered from a lack of limits on the role of their intelligence agencies and respect for international law and human rights, including the privacy of individuals within the concept and context of global peace and fundamental freedoms. The ISI, driven by the Pakistan Armed Forces, ignores the supreme constitutional role and rule of a democratic head of state, under which even the Armed Forces themselves fall. This is not only a violation of the constitution but also a rejection of the civilian leadership. This can be interpreted as Pakistan is a country where the servant rules its leader and patron. It is this bitter reality that leads toward the collapse of all systems of society, which the Pakistani nation has faced since the first introduction of martial law by General Ayub Khan in 1958, and such conduct has continued to exist ever since, whether visibly or invisibly. One cannot ignore, avoid, or deny that Pakistan has maintained its physical independence for more than 7 decades. However, its real freedom as conceptualized upon the nation’s creation has been only a dream and abused by its so-called defenders and its power-mongers. Unfortunately, such figures control the ISI and lead it in the wrong direction, beyond the constitutional limits of its power. Consequently, the ISI plays the role of a gang that disrupts the stability of the main political parties and promotes tiny, unpopular parties to gain power for itself. There is thus no doubt that the ISI has failed in its responsibility to support constitutional rule and to secure and defend the state and its people. The failure of the democratic system in the country, directly or indirectly, reflects the harassment practiced by both intelligence agencies without proof or legal process, even interfering with other institutions. The consequences are the collapse of the justice system and the imposition of foreign policies that damage international relationships. The result is a lack of trust in these agencies and their isolation. In a civilized century, it is a tragedy that one dares not express one’s feelings that may abuse God, prophets, or sacred figures. But more than that, one cannot speak a word against the wrongdoing of a handful of army generals or ISI officials. In Pakistan, veteran journalists, top judges, and other key figures draw breath under the spying eyes of the ISI; even higher and minister-level personalities are the victims of such conduct. One has to live in such surroundings. Pakistan needs a major cleanup and reorganization of the present awkward role of the ISI for the sake of international relations, standards, and peace, including the privacy of individuals and respect for the notable figures of society, according to the law.