Prove Someone Wrong Quotes

In order to have faith in his own path, he does not need to prove that someone else's path is wrong.

If someone can prove me wrong and show me my mistake in any thought or action, I shall gladly change. I seek the truth, which never harmed anyone: the harm is to persist in one's own self-deception and ignorance.

In the war room, love? What if someone comes in?” I stood and removed his shirt. “Then they’ll have a good story to tell.” “Good?” He adopted the pretense of being offended. “Prove me wrong.

If someone claims you will never succeed, fail only to listen, for when you prove them wrong, it shall be the sweetest success you will ever know.

A big fear of mine is that I will die before the gender professionals acknowledge that someone like me exists, and then I really won't exist to prove them wrong.

Until Gettysburg," she continued, "I was working for the wrong reasons. At first it was to prove myself worthy in someone's eyes. Later it was out of guilt, trying to find atonement in God's eyes. But atonement is free, never earned. And I've learned that the only person I need to please with my life is God.

Already, the American mind was accomplishing that indispensable intellectual activity of someone consumed with racist ideas: individualizing White negativity and generalizing Black negativity. Negative behavior by any Black person became proof of what was wrong with Black people, while negative behavior by any White person only proved what was wrong with that person.

You go first," Four says. Eric shrug. "Edward." Four leans against the door frame and nods. The moonlight makes his eyes bright. He scans the group of transfer initiates briefly, without calculation and says, "I want the Stiff." .... Heat rushes into my cheeks and I don't know whether to be angry at the people laughing at me or flattered by the fact that he chose me first. "Got something to prove?" asks Eric, with his trademark smirk. "Or you just picking the weak ones, so that if you lose, you'll have someone to blame it on?" Four shrugs. "Something like that." Angry. I should be angry. I scowl at my hands. Whatever Four's strategy is, it's based on the idea that I am weaker than the other initiates. And it gives me a bitter taste in my mouth. i have to prove him wrong-- I have to.

Life is not a sport. Life is not math. There is no final end goal and there is no right answer. Just because your truth does not match someone else's truth does not make either of you wrong. Life is not a zero sum game. If I am right, that does not make you wrong. If you are right, that does not make me wrong either. A jar of vinegar can sit in a cupboard beside a box of baking soda peacefully, and we can allow those who disagree with us to exist alongside us without reacting to them. There is nothing to prove. There is enough room in the world for all of us.

Ten Best Song to Strip 1. Any hip-swiveling R&B fuckjam. This category includes The Greatest Stripping Song of All Time: "Remix to Ignition" by R. Kelly. 2. "Purple Rain" by Prince, but you have to be really theatrical about it. Arch your back like Prince himself is daubing body glitter on your abdomen. Most effective in nearly empty, pathos-ridden juice bars. 3. "Honky Tonk Woman" by the Rolling Stones. Insta-attitude. Makes even the clumsiest troglodyte strut like Anita Pallenberg. (However, the Troggs will make you look like even more of a troglodyte, so avoid if possible.) 4. "Pour Some Sugar on Me" by Def Leppard. The Lep's shouted choruses and relentless programmed drums prove ideal for chicks who can really stomp. (Coincidence: I once saw a stripper who, like Rick Allen, had only one arm.) 5. "Amber" by 311. This fluid stoner anthem is a favorite of midnight tokers at strip joints everywhere. Mellow enough that even the most shitfaced dancer can make it through the song and back to her Graffix bong without breaking a sweat. Pass the Fritos Scoops, dude. 6. "Miserable" by Lit, but mostly because Pamela Anderson is in the video, and she's like Jesus for strippers (blonde, plastic, capable of parlaying a broken nail into a domestic battery charge, damaged liver). Alos, you can't go wrong stripping to a song that opens with the line "You make me come." 7. "Back Door Man" by The Doors. Almost too easy. The mere implication that you like it in the ass will thrill the average strip-club patron. Just get on all fours and crawl your way toward the down payment on that condo in Cozumel. (Unless, like most strippers, you'd rather blow your nest egg on tacky pimped-out SUVs and Coach purses.) 8. Back in Black" by AC/DC. Producer Mutt Lange wants you to strip. He does. He told me. 9. "I Touch Myself" by the Devinyls. Strip to this, and that guy at the tip rail with the bitch tits and the shop teacher glasses will actually believe that he alone has inspired you to masturbate. Take his money, then go masturbate and think about someone else. 10. "Hash Pipe" by Weezer. Sure, it smells of nerd. But River Cuomo is obsessed with Asian chicks and nose candy, and that's just the spirit you want to evoke in a strip club. I recommend busting out your most crunk pole tricks during this one.

Things are complicated. Don’t judge someone as good or bad. If you have already judged, don’t waste your energy in trying to prove that your judgement is right.

So many girls around the world—refugee girls in particular—suffer in silence after being sexually assaulted by someone they know. Most rapes happen at the hands of a relative or friend, not a stranger. I want girls to know that they have the power to speak out. They don’t have to stay quiet. No matter what culture or country you are from, there will always be pressure to remain silent, to never tell. But you don’t have to protect sexual predators. By speaking up, you are standing up for yourself. And you might be preventing it from happening again. Tell people what happened. The predators expect you to stay silent. You can prove them wrong.

Asking me not to break the rules of society is like telling your kid not to eat candy because it’s bad for him. The kid will continue to eat candy until you take it away, or until you prove why he shouldn’t. You also need to provide substitutes for the candy you have denied that child. I was told often enough what was bad, but I was never given a substitute or the opportunity to try another world until I had already become so defiant and twisted, I no longer cared about someone else’s right or wrong. By then I could not see enough honest faces in the world to pattern myself after. Your Bibles didn’t mean anything to me. A Bible had driven my mother from her home. The people you chose to raise me beat and raped me and taught me to hate and fear. From what I have seen throughout my life, the laws of the land are practiced only by the little guy. Those who have money and success abuse every law written and get away with it. I admit my reasoning comes from the wrong side of the tracks, but once these opinions are formed and reinforced a few times, it is hard to believe otherwise. So even if I don’t shed a tear, I console myself: I had some help in becoming the person I am.

What would it take to become someone Annie cared about? He wanted to find out everything there was to know about her, not just to prove her wrong about romance being dead, but to satisfy his own burning curiosity.

There is a story they tell, about a girl dared by her peers to venture to a local graveyard after dark. This was her folly: when they told her that standing on someone’s grave at night would cause the inhabitant to reach up and pull her under, she scoffed. Scoffing is the first mistake a woman can make. I will show you, she said. Pride is the second mistake. They gave her a knife to stick into the frosty earth, as a way of proving her presence and her theory. She went to that graveyard. Some storytellers say that she picked the grave at random. I believe she selected a very old one, her choice tinged by self-doubt and the latent belief that if she were wrong, the intact muscle and flesh of a newly dead corpse would be more dangerous than one centuries gone. She knelt on the grave and plunged the blade deep. As she stood to run she found she couldn’t escape. Something was clutching at her clothes. She cried out and fell down. When morning came, her friends arrived at the cemetery. They found her dead on the grave, the blade pinning the sturdy wool of her skirt to the ground. Dead of fright or exposure, would it matter when the parents arrived? She was not wrong, but it didn’t matter any more. Afterwards, everyone believed that she had wished to die, even though she had died proving that she could live. As it turns out, being right was the third, and worst, mistake.

I think he killed someone already. Capital offense an’ all that.” Bailey tilted her head to one side. “That’s something that never made sense to me,” she said. “What?” “The death penalty. I mean, how does killing someone prove that killing people is wrong?

Anything of importance will remain. Anything useless will disappear. It is not the Warrior’s responsibility, however, to judge the dreams of others, and he does not waste time criticizing other people’s decisions. In order to have faith in his own path, he does not need to prove that someone else’s path is wrong.

Until I was twenty I was sure there was a being who could see everything I did and who didn't like most of it. He seemed to care about minute aspects of my life, like on what day of the week I ate a piece of meat. And yet, he let earthquakes and mudslides take out whole communities, apparently ignoring the saints among them who ate their meat on the assigned days. Eventually, I realized that I didn't believe there was such a being. It didn't seem reasonable. And I assumed that I was an atheist. As I understood the word, it meant that I was someone who didn't believe in a God; I was without a God. I didn't broadcast this in public because I noticed that people who do believe in a god get upset to hear that others don't. (Why this is so is one of the most pressing of human questions, and I wish a few of the bright people in this conversation would try to answer it through research.) But, slowly I realized that in the popular mind the word atheist was coming to mean something more - a statement that there couldn't be a God. God was, in this formulation, not possible, and this was something that could be proved. But I had been changed by eleven years of interviewing six or seven hundred scientists around the world on the television program Scientific American Frontiers. And that change was reflected in how I would now identify myself. The most striking thing about the scientists I met was their complete dedication to evidence. It reminded me of the wonderfully plainspoken words of Richard Feynman who felt it was better not to know than to know something that was wrong.

Calling someone a bigot, or an idiot, or an asshole feels good, but it does not prove you right or that person wrong.

Every time someone tells me I can't do something the more I want to do it, not to prove them wrong but because I always knew I could do it.

If you think that life has passed you by, or, even worse, that you are living someone else’s life, you can still prove the experts wrong. T

In order to have faith in his own path, he does not need to prove that someone else’s path is wrong.

When someone gives you a single example to prove a point, don’t just agree, ask for more examples. Don’t mistake the exception for the rule.

The truth is, when someone doesn’t want you, no reason matters. No amount of fixing could change that and actually, there isn’t anything that needs to be fixed because nothing was wrong or missing in the first place. You have always been wholly you, before or after them, including all the flaws and imperfections that make you unique. So if you ever feel the need to redeem or validate yourself after being rejected, please don’t because no one can take anything away from you by not wanting you and you aren’t born to prove yourself to anyone.

I reach for her. 'I'm so sorry I had to keep...' My words die on my tongue as she steps back, avoiding me. 'Not happening.' A world of hurt flashes in those hazel eyes, and I fucking wither. 'Just because I believe you and am willing to fight with you doesn't mean I'll trust you with my heart again. and I can't be with someone I don't trust.' Something in my chest crumples. 'I've never lied to you, Violet. Not once. I never will.' She walks over to the window and looks down, then slowly turns back to me. 'It's not even that you kept this from me. I get it. It's the ease with which you did it. The ease with which I let you into my hear and didn't get the same in return.' She shakes her head, and I see it there, the love, but it's masked behind defences I foolishly forced her to build. I love her. Of course I love her. But if I tell her now, she'll think I'm doing it for all the wrong reasons, and honestly, she'd be right. I'm not going to lose the only woman I've ever fallen for without a fight. 'You're right. I kept secrets,' I admit, pressing forward again, taking step after step until I'm less than a foot from her. I palm the glass on both sides of her head, loosely caging her in, but we both know she could walk away if she wanted. But she doesn't move. 'It took me a long time to trust you, a long time to realise I fell for you.' Someone knocks, I ignore it. 'Don't say that.' She lifts her chin, but I don't miss the way she glances at my mouth. 'I fell for you.' I lower my head and look straight into her gorgeous eyes. She might be rightfully pissed, but she sure as Malek isn't fickle. 'And you know what? You might not trust me anymore, but you still love me.' Her lips part, but she doesn't deny it. 'I gave you my trust for free once, and once is all you get.' She masks the hurt with a quick blink. Never again. Those eyes will never reflect hurt I've inflicted ever again. 'I fucked up by not telling you sooner, and I won't even try to justify my reasons. But now I'm trusting you with my life- with everyone's lives.' I've risked it all by just bringing her here instead of taking her body back to Basgiath. 'I'll tell you anything you want to know and everything you don't. I'll spend every single day of my life earning back your trust.' I'd forgotten what it felt like to be loved, really, truly, loved- it'd been so many years since Dad died. And mom... Not going there. But then Violet gave me those words, gave me her trust, her heart, and I remembered. I'll be damned if I don't fight to keep them. 'And if it's not possible?' 'You still love me. It's possible.' Gods, do I ache to kiss her, to remind her exactly what we are together, but I won't, not until she asks. 'I'm not afraid of hard work, especially not when I know just how sweet the rewards are.. I would rather lose this entire war than live without you, and if that means I have to prove myself, over and over, then I'll do it. You gave me your heart, and I'm keeping it.' She already owns mine, even if she doesn't realise it.

In the war room, love? What if someone comes in?' 'Then they'll have a good story to tell.' 'Good?' He adopted the pretense of being offended. 'Prove me wrong.' His eyes lit with the challenge.

Relationships without hiccups were too boring, so inevitably they had to end. Don't get comfortable. Uncomfortable and not knowing had become my comfort zone. I was always looking for an ultimatum - a way to test someone's commitment, to prove they would disappoint me, and if they didn't do anything wrong, I would find a way to prove they were disappointing before they even had a chance to be.

Trust does not emerge simply because a seller makes a rational case why the customer should buy a product or service, or because an executive promises change. Trust is not a checklist. Fulfilling all your responsibilities does not create trust. Trust is a feeling, not a rational experience. We trust some people and companies even when things go wrong, and we don’t trust others even though everything might have gone exactly as it should have. A completed checklist does not guarantee trust. Trust begins to emerge when we have a sense that another person or organization is driven by things other than their own self-gain. With trust comes a sense of value—real value, not just value equated with money. Value, by definition, is the transference of trust. You can’t convince someone you have value, just as you can’t convince someone to trust you. You have to earn trust by communicating and demonstrating that you share the same values and beliefs. You have to talk about your WHY and prove it with WHAT you do.

If someone can prove me wrong and show me my mistake in any thought or action, I shall gladly change. I seek the truth, which never harmed anyone. The harm is to persist in one's own self-deception and ignorance.

When someone challenges you or says it’s impossible to get what you want or to do what you wish, let that be your fire. Prove them wrong. Not for revenge—this isn’t about them, it’s about you and proving to yourself what you can do.

I pray that the world never runs out of dragons. I say that in all sincerity, though I have played a part in the death of one great wyrm. For the dragon is the quintessential enemy, the greatest foe, the unconquerable epitome of devastation. The dragon, above all other creatures, even the demons and the devils, evokes images of dark grandeur, of the greatest beast curled asleep on the greatest treasure hoard. They are the ultimate test of the hero and the ultimate fright of the child. They are older than the elves and more akin to the earth than the dwarves. The great dragons are the preternatural beast, the basic element of the beast, that darkest part of our imagination. The wizards cannot tell you of their origin, though they believe that a great wizard, a god of wizards, must have played some role in the first spawning of the beast. The elves, with their long fables explaining the creation of every aspect of the world, have many ancient tales concerning the origin of the dragons, but they admit, privately, that they really have no idea of how the dragons came to be. My own belief is more simple, and yet, more complicated by far. I believe that dragons appeared in the world immediately after the spawning of the first reasoning race. I do not credit any god of wizards with their creation, but rather, the most basic imagination wrought of unseen fears, of those first reasoning mortals. We make the dragons as we make the gods, because we need them, because, somewhere deep in our hearts, we recognize that a world without them is a world not worth living in. There are so many people in the land who want an answer, a definitive answer, for everything in life, and even for everything after life. They study and they test, and because those few find the answers for some simple questions, they assume that there are answers to be had for every question. What was the world like before there were people? Was there nothing but darkness before the sun and the stars? Was there anything at all? What were we, each of us, before we were born? And what, most importantly of all, shall we be after we die? Out of compassion, I hope that those questioners never find that which they seek. One self-proclaimed prophet came through Ten-Towns denying the possibility of an afterlife, claiming that those people who had died and were raised by priests, had, in fact, never died, and that their claims of experiences beyond the grave were an elaborate trick played on them by their own hearts, a ruse to ease the path to nothingness. For that is all there was, he said, an emptiness, a nothingness. Never in my life have I ever heard one begging so desperately for someone to prove him wrong. This is kind of what I believe right now… although, I do not want to be proved wrong… For what are we left with if there remains no mystery? What hope might we find if we know all of the answers? What is it within us, then, that so desperately wants to deny magic and to unravel mystery? Fear, I presume, based on the many uncertainties of life and the greatest uncertainty of death. Put those fears aside, I say, and live free of them, for if we just step back and watch the truth of the world, we will find that there is indeed magic all about us, unexplainable by numbers and formulas. What is the passion evoked by the stirring speech of the commander before the desperate battle, if not magic? What is the peace that an infant might know in its mother’s arms, if not magic? What is love, if not magic? No, I would not want to live in a world without dragons, as I would not want to live in a world without magic, for that is a world without mystery, and that is a world without faith. And that, I fear, for any reasoning, conscious being, would be the cruelest trick of all. -Drizzt Do’Urden

To give up having to be right, having to prove someone else wrong, having to have the last word, having to be understood - that is the mark of a person who is capable and truly ready to create a loving relationship that will last and flourish over time.

Yeah, well that’s the thing about ignorance,” she said. “You can prove it wrong over and over and that doesn’t make it change. But every now and then you find someone in the pack that has a chance of breaking free and being an intelligent, feeling human.

Rape and sexual assault are unusual, if not quite unique, in that often, the only real evidence of a crime is the victim's testimony. Physical evidence might demonstrate that a sexual encounter took place between two people, but even cuts and bruises can't definitively prove lack of consent on one person's part. Especially if the accused is the alleged victim's friend, lover or spouse, or someone with whom they freely chose to leave a party. Ultimately, in the absence of photographic or video evidence, it comes down to one person's word against another's. The most obvious tragic result of this fact is that nearly half of rapes are never reported, fewer are prosecuted, and even fewer lead to a felony conviction. Victims wonder what the point of reporting uncorroborated sexual violence is, and they're not wrong.

Just because someone tells you that you will never amount to anything doesn't mean you have to prove them right. Prove them wrong by succeeding. There is no sweeter revenge than making someone eat their words. Even if they don't admit they're wrong about you, you will know.

You wouldn’t happen to know...” (This throws down a challenge, which makes people want to prove you wrong.) “... just one person...” (Just one, because it’s reasonable and seems a simple ask, and they’re more likely to think of someone by name.) “... someone who, ust like you...” (This has the person narrowing down the options and gives you more of the right prospects, plus it pays a subtle compliment.) “... would benefit from...” And then emphasize the specific benefit or positive experience they have just thanked you for. Then... shut up! People say thank you when they feel they owe you something.

Although I’m terrified of hurting other people’s feelings, when it comes to challenging their thoughts, I have no fear. In fact, when I argue with someone, it’s not a display of disrespect—it’s a sign of respect. It means I value their views enough to contest them. If their opinions didn’t matter to me, I wouldn’t bother. I know I have chemistry with someone when we find it delightful to prove each other wrong.

Every time I pulled her back in only to disappoint her, I had unintentionally been solidifying what her mum had been telling her all these years. That she wasn’t enough, she wasn’t enough for me to take a chance on her or on us. I’d realised all too late that I was a coward, while she was petrified of never being enough for someone; she kept offering me a chance to prove her worries wrong. She was the strong one here.

It was for the sake of her work that she made herself beautiful. It scares them, she told me once, poking earrings through her lobes. By them she meant the other physicists in her department, who were mostly men. She had introduced herself at enough institutions, research groups, and conferences to see how her appearance affected her colleagues. It started with surprised confusion—initially she was asked, addressed as xiaojie, what she was looking for, if she was lost. Then came shock and dismissal. She didn’t mind being underestimated. It was a satisfying feeling to prove someone wrong, to know that she would not be underestimated again. After she revealed her intellectual superiority, the result was a kind of terror. Physics professors are not comfortable around beautiful women, she said. She strapped on her high-heeled shoes. It was important to be as tall as the men, so she could make them look her in the eye.

Kraus asks the question of Freudian analysis: What would be enough? At what point would talking about one’s problems for x hours a week, be sufficient to bring one to a state of “normalcy”? The genius of Freudianism, Kraus writes, is not the creation of a cure, but of a disease—the universal, if intermittent, human sentiment that “something is not right,” elaborated into a state whose parameters, definitions, and prescriptions are controlled by a self-selecting group of “experts,” who can never be proved wrong. It was said that the genius of the Listerine campaign was attributable to the creation not of mouthwash, but of halitosis. Kraus indicts Freud for the creation of the nondisease of dissatisfaction. (See also the famous “malaise” of Jimmy Carter, which, like Oscar Wilde’s Pea Soup Fogs, didn’t exist ’til someone began describing it.) To consider a general dissatisfaction with one’s life, or with life in general as a political rather than a personal, moral problem, is to exercise or invite manipulation. The fortune teller, the “life coach,” the Spiritual Advisor, these earn their living from applying nonspecific, nonspecifiable “remedies” to nonspecifiable discomforts.The sufferers of such, in medicine, are called “the worried well,” and provide the bulk of income and consume the bulk of time of most physicians. It was the genius of the Obama campaign to exploit them politically. The antecedent of his campaign has been called Roosevelt’s New Deal, but it could, more accurately, be identified as The Music Man.

About me as a drinker: I wasn't much of one and had a short, bad history of doing it. The few times I'd tried drinking I either became too much like myself or not enough, but either way it was always calamity on top of calamity and I found myself saying way too much about too little and doing the wrong things in the wrong places. Once, at my boss's Christmas party, I passed out for a minute - passed out but still, like a zombie, remained fully ambulatory and mostly functional - and when I came to, I found myself in my boss's kitchen, the refrigerator door open and me next to it at the counter, spreading mayonnaise onto two slices of wheat bread and licking the knife after each pass before I stuck it back in the jar. I heard someone cough or gag, looked up, and saw the kitchen's population staring at me, all of their mouths open and slack, obviously wondering what I thought I was doing, exactly, and all I could think to say was, "Sandwich." Which is what I said. And then, to prove my point, whatever the point was, I ate it. The sandwich, that is.

at the height of the crash. “Each time someone at the table pressed for more leverage and more risk, the next few years proved them ‘right.’ These people were emboldened, they were promoted and they gained control of ever more capital. Meanwhile, anyone in power who hesitated, who argued for caution, was proved ‘wrong.’ The cautious types were increasingly intimidated, passed over for promotion. They lost their hold on capital. This happened every day in almost every financial institution, over and over, until we ended up with a very specific kind of person running

They told me the drugs would take away the pain. They told me the drugs would help me sleep. They are wrong. The pain of losing Damien hasn't gone away. And I hardly ever sleep. There's a part of me that wishes I could close my eyes and shut out the world, but I can't. I can't because I know behind my eyelids, I'll see him. He'll be there looking so fresh and alive. His skin will be vibrant with color, his blue blue eyes sparkling. He'll flash me his radiant smile and for a few minutes, I'll actually believe that he didn't die. I'll believe it and then I wake up to discover that my mind is torturing me with what could have been and I lose control of my emotions. I scream. Sob. Hug my knees to my chest. Rock back and forth. Tug at my hair. I pace the length of my shoebox room and throw myself into the padded white walls. I pray for someone or something to come along and take the pain away. I pray for someone or something to erase my memory so that I'll never have to think of Damien again. And so that I'll never have to live with the painful reminder that I am the reason he died. Damien died for me. And for love. And I'm not quite sure what else. Maybe to prove a point.

Is something wrong?” he asked. “You seem to have forgotten that someone cut my bike in half.” “And you seem to have forgotten that I have a truck,” said Miles. “I can give you a ride. To school, at least.” “No thanks,” I said. “Really. I’m not joking. Unless you’re that against having anything to do with me. I don’t care. You can get in line.” He turned onto the main road. The line from the notebook felt like a dead weight in my stomach. “No, not against it.” I realized with a strange sort of happy dread that we were falling back into the easy conversation we’d had at the bonfire. “But I’d like to know why you’re offering.” “What do you mean?” Honest confusion crossed his face. “Isn’t that the good thing to do?” I burst out laughing. “Since when have you been good? Are you feeling guilty or something?” “A little sentimental, maybe. My first idea was to drive up and down in front of you a few times to prove I had a car and you didn’t.” His tone was light and he was smiling. Holy crap, he was smiling. A real, teeth-showing, nose-scrunching, eyes-crinkling smile. The smile slipped off his face. “What? What’s wrong?” “You were smiling,” I said. “It was kind of weird.” “Oh,” he said, frowning. “Thanks.” “No, no, don’t do that! The smile was better.” The words felt wrong coming out of my mouth. I shouldn’t say things like that to him, but they hung neatly in the air and cleared out the tension. Miles didn’t smile again.

As we dried off, Judd demanded, “Say you’re mine.” The dark look in Judd’s eyes was intense. The angry tension in his expression made me feel like someone had doubted his right to me and he was proving them wrong. “I’m yours forever.” “I won’t let you go. Even if you want to leave, I won’t be able to let you leave.” “Wait, are you threatening me?” I asked, squinting at him. “I’m threatening the guy who tries to take you away.” “What’s he like?” I teased, stepping away from his curious fingers. “How does he woo me from my man?” “Who cares? He’ll be dead before he touches you.” “Because I’m yours?” I said, backing up towards the bed. “Because I’ll always be yours?” Watching me slide under the covers and hold them up for him, Judd gave me a soft smile. “You really are my angel.” “And you’ll always be my knight.

While it has been clear that right and wrong is nonexistent, I can't say that the concept of 'right or wrong' isn't needed. Because of ignorance, we still need authorities to set up rules and say 'vandalism is wrong, killing is wrong, et cetera.' People ask, "So, vandalism isn't wrong? Killing isn't wrong?" I answer, "Uneducated people say that vandalism is wrong. More educated people say that vandalism destroys the things that many people have spent their lives making. Uneducated people say that killing is wrong. More educated people say that killing takes away the only thing that matters which is lives." The more educated people are, the freer they will be, and the words 'right or wrong' won't be needed anymore. There was a bomb again in Brussels yesterday. I laughed. In the past, we had tyrannies because people didn't know what they could do and what they couldn't do. Now, we have democracy. Do we deserve democracy? Do we deserve freedom? No, we don't deserve freedom. We certainly don't deserve democracy. People are still voting for Donald Trump. And people still bomb other people. And socioeconomic gap is still high. Ignorance is still prevalent, so, if you ask me, "Do we deserve democracy? Do we deserve freedom? Do we deserve the world without authority, the world of truth, the world of peace?" I answer, "No, we don't." So, when you hear your president shouting 'Peace!', your government speaking 'Freedom!', ask them 'Are you educated?' Someone asks, "So, instead of 'right or wrong', you will now set up the rules about what we can do and we can't do?" I answer, "No. When will you understand? I stand for the world without authority, the world of truth, the world of peace. OK, forget the truth, forget my book, forget my paper. Let me expand science for you. You will let your fellow humans who are more educated than you set up the rules for you. When all the people are finally educated, please come back and reread my book and my paper, and when you finally understand them, please live in the world of no authority, the world of truth, the world of peace. Me? I probably have been gone by then." There is, however, a problem with how many educated people there are in the world. In my paper, I prove that right and wrong is nonexistent by showing that everything that exists is not wrong and is not right because everything that exists is the result of the thing(s) that happened before it and everything that exists can’t be right because future doesn’t exist. I wrote that terrorism is caused by capitalism (democracy) and capitalism (democracy) is caused by death. This paper was rejected. When educated people fail, there goes all your hope in the world.

According to H.G. Wells, you either adapt or perish, now as ever, is nature’s inexorable imperative. It is not necessary to change, after all survival is not mandatory This generation might seem arrogant to the older generation due to some reasons. The older generation believes an older person or someone of higher authority is always right and being sceptical is an insult, lol Our generation is full of people who are so skeptical, they wanna know why this is this and that is that, they don't just hear and believe, they hear, hear from other sides, look at it critically and express their opinions based on their conviction. This generation is full of people who are somewhat confident cos they study, they observe and due to these, they are equipped with better information and like you know, knowledge is power. You know right from wrong, you know truth from lies. When you are with those in authority and have this knowledge, an ignorant person of higher authority would be scared of you, feel threatened and might resort to maltreating and frustrating you, defaming your character etc The older generation and the younger generation are usually having misunderstanding because the older generation are being deceived by pride, the younger generation due to their advanced education do not wanna give merit to whom it isn't due. While the older generation postulates that respect is not earned but compulsory for them to be accorded, the younger generation believes respect must be earned. lol The older generation rules by fiction but the younger generation lives by facts. The older generation uses age to oppress, the younger generation uses their knowledge to defend. The older generation believes they can never be wrong, the younger generation wants fair hearing, demands for it, if denied, they take it by force due to the confidence they've built around themselves. The older generation is unfair to the younger generation, there was once a time they were listened to without doubts and opposition, this is the time for the younger generation to be listened to due to advancement in education and exposure. The younger generation, due to their quest for higher knowledge through research, etc, they have realized the consequences of being ignorant and with their power of conviction, they are not letting the older generation have their autocratic ways affect them. To the younger generation, one should be able to prove whatever he says, no more latent heresies and this is what the older generation don't wanna hear of. The older generation wants to continue enslaving the younger generation but the younger generation is more equipped than the older generation and as such, not letting that happen. Technology advances every day, the younger generation are ever ready to adapt to the changes but the older generation is not ready for that, they wanna remain stagnant and still have the say of the day. Like George Bernard Shaw once said, the reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man

For years the financial services have been making stock-market forecasts without anyone taking this activity very seriously. Like everyone else in the field they are sometimes right and sometimes wrong. Wherever possible they hedge their opinions so as to avoid the risk of being proved completely wrong. (There is a well-developed art of Delphic phrasing that adjusts itself successfully to whatever the future brings.) In our view—perhaps a prejudiced one—this segment of their work has no real significance except for the light it throws on human nature in the securities markets. Nearly everyone interested in common stocks wants to be told by someone else what he thinks the market is going to do. The demand being there, it must be supplied. Their interpretations and forecasts of business conditions, of course, are much more authoritative and informing. These are an important part of the great body of economic intelligence which is spread continuously among buyers and sellers of securities and tends to create fairly rational prices for stocks and bonds under most circumstances. Undoubtedly the material published by the financial services adds to the store of information available and fortifies the investment judgment of their clients.

The big question that usually comes up at this point of our discussion is, “Abraham, how do I know that what comes forth from within me may be trusted? Isn’t there someone greater than I who makes all of the rules and wants me to be or do specific things?” And we say, you are the creator of your experience, and you have emerged forth into this physical body through the power of your desire. You are not here to prove yourself worthy of something else; you are not here because you seek greater salvation on some other plane. You are here because you have a specific purpose in being here. You want to be a Deliberate Creator, and you have chosen this physical dimension, where there is time and space, so that you may finely tune your understanding and then see the benefits of whatever you have created in thought by allowing it to come into your physical experience. You are adding to the expansion of the Universe, and All-That-Is benefits from your existence, by your exposure to this experience and by your expansion. All that you do pleases that which you seek to please. There is not a list of things that are right and a list of things that are wrong—there is only that which aligns with your true intent and purpose, and that which does not. You may trust your Guidance that comes forth from within you to help you know when you are in alignment with your state of natural Well-Being.

So you don’t trust me: the guy who taught you everything you know. I’m guessing if you have her”—he jerked his thumb at Rae—“that’s no accident. Luke’s buddies sent her to trap you, and she thought she was doing the right thing, because, duh, she’s already proven she’s kinda gullible that way.” “Hey!” Rae said. “You are. Own it. Fix it. Now, you guys have her, which means you escaped whoever sent her after you. You didn’t escape without a fight, given that bruise I see rising on Daniel’s jaw and the scrapes on Derek’s knuckles. But you escaped, and you came back here, and you captured me. Who taught you all that?” “Daniel and I had already started learning,” Maya said, “during those weeks you were chasing us.” “Trial by fire,” he said. “Followed by hardcore, hands-on tactical training. You got away scot-free from these guys because of my lessons. And yet now you don’t trust I’m on your side?” “Nope,” Derek said. “Sorry,” Daniel said. Maya crossed her arms and shook her head. I shrugged. Moreno broke into a grin. “You guys do me proud. I’d give you all a hug, if that wasn’t a little creepy. And if I was the hugging sort. But if you survive the rest of this, I’ll take you all out for beer and ice cream.” “You don’t need to be sarcastic,” Rae muttered. “Oh, but I’m not, and they know it. This is exactly what I trained them for. Trust no one except one another. Excluding you, kid, because I don’t know you, and you have a bad habit of screwing up. But these guys are doing the right thing. Next step?” Turn the tables,” I said. “Capture someone who’s behind this and get them to talk.” “Mmm, yes. That would work. But even better?” “Stop them,” Derek said. “Don’t just take down one. Take them all down.” “Without running to the Nasts for help,” Daniel said. “Because in another year, some of us will be off to college, and we need to be able to look after ourselves.” “Starting with proving we can look after ourselves,” Maya said. Moreno beamed. “You guys are ace. See, this is what I told Sean. The best time to train operatives is when they’re still young and malleable. None of that shit about waiting until they’re eighteen and legally old enough to consent.” Maya shook her head. “I suppose you’d also suggest he have the Cabal terrorize them for weeks first, so they’re properly motivated.” “Exactly. Personal rights and freedoms are vastly overrated. And there’s nothing wrong with a little PTSD. I’ve always found mine useful. Keeps me on my toes.” Rae stared at him. “I’m kidding,” he said to her. “Mostly. Don’t you joke around like this with your instructors? Oh, wait. You don’t have any. Which is why you got tricked—again. And got captured by these guys.” “Can we tie him up now?” Rae said. “And gag him?” “Doesn’t do any good,” Derek said. “We could try.

If someone publishes an essay, or tells a joke, or performs a play that forwards a problematic idea the U.S. government generally wouldn't try to stop that person from doing so. Even if they could. If the expression doesn't involve national security the government generally doesn't give a shit. But, if enough vocal consumers are personally offended, they can silence that artist just as effectively. They can petition advertisers and marginalize the artist's reception and economically remove that individual from whatever platform he or she happens to utilize simply because there are no expression based platforms that don't have an economic underpinning. It's one of those situations where the practical manifestation is the opposite of the technical intention. As Americans we tend to look down on European countries that impose legal limitations on speech. Yet as long as speakers in those countries stay within the specified boundaries discourse is allowed relatively unfettered, even when it's unpopular. In the U.S., there are absolutely no speech boundaries imposed by the government. So the citizenry creates its own limitations based on the arbitrary values of whichever activist group is most successful at inflicting its worldview upon an economically fragile public sphere. As a consequence, the United States is a safe space for those who want to criticize the government, but a dangerous place for those who want to advance unpopular thoughts about any other subject that could be deemed insulting or discomforting. Some would argue that this trade off is worth it. Time may prove otherwise.

The first time he saw her, he formed an impression that did not change for many years: She was a dour, bookish, geeky type who dressed like she was interviewing for a job as an accountant at a funeral parlor. At the same time, she had a flamethrower tongue that she would turn on people at the oddest times, usually in some grandiose, earth-scorching retaliation for a slight or breach of etiquette that none of the other freshmen had even perceived. It wasn't until a number of years later, when they both wound up working at Black Sun Systems, Inc., that he put the other half of the equation together. At the time, both of them were working on avatars. He was working on bodies, she was working on faces. She was the face department, because nobody thought that faces were all that important -- they were just flesh-toned busts on top of the avatars. She was just in the process of proving them all desperately wrong. But at this phase, the all-male society of bit-heads that made up the power structure of Black Sun Systems said that the face problem was trivial and superficial. It was, of course, nothing more than sexism, the especially virulent type espoused by male techies who sincerely believe that they are too smart to be sexists. That first impression, back at the age of seventeen, was nothing more than that -- the gut reaction of a post-adolescent Army brat who had been on his own for about three weeks. His mind was good, but he only understood one or two things in the whole world --samurai movies and the Macintosh -- and he understood them far, far too well. It was a worldview with no room for someone like Juanita.

Equal protection under the law is not a hard principle to convince Americans of. The difficulty comes in persuading them that it has been violated in particular cases, and of the need to redress the wrong. Prejudice and indifference run deep. Education, social reform, and political action can persuade some. But most people will not feel the sufferings of others unless they feel, even in an abstract way, that 'it could have been me or someone close to me'. Consider the astonishingly rapid transformation of American attitudes toward homosexuality and even gay marriage over the past decades. Gay activism brought these issues to public attention but attitudes were changed during tearful conversations over dinner tables across American when children came out to their parents (and, sometimes, parents came out to their children). Once parents began to accept their children, extended families did too, and today same-sex marriages are celebrated across the country with all the pomp and joy and absurd overspending of traditional American marriages. Race is a wholly different matter. Given the segregation in American society white families have little chance of seeing and therefore understanding the lives of black Americans. I am not black male motorist and never will be. All the more reason, then, that I need some way to identify with one if I am going to be affected by his experience. And citizenship is the only thing I know we share. The more differences between us are emphasized, the less likely I will be to feel outrage at his mistreatment. Black Lives Matter is a textbook example of how not to build solidarity. There is no denying that by publicizing and protesting police mistreatment of African-Americans the movement mobilized supporters and delivered a wake-up call to every American with a conscience. But there is also no denying that the movement's decision to use this mistreatment to build a general indictment of American society, and its law enforcement institutions, and to use Mau-Mau tactics to put down dissent and demand a confession of sins and public penitence (most spectacularly in a public confrontation with Hillary Clinton, of all people), played into the hands of the Republican right. As soon as you cast an issue exclusively in terms of identity you invite your adversary to do the same. Those who play one race card should be prepared to be trumped by another, as we saw subtly and not so subtly in the 2016 presidential election. And it just gives that adversary an additional excuse to be indifferent to you. There is a reason why the leaders of the civil rights movement did not talk about identity the way black activists do today, and it was not cowardice or a failure to be "woke". The movement shamed America into action by consciously appealing to what we share, so that it became harder for white Americans to keep two sets of books, psychologically speaking: one for "Americans" and one for "Negroes". That those leaders did not achieve complete success does not mean that they failed, nor does it prove that a different approach is now necessary. No other approach is likely to succeed. Certainly not one that demands that white Americans agree in every case on what constitutes discrimination or racism today. In democratic politics it is suicidal to set the bar for agreement higher than necessary for winning adherents and elections.

Strong underneath, though!’ decided Julian. ‘There’s no softness there, if you ask me. I think Emma’s got authority but it’s the best sort. It’s quiet authority . . .’ ‘Rita wasn’t exactly loud, Martin!’ Elizabeth pointed out, rather impatiently. ‘I bet Rita was very like Emma before she was elected head girl. Was she, Belinda? You must have been at Whyteleafe then.’ Belinda had been at Whyteleafe longer than the others. She had joined in the junior class. She frowned now, deep in thought. ‘Why, Elizabeth, I do believe you’re right! I remember overhearing some of the teachers say that Rita was a bit too young and as quiet as a mouse and might not be able to keep order! But they were proved wrong. Rita was nervous at the first Meeting or two. But after that she was such a success she stayed on as head girl for two years running.’ ‘There, Martin!’ said Elizabeth. ‘Lucky the teachers don’t have any say in it then, isn’t it?’ laughed Julian. ‘I think all schools should be run by the pupils, the way ours is.’ ‘What about Nora?’ asked Jenny, suddenly. ‘She wouldn’t be nervous of going on the platform.’ ‘She’d be good in some ways,’ said Belinda, her mind now made up, ‘but I don’t think she’d be as good as Emma . . .’ They discussed it further. By the end, Elizabeth felt well satisfied. Everyone seemed to agree that Thomas was the right choice for head boy. And apart from Martin, who didn’t know who he wanted, and Jenny, who still favoured Nora, everyone seemed to agree with her about Emma. Because of the way that Whyteleafe School was run, in Elizabeth’s opinion it was extremely important to get the right head boy and head girl. And she’d set her heart on Thomas and Emma. She felt that this discussion was a promising start. Then suddenly, near the end of the train journey, Belinda raised something which made Elizabeth’s scalp prickle with excitement. ‘We haven’t even talked about our own election! For a monitor to replace Susan. Now she’s going up into the third form, we’ll need someone new. We’ve got Joan, of course, but the second form always has two.’ She was looking straight at Elizabeth! ‘We all think you should be the other monitor, Elizabeth,’ explained Jenny. ‘We talked amongst ourselves at the end of last term and everyone agreed. Would you be willing to stand?’ ‘I – I—’ Elizabeth was quite lost for words. Speechless with pleasure! She had already been a monitor once and William and Rita had promised that her chance to be a monitor would surely come again. But she’d never expected it to come so soon! ‘You see, Elizabeth,’ Joan said gently, having been in on the secret, ‘everyone thinks it was very fine the way you stood down in favour of Susan last term. And that it’s only fair you should take her place now she’s going up.’ ‘Not to mention all the things you’ve done for the school. Even if we do always think of you as the Naughtiest Girl!’ laughed Kathleen. ‘We were really proud of you last term, Elizabeth. We were proud that you were in our form!’ ‘So would you be willing to stand?’ repeated Jenny. ‘Oh, yes, please!’ exclaimed Elizabeth, glancing across at Joan in delight. Their classmates wanted her to be a monitor again, with her best friend Joan! The two of them would be second form monitors together. ‘There’s nothing I’d like better!’ she added. What a wonderful surprise. What a marvellous term this was going to be! They all piled off at the station and watched their luggage being loaded on to the school coach. Julian gave Elizabeth’s back a pat. There was an amused gleam in his eyes. ‘Well, well. It looks as though the Naughtiest Girl is going to be made a monitor again. At the first Meeting. When will that be? This Saturday? Can she last that long without misbehaving?’ ‘Of course I can, Julian,’ replied Elizabeth, refusing to be amused. ‘I’m going to jolly well make certain of that!’ That, at least, was her intention.

You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?" "I'm a what?" said Harry. "A Parselmouth!" said Ron. "You can talk to snakes!" "I know," said Harry. "I mean, that's only the second time I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once- long story- but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to- that was before I knew I was a wizard-" "A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?" Ron repeated faintly. "So?" said Harry. "I bet loads of people here can do it." "Oh, no they can't," said Ron. "It's not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad." "What's bad?" said Harry, starting to feel quite angry. "What's wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin-" "Oh, that's what you said to it?" "What d'you mean? You were there- you heard me-" "I heard you speaking Parseltongue," said Ron. "Snake language. You could have been saying anything- no wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something- it was creepy, you know-" Harry gaped at him. "I spoke a different language? But- I didn't realize- how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?" Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Harry couldn't see what was so terrible. "D'you want to tell me what's wrong with stopping a massive snake biting off Justin's head?" he said. "What does it matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn't have to join the Headless Hunt?" "It matters," said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, "because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent." Harry's mouth fell open. "Exactly," said Ron. "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or something..." "But I'm not," said Harry, with a panic he couldn't quite explain. "You'll find that hard to prove," said Hermione. "He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.

The man’s heart was so full with all the love he felt that one night a great miracle happened. He was looking at the stars and he found the most beautiful one, and his love was so big that the star started coming down from the sky and soon that star was in his hands. Then a second miracle happened, and his soul merged with that star. He was intensely happy, and he could hardly wait to go to the woman and put that star in her hands to prove his love to her. As soon as he put the star in her hands, she felt a moment of doubt. This love was overwhelming, and in that moment, the star fell from her hands and broke in a million little pieces. Now there is an old man walking around the world swearing that love doesn’t exist. And there is a beautiful old woman at home waiting for a man, shedding a tear for a paradise that once she had in her hands, but for one moment of doubt, she let it go. This is the story about the man who didn’t believe in love. Who made the mistake? Do you want to guess what went wrong? The mistake was on the man’s part in thinking he could give the woman his happiness. The star was his happiness, and his mistake was to put his happiness in her hands. Happiness never comes from outside of us. He was happy because of the love coming out of him; she was happy because of the love coming out of her. But as soon as he made her responsible for his happiness, she broke the star because she could not be responsible for his happiness. No matter how much the woman loved him, she could never make him happy because she could never know what he had in his mind. She could never know what his expectations were, because she could not know his dreams. If you take your happiness and put it in someone’s hands, sooner or later, she is going to break it. If you give your happiness to someone else, she can always take it away. Then if happiness can only come from inside of you and is the result of your love, you are responsible for your happiness. We can never make anyone responsible for our own happiness, but when we go to the church to get married, the first thing we do is exchange rings. We put our star in each other’s hands, expecting that she is going to make you happy, and you are going to make her happy. It doesn’t matter how much you love someone, you are never going to be what that person wants you to be. That is the mistake most of us make right from the beginning. We base our happiness on our partner, and it doesn’t work that way. We make all those promises that we cannot keep, and we set ourselves up to fail.

Aren’t you afraid someone will get the wrong idea about us?” I ask. “What idea are you worried about?” I shrug. “That they’ll think we’re a thing.” “We are a thing,” he says. He starts to swing my hand in his between us. “We are totally a thing.

When ever you think that you're the best in something you do,then there will be always someone will come to prove you wrong.

If you want to get the best of an argument, avoid it. An argument usually ends with both contestants more firmly convinced that they’re right and the other side is wrong. You can't win an argument because if you’re wrong, you lose, and if you’re right, you still lose. Why? Because if you prove someone they are wrong, you hurt their pride and make them feel inferior, so they will resent you for it.

Cass didn’t know what she and Falco were looking for, but whatever it was, they weren’t going to find it rowing around wealthy neighborhoods in the dark. “This is pointless,” she said. “The man with the falcon mask could live in any of these palazzos, or none at all. Besides, we don’t even know if he has anything to do with this mess.” Falco shook his dark hair back from his face. “I was worried this would be a dead end, but I…” He trailed off. “You what?” Cass asked. Falco rubbed at the scar under his eye. “I wanted to see you,” he said. “I wanted to spend time with you.” Cass looked away from him. Again, she felt like someone was stabbing her between her ribs. “Maybe that’s pointless too,” she said. Their boat floated past a gondola. Two forms were visible in the moonlight. A man and woman lay intertwined on the base of the boat. Bare skin, gentle rocking. Falco followed her eyes. “You know that I care about you, Cass.” “But it doesn’t mean anything.” Cass tried to keep her voice from trembling. “Because it can’t lead to anything more.” Falco set aside the oars and turned her face toward his. “You’re wrong. It means everything. You mean everything.” He held her chin between his thumbs and forefingers. “Why do my feelings have to lead anywhere at all? Why can’t we just be here, now, in this moment?” His touch made shivers dance up and down her back. Maybe Falco was right. Why did she care so much about the future? Maybe she should just be thankful that they could be together here, right now. “Why can’t you just be who you are?” Falco asked, his lips moving toward hers. Because I don’t know who that is anymore. “You’re changing me,” she whispered. “I see everything differently now.” Cass didn’t fight it when Falco leaned in and kissed her. She didn’t resist as he tipped her gently backward and laid her down on the wooden bottom of the batèla. Just be who you are. Easy to say, but so difficult to do. Falco unfolded a blanket over her. “So you don’t get cold,” he said. “What’s going to keep you warm?” Cass asked softly, reaching up to tousle his hair. Falco laughed. “Trust me, I’m plenty warm.” “Prove it,” Cass said, pulling him down to her level.

What worries me is that common sense seems to be dwindling to the point of extinction. The minds of men whom our contemporaries consider educated are regressing to the level of the most ignorant peasant on a Mediaeval manor. There is something terrifying in the spectacle of men who hold degrees in the genuine sciences and assemble vast arrays of elaborate scientific equipment to “prove” the authenticity of a “Holy Shroud,” and thus make it necessary to assemble more equipment and conduct long and painstaking research to prove what any half-way educated and rational man would have known from the very first. And the same sotie is performed whenever some prestidigitator claims that he can bend spoons by thinking about them. Is there any limit to the gullibility of “highly qualified scientists”? I sometimes have a vision of scores of great scientists and tons of elaborate and very expensive laboratory equipment assembled about a pond into which they drop horsehairs to determine whether the percentage that turn into tadpoles is significant by the binomial formula. If hairs from Standard-breeds don’t work, get some from Appaloosas. Then try Percherons and Arabians: their hairs may make tadpoles better. And no one can say that the hairs of horses do not turn into tadpoles until you have made exhaustive scientific tests of hairs from every known breed of horses – and then someone will turn up to prove that the negative results are all wrong, because tadpoles come from the hairs of horses who eat the variety of four-leaved clover that grows in a hidden valley in Afghanistan, so the assembled scientists and their equipment will start all over.

*WHAT IS MATURITY?* I used to think that maturity was about age and physical development, how wrong I was. I have since found out that age is only but a number, below are 20 definitions of *MATURITY* *-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-* 1.... *Maturity* is when you accept other people the way they are and their level of maturity. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 2.... *Maturity* is when you understand that your ideas are not always the best. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 3.... *Maturity* is when you learn to let go even if it pains. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 4... *Maturity* is when you are able to drop expectations from a relationship and give for giving sake. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 5.... *Maturity* is when you understand that whatever positive things you do, you do for your own peace. *-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 6... *Maturity* is when you stop proving to the world how RIGHT OR SUPERIOR you are. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 7.... *Maturity* is when you stop comparing yourself with others because life is not a competition. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-* 8.... *Maturity* is when you understand that you can't and shouldn't always get what you want every time. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 9.... *Maturity* is when you are contented and satisfied with your life and yet aspiring to be better everyday.. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 10.... *Maturity* is when someone hurt you and you understand their attitude and stay clear, rather than trying to hurt them back. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 11.... *Maturity* is when you start thinking about other people and not just yourself. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 12.... *Maturity* is when you know you cant please everyone. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 13.... *Maturity* is when you see things in different perspectives - far beyond the way they seem. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 14.... *Maturity* is when you love more and judge less. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 15.... *Maturity* is responsibility *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 16.... *Maturity* is Love *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 17.... *Maturity* is the application of wisdom and knowledge in humility.. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 18... *Maturity* is when you accept that your accomplishment, failures, destiny, reputations and virtually everything about your life depends on God's will and the choices you make and not pointing fingers at others. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 19... *Maturity* is when someone hates you and you still pray for them to succeed. *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+* 20.... *Maturity* is knowing God, serving Him with all that you've got and pursuing His Kingdom no matter what people think or say... *+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+*

Were you not optimistic about Mr. Winterborn’s vision?” “I expected it would turn out well enough, but there was still a chance that something might have gone wrong. I would hate for that to happen to Winterborne. He’s not one to suffer hard knocks with forbearance and grace.” Helen gathered that not all of Winterborne’s impatience was a result of being confined to a sickroom. “I had imagined that a man who owned a department store would be very charming and put people at ease.” West grinned at that. “He can be. But the moments when he’s charming and putting people at ease are when he’s most dangerous. Never trust him when he’s nice.” Her eyes rounded with surprise. “I thought he was your friend.” “Oh, he is. But have no illusions about Winterborne. He’s not like any man you’ve ever known, nor is he someone your parents would have allowed you to meet in society.” “My parents,” Helen said, “had no intention of allowing me to meet anyone in society.” Staring at her keenly, West asked, “Why is that, I wonder?” She was silent, regretting her comment. “I’ve always thought it odd,” West remarked, “that you’ve been obliged to live like a nun in a cloister. Why didn’t your brother take you to London for the season when he was courting Kathleen?” She met his gaze directly. “Town held no interest for me; I was happier staying here.” West’s hand slid over hers and squeezed briefly. “Little friend…let me give you some advice that may prove helpful in the future, when you’re in society. When you lie, don’t fidget with your hands. Keep them still and relaxed in your lap.” “I wasn’t--” Helen broke off abruptly. After a slow breath, she spoke calmly. “I wanted to go, but Theo didn’t think I was ready.” “Better.” He grinned at her. “Still a lie…but better.

Andre didn’t make that connection at first. He worked hard—at the wrong tasks. And he failed to make a dent in his wife’s love-language needs. For someone who takes pride in his work, that can be a tough pill to swallow. Most of us are wired with an instinctive desire to prove our worth—as husbands, providers, and caretakers. Beyond that, we want our work to mean something. And we want credit for the things we do. The Way Things Used to Be Many people get married believing their spouse is already fluent in acts of service. They base their belief on the way the spouse acted while they were dating. Many of these people quickly discover that what two people do for each other before marriage is no indication of what they’ll do after marriage.

I am Sebastiano, and your name?” he asks. “Violet,” I say as we step over the threshold. “Violetta!” he says, throwing his arms wide. “English girl, Italian name!” And across the room, I see a dark head turn in our direction. That much taller than the rest of the boys, he stands out, his straight black silky hair falling over his face, his blue eyes as bright and cold as the water of the fjord next to my grandmother’s summer rental cottage. I was looking for him before and couldn’t see him anywhere; now that I’ve been distracted by dancing and a Chianti-drinking donkey, he’s spotted me. His gaze flicks like a knife between me and the boy, who’s at the gigantic wine bottle now, filling cups and handing me one. “Salute!” Sebastiano says, touching his cup to mine, and I glance up at Luca, seeing that he’s taking this in, too. A rush of confusion fills me as I toast. I’m glad that Luca’s seen me with someone else, that I haven’t been a wallflower at this party, that I’ve proved him wrong, even a little bit, because there’s a boy here who seems to like me, who’s talking to me, anyway, getting me a drink. In films, in books, flirting with a boy is a surefire way to get the one you actually like interested in you, draw him over to your side. They’re supposed to like competition, the challenge of going after a girl who’s popular. But maybe real life doesn’t quite work that way. Because Luca arches one black eyebrow, his mouth quirks up on one side in a sneer, and he turns pointedly away sliding a cigarette into his mouth, and lighting it with a flip of his Zippo. Disgusting habit, I think as firmly as I can. I’m glad he’s not coming over, smoking a nasty stinking cancer stick. It’s awful when you lie to yourself. I do think smoking is foul, but I’m also more than aware that if Luca strolled over to talk to me, with that cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, I wouldn’t walk away, complaining about the smoke; I’d stand there staring up at him, trying not to grin as widely as a five-year-old meeting Cinderella at Disneyland.

Aelin leaned against the closet doorway, clad in a nightgown of gold. Metallic gold—as he’d requested. It could have been painted on her for how closely it hugged every curve and dip, for all that it concealed. A living flame, that’s what she looked like. He didn’t know where to look, where he wanted to touch first. “If I recall correctly,” she drawled, “someone said to remind him to prove me wrong about my hesitations. I think I had two options: words, or tongue and teeth.” A low growl rumbled in his chest. “Did I now.” She took a step, and the full scent of her desire hit him like a brick to the face. He was going to rip that nightgown to shreds.

The mind says everyone is temporary but the heart fills you with the hope that someone will prove your mind wrong.

That no matter how often someone says you can't do something, by simply working harder and trying, you can prove them wrong and actually change your circumstance. Change your thinking and it will change your life.

Two people so desperate for love that they were dragged into horrible things, hoping it would prove their worth. What they needed was someone to hold them, to listen, to remind them they were worth something, and to correct them when they were wrong.

How was it possible to love someone more after being boyfriends for so long? Our love was like our superpower. Whenever anything went wrong, we lifted each other up and held on tight until the pain went away. And we were so much stronger together. Two strong waves merged into one for a more powerful wave that could prove disastrous or become the ride of your life.

I find it hilarious when someone says "science has proven this" and "science did not prove that". As a teacher, I was always proving my students wrong whenever they said those things. But I can't do the same with the many stupid from the western world who are obsessed with the appearances of the physical world. They shout louder when someone proves them wrong, like a little child would if confronted with a lie. People know nothing about science. The real scientists hate people like me, because I ask questions they never considered. You see, science evolves at the exact same level as consciousness, and if your consciousness is not evolved enough, you will think that you can make gold out of iron or that maggots appear spontaneously out of rotten meat. The great philosopher Aristotle believed that life can arise from nonliving matter. There was an equal level of stupidity and absurdity to his rationalizations, albeit often wise. Until a few centuries ago, it was scientifically proven that the earth was not round but was the center of the universe. It was also scientifically proven that if you are cut and bleed when sick, that will make you feel better, unless, of course, you die. Today, everyone tells me that learning disabilities have no cure and that intelligence can't be increased, even though I have always proven those beliefs to be false. Does anyone care? No! Because science is never scientific but a rationalization at the exact same level of consciousness of a people. If consciousness evolves nearly everything that you are being told now will be proven to be false, and scientists are afraid of that, which is why they stop any among them from being an heretic and prove the religious science of today to be wrong. Now, that requires quite a high level of consciousness, to not be emotionally affected by the fact that you have been fooled by everyone on almost everything you consider to be true, and worse - restart again!

Asking questions with the intention of learning something is better than asking questions with the motive of proving someone wrong.

I’ve always trusted my gut when it comes to people and I’m rarely wrong. I can tell whether someone is good or bad within a couple of minutes of meeting them, and time and life tend to prove me right. Almost always.

Choose your company with care,” he said. “In life, careful casting is essential. Be sure to find someone who knows the full measure of your stupidity. They will keep you anchored amid a torrent of praise. They will remember you when everyone else turns away — just as this person said they would. It is then when you lift yourself out of whatever gutter you’re floating in and try to prove them wrong. You would do well to remember that illusions are cheap. Honesty is rare.

I’ve never really understood the importance of class participation. If I have the knowledge and I can prove that I have it in a test or in some homework, then why do I have to show it off in front of the whole classroom to get the grade? Or worse, if I don’t know the answer, why do I have to humiliate myself in front of the entire classroom just for some points? I just don’t get it. All I can say is that I definitely didn’t want that top spot hard enough to participate daily in every class. Although I gotta say that sometimes I was tempted to force myself to participate just so I could get the teachers off my back. “You have to learn to come out of your shell,” “Don’t be shy, we don’t bite,” “You’re never going to make it in the real world if you don’t talk.” They always used the same old, tired phrases. I knew some of them had good intentions, and maybe they were right, maybe I needed to speak up and participate more, but why did they think it was a good idea to motivate me like that? I’m sure there are other ways to promote class participation without being so aggressive or rude. Public humiliation was not going to magically transform me into someone outgoing like my brother, my parents had already tried that for years with no results. It is the teachers’ job to create a safe space for students to grow and develop, not a safe space for mocking and bullying. By singling me out as the “quiet one,” the teachers basically put a target on my back and gave my classmates permission to mock me for the same reason. And they took that permission by heart. All through middle school, many kids enjoyed bullying me for being quiet—and for other things, like preferring to read during recess instead of playing sports and for my short stature, but mostly it was for being quiet, which is something that I’ve never fully understood. Why did being quiet make me stand out? Shouldn’t it have been the other way around? I used to try to not pay attention to the bullies, but when so many people—including some of the teachers—tell you that there’s something wrong with you, you can’t help but start to wonder if they’re right.

The progressives pose as the champions not only of fairness and social justice but also of compassion. They are the ones who insist on our obligation to those from whom we have allegedly stolen. Let’s leave aside for the moment whether they are right about the theft. What we do know for sure is that progressives assert there has been a theft. They further acknowledge that they are among the beneficiaries of it. Based on this, they would seem to have a clear obligation to return the stolen goods that they are currently enjoying. We might expect, from this analysis, to discover that progressives are the most generous people in America. We can anticipate that they contribute the highest portion of their incomes and time to help their wronged and less fortunate fellow men and women. The truth, however, is that progressives are the least generous people in America. I saw this personally with Obama, who unceasingly declares that “we are our brother’s keeper” even as he refuses to help his own half brother, George, who lives in a hut in the Huruma slum of Nairobi. I met George in early 2012 when I interviewed him for my film 2016: Obama’s America. A few months after that, when I was back in America, George called me from Kenya to ask me to give him $1,000 because his baby son was sick. Surprised, I asked him, “Why are you calling me? Isn’t there someone else you can call?” He said, “No.” So I sent him the money. I guess on that occasion it was I, not Obama, who proved to be his brother’s keeper. And besides George, the president has other relatives in dire need—his aunt Hawa Auma, for example, sells charcoal on the roadside in rural Kenya, and desperately needs money to get her rotting teeth fixed. Although Obama is aware of their plight, he refuses to help them.

Today, I grieve with the rest of America over the loss of President David Collins. He was a great man, someone who inspired us to do great things. Now, we must prove to him that Americans can do these great things. We will bring America forward, and if you join me, you too will be part of this great new chapter in American history. We have gotten our priorities wrong these past few years, and I will steer us onto the correct path. “Effective immediately, the United States military will be under the control of the United Nations. As we speak, security forces are rounding up officers who are a threat to the peace and security of this government. If you’re an enlisted person in the military, you’re welcome to re-enlist under the banner of the United Nations. Most administrative matters concerning the day-to-day operations of running the United States will fall to the administrative offices of the United Nations. My fellow Americans, we can become a great partner to the United Nations and join the world community as global citizens. We will go forward into the future.

Uh, well, I do enjoy meat. The only thing I’ve had to eat so far on Twin Moons is fruit.” “Bonding fruit.” Suddenly Rigid pulled her close and pressed his face to her neck. Kat tried to push him away but he held her tight, inhaling deeply. To her dismay, the heated lump she felt pressed against her thigh proved that he really lived up to his name. “Hey, let me go!” she gasped, pushing at his broad chest. It reminded her of the way Deep had scented her when they first met but this was different—strange. She couldn’t explain it but it felt utterly and completely wrong to have someone who wasn’t Deep or Lock touching her. Especially this intimately. “Hands off, you son of a bitch,” a deep, familiar voice behind her growled. “This female is spoken for.” “Deep?” Kat turned her head and saw him standing there, his black eyes blazing with barely controlled fury. “Oh, thank God! Help me—they won’t let me go!” “That’s because you just agreed to spend the night with them, teasing their cocks with your talented tongue.” “I said what?” Kat gasped as Deep pulled her away from the very irritated Rigid. “I did not! They just asked me if I liked eating meat and I said that yes, I did enjoy it.” “Is that what you heard them say?” Deep frowned as he hustled her away through the crowd. “Well, not in so many words,” Kat said, trying to keep up with him. “I mean, it was more like, uh…” She tried to think of exactly how Large had put it. “Something about discovering the joys of meat.” Deep raised one black eyebrow at her as he dragged her along. “You mean the pleasures of the flesh?” “Oh my God!” Kat shook her head. “But I had no idea that was what they meant. Look, could you please slow down?

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie When I hear someone expressing an adamant opinion which is diametrically opposed to my own, I have a strong temptation to try to convince them otherwise. But what value is there in attempting to prove another person wrong? How would that solve anything?

Why do some people feel the need to throw a person's errors or weaknesses in their face or criticize their shortcomings? What benefit can they possibly receive from proving someone wrong to prove they are right? This level of insensitivity and self-centeredness leaves collateral damage in its wake and destroys positive impressions.

I won’t be beaten by a child.” He spat the final word, as if the notion that someone as young as sixteen hundred years could possibly better him was unthinkable. I aimed to prove him wrong.

The Waiting Here you come along. I take a breath and remind myself that I too can be strong. Thought I was cool Turns out I'm a fool Clearly you've proved me wrong. I didn't know what I was missing when I was alone. And now I'm fruitlessly waiting for Someone not thinking before they start rushing to my door. Someone to run not walk Oh, someone to sing not talk Oh, no hesitation at all Sometimes I need you to be the one to call. Well I'm lost in my thoughts They tumble ahead Over and over again. Yeah it's true Just take a look at what's been done to me. I've wasted time to ponder Here I am now all Alice in Wonder. Partly I do this to myself, but why can't you see The gesture is small, but know that it means the world to me. Oh, forgive me for wanting, I'm only learning. I've forgiven myself now, there's no returning. I want to be the one who knows the best way I want to be the one who knows the best way I want to be the one who knows the best way to love you. But now I'm foolishly waiting for Someone not thinking before they start rushing to my door Someone to run not walk Oh, someone to sing not talk Oh, no hesitation at all. Sometimes I need you to be the one to call. I need you to be the one I need you to be the one I need you to be the one.

The textbook version is simple: experimenters find out things in the world, either by seeing them or by making them happen. Theorists try to explain these things. And when an experiment produces results theories can’t explain, someone comes up with a better theory.

Why is she mad at you?” She’s all innocence and wonder. “What makes you think she’s mad at me?” I narrow my eyes at her. “She looked like she was going to cry.” Fuck. She did. I pick up my phone and call Matt. “Hey,” I say. “What the fuck do you want?” he replies. But he has that playful tone in his voice that’s all Matt. “Hayley wants to come over and touch Sky’s belly.” “Oh,” he says. He puts his hand over the phone and says something to someone. “Bring her over. Sky’s belly will be waiting.” I wait a beat. “What’s wrong?” he says. “I think I messed up.” “Friday?” “Yeah.” “Bad?” “Yeah.” “You want us to watch Hayley so you can go talk Friday down off the ledge?” “I just want to climb up with her and hold her hand.” I scrub my palm down my face. “How far away are you?” “Five minutes.” He hangs up on me. I hate it when he does that; I taught him better manners. I look down at Hayley. “You want to go touch Matt and Sky’s babies? See if they’re kicking?” She puts her hands on her hips. “You’re despecting.” I sputter. “I’m what?” “Despecting. Making me think about one thing when I want to think about another. Like why Friday is crying.” I scratch my head. “Despecting?” “Despecting,” she says again. She puts her hands up like she’s blocking karate chops. “Despecting.” “Oh, deflecting!” I laugh. “Yeah, I’m deflecting. That okay with you?” “Do I still get to go see Sky’s belly?” I nod, and she grins. Apparently, deflecting is okay as long as Matt’s babies are involved.

When we get to the street, he takes my backpack from my shoulder and puts it on his, and then he takes my hand. My heart skitters. I never would have taken Paul for a touchy-feely kind of guy, but he totally is. He never touched Kelly much in public, or any of the other girls I know he slept with, but with me, it’s like he can’t get enough contact. He squeezes my hand. “This okay?” he asks. I nod and grin at him. He has the most adorable dimples, and he gives me a crooked smile, showing them off. “Aren’t you afraid someone will get the wrong idea about us?” I ask. “What idea are you worried about?” I shrug. “That they’ll think we’re a thing.” “We are a thing,” he says. He starts to swing my hand in his between us. “We are totally a thing.

He squeezes my hand. “This okay?” he asks. I nod and grin at him. He has the most adorable dimples, and he gives me a crooked smile, showing them off. “Aren’t you afraid someone will get the wrong idea about us?” I ask. “What idea are you worried about?” I shrug. “That they’ll think we’re a thing.” “We are a thing,” he says. He starts to swing my hand in his between us. “We are totally a thing.

Whenever I think there's a perfect pattern, further reading and study reveal an exception. Whenever I want to say "only" or "always", someone or something proves me wrong. My scientist friends have come up with things like "principles of uncertainty" and dark holes. They're willing to live inside imagined hypotheses and theories. But many religious folks insist on answers that are always true. We love closure, resolution, and clarity, while thinking that we are people of "faith"! How strange that the very word "faith" has come to mean its exact opposite.

The best way to analyze anyone consists in mirroring their behaviors and words, as when you do it they reveal their real intentions. The best way to defeat someone, consists in accepting their tools of argument, for when doing so and proving them wrong, you disarm them and make them retreat from your life.

If I recall correctly,” she drawled, “someone said to remind him to prove me wrong about my hesitations. I think I had two options; words, or tongue and teeth.” A low growl rumbled in his chest. “Did I now?” She took a step, and the full scent of her desire hit him like a brick to the face.

The first time I saw you, I fell in love. I didn’t think I ever had a chance with someone like you, and you proved me wrong. You gave me everything I could have ever wanted and then gave it again. I love you.

For Putin, my worth was as a pawn. My arrest gave him leverage in his clash with the West. He was well aware of America’s long history of racial tensions, and he knew how to use that to his benefit. As the news sank in that morning, I cried because I’d let down my father. The Griner name was now stained around the globe: dopehead, drug dealer, dumb. I hurt because I knew I’d handed the world a weapon. When you’re Black, your behavior is never just about you. It’s about your entire community. You live with this responsibility to represent the best of us, to prove the haters wrong. Doesn’t matter if you actually want that job; how you act will be seen through that lens. If someone white messes up, most folks just shake their heads. But if a Black person makes the same mistake, it’s like, “See, I told you they were worthless.” I wear my Blackness with pride, just as my parents do. I cried not just because I’d failed Mom and Pops, but also because I felt I’d shamed my people.

Sometimes you can’t prove whether you’re right or wrong. Only time can tell that. But if you believe in your own power to objectively reason, that’s a key to happiness. And a key to confidence. Another key I found to happiness was to realize that I didn’t have to disagree with someone and let it get all intense. If you believe in your own power to reason, you can just relax. You don’t have to feel the pressure to set out and convince anyone. So don’t sweat it! You have to trust your own designs, your own intuition, and your own understanding of what your invention needs to be.

There is always a choice available with us to ignore the comments of others and move on. The other option is to indulge in a tiring and pointless defense. Do you really need to prove someone wrong or yourself right?

People are always trying to prove that the way things are is wrong, and that someone should do something about it, to make the world better. Often it’s under the guise of ‘fairness’. People die because someone else thinks their theory of the world is more fair.

To give up having to be right, having to prove someone else wrong, having to have the last word, having to be understood—that is the mark of a person who is ready to create a loving relationship that can last and flourish over time.

A silent Library! Can you imagine anything more miserable?" September blinked. "I thought Librarians liked silence! I'm sure someone shushed me on the way in!" "I can't help that I make shushing noises when I walk! It's a far sight better than squeaking loafers! You poor girl, what sort of aged, unfriendly Libraries have you met in your short life? A silent Library is a sad Library. A Library without patrons on whom to pile books and tales and knowing and magazines full of up-to-the-minute politickal fashions and atlases and plays in pentameter! A Library should be full of exclamations! Shouts of delight and horror as the wonders of the world are discovered or the lies of the heavens uncovered or the wild adventures of devil-knows-who sent romping out of the pages. A Library should be full of now-just-a-minutes and that-can't-be-rights and scientifick folk running skelter to prove somebody wrong. It should positively vibrate with laughing at comedies and sobbing at tragedies, it should echo with gasps as decent ladies glimpse indecent things and indecent ladies stumble upon secret and scandalous decencies! A Library should not shush; it should roar!

At times, when someone wrongs you or a loved one, you may feel tempted to become an arbiter of justice and take matters into your own hands. However, remember that your charge is always to be a representative of Christ. As believers, our duty isn’t to get revenge or prove a point. Our responsibility is to represent Jesus so that others will be saved. We can do so because God is already a good and faithful Judge, and we don’t have to do His job.

A leader must be keen and alert to what drives a decision, a plan of action. If it was based on good logic, sound principles, and strong belief, I felt comfortable in being unswerving in moving toward my goal. Any other reason (or reasons) for persisting were examined carefully. Among the most common faulty reasons are (1) trying to prove you are right and (2) trying to prove someone else is wrong. Of course, they amount to about the same thing and often lead to the same place: defeat.

You proved me wrong every time you spoke to me. You didn’t even know who I was and you were willing to make me feel like I mattered to someone.

Kinda sounds like you would. Not that it matters, but aren’t you basically telling me that you don’t approve of Keefe? Isn’t that why I’m grounded?” “You’re grounded because you nearly gave me a panic meltdown,” Grady told her. “And it’s not about approval. This is your life. You’ll get to choose who you share it with. But I will say this: Anyone who wants to be special to you should have to prove that they deserve you. Not just Keefe—though he’ll definitely have more of an uphill battle. I’d be saying the same thing if we were talking about someone else. Like . . . oh . . . I don’t know. Dex? Or Fitz?” Sophie buried her face in her hands. “Someone please kill me now.” “Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound good,” Edaline said as she crossed the bedroom to join them. “Do I want to know what you guys are talking about?” “Boys,” Sandor and Grady said at the same time. “That’s what I was afraid of.” Edaline sat on Sophie’s other side and patted her knee. “If it helps, he drove Jolie just as crazy. You should ask Vertina to share some of the horror stories.” “There’s nothing wrong with making sure Sophie knows that we have high expectations for anyone she chooses,” Grady said. “Another thing to keep in mind, kiddo: Whenever you start to narrow it down, I will be having a looooooooooooooong conversation with him.” “Please tell me he’s joking,” Sophie whined to Edaline.