Rb Quotes

Presidents, Senators, Congressmen, Governors, Mayors, Judges and Justices all fall prey to the Hitman.

The Slice and Dice Fanatic uses his sexual skills to lure his victims into his realm of fun.

Crooked politicians stood in the way of our President until the Hitman doled out justice for them.

Law and order during 2020 seemed to slip past most communities until the Vigilante stepped into view and began his own style of justice.

Eighty-year-old granny protects her right to vote with a shotgun.

It wasn't till they were on the bridge that Delly asked RB, "So, Ferris Boyd's your favorite?" She didn't mind, mostly. RB answered so fast, though, she knew he wasn't fibbing. "She's my favorite friend," he told her. "You're my favorite everything.

God forbid I go to any Heaven in which there are no horses.

Love is not always getting who you love; it’s also the ability to think about the happiness of the one you love…. Weather with you or without you, and your happiness should be in your loved one’s happiness…” - RB...

Poor, poor girl. All tied up and nowhere to go.

And so I write. I write my life. I write to escape real life. I write to live moments over again. I write to rewrite the moments I’ve lived over in a way that makes more sense to me. I write the moments to heal. I write the moments I hope never happen. And I write the moments I hope will happen.

As the nation divided into Federalists and Republicans, each group called the other the worst name possible: "party". Most Americans feared the idea of party; believing that a society should unite to achieve the public good, they denounced parties as groups of ambitious men selfishly competing for power. Worse, parties were danger signals for a republic; if parties dominated a republic's politics, its days were numbered.

Pink reminds me of my love for dance. My youth. The innocence of being young. Tutus. Strawberry frosting on a vanilla cake (my favorite). And lipstick. I love lipstick. It also reminds me that I should take pride in my feminine traits, in being a woman. There is nothing remotely wrong with enjoying femininity. Curves. Hips. Lips. Empathy. Vulnerability. Sensuality. Patience. Intuition.

Snow is...a beautiful reminder of life and all its quirks. It makes me pause. Think. Stay still. Even my mind takes the hint. It makes me feel giddy. Like a kid. I bring my hot cocoa to the window and simply sit and reminisce...It brings me back to days of school cancellations and snow igloos and King of the Mountain games in my childhood neighborhood...That for this one moment in time, I’m not an adult with all the headaches that can accompany that responsibility, but instead, I’m still the girl in pigtails with the handmade hat and mittens, just waiting to build her next snowman.

Royse Bergon: "I've seen your integrity in action. It...widened my world. I'd been raised by my father, who is a prudent, cautious man, always looking for men's hidden, selfish motivations. No one can cheat him. But I've seen him cheat himself. If you understand what I mean." Caz: "Yes." R.B.: "It was very foolish of you to attack that vile Roknari galley-man." Caz: "Yes." R.B.: "And yet, I think, given the same circumstances you would do it again." Caz: "Knowing what I know now...it would be harder. But I would hope... I would pray, Royse, that the gods would still lend me such foolishness in my need." R.B: "What is this astonishing foolishness, that shines brighter than all my father's gold? Can you teach me to be such a fool, too, Caz?" Caz: "Oh," "I'm sure of it.

Jefferson feared that Hamilton had plans radically at odds with the Constitution. As he saw it, Hamilton wanted to warp the federal government out of constitutional shape, converting it into a copy of the British government, built on debt, corruption, and influence. Hamilton's goal, Jefferson charged, was to ally the rich and well born with the government at the people's expense, creating a corrupt aristocracy leagued with the government against the people and destroying the virtue that was the basis of republican government. Only a republic could preserve liberty, Jefferson insisted, and only virtue among the people could preserve a republic.

i have nothing to say you but it does not mean i can not hear you

What is it that makes great leadership, in your view? RB: Being a really good listener is one of the most key things.

You create a file called user.rb in the /models directory:

for the service in spec/service_spec.rb, you add another describe block:

Life and Death or Life and Love... We each decided how to view our world. RBA

I look out my window a lot. ​It’s just one of those things that keeps me grounded in this weird, one-with-nature kind of way. I hate curtains. They only gather dust. And I hate alarms even more. I enjoy the natural light to whisper across my face in the morning with gentle fingers, not some man-made sound that jars me into life with a harsh slap. It is the quiet moments of the morning that I savor most, in bed, looking out my window. It’s when I write my best work.

In the book, hummin bins made castles, and towers up to the sky. They tamed the animals and took care of them. And hummin bins helped each other. They were always good. "When I was done, Ma asked, 'Delly, what are hummin bins?' 'They're like people, but better,' I said. Then I told her, 'When I grow up, I'm going to live with the hummin bins,' and she smiled. "But Galveston grabbed the book, 'Let me see that,' she said, and started laughing. 'This says human beings. There's no such things as hummin bins.' "'Ma, is it true?' I asked, and she nodded. 'How come you didn't tell me?' I cried. "'I liked the hummin bins better, too,' she said." ... "RB's right, Ferris Boyd. You are a hummin bin." Her eyeballs were wet, like they were swimming. It was quiet, then, till RB's soft cloud voice said, "You're a hummin bin, too, Delly.

Sometimes I think people think poetry must be filled with flowery language, thesaurus-driven vocabulary or the dreaded “purple prose,” which is often prevalent in my genre...But oftentimes the best poetry isn’t difficult to understand at all. It’s the juxtaposition of the words. The line breaks. The enjambs. The shape of the poem. Or the double meanings the positioning of the words make the reader feel or think or do.

I don’t believe in a god, not in the traditional sense anyway. I guess that’s what being raised Catholic has done to me. But I do believe in energy. I do believe in right and wrong. I do believe in kindness and truth.

Don’t tell me my writing is misogynistic or anti-feminist just because I or my heroines like to be controlled in the bedroom and find great satisfaction and freedom with it. That is the most anti-feminist statement I have ever heard. Feminism is all about letting women be who THEY want to be. Not how YOU want them to be...I am both a feminist AND a submissive in my sexual fantasies and reality. You are the one who is anti-feminist who tells me I can’t be.

I heard in my own voice the tulmult of a young man playig a role, uneasily, repackaging black R&B music from America, relying on gimmicky outfits, and pretending to be wild & free when in reality he needed to be looked after by his mother.

To me the erotic is the relationship that organically manifests itself between people finding and exploring love. It is the universality of accepting the darkness that makes up human nature, the darkness I find so romantic within that dance, the inevitable opening up that lets in the light of sensuality between two human beings becoming one together without the confines of preconceived morality. In short, an exploration of all the facets of both the subconscious and conscious of light and dark. “Emotional connectedness.

Yesterday morning, I awoke to a brilliant rainbow. At first, I marveled at the sky’s pink hues, and I thought how soothing it was. I haven’t had that feeling in a long time, that feeling of being at peace with myself or my life. I got out of bed to stand to pull the obligatory curtain further, the color peeking through the leaves of the oaks outside my window. Where I had been seeing grey for quite some time shone now pink. The color is hard to describe accurately. It was pink; but it bordered on a light red. It told me to come look at it.

Jamaica was the Ophir of the West of Scotland in those times. Upon its sugar fields and by the agency of its slave labour, Glasgow slowly emerged from its primeval state of small borough town, to be a business centre, rivalling and soon surpassing Bristol in its West India trade.

Romance and romantic are different. Death, itself, can be romantic. Nature and a destructive snowstorm can be romantic. Lovers in love but giving that up can also be romantic. There is something aesthetically romantic in beauty itself. And beauty can even be pain. Therefore, pain is romantic, especially when the sufferer does so for love.

Chris Columbus selected him specifically for the part

The earliest and most dramatic changes in maternal physiology are cardiovascular. These changes improve fetal oxygenation and nutrition.

Dyspnea during pregnancy may be “physiologic” but still requires evaluation insofar as it may represent respiratory or cardiac illness.

do we have a bunch of fucktards working for us?” “Both,

I saw a meme that goes: If the love doesn’t feel like 90’s R&B, I don’t want it. And I thought to myself, this is how hungry people are for sensuality. They don’t even know it!

$200 million dollars. 

In grade school his school nickname was Leonardo Retardo.

Great space has no corners; Great powers come late; Great music is soft sound; The great Form no shape. Tao 41

I was always the girl growing up who just wasn’t quite like the rest of them. I liked working hard. I liked contorting my body until I could feel the ache inside my bones, until I could feel the pain in my teeth. I liked to wear lipstick and nothing else and found myself fascinated with the shape of my lips and the different colors I could make them. I ate too little. Slept too much. Masturbated far too often and at far too young an age. I enjoyed the feeling of being naked alone behind closed doors, exploring my deepest secrets within my imagination, as I put my hand over the rapid pace of my heart to feel how nervous it made me. I blushed at the faintest mention of my name and almost perished when complimented. I loved to find the answers behind someone’s eyes. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of when someone REALLY looks at you. And I read. Every chance I got.

the intimacy of the kiss, that feeling of euphoria that comes with that kiss that is right and real, that kiss that swallows you up, starting from the curl in your toes to the fine hairs on the back of your neck, that kiss that leaves you panting for air, that makes each part of your body quiver as you melt against him, that makes you suck his bottom lip into your mouth with the overwhelming urge to bite it. Sometimes hard. That. That kind of kiss.

The 'magic' is the known and unknown quiet, spiritual, invisible thread which links and reveals harmonic elements to a universe of high vibrational sensory. And our beloved Bro. Maurice David knew it's undeniable creative power, from within.

What did we talk about? I don't remember. We talked so hard and sat so still that I got cramps in my knee. We had too many cups of tea and then didn't want to leave the table to go to the bathroom because we didn't want to stop talking. You will think we talked of revolution but we didn't. Nor did we talk of our own souls. Nor of sewing. Nor of babies. Nor of departmental intrigue. It was political if by politics you mean the laboratory talk that characters in bad movies are perpetually trying to convey (unsuccessfully) when they Wrinkle Their Wee Brows and say (valiantly--dutifully--after all, they didn't write it) "But, Doctor, doesn't that violate Finagle's Constant?" I staggered to the bathroom, released floods of tea, and returned to the kitchen to talk. It was professional talk. It left my grey-faced and with such concentration that I began to develop a headache. We talked about Mary Ann Evans' loss of faith, about Emily Brontë's isolation, about Charlotte Brontë's blinding cloud, about the split in Virginia Woolf's head and the split in her economic condition. We talked about Lady Murasaki, who wrote in a form that no respectable man would touch, Hroswit, a little name whose plays "may perhaps amuse myself," Miss Austen, who had no more expression in society than a firescreen or a poker. They did not all write letters, write memoirs, or go on the stage. Sappho--only an ambiguous, somewhat disagreeable name. Corinna? The teacher of Pindar. Olive Schriener, growing up on the veldt, wrote on book, married happily, and ever wrote another. Kate Chopin wrote a scandalous book and never wrote another. (Jean has written nothing.). There was M-ry Sh-ll-y who wrote you know what and Ch-rl-tt- P-rk-ns G-lm-an, who wrote one superb horror study and lots of sludge (was it sludge?) and Ph-ll-s Wh--tl-y who was black and wrote eighteenth century odes (but it was the eighteenth century) and Mrs. -nn R-dcl-ff- S-thw-rth and Mrs. G--rg- Sh-ld-n and (Miss?) G--rg-tt- H-y-r and B-rb-r- C-rtl-nd and the legion of those, who writing, write not, like the dead Miss B--l-y of the poem who was seduced into bad practices (fudging her endings) and hanged herself in her garter. The sun was going down. I was blind and stiff. It's at this point that the computer (which has run amok and eaten Los Angeles) is defeated by some scientifically transcendent version of pulling the plug; the furniture stood around unknowing (though we had just pulled out the plug) and Lady, who got restless when people talked at suck length because she couldn't understand it, stuck her head out from under the couch, looking for things to herd. We had talked for six hours, from one in the afternoon until seven; I had at that moment an impression of our act of creation so strong, so sharp, so extraordinarily vivid, that I could not believe all our talking hadn't led to something more tangible--mightn't you expect at least a little blue pyramid sitting in the middle of the floor?

Real God and Love, too, I knew, must be more like the mother who stretches her mind around queerness and polyamory and all the limits of gender, and keeps inviting the children back who’ve hurt her or done what she never would have—a mom who believes in Love.

The only time I met R.B. clandestinely was in the parish church, where we were married before two witnesses — it was the first and only time. I looked, he says, more dead than alive, and can well believe it, for I all but fainted on the way, and had to stop for sal volatile at a chemist’s shop.

I...love my curves and clothes and shoes; I love the way adrenaline from dancing or love-making reaches my cheeks. I love my long hair and the way his fingers feel running through it. I like to touch my lips and look at them look in several different shades of lipstick And yup...I love the color pink.

There is evidence that a mystical, clairvoyant faculty of a most practical kind is commonly taken for granted in many ‘primitive’ societies, from pre-Communist Tibet to the Hebrides; and is merely bred out and killed off by industrialism, compulsory education, and the belief that every question has an answer.

...to pick up an old-fashioned newspaper, ink barely dry, staining my fingers in that beautiful hue of grey that is messy and decadent at the same time. I lick to get to the Food section and the Arts and Entertainment section, my greedy little fingers wrapped around both the awkward pages of the dying art and my coffee mug as I curl into what I deem relaxation.

It was great but intense to try to go back into a character’s mind, a mind that is filled with self-loathing and a mind that is male. It is fun to try to psychoanalyze why a character acts and feels the way he/she does, and doing it as a different gender lends itself to many challenges. My desire to delve into the male psyche comes from many years of being drawn to men that seem to have a darker side. But there is also light in them, and it is that duality and intensity that makes me feel alive. Thorne is very much that man as is my first male protagonist, Michael, from the Natalie’s Edge series. Each man, while plagued with a dark past and demons, has this glorious light within them, fighting noble causes. I picture them as true anti-heroes, like the likes of Batman, the Dark Knight.

James Brown had many guises, many names: Crip, Music Box, The Hardest Working Man In Show Business, Mr. Please Please Please, Butane James, Soul Brother Number One, Skates, The Godfather of Soul...He was His Own Bad Bad Self, the Sex Machine, Black Elvis, the Minister of the New New Super Heavy Funk, The Original Disco Man, Universal James. But before any of them, he was simply a dancer doing the James Brown.

When we seek to understand liberty, equality, progress, constitutional governance, separation of church and state, and the meaning of the American Revolution, we do so in contexts framed by Jefferson's writings and arguments. Whatever we think of Jefferson as a person or as a politician, we can never take away from him his remarkable gift as a writer or his ultimate claims to fame. He achieved his intention to express 'the American mind' and became the leading spokesman for the revolution of ideas that changed, and that continues to change, the face of America and the world. His words mean not only what he might have intended them to mean, but also what succeeding generations of Americans have read into them. Thus, whether he would even comprehend the United States in the first years of the twenty-first century, Jefferson's shadow looms large over us, thanks to the conflicting influences of his thinking, doing, and -- most important -- his writing. That truth alone requires each generation to reacquaint itself with the life and work of Thomas Jefferson, and to grapple with his ambiguous legacies.

Some men look at constitutions with sanctimonious reverence, and deem them like the arc of the covenant, too sacred to be touched. They ascribe to the men of the preceding age a wisdom more than human, and suppose what they did to be beyond amendment. I knew that age well; I belonged to it, and labored with it. It deserved well of its country. It was very like the present, but without the experience of the present; and forty years of experience in government is worth a century of book-reading; and this they would say themselves, were they to rise from the dead.

life is like a trip nobody knows what will comes next

Loss is a peculiar thing. It drives creativity, and it fuels the dark emotions that inspire a designer or writer or musician to bring forth a creative child whole-cloth.  It is loss that compels creativity.

The primary functional change in the cardiovascular system in pregnancy is a marked increase in cardiac output.

In the first half of pregnancy, cardiac output rises as a result of increased stroke volume and, in the latter half of pregnancy, as a result of increased maternal heart rate, whereas the stroke volume returns to near-normal, nonpregnant levels. These

These changes in stroke volume are due to alterations in circulating blood volume and systemic vascular resistance. Circulating

Pregnancy is associated with an increase in total body oxygen consumption of approximately 50 mL O2/minute, which is 20% greater than nonpregnant levels.

Progesterone causes increased central chemoreceptor sensitivity to CO2, which results in increased ventilation and a reduction in arterial pco

Approximately 7% of pregnancies are complicated by diabetes that either develops during pregnancy (gestational diabetes) or was antecedent to pregnancy (pregestational diabetes mellitus). In

Gestational diabetes mellitus (GDM) refers to glucose intolerance identified during pregnancy. In most patients, it subsides postpartum, although glucose intolerance in subsequent years occurs more frequently in this group of patients.

about one-fifth of the cardiac output goes through the uterus at term increasing the risk from postpartum hemorrhage substantially.

During pregnancy, arterial blood pressure follows a typical pattern. When measured in the sitting or standing position, diastolic blood pressure decreases beginning in the 7th week of gestation and reaches a maximal decline of 10 mm Hg from 24 to 26 weeks. Blood

Physiologic changes in blood pressure in midpregnancy may be misunderstood as hypotension unless allowance for gestational age is made.

The cardiovascular system is in a hyperdynamic state during pregnancy. Normal physical findings on cardiovascular examination include an increased second heart sound split with inspiration, distended neck veins, and low-grade systolic ejection murmurs, which are presumably associated with increased blood flow across the aortic and pulmonic valves.

Serial blood pressure assessment is an essential component of each prenatal care visit.

Measured blood pressure is highest when a pregnant woman is seated, somewhat lower when supine, and lowest while lying on the side.

Our consciousness is in a dream state right now, not fully in Gaia or Earth.

in Australia, the air in the room around Ian wavered, liquefied then flashed a bright cold white. Ian vanished before he had time to question the strangeness

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Of course, the first words that I ever speak to Max McLellan can’t be Hi or how’s it going? Nope, it has to be a word used for excrement. Nice.

Sometimes it is said that man can not be trusted with the government of himself. Can he then be trusted with the government of others? Or have we found angels in the forms of kings to govern him? Let history answer this question.

NO!” she screamed, as the power of lightning pulsated through every fiber of her being and exploded through the room.

though there was something so fascinating and absorbing to my engaged mind, that I frequently long to reproduce its unearthly music and sights.

Karma is life dramatized to suit the yearning and growing needs of the individual soul.

R.B. Dayaram Sahni first discovered Harappa (on Ravi) in 1921. R.D. Banerjee discovered Mohenjodaro or ‘Mound of the Dead’ (on Indus) in 1922. Sir John Marshal played a crucial role in both these.

pittance

One of the Western world's most serious problems is the tension between the group and the individual. Our culture trains people in individualism and then condemns them to live forever in groups, large groups. The Rule of Benedict, however, trains people to live in community. The question is, Why? Isn't the eremitical life the life of complete perfection and total dedication to God? And the answer is, yes it is., for some people. But not for most, and then only after they have learned the virtues that come from life in community (RB 1). Most social beings, however are meant to find their sanctification by living under the authority of society. It is the community that forms community values and virtues in me. It is the community that provides the arena for mutual support. It is from the community that I get an example of life lived well. It is in the community that teaching becomes real. It is in the community that authority is meant to become a gift rather than an instrument of oppression. It is only in the community that I really learn to listen to the voice of God in one another and to see the face of God in the other as well as in my own. It is only in community that I can learn to wield patience as well as power. It is only in community that I can learn to obey the command to serve one another.

...the erotic is as natural as drinking water. Sometimes we sip it. Sometimes we gulp it. Sometimes we devour it. And yes, sometimes we can choke on it. Without it, I doubt a person is truly living life fully if they can't find beauty in the eroticism of being a human being with needs and desires that are basic and instinctual.

We will focus attention on binary relations as these are by far the most important. If R ⊆ S × S is a binary relation on S, it is common to use the notation aRb in place of (a, b) ∈ R.

This plantation is not my last stop in this life.

Although a version of Hamilton's rule is indeed a fully general evolutionary truth, nothing about individual maximization can be deduced directly from this generalized form of the rule, contrary to what is sometimes implied. In particular, although the generalized Hamilton's rule yields the rb > c condition for the social trait to spread, one cannot conclude that that individuals behave as if trying to maximize the quantity (rb - c); they cannot do this, as this quantity is frequency-dependent.

I’d once read that sociopaths were devoid of empathy and remorse.

The condensation from his breath misting up the clear plastic.

Aickman was also to say that he appreciated Douglas’s ‘conviction that the unaesthetic is ipso facto bad’.

Their right to freedom of religion or belief (FoRB) is under sustained attack and continues fracturing beyond repair. What makes it even more poignant is that the collapse of religious freedom is so real yet has been left undiagnosed.

To afford protection to certain Scottish merchants who were going to Bremen, Lubeck and Hamburg to trade, and promising protection to the merchants of the Hanseatic League, when their mercantile affairs should bring them to Scotland. If they read the the records of any other countries of that time, notably those of the Genoese and Venetian Republics and many others shortly after they were instituted, they would find a widely different spirit to that which animated the national hero of Scotland. Nearly every one of those other Republics cut themselves off by inpenetrable walls of protection - by arms, by tariffs, and by sustoms - in order that their merchants should be protected: but Wallace understood clearly that there could be no international goodwill without international reciprocity and protection to the merchants of the various nationalities.

It makes a big difference', she said, as we left the restaurant, 'not having words for a thing. It makes whole parts of the world totally invisible.' 'And yourself,' I said, knowing it was true without being able to explain it.

It makes a big difference," she said, as we left the restaurant, "not having words for a thing. It makes whole parts of the world totally invisible." "And yourself," I said, knowing it was true without being able to explain it.

No one doubts that eventually the Matabele will be conquered, and that our flag will wave triumphantly over the remnant of them in the same way it waves triumphantly over the workhouse pauper and the sailors' poor whore in the east end of London. Let it wave on over an empire reaching from north to south, from east to west, wave over every island, hitherto ungrabbed, on every sterile desert and fever-haunted swamp as yet unclaimed, over the sealer amid the icebergs, stripping the fur from the live seal, on purpose to oblige a lady; over the abandoned transport camel, perishing of thirst in the Sudan: and still keep waving over Leicester Square, where music halls at night belch out crowds of stout imperialists.

I want a place with stories and genuine laughter, Dollars on crossbeams, bra’s strung from the rafter No focus group menu and sanitized spaces, I’ll settle for friends in old seedy places! Nick Schlonski

Of all the towns of the department of Bolivar, Cartegena is the most picturesque. Not only is it the most old-world town of the department, but of the whole Republic and perhaps of the whole continent of South America... [it] was once the place of meeting of the great Plate fleet, that took the silver gathered together from all the mines of the New World, across the sea to Spain. Many a time the British and French corsairs hung off and on, just out of sight of land, to attack with varying degrees of success.

DR: You started with how much capital? RB: Baron Capital was really Baron lack of capital. My firm had $100,000 book value and three employees, including me. Our first month in business, we made $30,000. DR: Today, in 2021, you’re managing assets at Baron of what? RB: Fifty-five point three billion dollars. And we made our clients over the years $51.5 billion of profits. My family and I are the largest investors. More than 6.5 percent of the assets we manage are ours.

I’ve made up my mind, I’m leaving it all to you. I’m leaving it all behind, retreating on the road That once led me to you.

How could Hell be any worse than trying to live with all these secrets? At least in Hell, if you were on fire, you didn’t have to pretend you weren’t.

Well, another thing we know is that a lot of people who are gay don’t have the ability to admit it even to themselves. But if she were straight, if she were a straight teacher and a male student had a crush on her, would she react that way?

Same-sex love has often been relegated to the margins of art as problematic (and preferably tragic).

Kissing Brad had felt good, but it was like the drip coffee back in America versus the espresso made in Europe.

In reality, it was just people talking to each other, through centuries—carvings on walls, poems, radio waves, TV signals, and the internet—telling stories to show each other what we can survive, the chorus of survivors, of bad women and queers, of teachers and artists, repeating that same thing over and over in all the different languages: Get up, come out: resurrect yourself.