Rear View Mirror Quotes

We look at the present through a rear view mirror. We march backwards into the future.

Hello, beautiful Livia," Blake answered. "How did you know it was me?" Livia saw her wide smile in the rear view mirror. "The phone looked sexier when it rang.

You cannot drive with your eyes in the rear-view mirror… But dignity is difficult to maintain. Stamina requires constant upkeep. Repetition is boring. And you pay for grace.

The best car safety device is a rear view mirror with a cop in it.

Look at life through the windshield, not the rear-view mirror.

If I ever get a car I’m going to hang a miniature garbage can from the rear view mirror and tell people it’s my “dream catcher.

But nothing lasts forever," Drew said, and then he and Roger sang together "Even cold November rain." I looked from one to the other, baffled. "Seriously?" asked Drew, catching my expression in the rear-view mirror. "Magellan, get this girl some GNR.

The past was dwindling, like something shrinking to a speck in the rear-view mirror, and the future was shining through the windscreen, demanding her full attention.

There's a reason why car's have big windshields, but small rear-view mirrors...

The road of life is filled with sunshine and clouds, black and white, triumphs and tragedies. As we continue down the road, we decide which things we bring with us, and which we leave in the rear-view mirror.

Until recently, I was an ebook sceptic, see; one of those people who harrumphs about the “physical pleasure of turning actual pages” and how ebook will “never replace the real thing”. Then I was given a Kindle as a present. That shut me up. Stock complaints about the inherent pleasure of ye olde format are bandied about whenever some new upstart invention comes along. Each moan is nothing more than a little foetus of nostalgia jerking in your gut. First they said CDs were no match for vinyl. Then they said MP3s were no match for CDs. Now they say streaming music services are no match for MP3s. They’re only happy looking in the rear-view mirror.

I Didn't Ask to Be a Senior Citizen (I Was Drafted)

If you can see a cop in your rear view mirror - no matter how far back the cop is - TURN! The sooner you turn the better. Your goal while driving should be to never let a law enforcement officer into a position where he can pull you over. Don't even let them come close enough to read your tag.

There’s something I forgot to do. I know I left something I didn’t mean to.But when I look back in the rear-view mirror, no one’s there. There’s nothing at all. Nothing.

We read, we wrote, we prayed, we cried, we listened,we screamed, we spoke out, we marched, we helped others in need. But how much do we change for good? It’s sake and forever? For those of us who survived, when and how we see the benefits of what we went through during those turbulent times is relative. But if we work individually to make justified changes for more value driven and righteous tomorrow, the redlight year that 2020 was will one day in the rear view mirror of life inevitably turn green. And perhaps be seen as one of our finest hours.

You can't move forward while staring out the rear view mirror

If you can see a cop in your rear view mirror - no matter how far back the cop is - TURN!" according to Attorney Rex Curry, "The sooner you turn the better. Your goal while driving should be to never let a law enforcement officer into a position where he can pull you over. Don't even let them come close enough to read your tag.

If you want to drive ahead, look through the windscreen and drive, not through the rear-view mirror!

Suddenly, ahead of us, a group of men ran out of the forest and pulled a thick rope across the road. There was no time to look at them properly, but they didn’t look friendly. I still don’t know why, but my reflex reaction was to foot the accelerator and drive straight through – never a good idea on a dirt track, except perhaps for rally drivers. I’m not sure who was more surprised, me or them, but I found myself looking in the rear-view mirror and seeing men lying on the road, I suppose pulled down by the force of the rope.

Remember, don’t drive into the past using your rear-view mirror as a guide. You want to learn from your past, not live in it—focus on the things that empower you.

Look at life through the windshield, not the rear-view mirror.

No one gets a crystal ball, and you can't drive across the country looking in your rear view mirror.

Think of the fears, hit 3rd gear no point in looking back in the rear view mirror.

The lapis lazuli worry beads, draped over his rear view mirror, swung back and forth like the hips of Scheherazade, Mohammed's favorite belly dancer, who refused, in spite of the war, to leave Baghdad.

The past went a-way. When faced with a totally new situation, we tend always to attach ourselves to the objects, to the flavor of the most recent past. We look at the present through a rear-view mirror.

As they passed through the exit, Indrani pulled Zarina’s stole over her head, covering half of her face. The two words—not guilty—had changed Zarina’s stature in minutes, from a relentless human rights activist to someone running for cover. They climbed down the stairs and rushed to the parking lot. Zarina’s car was in a pathetic condition—smashed windscreen, deflated tyres, broken rear view mirrors and torn upholstery. An exasperated Zarina raised her hands in utter disgust. Mob fury. Idiots, if they have won the case, let them celebrate their victory; why smash my car? The fighter in her forced Zarina to take out her cell phone and click pictures of her car from different angles.

Bicycling unites physical harmony coupled with emotional bliss to create a sense of spiritual perfection that combines one’s body, mind and spirit into a single moving entity. Bicycling allows a person to mesh with the sun, sky and road as if nothing else mattered in the world. In fact, all your worries, cares and troubles vanish in the rear view mirror while you bicycle along the byways of the world: you pedal as one with the universe." ~ Frosty Wooldridge

It was becoming more and more evident that Salem was a town that celebrated individuality, a real live-and-let-live kind of place. Melody felt a gut punch of regret. Her old nose would have fit in here. "Look!" She pointed at the multicolored car whizzing by. Its black door were from a Mercedes coupe, the white hood from a BMW; the silver trunk was Jaguar, the red convertible top was Lexus, the whitewall tires were Bentley, the sound system was Bose, and the music was classical. A hood ornament from each model dangled from the rear view mirror. Its license plate appropriately read MUTT. "That car looks like a moving Benton ad." "Or a pileup on Rodeo drive." Candace snapped a picture with her iPhone and e-mailed to her friends back home. They responded instantly with a shot of what they were doing. It must have involved the mall because Candace picked up her pace and began asking anyone under the age of fifty where the cool people hung out.

I’ve reached that point in my journey, where there is more scenery in the rear view mirror than there is roadway ahead, I now have the time to write. I would rather hit the end of the road at full throttle than coast to a stop in the sunset.

There's folly in her stride that's the rumor justified by lies I've seen her up close beneath the sheets and sometime during the summer she was mine for a few sweet months in the fall and parts of December ((( To get to the heart of this unsolvable equation, one must first become familiar with the physical, emotional, and immaterial makeup as to what constitutes both war and peace. ))) I found her looking through a window the same window I'd been looking through She smiled and her eyes never faltered this folly was a crime ((( The very essence of war is destructive, though throughout the years utilized as a means of creating peace, such an equation might seem paradoxical to the untrained eye. Some might say using evil to defeat evil is counterproductive, and gives more meaning to the word “futile”. Others, like Edmund Burke, would argue that “the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men and women to do nothing.” ))) She had an identity I could identify with something my fingertips could caress in the night ((( There is such a limitless landscape within the mind, no two minds are alike. And this is why as a race we will forever be at war with each other. What constitutes peace is in the mind of the beholder. ))) Have you heard the argument? This displacement of men and women and women and men the minds we all have the beliefs we all share Slipping inside of us thoughts and religions and bodies all bare ((( “Without darkness, there can be no light,” he once said. To demonstrate this theory, during one of his seminars he held a piece of white chalk and drew a line down the center of a blackboard. Explaining that without the blackness of the board, the white line would be invisible. ))) When she left she kissed with eyes open I knew this because I'd done the same Sometimes we saw eye to eye like that Very briefly, she considered an apotheosis a synthesis a rendering of her folly into solidarity ((( To believe that a world-wide lay down of arms is possible, however, is the delusion of the pacifist; the dream of the optimist; and the joke of the realist. Diplomacy only goes so far, and in spite of our efforts to fight with words- there are times when drawing swords of a very different nature are surely called for. ))) Experiencing the subsequent sunrise inhaling and drinking breaking mirrors and regurgitating just to start again all in all I was just another gash in the bark ((( Plato once said: “Only the dead have seen the end of war.” Perhaps the death of us all is called for in this time of emotional desperation. War is a product of the mind; only with the death of such will come the end of the bloodshed. Though this may be a fairly realistic view of such an issue, perhaps there is an optimistic outlook on the horizon. Not every sword is double edged, but every coin is double sided. ))) Leaving town and throwing shit out the window drinking boroughs and borrowing spare change I glimpsed the rear view mirror stole a glimpse really I've believed in looking back for a while it helps to have one last view a reminder in case one ever decides to rebel in the event the self regresses and makes the declaration of devastation once more ((( Thus, if we wish to eliminate the threat of war today- complete human annihilation may be called for. )))

You can die trying to get along with a disagreeable man,” she said, and I put a star beside it when I wrote it down and then taped it to the rear-view mirror for the rest of the drive. She hadn’t said “abusive,” I noticed; she had said that just disagreeable could kill you.

But I promise you, you guys can do it. In four days you'll be the happiest person Earth has ever seen. You'll stand by the ocean and feel the salty sea spray tingling in your nose. You'll be with people you know and love, and you'all appreciate how beautiful everything is. You'll see cars behind you in your rear view mirror, and maybe you'll laugh at the driver's faces. Because they'll look annoyed, bored, angry. And you'll realize what they're missing. You'll live a long and happy life, Mia. Because when you get home, you'll realize that anything is possible. You mustn't ever forget that.

Some readers are bound to want to take the techniques we’ve introduced here and try them on the problem of forecasting the future price of securities on the stock market (or currency exchange rates, and so on). Markets have very different statistical characteristics than natural phenomena such as weather patterns. Trying to use machine learning to beat markets, when you only have access to publicly available data, is a difficult endeavor, and you’re likely to waste your time and resources with nothing to show for it. Always remember that when it comes to markets, past performance is not a good predictor of future returns—looking in the rear-view mirror is a bad way to drive. Machine learning, on the other hand, is applicable to datasets where the past is a good predictor of the future.

At some point in this course, perhaps even tonight, you will read something difficult, something you only partially understand, and your verdict will be this is stupid. Will I argue when you advance that opinion in class the next day? Why would I do such a useless ting? My time with you in short, only thirty-four weeks of classes, and I will not waste it arguing about the merits of this short story or that poem. Why would I, when all such opinions are subjective, and no final resolution can ever be reached?' Some of the kids - Gloria was one of them - now looked lost, but Pete understood exactly what Mr. Ricker, aka Ricky the Hippie, was talking about... 'Time is the answer," Mr Ricker said on the first day of Pete's sophomore year. He strode back and forth, antique bellbottoms swishing, occasionally waving his arms. "Yes! Time mercilessly culls away the is-stupid from the not-stupid." ... "It will occur for you, young ladies and gentlemen, although I will be in your rear-view mirror by the time it happens. Shall I tell you how it happens? You will read something - perhaps 'Dulce et Decorum Est,' by Wilfred Owen. Shall we use that as an example? Why not?' Then, in a deeper voice that sent chills up Pete's back and tightened his throat, Mr. Ricker cried, " 'Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge...' And son on. Cetra-cetra. Some of you will say, This is stupid." .... 'And yet!" Up went the finger. "Time will pass! Tempus will fugit! Owen's poem may fall away from your mind, in which case your verdict of is-stupid will have turned out to be correct. For you, at least. But for some of you, it will recur. And recur. Each time it does, the steady march of your maturity will deepen its resonance. Each time that poem sneaks back into your mind, it will seem a little less stupid and a little more vital. A little more important. Until it shines, young ladies and gentlemen. Until it shines.

We all have something in our rear view mirrors that will try and distract us from moving forward...Unfortunately some greater than others. But if we keep our minds focus in the present no matter how hard it gets...The Universe has no other alternative but to take us to where we need to be in our lives! So Stay STRONG. Be HAPPY And ALWAYS Keep FOCUS

It's OK to glance in the rear-view to see where you've been, but stay focused on where you are going!

They say you can't read the next chapter of your life, if you keep re reading the last one. But then every car has a rear-view mirror.

One of the most crippling causes of mediocrity in life is a condition I call rear-view mirror syndrome (RMS).

She held her breath as it stopped ringing and connected. “Hello, beautiful Livia,” Blake answered. “How did you know it was me?” Livia saw her wide smile in the rear view mirror. “The phone looked sexier when it rang.” She could hear a matching smile in his voice and sighed. Livia hugged herself with her free arm. Just the sound of him made her skin beg to be touched.

Men combing their hair in cars Men watching their hair in rear-view mirrors Men carrying big black combs in their back pockets Men worried about how Women see them Men turning themselves into advertisements of Men Women wearing boots that make them limp Women watching their eyes don't wander on to the eyes of Men Women worried how Men will see them Women turning themselves into advertisements of Women

Fyodor, please help me, I have two big questions about God. You are college professor” (what?) “so perhaps you can answer for me. First question—” eyes meeting mine in the rear view mirror, holding up pointed finger—“does God have sense of humor? Second question: does God have cruel sense of humor? Such as: does God toy with us and torture us for His own amusement, like vicious child with garden insect?

— If love wants you; if you’ve been melted down to stars, you will love with lungs and gills, with warm blood and cold. With feathers and scales. Under the hot gloom of the forest canopy you’ll want to breathe with the spiral calls of birds, while your lashing tail still gropes for the waes. You’ll try to haul your weight from simple sea to gravity of land. Caught by the tide, in the snail-slip of your own path, for moments suffocating in both water and air. If love wants you, suddently your past is obsolete science. Old maps, disproved theories, a diorama. The moment our bodies are set to spring open. The immanence that reassembles matter passes through us then disperses into time and place: the spasm of fur stroked upright; shocked electrons. The mother who hears her child crying upstairs and suddenly feels her dress wet with milk. Among black branches, oyster-coloured fog tongues every corner of loneliness we never knew before we were loved there, the places left fallow when we’re born, waiting for experience to find its way into us. The night crossing, on deck in the dark car. On the beach wehre night reshaped your face. In the lava fields, carbon turned to carpet, moss like velvet spread over splintered forms. The instant spray freezes in air above the falls, a gasp of ice. We rise, hearing our names called home through salmon-blue dusk, the royal moon an escutcheon on the shield of sky. The current that passes through us, radio waves, electric lick. The billions of photons that pass through film emulsion every second, the single submicroscopic crystal struck that becomes the phograph. We look and suddenly the world looks back. A jagged tube of ions pins us to the sky. — But if, like starlings, we continue to navigate by the rear-view mirror of the moon; if we continue to reach both for salt and for the sweet white nibs of grass growing closest to earth; if, in the autumn bog red with sedge we’re also driving through the canyon at night, all around us the hidden glow of limestone erased by darkness; if still we sish we’d waited for morning, we will know ourselves nowhere. Not in the mirrors of waves or in the corrading stream, not in the wavering glass of an apartment building, not in the looming light of night lobbies or on the rainy deck. Not in the autumn kitchen or in the motel where we watched meteors from our bed while your slow film, the shutter open, turned stars to rain. We will become indigestible. Afraid of choking on fur and armour, animals will refuse the divided longings in our foreing blue flesh. — In your hands, all you’ve lost, all you’ve touched. In the angle of your head, every vow and broken vow. In your skin, every time you were disregarded, every time you were received. Sundered, drowsed. A seeded field, mossy cleft, tidal pool, milky stem. The branch that’s released when the bird lifts or lands. In a summer kitchen. On a white winter morning, sunlight across the bed.

Cars are evolving to match the new paradigm. Soon, things like steering wheels, pedals and rear-view mirrors will seem ancient. More practically, we will all be better able to optimize our time and attention to focus on more important tasks, family, work, and self care.

Copestakes shifted her eyes from the speedometer to the narrow portion of her face in the rear-view mirror. Worried brown eyes stared back. She watched the road ahead, her fingers gripping the worn steering wheel tighter than necessary. Her gaze shifted to the map scrawled

was driving up S 25th St., this afternoon, and saw this saying on a sign: "Look at life through the windshield, not the rear-view mirror." Well, I pondered on that a bit. I sense a bit of danger with the idea of not checking out the rear view mirror on occasion. Like driving, it is important we know what has been and what could be coming from behind. Some old cliches are around because they are true..."If you forget the past, you're bound to repeat it."...."Be prepared"... "Keep your eye on the prize." Reflections ... Presence ... Aspirations ...

But I promise you, you guys can do it. In four days you'll be the happiest person Earth has ever seen. You'll stand by the ocean and feel the salty sea spray tingling in your nose. You'll be with people you know and love, and you'all appreciate how beautiful everything is. You'll se cars behind you in your rear view mirror, and maybe you'll laugh at the driver's faces. Because they'll look annoyed, bored, angry. And you'll realize what they're missing. You'll live a long and happy life, Mia. Because when you get home, you'll realize that anything is possible. You mustn't ever forget that.

After 5 years of college, I got a degree. Right out of the gate, I was at the top of my field, earning a solid mid 5-figure salary. There was no upward mobility. I started at the top, at age 23. I did that for 3 years. With free info from the Internet and one $299 course, I learned everything I needed to know to make 3x that salary in a year and a half. In another 5 years, that meager college-degree salary will be so far in the rear view mirror that I won't even remember what life was like to make so little. The Internet has largely rendered college, and education in general, irrelevant. For those that want to learn anything, open your browser and get to it.41a

He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror, but instead of the handsome, successful, owner of a billion-dollar corporation, he saw the remnants of the unpopular, socially-awkward, Magic The Gathering-obsessed nerd he left behind all those years ago. That gorgeous and psychotic minx on the fifteenth floor cracked his mirror, and he saw his true reflection.

All the while, I keep one ye on Eibhlín Dubh and one on my daughter in her car seat. She grows in that rear-view mirror. Soon, her eyes are open as I turn towards home. Soon, her gurgles can almost be translated into words. Soon, she is tugging at the straps in which I have bound her. Soon, she is smiling back at me. This is how years pass in that mirror: soon, too soon.

It’s hard to spot a fork in the road of life, harder still to make a deliberate choice which way to go. But sometimes you can catch a fleeting glimpse of one as it disappears in the rear-view mirror. The outcome doesn’t change, but many miles down the road, with the map unfolded in front of you, it’s possible to point to the fork and say: Yes, that’s where we took a different route.

As engine vibrated under him, he tried to tell himself it was all going to work out. It had to. Now that he’d found The One, there was no way in hell he was letting her get away. If that meant he had to move heaven and earth to find a good life for her and her pack mates here in the city, he’d do it. If being with Jayna meant he had to empty out his bank account and sell everything he owned, he was okay with that too. He had friends in other places he could turn to, Family too. His parents owned a huge house and a lot of land outside of Denver. If he showed up with Jayna, her pack, and no job, his family would welcome them with open arms. Okay, maybe his mom would be a little shocked when she found out his girlfriend came with an extended family, but she’d overlook it if there was a possibility of a grandchild in the near future. Becker was still daydreaming about kids with Jayna someday when headlights suddenly appeared in his rear- view mirror. He glanced over, swearing when he saw two vehicles speeding up behind him and closing fast.

In a totalitarian state, which is a mirror of his upbringing, this citizen can also carry out any form of torture or persecution without having a guilty conscience. His “will” is completely identical with that of the government. Both Hitler and Stalin had a surprisingly large number of enthusiastic followers among intellectuals. Our capacity to resist has nothing to do with our intelligence but with the degree of access to our true self. Indeed, intelligence is capable of innumerable rationalizations when it comes to the matter of adaptation. Educators have always known this and have exploited it for their own purposes. Grünewald writes that he has never yet found willfulness in an intellectually advanced or exceptionally gifted child. Such a child can, in later life, exhibit extraordinary acuity in criticizing the ideologies of his opponents—and in puberty even the views by his own parents—because in these cases his intellectual powers can function without impairment. Furthermore, the teacher finds the soil already prepared for obedience, and the political leader has only to harvest what has been sown.

A hurricane delayed our meeting. First date force majeure. Online late one night we rescheduled – "Right now! As-is!" Sleep pants and t-shirts were good enough for Waffle House. Over coffee and pie we said the same sorts things we had sent as instant messages. To a person not a screen name. After she gave me the tour. Her cat's old collar on the rear-view mirror. A place where graffiti was allowed. The Slab by the river. Places where the young could be young. She stopped for cigarettes. The cashier had dirt on her face and ate an onion like an apple. We pretended not to notice. It only seemed polite.

I think a marvelous stunt would be to have your best friend (or the most critical acquaintance) take some candid color snapshots of you from all angles, dressed just as you usually appear at, say, six in the evening. The same hairdo, the same makeup, and if possible the same expression on your face. Be honest! Be sure to have her take the rear views, too. There ought to be some other shots of you wearing your best going-out-to-dinner dress, or your favorite bridge-with-the-girls costume — hat, gloves, bag, and costume jewelry. Everything. Then have that roll of film developed and BLOWN UP. You can’t see much in a tiny snapshot. An eight-by-ten will show you the works — and you probably won’t be very happy with it. Sit down and take a long look at that strange woman. Is she today’s with-it person — elegant, poised, groomed, glowing with health? Or is she a plump copy of Miss 1950? Is she sleek, or bumpy in the wrong places? How is her posture? Does she look better from the front than from the back? Does she stand gracefully? […] Feet together or one slightly in front of the other, is the most graceful stance. […] I always pin my bad notices on my mirror. How about keeping those eight-by-ten candid shots around your dressing room for a while as you dress?

Sher Mason was being followed.  She felt the prickly hair on the back of her neck as it stood straight up. What she didn’t understand was why anyone wanted to follow her. Sher ran a deli in the north suburbs of Northglenn, Colorado. Although her deli was popular, it wasn’t a high profile business. She was returning from a shopping trip in Denver, driving north on Interstate 25.  She hadn’t wanted to go downtown today, but needed some supplies so that she could start working on her fall display window.  Regardless, none of this offered an explanation as to why someone was following her.  She couldn’t see who followed her since it was after two in the afternoon, and there was a lot of traffic on the road. She looked again in the rear-view mirror, and saw that the black SUV changed lanes. It maneuvered closer to her. As she looked back to the road, she realized her exit came next. She jerked the wheel to the right to get off the interstate, and as she did, the black SUV exited also. What did she do now? She remembered a police station was only two blocks up the road on the left. She stomped on the gas pedal, and hoped no one was in the intersection coming up, and that the light would stay green. As luck had it, the light turned yellow as she sped through and made a quick left turn into the parking lot of the police station.  Glancing back her breath caught as she saw the SUV slow down.  Please keep

Moving through life is like driving a car. Sometimes you have to look in the rear-view mirror and deal with what you see, but you cannot move forward if you stare in the rear-view.

When regarding life as a forward projection, a life of self-indulgence doesn’t seem unreasonable, but what we value in the moment may not seem so important when seen in the context of a finite life. When forced to look through a rear-view mirror, the life of self-indulgence has already been had. What then remains of value to give the sensation of a life fully lived? What are the sentiments that endure ? Sharing experiences with friends and loved ones is what’s ultimately important

If hindsight is 20/20, why don't more people use their rear-view mirror?

Once you get far enough along in life, you’re likely to be struck by the distance between the views in front of you and the ones you can still dimly make out in your rear-view mirror. I turn 65 this year. The America of my childhood—with its expanding middle class, secure jobs, intact nuclear families, devout believers, distinct gender roles, polite politics, consensus-building media—is nothing like the country my year-old granddaughter will inherit.

Challenges are like vehicles in the rear-view mirror. They appear larger and nearer than they are.

driver’s side. Across the road a group of teenage lads are mucking about with a shopping trolley. Bashing it against someone’s wall. If Dad was here they wouldn’t dare. Not that he’s a hard nut or anything, certainly not any more. But he’s lived here all his life and knows too many people to be messed with. I look at them again and remember another of Dad’s favourite sayings. You don’t shit on your own doorstep. ‘Oi, sling your hooks,’ I call out to them. They look over, scowl at me, then slink off with the trolley. I smile to myself. I still get a little kick out of it sometimes. Being Vince Benson’s daughter. ‘Right, let’s go,’ I say, getting into the car and fastening my seat belt. ‘What did you say to the big boys?’ Ella asks. ‘I told them to go away.’ ‘Were they being naughty?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Where will they go now?’ ‘I don’t know. But at least they won’t be bothering people in Grandma’s street.’ I glance at Ella in the rear-view mirror. She nods, apparently satisfied with that, and picks up her Frozen sticker book from the back seat. * The car park is packed. I wonder whether to wait

Ty’s moans were sexy but not half as sexy as the eyes staring back at her; wishing it was him. Torrin winked his eye and then lowered the rear view mirror so she could see his thick black dick standing straight in the air.

Challenges in the rear view appear smaller than they are.. But keep your spirits higher than the Challenges are.

What I am fighting is the slick "Marxist" or "anarchist" opportunism, which sees aligning with the white settler majority and reform politics as the absolute necessity. Malcolm X and Women's Liberation, ACT-UP and Wounded Knee II, Anti-Vietnam War draft card burning and radical ecology, were all shocking to the majority of North Americans. Radical threats to "the American Way of Life" – and loudly condemned not only by the majority but more specifically by the white working class – these political offensives by the few turned everything upside down. Because in the metropolis, radical and democratic change can only come against the wishes of the bribed majority. That may be tough to swallow for white folks, but reality is just reality. This obsession with needing a social majority has nothing to do with being "practical". What it has to do with is bourgeois and defeatist thinking. This is like the left thinking that could not build a practical anti-fascist movement in Weimar Republic Germany during the 1920s and 1930s, although millions hated Nazism and wanted to do something, because that German left was too preoccupied with fantasies of either seizing or getting elected into state power for itself. That left was too lost in delusions of success almost within their hands, delusions of maneuvering together a majority, to bother even really understanding fascism coming up fast in their rear view mirror. The urgent need was to organize a working minority to counter fascism in a much more radical way. Not by trying to defend liberal bourgeois rule. All the real things that had to be done by scattered German anti-fascists later after the Nazis were put into power – such as to survive politically, to significantly sabotage the war effort, to rescue Jews and Romany and gays, to build an underground against the madness of the Third Reich – all these things were attempted bravely but largely unsuccessfully, because they had to be done too late from scratch.

rear view mirror. “A queen?” “No. Well, maybe that, too. But I want to be magic!” I choked on the cookie I’d just taken a bite from. “You okay?” Ryan asked. “Need me to pull over?” I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. It just…went down the wrong way or something.” “Uh huh.” He winked at me. “So you want to be magic, huh, Maddie?” “Yeah! And I want a reindeer and Olaf.” “You want a reindeer and a talking snowman?” he repeated, his tone serious. “Don’t be silly, Uncle Ryan. Snowmen don’t talk.” “You don’t believe in talking snowmen but you want to be magic?” “Duh. Magic is real.” “Wanna know a secret, Mads?” Ryan asked. “Yeah!” “Topaz is a witch. A real one with powers.” I nearly choked again, but this time, I managed to make it sound like I was clearing my throat. “Really? You’re a witch? What can you do? Do you casts

like many gay men after a family Christmas, I decided to seek the comfort of strangers, only where could I find a comforting stranger on a freezing cold Christmas night in the middle of Northamptonshire? I pulled into a lay-by, hidden by woodland, expecting it, on this most holy night, to be deserted, but it wasn’t. A car was parked in the darkness, the engine turning over but with no lights on. I parked in front of it, a few yards ahead, and noticed in my rear-view mirror something stir within. The headlights flashed. A signal. I switched on my interior light and switched it off again. After a moment the car’s headlights came on and stayed on. A figure got out and came and stood in front, illuminated by the headlamps. It was a man, doing a dance, and he was completely naked apart from a bow of tinsel, which he had tied round his balls. Merry Christmas, I thought: Happy Feast of the Nativity.

Was happiness (which was perhaps achieved not by getting what you wanted, but rather, by obtaining what you didn’t know you wished for until it was in hand) a hologram that would continually change appearance with the slightest shift of perspective? Or maybe happiness by definition was a temporary state of being recognizable only in hindsight. It was impossible to catch what always managed to be overrun and end up in the rear view mirror.

when they started moving, he looked in the rear-view mirror and gave Eddie a sad wink, which somehow made the whole thing almost bearable.

It's wrong to think that the past is something that's just gone. It's still there. It's just that you've gone past. If you drive through a town, it's still there in the rear-view mirror. Time is a road, but it doesn't roll up behind you. Things aren't over just because they are past.

It is true that we are the descendant of our circumstances, but is also true that we are the patrons of own improvement. Blaming the past without taking charge of the present is like driving a car cursing the rear-view mirror and shutting our eyes to the road ahead. - On Self Fulfillment

Cole nodded curtly, wasting no time on platitudes. “I wish to join Dan in publicly calling for international unity at this important time, and I’d like to both applaud and thank him for sharing the official ELF position on that issue. Division does no one any favours, and William Godfrey’s exclusion policy is a crime against humanity which could lead to catastrophic armed conflict if his irresponsible politicking doesn’t end. I hereby call on the likes of Slater, Hearst, and any other GCC national leaders who can find a backbone somewhere to finally call a spade a spade and to call William Godfrey out as the reckless lunatic he is. If the GCC is to continue to exist, its members quite simply must oust the man who is driving them over a cliff because he’s too busy admiring his own reflection in the rear-view mirror to watch the road ahead.

It is true that we are the descendant of our circumstances, but it is also true that we are the patrons of own improvement. Blaming the past without taking charge of the present is like driving a car cursing the rear-view mirror and shutting our eyes to the road ahead. - On Self Fulfillmen

In the rear-view mirror sun finds cracks in grey blotch mountains and sky has a rainbow tattoo in memory of summer's passing.

In the screen of the rear-view mirror I watched the cars climbing the access ramp on to the motorway behind us, eager arrivals at this aerial carnival.

Beer detested the practice, already entrenched in the 1970s, of accumulating ‘giant data-banks of dead information’, which he called ‘the biggest waste of a magnificent invention that mankind has ever perpetrated’.16 He likened that approach to steering a car using only the rear-view mirror. His

time to see the Camry turn right at the red light, passing the old, darkened gas station again. He pulled up to the lights and watched the blue car slowly continue on. When the light turned green, he crossed the intersection and headed for his townhouse. He kept his eyes on his rear view mirror, but no one followed him. They’re feds. It’s me they’re watching. Time for Plan B... * * * * *   Chapter 56 Avram was organized. All the important records were at his townhouse in one place: the den. He sat in his desk chair and fed them into the cross-cut shredder, a few at a time. He’d planned carefully for this, for years. The Feds would try to charge him, in absentia, with money laundering. Well, he wasn’t going to make it easy for them. Fortunately, Silvio Tambini had more places to wash his money

Next Day Moving from Cheer to Joy, from Joy to All, I take a box And add it to my wild rice, my Cornish game hens. The slacked or shorted, basketed, identical Food-gathering flocks Are selves I overlook. Wisdom, said William James, Is learning what to overlook. And I am wise If that is wisdom. Yet somehow, as I buy All from these shelves And the boy takes it to my station wagon, What I’ve become Troubles me even if I shut my eyes. When I was young and miserable and pretty And poor, I’d wish What all girls wish: to have a husband, A house and children. Now that I’m old, my wish Is womanish: That the boy putting groceries in my car See me. It bewilders me he doesn’t see me. For so many years I was good enough to eat: the world looked at me And its mouth watered. How often they have undressed me, The eyes of strangers! And, holding their flesh within my flesh, their vile Imaginings within my imagining, I too have taken The chance of life. Now the boy pats my dog And we start home. Now I am good. The last mistaken, Ecstatic, accidental bliss, the blind Happiness that, bursting, leaves upon the palm Some soap and water-- It was so long ago, back in some Gay Twenties, Nineties, I don’t know . . . Today I miss My lovely daughter Away at school, my sons away at school, My husband away at work--I wish for them. The dog, the maid, And I go through the sure unvarying days At home in them. As I look at my life, I am afraid Only that it will change, as I am changing: I am afraid, this morning, of my face. It looks at me From the rear-view mirror, with the eyes I hate, The smile I hate. Its plain, lined look Of gray discovery Repeats to me: “You’re old.” That’s all, I’m old. And yet I’m afraid, as I was at the funeral I went to yesterday. My friend’s cold made-up face, granite among its flowers, Her undressed, operated-on, dressed body Were my face and body. As I think of her I hear her telling me How young I seem; I am exceptional; I think of all I have. But really no one is exceptional, No one has anything, I’m anybody, I stand beside my grave Confused with my life, that is commonplace and solitary.

The next time you get into your car, notice the size of the front windscreen, compared to the size of the rear view mirror. This is because what is up ahead is more important than what you have already passed. Where you are going is far more important than where you have been.   If you let your thoughts dwell in the past, then you will get stuck in the past, and when looking back, you cannot see where you are going and can easily lose your way. Don’t let one setback ruin your life. Don’t let losing that job, that relationship, that house define who you are. Each step on the journey is simply another step on the road to your divine destiny.

So, how old were you when you discovered St. Patrick?” I teased. “Twelve! He was bloody twelve!” Tiffa bellowed from the backseat, making everyone laugh. “When Darcy was born, he was wearing a tiny little bow tie and braces.” “Braces?” I giggled. “Suspenders,” Wilson supplied dryly. “He has always been an absolute geek,” Tiffa chortled. “That, my dear Blue, is why he's brilliant. And wonderful.” “Don't try to be nice to me now, Tiff,” Wilson smiled, catching her gaze in his rear view mirror. “All right. I won't. Did you know he was going to be a doctor, Blue?” “Tiffa!” Wilson moaned.

Josh started up the engine and drove the jeep down the winding trail. The tall, dark trees receded in his rear view mirror. “The bad news is he’s not alone. He’s got a small army camped out with him.

And when they started moving, he looked in the rear-view mirror and gave Eddie a sad wink, which somehow made the whole thing almost bearable.

The Fremantle Football Club has needed me. But I have needed the Fremantle Football Club more - it owes me nothing at all. All the players and coaches who have represented the club, the staff, our sponsors and corporate supporters, our members and fans, and the families of the players - we have all endured. For me looking in the rear view mirror, it’s about celebrating us and our journey, not just one person.

Every road is really two roads with different riding experiences and distinctive scenic views when you travel it in opposite directions...It’s up to you to decide whether you want to spend your time looking at the limited rear view mirror image of things that are already behind you, or if you want to look out over the handlebars and the great road unfolding before you.

Live your life like you drive your car – drive full speed ahead and spend most of your time looking ahead without getting distracted, periodically glancing sideways and at the rear-view mirror.

Dead girls in the rear-view mirror may appear more real than they are.

If you live your life by constantly looking in the rear-view mirror, you’ll eventually crash. Objects in rear view mirrors really do appear larger than they are.

When we’re experiencing doubts on the way toward achieving a goal, whether we ought to look backward or forward depends on our commitment: When our commitment is wavering, the best was to stay on track is to consider the progress we already made. As we recognize what we’ve invested and attained, it seems like a waste to give up, and our confidence and commitment surge. Once commitment is fortified, instead of glancing in the rear-view mirror, it’s better to look forward, by highlighting the work left to be done. When we’re determined to reach an objective, it’s the gap between where we are and where we aspire to be that lights a fire under us.

Pulled in different directions, my life is shattered into pieces and bogged down in complicated details that eradicate time. There is no progress. Nothing is being completed. Words are put on hold. I keep telling myself and others, I’m writing, I’m writing. In fact, I am stuck fast in one place. It’s as if I’m watching the scenery behind me grow farther away as I look in a car’s rear-view mirror. New events, news, emotions are like an audio tape on a loop, being overwritten and reloaded. The world is changing too fast. What once blazed so bright has turned cold and cheerless and is now drastically changed. In contrast, writing is so slow. It lags behind, resulting in a colossal time difference.

After she’s gone, Kieran looks at me in the rear view mirror. “I really like her.” “That’s because you’ve got the common sense of a carrot.” “Just because ye don’t know how to handle her doesn’t mean I can’t like her!” “I know how to handle her perfectly bloody well!” He smiles. “Sure ye do. Let me get back to ye when my eardrums have healed, and we’ll have a lovely chat all about it.

for the rest of the night. Other than to refuel with holiday leftovers. “Would you still love me if I told you I didn’t know what tasted better, Christmas leftovers or you?” Jana cocked her eyebrow with a sexy smile on her face. Damn, she was beautiful. “No but I will be mad unless you do some very thorough research and come up with a satisfying answer…” I grinned. This Christmas was unlike any of the others Jana and I had spent together. This time we had two little boys, a bigger family and we’d faced our biggest threat yet and come out on top. “If it’s for the sake of research, consider me in babe.” And I spent the rest of the night doing science. Between the gorgeous legs of my beautiful wife. I was pretty sure in that moment, life for the Reckless Bastard’s couldn’t get any better. Merry friggin’ Christmas to us! * * * * If you think the Reckless Bastards are spicy bad boys, they’re nothing compared to the steam in my next series Reckless MC Opey, TX Chapter where Gunnar and Maisie move to Texas! There’s also a sneak peek on the next page.   Don’t wait — grab your copy today!  Copyright © 2019 KB Winters and BookBoyfriends Publishing Inc Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing Inc Chapter One Gunnar “We’re gonna be cowboys!” Maisie had been singing that song since we got on the interstate and left Nevada and the only family we’d had in the world behind. For good. Cross was my oldest friend, and I’d miss him the most, even though I knew we’d never lose touch. I’d miss Jag too, even Golden Boy and Max. The prospects were cool, but I had no attachment to them. Though I gave him a lot of shit, I knew I’d even miss Stitch. A little. It didn’t matter that the last year had been filled with more shit than gold, or that I was leaving Vegas in the dust, we were all closer for the hell we’d been through. But still, I was leaving. Maisie and I’d been on the road for a couple of days. Traveling with a small child took a long damn time. Between bathroom breaks and snack times we’d be lucky to make it to Opey by the end of the month. Lucky for me, Maisie had her mind set on us becoming cowboys, complete with ten gallon hats, spurs and chaps, so she hadn’t shed one tear, yet. It wasn’t something I’d been hoping for but I was waiting patiently for reality to sink in and the uncontrollable sobs that had a way of breaking a grown man’s heart. “You’re not a boy,” I told her and smiled through the rear view mirror. “Hard to be a cowboy if you’re not even a boy.” Maisie grinned, a full row of bright white baby teeth shining back at me right along with sapphire blue eyes and hair so black it looked to be painted on with ink. “I’m gonna be a cowgirl then! A cowgirl!” She went on and on for what felt like forever, in only the way that a four year old could, about all the cool cowgirl stuff she’d have. “Boots and a pony too!” “A pony? You can’t even tie your shoes or clean up your toys and you want a pony?” She nodded in that exaggerated way little kids did. “I’ll learn,” she said with the certainty of a know it all teenager, a thought that terrified the hell out of me. “You’ll help me, Gunny!” Her words brought a smile to my face even though I hated that fucking nickname she’d picked up from a woman I refused to think about ever again. I’d help Maisie because that’s what family did. Hell, she was the reason I’d uprooted my entire fucking life and headed to the great unknown wilds of Texas. To give Maisie a normal life or as close to normal as I was capable of giving her. “I’ll always help you, Squirt.” “I know. Love you Gunny!” “Love you too, Cowgirl.” I winked in the mirror and her face lit up with happiness. It was the pure joy on her face, putting a bloom in her cheeks that convinced me this was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to move to Texas, and I didn’t want to live on a goddamn ranch, but that was my future. The property was already bought and paid for with my name

once about an eagle that took a puppy, grabbed it in its claws and went off into the sky, can you believe that?’ One quick look in the rear-view mirror at his widened eyes told her this had his interest. ‘Really? A puppy?’ ‘Yes, the bird swooped

We look at the present through a rear-view mirror. We march backwards into the future. —Marshall McLuhan, The Medium Is the Message

He didn’t rate a wave this time; she simply stood watching him drive off, looking small and sad. He folded the rear-view mirror’s image up and tucked it away in a corner of his mind. The last thing he needed now was any more guilt rattling round inside his skull.

I can count on one hand with fingers to spare the number of heterosexual relationships I know in which the man creates the domestic and other conditions for the woman to enjoy her time in life to an equal extent as she does for him. Things in the rear-view mirror are closer than they appear. To benefit from the work of someone who is invisible and unpaid and whom it is not necessary to thank because it is their inescapable purpose in life to attend to you, is to be able to imagine that you accomplished what you did alone and unaided – whether you wrested a fortune from a conquered isle, or words from the void.

When happiness hits us, we all want to cling to it as tightly and as mercilessly as possible. We want to capture it and hold it between our palms forever, not realising that we have to let it go for it to mean anything at all. That we have to keep moving onward, facing forward, steering constantly into the fearful and unknown, that all the best moments of our lives are still waiting for us on the other side. When we have to leave the things we love behind, we are allowed to mourn them, to miss them, to look back on them dejectedly and sadly. But we must never, ever forget that the best days of our lives are not all behind us, that there are more wonderful things awaiting us in the future than we could ever even fathom. That so many of our happiest days are still ahead. That we have to keep moving to get there. No matter how tempting that view in the rear view mirror is. The future we want will not arrive without our participation. And in order to get there, we have to blindly and blissfully trust that it is going to be somewhere indescribably worth going.

A convex seer, this rear-view mirror lets me peer into the landscape unwinding behind me, but it cannot show what is ahead, nor how I should turn next.

I don't want my son to be tamed into loneliness. So when I get stuck carpooling Chase and his friends all over God's green earth, I turn down the radio and say: what was your most embarrassing moment this week? What's your favorite thing about Jeff? Juan? Chase? Hey, guys: who do you imagine is the loneliest kid in your class? How do you feel during those active-shooter drills when you're hiding in the closet with your friends? In the rear view mirror, I catch them rolling their eyes at each other. Then they start talking, and I marvel at how interesting their inner thoughts, feelings, and ideas are. I remember once one of the boys said something particularly vulnerable and the other boys giggled uncomfortably. I said, "Hey, just remember that when you laugh at something someone has said, it's not about the person who spoke. It's about you. He was brave enough to be honest; you be brave enough to handle t. Life is hard; friends need to be safe places for each other.

Another revelation of old age: life only has golden periods in the rear-view mirror. Upfront, through the windshield, it’s panic and chaos as it all comes at you much too fast.

I wasn’t living on the edge, I had gone over it. Insanity was now the norm and I had to keep feeding it in order to maintain the new domain I had created for myself. I had one eye on the road and one on the rear view mirror when I wasn’t pre-occupied with my beer, cigarettes or car stereo.

But in looking to understand the forces that have made us and nearly unmade us, and in hoping to recognize possible future sources of conflict in the new millennium, we have to realize that sometimes the best crystal ball is a rear-view mirror.