Regain Strength Quotes

My life, and whatever is left of it, will not be what his soul gnaws on to regain its strength. My death is not in service of his character, and I will not be a sacrifice simply for him to find his peace of mind. He is not my responsibility to save.

I am a kite in a tornado but I have a long string. There is tension in my line. Somewhere, someone is holding onto the other end and, although it cannot spare me this storm, it will not let me be lost while I regain my strength. It is enough.

I think maybe God was trying to tell me that gentleness begins with strength, quietness with security. A great tree is both moved and unmoved, for it changes with the seasons, but its roots keep it anchored in the ground. Mastering a gentle and quiet spirit didn’t mean changing my personality, just regaining control of it, growing strong enough to hold back and secure enough to soften.

Because happiness alone is good for the body; whereas sorrow develops the strength of the mind.

For neither our greatest fears nor our greatest hopes are beyond the limits of our strength--we are able in the end both to dominate the first and to achieve the second.

Close your eyes,” Marcus said, his hand moving to her bottom in a circling caress. He brushed his mouth over her forehead and her fragile eyelids. “Rest. You’ll need to regain your strength… because once we’re married, I won’t be able to leave you alone. I’ll want to love you every hour, every minute of the day.” He nestled her more closely against him. “There is nothing on earth more beautiful to me than your smile… no sound sweeter than your laughter… no pleasure greater than holding you in my arms. I realized today that I could never live without you, stubborn little hellion that you are. In this life and the next, you’re my only hope of happiness. Tell me, Lillian, dearest love… how can you have reached so far inside my heart?” He paused to kiss her damp silken skin… and smiled as the wisp of a feminine snore broke the peaceful silence.

I need the gratitude-- not to be happy-- the joy and sweetness will come when they do-- but to regain the strength for the struggle to keep working to make it better.

Rest: as beautiful and necessary a task as any. How else can we remember to breathe? to think? to shut out the world? to not think? to regain the strength to take on the world? to take in the world with all our senses? to dream?

The plants themselves gave me a cure for that: They taught me to bury myself when I need to regain my strength. It is what they do—return to the ground, rest, and begin again.

Ellysetta was sitting at the secretary in Rain's suite, penning a note to her parents, when Bel burst through the doors. The other members of the quintet followed so swiftly that all five warriors nearly ended up in a heap on the floor. They were breathless and flushed, perspiration trickling down the sides of their faces. Kieran bent over, hands on his knees, and dragged air into his lungs. "Well done,brothers. We beat the smug chervil.” "You all look like you could use a drink." Cool and unwinded, Gaelen smiled at the new arrivals from the sofa near the window. "Water? Or perhaps something a little stronger to help you regain your strength?

You don’t have to be strong enough to do it all at once—no one is. You just have to be strong enough to do one thing. That’s it. Then you rest, and when you’ve regained that strength back, you tackle the next thing.

That she loved me I should not have doubted; and I might have been easily aware that, in a bosom such as hers, love would have regained no ordinary passion. But in death only was I fully impressed with the strength of her affection.

Nihilism, then, is the recognition of the long waste of strength, the agony of the "in vain," insecurity, the lack of any opportunity to recover and to regain composure-—being ashamed in front of oneself, as if one had deceived oneself all too long.—

This land needed a sword forged in the hottest of fires to regain what was lost...and you are that sword.

Spring is a season of the soul to regain its strength.

maybe God was trying to tell me that gentleness begins with strength, quietness with security. A great tree is both moved and unmoved, for it changes with the seasons, but its roots keep it anchored in the ground. Mastering a gentle and quiet spirit didn’t mean changing my personality, just regaining control of it, growing strong enough to hold back and secure enough to soften.

The financial crisis should not become an excuse to raise taxes, which would only undermine the economic growth required to regain our strength.

It hurt to pull out the slivers but I knew that I couldn’t bleed anymore, I had lost too much blood already. Now I remain, scarred and regaining strength.

At every new torment which is too hard to bear we feel yet another vein protrude, to unroll its sinuous and deadly length along our temples or beneath our eyes. And thus gradually are formed those terrible ravaged faces, of the old Rembrandt, the old Beethoven, at whom the whole world mocked. And the pockets under the eyes and the wrinkled forehead would not matter much were there not also the suffering of the heart. But since strength of one kind can change into a strength of another kind, since heat which is stored up can become light and the electricity in a flash of lightning can cause a photograph to be taken, since the dull pain in our heart can hoist above itself like a banner the visible permanence of an image for every new grief, let us accept the physical injury which is done to us for the sake of the spiritual knowledge which grief brings; let us submit to the disintegration of our body, since each new fragment which breaks away from it returns in a luminous and significant form to add itself to our work, to complete it at the price of sufferings of which others more richly endowed have no need, to make our work at least more solid as our life crumbles away beneath the corrosive action of our emotions.

The car was only partway submerged; David must have regained control enough to brake before driving all the way into the water. But from Charlie's vantage point it looked like the lake stopped the car, as if the water wasn't water but an impermeable barrier the luxury automobile didn't have the strength to shatter.

And then, in the space of a second, he understood it. He understood the reason he’d walked this castle every night in the dark. Learning the length and breadth of every room, arch, corridor, and stair. It wasn’t about regaining his strength, or mastering the space that was now his home and prison. He’d done it all for one purpose: So he could get to her.

Dr. Brené Brown’s research has shown that expressing one’s most vulnerable feelings is a sign of strength and facilitates health. She explains, “We cannot selectively numb emotions. When we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the positive emotions.

Truly blessed are those who have their own solitary time and space. They are not easily shaken by the praise or criticism of the world. When they are weakened and worn down by things that are not true, they can always regain strength by entering that time and space of solitude.

And while I walked out again into the countryside, which was slowly growing darker and darker, it became painfully clear to me that I was played out. I had nothing left to live for, I had lost my footing in society, and I felt I had not the strength to look for a new one, nor to fight to regain the old.

The word God can mean whatever you believe it to mean, for me it is the conscious stream of life from which we all come, and to which we can stay connected throughout our lives as a source of peace, wisdom, love, support, knowing, inspiration, vitality, security, balance, and inner strength. I think that awareness is paramount, because in awareness we gain understanding, which then enables us to regain our feeling of empowerment. We need to feel empowered to make our choices conciously, about how to deal with changes in life, rather than reacting in fear (which tends to make us blind and weak). If we are aware, we can be realistic yet postive, and we can properly focus our intentions. Awareness can be quite sensual (which can add to your sense of feeling empowered). Think about how your body moves as you live your life, how amazing it is; think about nature, observe the intricate beautiful details of natural thngs, and of things we create, and breathe deeply to soak it all in.. Focus on the taste of food, the feel of textures in cloth, the feel of you partner's hand in yours; smell the sea breeze, listen to the wind in the trees, witness the colours of the leaves, the children playing; and be thankful for this life we are experiencing - this life we can all help to keep wonderful. Feel the wonder of being alive flood into you anytime you want, by taking a deep breath and letting the experience of these things fill you, even just by remembering. We all have that same stream of life within us, so you are a part of everything. Each one of us has the power to make a difference to everything. Breathe in that vital connection to the life source and sensual beauty everywhere, Feel loved and strong.

You are still a very loosome lass, Lael Click.” “Loosome?” “Lovely. But you need tae regain your strength. I canna wed and bed so wee a fairy.

 His weakness shall o'ercome Satanic strength,   And all the world, and mass of sinful flesh;   That all the Angels and aethereal Powers—   They now, and men hereafter—may discern   From what consummate virtue I have chose   This perfet man, by merit called my Son,   To earn salvation for the sons of men."     So spake the Eternal Father, and all Heaven   Admiring stood a space;

I don't care who you fuck," she continues, trying to regain the strength in her voice. "As long as it's not me," she adds cheekily. "But that's just the issue, Gianna. You are the only one I'll be fucking. I don't care about other women. I don't even see other women," I tell her honestly. The truth is that she's bewitched me, awakening sensations in me I'd never experienced before.

I thought my troubles and pain were beyond my strength. Then, I looked at the trees going through their cycle of life. It reassured me that I’d be out of my winter season too one day, and I’d regain all that I’d lost.

The strength to sustain recovery can only come from the addict understanding and defining his circle of influence, from recognising that there are factors over which he can exert authority and control, and from taking responsibility for the outcome of his actions. The most effective way in which to regain a sense of internal control is to grasp at a very core level those events and circumstances - and biochemical balances - that caused the loss of control in the first place.

Plunge a sponge into Lake Erie. Did you absorb every drop? Take a deep breath. Did you suck the oxygen out of the atmosphere? Pluck a pine needle from a tree in Yosemite. Did you deplete the forest of foliage? Watch an ocean wave crash against the beach. Will there never be another one? Of course there will. No sooner will one wave crash into the sand than another appears. Then another, then another. This is a picture of God’s sufficient grace. Grace is simply another word for God’s tumbling, rumbling reservoir of strength and protection. It comes at us not occasionally or miserly but constantly and aggressively, wave upon wave. We’ve barely regained our balance from one breaker, and then, bam, here comes another.

Then he reached up and tore my shirtfront open. “Not much to see, is there?” I said, struggling to talk with a crushed windpipe. “I know, I know, they can fix things like that these days. Call me a feminist, but I think a woman’s worth should be defined not by the size of her bust, but—” I rammed my fist up into his Adam’s apple. He grunted and stumbled back. “—by the strength of her right hook” I said, throwing myself against his chest before he regained his balance. Cain toppled to the ground. As he fell, I stayed on him, slamming my open hand against his neck and pinning him by the throat. “Yes, I can talk and think at the same time,” I said. “Most people can, though I assume you wouldn’t know that from personal experience.

The advantages of a propaganda that constantly “adds the power of organization” to the feeble and unreliable voice of argument, and thereby realizes, so to speak, on the spur of the moment, whatever it says, are obvious beyond demonstration. Foolproof against arguments based on a reality which the movements promised to change, against a counterpropaganda disqualified by the mere fact that it belongs to or defends a world which the shiftless masses cannot and will not accept, it can be disproved only by another, a stronger or better, reality. It is in the moment of defeat that the inherent weakness of totalitarian propaganda becomes visible. Without the force of the movement, its members cease at once to believe in the dogma for which yesterday they still were ready to sacrifice their lives. The moment the movement, that is, the fictitious world which sheltered them, is destroyed, the masses revert to their old status of isolated individuals who either happily accept a new function in a changed world or sink back into their old desperate superfluousness. The members of totalitarian movements, utterly fanatical as long as the movement exists, will not follow the example of religious fanatics and die the death of martyrs (even though they were only too willing to die the death of robots). Rather they will quietly give up the movement as a bad bet and look around for another promising fiction or wait until the former fiction regains enough strength to establish another mass movement.

It has less to do with regaining control, but more on being in harmony with reality. It's not simply gathering pieces of we; rather, it's gathering peace and giving ourselves the opportunity to be whole again. It is an opportunity to make room for the present, so we may shape it into the future we so desire and letting the past be because it takes up so much space in our lives. It is more than just forgiving ourselves, it is returning the trust we have stolen from ourselves in a desperate attempt to bend reality.

Frightened of the peril she is courting, she would like to stop but cannot hold back. Care and skill can shorten the steps she takes: nothing can prevent them succeeding each other. Sometimes, unable to face the danger, she closes her eyes and lets herself go, putting her fate in my hands. More often some new fear rouses her to new efforts. In her mortal terror she tries once more to retreat, and exhausts her strength in regaining a little ground; but soon some magic power transplants her yet nearer the danger she has vainly attempted to fly.

Uh . . . you’ve seen how cute she is, right?” Keefe asked. Sophie flung a pillow at his head. Or, she tried to. Throwing with her left arm was much harder than she’d expected, and . . . She ended up nailing Magnate Leto in the face. Keefe doubled over, clutching his sides and gasping between choking laughs: “THAT . . . WAS . . . THE . . . GREATEST . . . THING . . . I’VE . . . EVER . . . SEEN!” “IT WAS!” Ro agreed, nearly collapsing to the floor in a fit of giggles. Fitz and Elwin were cracking up too—though they at least tried to cover it with coughs. Sophie slunk down under her covers. “Sorry.” “It’s all right, Miss Foster,” Magnate Leto said, handing her back her pillow. “It’s good to see you regaining some strength.” Keefe wiped the tears streaming down his cheeks. “You realize I’m going to call you Principal Pillowhead from now on, right?

Dr. Chambers has freed me again into the drawing-room, and I am much better or he would not have done so. There is not, however, much strength or much health, nor any near prospect of regaining either. It is well that, in proportion to our feebleness, we may feel our dependence upon God.

We are missing this!" Since Faith's exploits tended to be a bit of a morale boost, if not for the squeamish, the helmet cam videos were available for public view. And the Gurkhas had decided to see who this child was who carried a kukri as if she was due and was going to "instruct" them on clearance. "I can go to war!" Lance Corporal Ombahadur Ghale shouted. "I can fight! Let us go to war!" "There will be war aplenty to come," Sergeant Jitbahadur Rai said. "We must regain our strength to fight these battles. And if this is the way of such war...A great war it shall be! Oooiya Ghorkali! Look at her go!

Attachment to the same thought wearies and destroys the mind of man. Hence for the solidity and permanence of the pleasure of love, it is sometimes necessary not to know that we love; and this is not to be guilty of an infidelity, for we do not therefore love another; it is to regain strength in order to love the better. This happens without our thinking of it; the mind is borne hither of itself; nature wills it, commands it. It must however be confessed that this is a miserable consequence of human weakness, and that we should be happier of we were not forced to change of thought; but there is no remedy.

Remembering is a key verb of the Christian life. We recall our past, we correct our nearsightedness, we take heart, we regain mental strength, awe find peace in the eternal Word. Remembering is one of the key spiritual disciplines we must guard with vigilance amid the mind-fragmenting and past-forgetting temptations of the digital age.

From the book Ell's Double Down - He waited but when she remained with her back to him, he grew concerned. She finally squared her shoulders and seemingly gathered inner strength then turned around. She raised her head and her hair fell away revealing her face fully. His heart clinched. The bruise marred an otherwise perfect plane; he scowled. She greeted his gaze with a look of pure defiance from red-rimmed eyes. Smiling slightly she confirmed, “Don’t worry handsome, he didn't tarnish my brass!” He started to approach but she brushed passed him. Regaining his composure he called to her, “You should put something cold on that.” She reached into the small ice chest pulling out a bottle of wine; she turned and inquired, “Will red work?

These three things seem so logical, almost so simple to us now. But history will record—even if we forget—the great fight the President had to make to achieve them. It will record how our growing army was saved from dissolution by one single vote in Congress. It will note by what a narrow margin Lend-Lease, which kept Britain and Russia in the fight until they could regain their strength to hit back, passed the Congress.

Hero Intercedes”: His hands flickered upward, and before I knew it, they were cupping my face. So, damnably fast now. Demonic-like fast. Trent reeled me closer. Our foreheads joined. He held me, while I trembled in his arms. I was vaguely aware of Evans and Maxwell watching, although it didn’t seem important. Nothing seemed important whenever he did this. It felt like we were enclosed in our own personal bubble made only for the two of us. Trent murmured something in my ear. We stood like that until my shaky legs gradually regained strength. I shut my eyes and pretended my body wasn’t sizzling with heat-lightning because Trent stood so close. My hormones always decided to rebel whenever he put his arms around me. And it wasn’t totally awkward and uncomfortable. No, it felt like the best thing I’d experienced since before Dad’s death. And that’s saying a lot.

Anglican convert Blessed John Henry Cardinal Neumann described Mary as our "happier world". By leading her children to her Son, the Blessed Mother helps "them to regain that which has been lost through the fall and sin. She rids us of false teaching. Far from a saccharine devotion, Mary burns through the vices of the cynic, the jaded, the angry, the agitated and the hopeless. In their place, she plants the gifts of peace, order, hope, strength, goodness, and creativity.

When you have the Stellah Mupanduki healing, moulding, cleansing and protecting books breathed by the Holy Spirit of a Sovereign God; your way of thinking and speaking changes because you will start to feel well and you regain strength as you read. You will know you will be very fine, and you will not worry too much because you will know that you will not die but live and bless your family with your presence and give them peace…yeah, be with your family in Christ. You will know that your days are not numbered in short, you will know and understand that you have longevity, that in Christ, you will live long. So talk about your life and not death whatever you are going through or whatever you perceive to be true in your own human intelligence. Move away from nodding to death and stop welcoming the spirit of death. Keep it away from your lipsl, when you speak, talk about about your life as progressing in the normal way, in the name of Jesus Christ…

But there’s another reason you can’t go. You still haven’t told me about your trip to Tennessee.” A sudden spark seemed to light his keen eyes. “I wanted to tell you, but you didn’t come, even when I gave you back your bed.” She looked up, full of wonder. “You wanted me to come upstairs?” “You know I wouldn’t hurt you . . . dishonor you.” “I—I know you wouldn’t . . . but . . . being alone with you . . . like that . . .” She faltered and looked away, a furious blush staining her face. “It’s not the proper way,” he finished for her. She merely nodded, trying to start sewing again, but instead making a knot of her thread. He said quietly, “Sometimes I think you’re still afraid of me.” She looked up at him again and wished she hadn’t. His eyes held hers with a startling intensity, as if daring her to deny it. She got up abruptly, nearly spilling her sewing onto the floor. “I made some broth,” she said. “You’ll need to regain your strength. And I’ll have to see to your shoulder.

Have you ever heard someone pray in whom God had put his own strength? You have probably heard some of us poor puny souls pray, but have you ever heard a person pray that God had made into a giant? If you have, you will say it is a mighty thing to hear a person like that in prayer. I have seen him as if he had grabbed the angel like Jacob and tried to wrestle him to the ground. I have seen him slip now and then while he was wrestling, but, like a giant, he has regained his footing and seemed to throw the angel to the ground. I have seen that person seize the throne of mercy and declare, “Lord, I will not let you go unless you bless me.” I have seen him, when heaven’s gates have apparently been locked and barred, go up to them, and say, “Gates of heaven, open wide in Jesus’ name;” and I have seen the gates fly open before him, as if the man were God himself; because he is armed with God Almighty’s strength. I have seen that man, in prayer, discover some great mountain in his way; and he prayed it down, until it was only a molehill. He has beaten the hills and made them like dust by the power of his strength.

… I respect the way he rebukes my hypersensitivity, and pays tribute to my excessive notions of diligence, influence on others and perseverance in business affairs, which he describes as the plucky ambition of youth, saying he does not wish to destroy it but merely to moderate it and divert it into areas where it can be put to proper use and produce its rightful powerful effect. So now I have the strength for another week, and have regained my inner composure. Tranquillity of the soul is wonderful, as is joyful peace of mind. If only, dear friend, these precious treasures, beautiful and priceless as they are, were not so fragile too.

On 13th December 1988 Brynmor John MP died from ME/CFS. His experience of the illness was all too familiar: ‘Though there is only a slight gradient from our house to the main road, it could have been the North face of the Eiger. I just could not get up it’. He found himself unable to dress; the slightest exertion exhausted him and it took days to regain his strength. He was irritated by the profusion of psychiatric comment and was trying to ensure better understanding of ME/CFS (Perspectives, Summer 1991:28‐30). Brynmor John suddenly collapsed and died as he was leaving the House of Commons gym after having been advised to exercise back to fitness.

In September 1841 the journey from Torquay was actually achieved, and Miss Barrett returned to her father’s house in London, from which she was never to be absent for more than a few hours at a time until the day, five years later, when she finally left it to join her husband, Robert Browning. Her life was that of an invalid, confined to her room for the greater part of each year, and unable to see any but a few intimate friends. Still, she regained some sort of strength, especially during the warmth of the summer months, and was able to throw herself with real interest into literary work. In a life such as this there are few outward events to record, and its story is best told in Miss Barrett’s own letters, which, for the most part, need little comment.

About two years ago," Cymbra went on, "Wolf conceived the idea of an alliance between Norse and Saxon to stand against the Danes.He thought such an alliance would be best confirmed by a marriage between himself and me.This did he propose in a letter to my brother. With the help of a traitorous house priest, Father Elbert, Daria intercepted that letter and stole Hawk's seal as well. She sent back to Wolf a refusal in Hawk's name and mine that not merely rejected the alliance but also insulted him deeply. His repsonse was all too predictable, although it is certain Daria herself never thought of it." "What did he do?" Rycca asked,trying very hard not to sound breathless. Cymbra smiled in fond memory. "Wolf came to Essex and took me by stealth. We were married as I told you and only then did he send word to Hawk as to where I could be found. Naturally, my brother was very angry and concerned. He came to Sciringesheal, where I did my utmost to convince him that I was happily wed,which certainly was true but unfortunately he did not believe. So are men ever stubborn. One thing led to another and Hawk spirited me back to Essex. Winter set in and it was months before Wolf could follow.During that time, Hawk realized his mistake. Once Wolf arrived, all was settled amicably, which was a good thing because this little one"-she smiled at her drowsy son-"had just been norn and I was in no mood to put up with any more foolishness on the part of bull-headed men. It was while we were at Hawkforte, waiting as I regained strength to return home, that Wolf suggested Hawk and Dragon should also make marriages for the alliance." "Such suggestion I am sure they both heartily welcomed," Rycca said sardonically. Cymbra laughed. "About as much as they would being boiled in oil.Hawk was especially bad. He had been married years ago when he was very young and had no good memories of the experience. But I must say, Krysta brought him round in far shorter time than I would have thought possible." "Do you have any idea how she did it?" Rycca ventured,hoping not to sound too desperately curious. "Oh,I know exactly how." Cymbra looked at her new sister-in-law and smiled. "She loved him." "Loved him? That was all it took?" "Well,to be fair,I think she also maddened, irked, frustrated, and bewildered him. All that certainly helped.But I will leave Krysta to tell her own story,as I am sure she will when opportunity arises.

Besides, they say, when we eat something, what really happens is this. Our failing health starts fighting off the attacks of hunger, using the food as an ally. Gradually it begins to prevail, and, in this very process of winning back its normal strength, experiences the sense of enjoyment which we find so refreshing. Now, if health enjoys the actual battle, why wouldn't it also enjoy the victory? Or are we to suppose that when it has finally managed to regain its former vigour - the one thing that it has been fighting for all this time - it promptly falls into a coma, and fails to notice or take advantage of its success? As for the idea that one isn't conscious of health except through its opposite, they say that's quite untrue. Everyone's perfectly aware of feeling well, unless he's asleep or actually feeling ill. Even the most insensitive and apathetic sort of person will admit that it's delightful to be healthy - and what is delight, but a synonym for pleasure?

It’s been uneventful around here (unless you count Keefe’s skill lessons—and Fitz waking up). I’m also working with Livvy to change the strategy. The new elixirs and balms have some nasty ingredients, but we’re onto something. FOURTH UPDATE: Had to change out the bandages and wow, was there a lot of ooze! Also got a better look at Sophie’s hand, and it’s definitely swollen. But the bones have set, and these new balms and compression wraps might mean she can go home by the end of the week! FIFTH UPDATE: Ro and Keefe insisted on being at the next bandage change (or “the Great Fitzphie Ooze Fest”), and it was even stinkier than the last one. But Sophie’s hand was back to normal size! Time to focus on the nerve damage and rebuilding strength. SIXTH UPDATE: After a special mineral soak and a little more strength training, Sophie regained feeling in her hand and could FINALLY get out of bed! (!!!) SEVENTH UPDATE: Fitz went home yesterday, and Sophie’s mood seemed a little low.

The ordinary reader today knows about the Grail thanks only to Richard Wagner's Parsifal, which, in its Romantic approach, really deforms and twists the whole myth. Equally misleading is the attempt to interpret the mystery of the Grail in Christian terms: for Christian elements only play an accessory, secondary and concealing role in the saga. In order to grasp the true significance of the myth, it is necessary instead to consider the more immediate points of reference represented by the themes and echoes pertaining to the cycle of King Arthur, which survives in the Celtic and Nordic traditions. The Grail essentially embodies the source of a transcendent and immortalizing power of primordial origin that has been preserved after the 'Fall', degeneration and decadence of humanity. Significantly, all sources agree that the guardians of the Grail are not priests, but are knights and warriors - besides, the very place where the Grail is kept is described not as a temple or church, but as a royal palace or castle. In the book, I argued that the Grail can be seen to possess an initiatory (rather than vaguely mystical) character: that it embodies the mystery of warrior initiation. Most commonly, the sagas emphasize one additional element: the duties deriving from such initiation. The predestined Knight - he who has received the calling and has enjoyed a vision of the Grail, or received its boons – or he who has 'fought his way' to the Grail (as described in certain texts) must accomplish his duty of restoring legitimate power, lest he forever be damned. The Knight must either allow a prostrate, deceased, wounded or only apparently living King to regain his strength, or personally assume the regal role, thus restoring a fallen kingdom. The sagas usually attribute this function to the power of the Grail. A significant means to assess the dignity or intentions of the Knight is to 'ask the question': the question concerning the purpose of the Grail. In many cases, the posing of this crucial question coincides with the miracle of awakening, of healing or of restoration.

But when he had served the god faithfully for eleven days, it sometimes happened that other powers gained the ascendancy over him, and he would be seized with a violent craving for the coarse enjoyment of gross pleasures. Then he would plunge into dissipations, feverish with that human thirst for self-destruction which yearns, when the blood burns as hotly as blood can burn, for degradation, perverseness, filth, and smut, with precisely the measure of strength possessed by another equally human longing, the longing to keep one's self greater than one's self and purer. In these moments there was but little that was rough and coarse enough for him, and when they had passed, it was long before he could regain his balance; for in truth these excesses were not natural to him; he was too healthy for them, too little poisoned by brooding. In a sense, they came as a rebound from his devotion to the higher spirits of his art, almost like a revenge, as though his nature had been violated by the pursuit of those idealistic aims which choice, aided by circumstances, had made his own.

One of the greatest tragedies of the world is the way it has wasted so much female potential. Half the world has been sold the idea that they should sit in the corner playing with dolls and staring in a mirror. It’s time for women to regain the status they had in pagan cultures based on the worship of the Goddess. Women are half of the equation for creating a new humanity. This time we need to get the right answer. Men and women are different. That’s not a problem: it powers the dialectic that drives us forward. The aim is to get the best of both worlds and achieve higher and higher syntheses. It’s outrageous that women have been forced to live in a male-dominated culture. In the future, it needs to be an equal partnership. Not a partnership that mindlessly treats women and men as equals when there are plainly radical differences between the two, but which assigns equal significance to their respective strengths. Yin and yang are eternal partners, not eternal enemies. Neither is more important than the other. Neither can function without the other. The dialectic needs both working at full power.

The silence awed me. I no longer suffered. My friends attended to me in silence. The job was finished, and my conscience was clear. Gathering together the last shreds of energy, in one last long prayer, I implored death to come and deliver me. I had lost the will to live, and I was giving up—the ultimate humiliation for a man, who, up till then, had always taken a pride in himself. This was no time for questions nor for regrets. I looked death straight in the face, besought it with all my strength. Then abruptly I had a vision of the life of men. Those who are leaving it for ever are never alone. Resting against the mountain, which was watching over me, I discovered horizons I had never seen. There at my feet, on those vast plains, millions of beings were following a destiny they had not chosen. There is a supernatural power in those close to death. Strange intuitions identify one with the whole world. The mountain spoke with the wind as it whistled over the ridges or ruffled the foliage. All would end well. I should remain there, forever, beneath a few stones and a cross. They had given me my ice-axe. The breeze was gentle and sweetly scented. My friends departed, knowing that I was now safe. I watched them go their way with slow, sad steps. The procession withdrew along the narrow path. They would regain the plains and the wide horizons. For me, silence.

It was the economy that troubled most people prior to World War II. Europe, especially Germany, was dealing with a deep worldwide depression. Fascism was gaining a stronghold in Germany as well as in many other European countries. Although small and generally not popular, the Communist Party was the only organized group to stand in opposition to the Nazis. Small bands of these Communists occasionally attempted to disrupt the government by rioting in the streets. Occasionally gunfire would be heard, but very little could be done about it by a people that did not want to get involved. Hitler’s “Brown Shirts” were rapidly solidifying their position, and the Nazi Party was becoming stronger. Even though they frequently violated the National Constitution, they brought order to what had been chaos. The Treaty of Versailles, enacted after World War I, was hated by the German people, who felt that it suppressed them in a most demeaning way. However now Hitler was putting people to work building cars and an autobahn highway system that connected the larger cities. Modernization of airports and the development of a national railroad were all in violation of the imposed international regulations. Workers were again bringing paychecks home and could once more feed their families. Therefore, little thought was given to Hitler’s power grab. Germany was emerging from the dark era following World War I, and things were getting better. The Vaterland was regaining its strength, without regard to what France and other European countries thought.... After all, what could they, or would they, do about it?

Michael took me to Paris for the first time back in 1995. I was thirty-six years old and we’d been seeing each other for five months. He was invited to give a talk on childhood leukemia to a conference in Toulouse, and asked if I’d like to go along. When I regained consciousness I said, yes, yes, yes please! We flew out of Montréal in a snowstorm, almost missing the flight. Michael was, to be honest, a little vague on details, like departure times of planes, trains, buses. In fact, almost all appointments. This was the trip where I realized we each had strengths. Mine seemed to be actually getting us to places. His was making it fun once there. On our first night in Paris we went to a wonderful restaurant, then for a walk. At some stage he said, “I’d like to show you something. Look at this.” He was pointing to the trunk of a tree. Now, I’d actually seen trees before, but I thought there must be something extraordinary about this one. “Get up close,” he said. “Look at where I’m pointing.” It was dark, so my nose was practically touching his finger, lucky man. Then, slowly, slowly, his finger began moving, scraping along the bark. I was cross-eyed, following it. And then it left the tree trunk. And pointed into the air. I followed it. And there was the Eiffel Tower. Lit up in the night sky. As long as I live, I will never forget that moment. Seeing the Eiffel Tower with Michael. And the dear man, knowing the magic of it for a woman who never thought she’d see Paris, made it even more magical by making it a surprise. C. S. Lewis wrote that we can create situations in which we are happy, but we cannot create joy. It just happens. That moment I was surprised by complete and utter joy. A little more than a year earlier I knew that the best of life was behind me. I could not have been more wrong. In that year I’d gotten sober, met and fell in love with Michael, and was now in Paris. We just don’t know. The key is to keep going. Joy might be just around the corner

Speech to the German Folk January 30, 1944 Without January 30, 1933, and without the National Socialist revolution, without the tremendous domestic cleansing and construction efforts, there would be no factor today that could oppose the Bolshevik colossus. After all, Germany was itself so ill at the time, so weakened by the spreading Jewish infection, that it could hardly think of overcoming the Bolshevik danger at home, not to mention abroad. The economic ruin brought about by the Jews as in other countries, the unemployment of millions of Germans, the destruction of peasantry, trade, and industry only prepared the way for the planned internal collapse. This was furthered by support for the continued existence of a senseless state of classes, which could only serve to transform the reason of the masses into hatred in order to make them the willing instrument of the Bolshevik revolution. By mobilizing the proletarian slaves, the Jews hoped that, following the destruction of the national intelligentsia, they could all the more reduce them for good to coolies. But even if this process of the Bolshevik revolt in the interior of Germany had not led to complete success, the state with its democratic Weimar constitution would have been reduced to something ridiculously helpless in view of the great tasks of current world politics. In order to be armed for this confrontation, not only the problems of political power but also the social and economic problems had to be resolved. When National Socialism undertook the realization of its program eleven years ago, it managed just in time to build up a state that did not only have the strength at home but also the power abroad to fulfill the same European mission which first Greece fulfilled in antiquity by opposing the Persians, then Rome [by opposing] the Carthaginians, and the Occident in later centuries by opposing the invasions from the east. Therefore, in the year 1933, we set ourselves four great tasks among many others. On their resolution depended not only the future of the Reich but also the rescue of Europe, perhaps even of the entire human civilization: 1. The Reich had to regain the internal social peace that it had lost by resolving the social questions. That meant that the elements of a division into classes bourgeoisie and proletariat-had to be eliminated in their various manifestations and be replaced by a Volksgemeinschaft. The appeal to reason had to be supplemented by the merciless eradication of the base elements of resistance in all camps. 2. The social and political unification of the nation had to be supplemented by a national, political one. This meant that the body of the Reich, which was not only politically, but also governmentally divided, had to be replaced by a unified National Socialist state, the construction and leadership of which were suited to oppose and withstand even the heaviest attacks and severest tests of the future. 3. The nationally and politically coherent centralized state had the mission of immediately creating a Wehrmacht, whose ideology, moral attitude, numerical strength, and material equipment could serve as an instrument of self-assertion. After the outside world had rejected all German offers for a limitation of armament, the Reich had to fashion its own armament accordingly. 4. In order to secure its continued existence in Europe with the prospect of actual success, it was necessary to integrate all those countries which were inhabited by Germans, or were areas which had belonged to the German Reich for over a thousand years and which, in terms of their national substance and economy, were indispensable to the preservation of the Reich, that is, for its political and military defense. Only the resolution of all these tasks could result in the creation of that state which was capable, at home and abroad, of waging the fight for its defense and for the preservation of the European family of nations.

You are striving to be your best. There are times that will challenge that. In Discourses 3:25, Epictetus says, “In this contest, even if we should falter for a while, no one can prevent us from resuming the fight, nor is it necessary to wait another four years for the next Olympic Games to come around, but as soon as one has recovered and regained one’s strength, and can muster the same zeal as before, one can enter the fight; and if one should fail again, one can enter once again, and if one should carry off the victory one fine day, it will be as if one had never given in.” Always remember that you can try again. If you stumble in the moment, get up, refresh yourself, and start moving forward.

But if you practice gratitude enough, you regain your strength because ultimately, the only strength we have as human beings on this planet is our ability to choose. We can choose what we see. We can choose how to interpret what we perceive. We can choose how we feel about the things that we think are true. And we can definitely choose our actions.

Everybody falls - make your fall spectacular and rise like a god, so that watching you even the voiceless regain their voice and the weak regain their strength.

O Holy Heavenly Father We trust the greatness of your mercy and the power of your tenderness, especially for those who are suffering. Only YOU can provide healing to the sick. We ask you to have compassion on those who suffer in their bodies, minds and hearts. Bless them, O Lord, and let them regain health and strength to be witnesses of your mercy. Amen

The Three were not made by Sauron, nor did he ever touch them… They are not idle. But they were not made as weapons of war or conquest: that is not their power. Those who made them did not desire strength or domination or hoarded wealth, but understanding, making, and healing, to preserve all things unstained... if he regains the One. It would be better if the Three had never been. That is his purpose.

Beneath the archways, where shadows play, As the world gives way, begin the odyssey. Uncertainty weaves into the grand scheme of life, A mystical altar, where destinies are intertwined. I walk the path, seeking the balm of solace, Enduring burden, sweet hymn of love. With hopes gone, a peace is about to descend, Still the echoes remain, they dissolve in silence. The flawed script in the story I wrote, Whispers of well-being, truths worth absorbing. "I'm fine," I say, a deceptive glare, Exposing the lies, an invisible love. A waltz with shadows on your street, Cynic's steps, very judicious dance. Terrible notions, a conspiracy unfolds, Regret is echoing at the threshold of love. Rumors of happiness, far-fetched, As I stumble in the field of love. In excess, I stumble and strain, Hope of solace, of regaining love. Did I stumble in that fleeting call? Huge weakening of pride, slow decline of strength. A gift given, deemed inadequate, In closeness, bonds become inadequate. A crazy search for a cure for love, Wandering aimlessly, purpose uncertain. Your realm echoes with such blasphemous footsteps, In the despair of the night, capricious dreams. Happiness, heard a rumor softly, As I wrestle with love like a flightless bird. Juggling too much reduces the weight of love, In the noise of love, a desperate clown. The desire to turn back, the love to amend, Unraveling habits, unraveling at every turn. A desperate attempt, from the quagmire of love, Hope you find love worth savoring. Guide me, let salvation begin, A chance to improve, a revenge for love. To improve, habits have to be broken, A self-calculating, striving soul. Thoughts entangled in the hopeful vision of love, A chance to improve, a decision of love. Witness the transformation, let it happen, Inspire it, in the dance of love's liberation. Let me enter again, a door a little ajar, A love rebuilt, a healing star. Watch as love appears, watch, In the relaxation of love, a story retold. I keep dreaming, maybe, just maybe, Love's embrace, waving destiny. With every step forward, love is becoming free, Self-made agreement, the decree of love.

ECHOES OF LOVE: A DANCE BENEATH THE ARCHWAYS Beneath the archways, where shadows play, As the world gives way, begin the odyssey. Uncertainty weaves into the grand scheme of life, A mystical altar, where destinies are intertwined. I walk the path, seeking the balm of solace, Enduring burden, sweet hymn of love. With hopes gone, a peace is about to descend, Still the echoes remain, they dissolve in silence. The flawed script in the story I wrote, Whispers of well-being, truths worth absorbing. "I'm fine," I say, a deceptive glare, Exposing the lies, an invisible love. A waltz with shadows on your street, Cynic's steps, very judicious dance. Terrible notions, a conspiracy unfolds, Regret is echoing at the threshold of love. Rumors of happiness, far-fetched, As I stumble in the field of love. In excess, I stumble and strain, Hope of solace, of regaining love. Did I stumble in that fleeting call? Huge weakening of pride, slow decline of strength. A gift given, deemed inadequate, In closeness, bonds become inadequate. A crazy search for a cure for love, Wandering aimlessly, purpose uncertain. Your realm echoes with such blasphemous footsteps, In the despair of the night, capricious dreams. Happiness, heard a rumor softly, As I wrestle with love like a flightless bird. Juggling too much reduces the weight of love, In the noise of love, a desperate clown. The desire to turn back, the love to amend, Unraveling habits, unraveling at every turn. A desperate attempt, from the quagmire of love, Hope you find love worth savoring. GUIDE ME, LET SALVATION BEGIN, A CHANCE TO IMPROVE, A REVENGE FOR LOVE. TO IMPROVE, HABITS HAVE TO BE BROKEN, A SELF-CALCULATING, STRIVING SOUL. THOUGHTS ENTANGLED IN THE HOPEFUL VISION OF LOVE, A CHANCE TO IMPROVE, A DECISION OF LOVE. WITNESS THE TRANSFORMATION, LET IT HAPPEN, INSPIRE IT, IN THE DANCE OF LOVE'S LIBERATION. LET ME ENTER AGAIN, A DOOR A LITTLE AJAR, A LOVE REBUILT, A HEALING STAR. WATCH AS LOVE APPEARS, WATCH, IN THE RELAXATION OF LOVE, A STORY RETOLD. I KEEP DREAMING, MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, LOVE'S EMBRACE, WAVING DESTINY. WITH EVERY STEP FORWARD, LOVE IS BECOMING FREE, SELF-MADE AGREEMENT, THE DEGREE OF LOVE.

The belugas spent the winter in the Bering Sea, between Russia and Alaska, where Arctic pack ice could not trap them. Now it's almost spring. The ice is melting, splitting, retreating toward the pole. The whales' migration route is opening up. The older females lead the way, north and east, teaching younger belugas how to find Canada's Beaufort Sea. At more than 2500 km (1550 mi.), the belugas' journey takes months to complete. It's worth it. When the whales reach the Mackenzie River Delta, they'll rub against the ocean floor, shedding itchy layers of yellowed skin until they're glowing white again. Pregnant mothers will also give birth. The shallow coastal waters will protect the newborns from hungry orcas. While the babies play, their mothers will feast on krill and codfish, regaining their strength. Their rich milk will fatten the calves all summer, before the journey south begins.

I’m made of fire, you know,” he said. “Fire and stone. If he regained his full strength, my father could kill everyone in the ballroom before they could choke out a scream. But I’d rather have the tinder-flare of a glass punch, the curve of a barmaid’s breast, the frost of a winter morning—it all pierces me to the heart. God, why am I telling you all this?” I tried to fall back on teasing. The waltz was slowly picking up tempo, and my heart seemed to be matching it pulse for pulse. “No need for tears for a simple waltz,” I mock-scolded in a whisper. “And you a great boy of eight-and-twenty.” He opened his eyes at that and surged away from the wall. “I am not eight-and-twenty. I am ten months old, or nine thousand years. Nothing in between.” Before I could squeak, he’d seized me in a waltz hold, far closer than propriety allowed. “Yes,” he said. “In answer to your question.” “What question,” I said. “Am I going to waltz you.” He began, slowly, to move. “The answer is yes, at every opportunity.

I’m made of fire, you know,” he said. “Fire and stone. If he regained his full strength, my father could kill everyone in the ballroom before they could choke out a scream. But I’d rather have the tinder-flare of a human lifetime than go back to him. It’s not just the waltz. The taste of a glass punch, the curve of a barmaid’s breast, the frost of a winter morning—it all pierces me to the heart. God, why am I telling you all this?” I tried to fall back on teasing. The waltz was slowly picking up tempo, and my heart seemed to be matching it pulse for pulse. “No need for tears for a simple waltz,” I mock-scolded in a whisper. “And you a great boy of eight-and-twenty.” He opened his eyes at that and surged away from the wall. “I am not eight-and-twenty. I am ten months old, or nine thousand years. Nothing in between.” Before I could squeak, he’d seized me in a waltz hold, far closer than propriety allowed. “Yes,” he said. “In answer to your question.” “What question,” I said. “Am I going to waltz you.” He began, slowly, to move. “The answer is yes, at every opportunity.

You may not be able to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, but perhaps you can carry the weight of someone’s burden long enough for them to regain their strength.

Burrich got up, staggered a half step on his bad leg, and regained his balance. He took up the measure of grain. He sprinkled it over the boiling water, then stirred it to wet it evenly. Then he put a tight lid on the pot and pulled it slightly back from the fire’s reach. All this while balancing the babe in the crook of one arm. I could tell he had been thinking when he answered, “Not babies, perhaps. But I know about young things. Foals, puppies, calves, piglets. Even hunting cats. I know if you want them to trust you, you touch them often when they are small. Gently, but firmly, so they believe in your strength, too.

They must have more money if they were to survive, if her mother was to regain her strength and her health. Emma knew that without money you were nothing, just a powerless and oppressed victim of the ruling class, a yoked and shackled beast of burden destined to a life of mindless drudgery, and an existence so wretched and so without hope, so filled with terror and despair that it was hardly worth the contemplation let alone the living.

Our fears become unhealthy and can be used as weapons when they originate from imagined dangers and prevent us from doing things we may otherwise enjoy.

To speak candidly, with neither justification nor humiliation, relieves the haunting of memory and mind and becomes one way to regain our dignity and our strength.

When you stand accused, your character is being tested. The strength of character that you reveal will ultimately determine the Tanks’ perception of you and future behavior toward you. Action Plan Step 1. Hold Your Ground. The first step is to stay put and hold your ground, neither running away nor gearing for battle. Do not change your position, whether you happen to be standing, sitting, leaning, or making up your mind. You don’t have to go on the offensive or the defensive. Instead, silently look the Tank in the eyes, and shift your attention to your breathing. Breathe slowly and deeply. Intentional breathing is a terrific way to regain your self-control. And while you compose yourself, the Tank has the opportunity to fire off a round unimpeded. When Martin found himself under attack, he restrained his impulse to counterattack. Instead, he held his ground. He looked into his boss’s eyes, kept breathing, and waited for the blasting to stop. When it did, Martin asked, “Is that everything?” Apparently, that wasn’t all. The Tank loaded up another round a of abuse and fired it off. Martin held his temper in check, took a slow breath, and asked evenly, “Anything else?” “Why, you ...” Sherman loaded up his last round and fired it off. He was now completely out of ammunition, having said every rotten thing he knew how to say. At that point, he just stood there silently glaring at Martin, as if waiting for an answer will ultimately determine the Tanks’ perception of you and future behavior toward you.

The Brouwerian believed that this conception was wholly wrong from the beginning. They accused it of misunderstanding the nature of mathematics and of unjustifiedly transferring to the realm of infinity methods of reasoning that are valid only in the realm of the finite. By regaining the right perspective, mathematics could be constructed on a basis whose intuitive soundness could not be doubted. The antinomies were only the symptoms of a disease by which mathematics was infected. Once this disease was cured, one need worry no longer about the symptoms. All Russellians thought that our naiveness consisted in taking for granted that every grammatically correct indicative sentence expresses something which either is or is not the case, and some — among them Russell himself — believed, in addition, that through some carelessness a certain type of viciously circular concept formation had been allowed to enter logico-mathematical thinking. By restricting the language — and proscribing the dangerous types of concept formation— the known antinomies could be made to disappear. Their faith in the consistency of the resulting, somewhat mutilated, systems was less strong than that of the Brouwerians, since certain intuitively not too well founded devices had to be used in order to restore at least part of the lost strength and maneuverability. Zermelians, finally, thought that our blunder consisted in naively assuming that to every condition there must correspond a certain entity, namely the set of all those objects that satisfy this condition. By suitable restriction of the axiom of comprehension, in which this assumption is formulated, they tried to construct systems which were free of the known antinomies yet strong enough to allow for the reconstruction of a sufficient part of classical mathematics.

Physically, I was healthier than I’d been for years. I regained weight, energy, and muscle tone (especially in those ax-swinging muscles around the shoulder blades) and began to suspect that holding back my rage had long consumed the lion’s share of my physical strength, leaving very little to spend on actual living.

Before, he could feel her emotions, but now she could feel his. Even though he’d taken both her pain and her sorrow, that wasn’t what he was feeling now. He felt desire. Desperation. Lust. Obsession. He wanted her. She was all he wanted. All he thought about. She felt it in the way the kiss began to shift from reckless and hungry to languorous and savoring, as if he’d considered this for a very long time and now he was acting out all the things he’d imagined. A faraway place that Tella tried to ignore told her this was all a great mistake – Jacks wasn’t really the one she wanted, Legend was. No matter what he did, or what he was, it would always be Legend. Maybe she could never actually have him, but she wanted him. If she was going to kiss one of the villains, she wanted it to be Legend, not Jacks. She needed to push Jacks away. But Legend never touched her anymore. Even if Legend had been there, he might not have held her, let alone kiss her. And it felt so good to be kissed, to be cherished and touched. To feel desire instead of pain. The sorrow was almost gone, and the kiss grew more intense. Or maybe now that Tella was no longer feeling crushing despair or seeing death, she could truly feel the entire kiss, and every inch of Jacks’s body as it pressed against hers. But even in her muddled state, Tella knew she couldn’t let it continue. She ripped her bleeding hand free of Jacks’s and ended the kiss. Jacks made no attempt stop her. But he made no further effort to move away. They were both on their sides, chests pressed together, legs all tangled. The pain and the sorrow and the hurt were gone. But so was all of her strength. She was boneless. Empty. There were splatters of blood all over her dress and her hands, and all over him. Something intimate, beyond the physical, had just passed between them. Red tracks ran down his cheeks, ghosts of tears he’d cried for her. She should have tried to leave. But her body was exhausted. And she liked the way it felt when Jacks wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to his cool chest as if he wanted her to stay. After she regained her strength, she would go back to hating him. All she cared about now was that the pain was gone. ‘Thank you, Jacks.’ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘I’m not sure I did you a favor, my love.

Visibly concerned, Holden drove Powers to his home in Palm Springs, where she rested for nearly five weeks, while taking a variety of medical treatments. To reduce the risk of liver damage, Powers modified her diet and exercise program. The sunlight helped to boost her immune system with the increase of vitamin D, which she absorbed in large quantities, and the actress slowly regained her strength.

A depressed person has forgotten the value of his strength and power. He must be helped to regain himself and recover his ideal.

I can’t explain what I don’t understand. It’s never happened with any other Skill-healing I’ve witnessed. Only between you and me. Whatever injury I take from you appears on me.” He stood, his arms crossed on his chest. He wore his own face, and Amber’s painted lips and rouged cheeks looked peculiar now. His eyes seemed to bore into me. “No. Explain why you hid this from me! Why you couldn’t trust me with the simple truth. What did you imagine? That I would demand you blind yourself that I might see?” “I…no!” I braces my elbows on the table and rested my head in my hands. I could not recall when I had felt more drained. A steady pulse of pounding pain in my temples kept pace with my heartbeat. I felt a desperate need to recover my strength, but even sitting still was demanding more than I had to give. I wanted to topple over onto the floor and surrender to sleep. I tried to order my thoughts. “You were so desperate to regain your sight. I didn’t want to take that hope from you. My plan was that once you were strong enough the coterie could try to heal you, if you would let them. My fear was that if I told you I couldn’t heal you without losing my sight, you’d lose all hope.” The last piece of the truth was angular and sharp-edged in my mouth. “And I feared you would think me selfish that I did not heal you.” I let my head lower onto my folded arms. The Fool said something. “I didn’t hear that.” “You weren’t meant to,” he replied in a low voice. Then he admitted, “I called you a clodpoll.” “Oh.” I could barely keep my eyes open. He asked a cautious question. “After you’d taken on my hurts, did they heal?” “Yes. Mostly. But very slowly.” My back still bore the pinkish dimples in echo of the ulcers that had been on his back. “Or so it seemed to me. You know hun body has been since that runaway healing the coterie did on me years ago. I scarcely age and injuries heal overnight, leaving me exhausted. But they healed, Fool. Once I knew what was happening, I was more careful. When I worked on the bones around your eyes, I kept strict control.” I halted. It was a terrifying offer to make. But in our sort of friendship, it had to be made. “I could try to heal your eyes. Give you sight, lose mine, and see if my body could restore mine. It would take time. And I’m not sure this is the best place for us to make such an attempt. Perhaps in Bingtown, after we’ve sent the others home, we could take rooms somewhere and make the attempt.” “No. Don’t be stupid.” His tone forbade any response. In his long silence, sleep crept up on me, seeping into every part of my body. It was an engulfing demand the body makes, one that knows no refusal. “Fitz. Fitz? Look at me. What do you see?” I prised my eyelids open and looked at him. I thought I knew what he needed to hear. “I see my friend. My oldest, dearest friend. No matter what guise you wear.” “And you see me clearly?” Something in his voice made me lift up my head. I blinked blearily and stared at him. After a time, he swam into focus. “Yes.” He let out his pent up breath. “Good. Because when I touched you, I felt something happen, something more than I expected. I reached for you, to call you back, for I feared you were vanishing into the Skill-current. But when I touched you, it wasn’t as if I touched someone else. It was like folding my hands together. As if your blood suddenly ran through my veins. Fitz, I can see the shape of you, there in your chair. I fear I may have taken something from you.” “Oh. Good. I’m glad.” I closed my eyes, too weary for surprise. Too exhausted for fear. I thought of that day, long ago, when I had drawn him back from death and pushed him into his own body again. In that moment, as I had left the body I had repaired for him, as we had passed each other before resuming our own flesh again, I’d felt the same. A sense of oneness. Of completion. I recalled it but was too weary to put it into words. I put my head down on the table and slept.

I can’t explain what I don’t understand. It’s never happened with any other Skill-healing I’ve witnessed. Only between you and me. Whatever injury I take from you appears on me.” He stood, his arms crossed on his chest. He wore his own face, and Amber’s painted lips and rouged cheeks looked peculiar now. His eyes seemed to bore into me. “No. Explain why you hid this from me! Why you couldn’t trust me with the simple truth. What did you imagine? That I would demand you blind yourself that I might see?” “I…no!” I braces my elbows on the table and rested my head in my hands. I could not recall when I had felt more drained. A steady pulse of pounding pain in my temples kept pace with my heartbeat. I felt a desperate need to recover my strength, but even sitting still was demanding more than I had to give. I wanted to topple over onto the floor and surrender to sleep. I tried to order my thoughts. “You were so desperate to regain your sight. I didn’t want to take that hope from you. My plan was that once you were strong enough the coterie could try to heal you, if you would let them. My fear was that if I told you I couldn’t heal you without losing my sight, you’d lose all hope.” The last piece of the truth was angular and sharp-edged in my mouth. “And I feared you would think me selfish that I did not heal you.” I let my head lower onto my folded arms. The Fool said something. “I didn’t hear that.” “You weren’t meant to,” he replied in a low voice. Then he admitted, “I called you a clodpoll.” “Oh.” I could barely keep my eyes open. He asked a cautious question. “After you’d taken on my hurts, did they heal?” “Yes. Mostly. But very slowly.” My back still bore the pinkish dimples in echo of the ulcers that had been on his back. “Or so it seemed to me. You know how my body has been since that runaway healing the coterie did on me years ago. I scarcely age and injuries heal overnight, leaving me exhausted. But they healed, Fool. Once I knew what was happening, I was more careful. When I worked on the bones around your eyes, I kept strict control.” I halted. It was a terrifying offer to make. But in our sort of friendship, it had to be made. “I could try to heal your eyes. Give you sight, lose mine, and see if my body could restore mine. It would take time. And I’m not sure this is the best place for us to make such an attempt. Perhaps in Bingtown, after we’ve sent the others home, we could take rooms somewhere and make the attempt.” “No. Don’t be stupid.” His tone forbade any response. In his long silence, sleep crept up on me, seeping into every part of my body. It was an engulfing demand the body makes, one that knows no refusal. “Fitz. Fitz? Look at me. What do you see?” I prised my eyelids open and looked at him. I thought I knew what he needed to hear. “I see my friend. My oldest, dearest friend. No matter what guise you wear.” “And you see me clearly?” Something in his voice made me lift up my head. I blinked blearily and stared at him. After a time, he swam into focus. “Yes.” He let out his pent up breath. “Good. Because when I touched you, I felt something happen, something more than I expected. I reached for you, to call you back, for I feared you were vanishing into the Skill-current. But when I touched you, it wasn’t as if I touched someone else. It was like folding my hands together. As if your blood suddenly ran through my veins. Fitz, I can see the shape of you, there in your chair. I fear I may have taken something from you.” “Oh. Good. I’m glad.” I closed my eyes, too weary for surprise. Too exhausted for fear. I thought of that day, long ago, when I had drawn him back from death and pushed him into his own body again. In that moment, as I had left the body I had repaired for him, as we had passed each other before resuming our own flesh again, I’d felt the same. A sense of oneness. Of completion. I recalled it but was too weary to put it into words. I put my head down on the table and slept.

At the heart of The Lord of the Rings are the assertions which Gandalf makes in Book 1/2, his long conversation with Frodo. If they are not accepted, then the whole point of the story collapses. And these assertions are in essence three. First, Gandalf says that the Ring is immensely powerful, in the right or the wrong hands. If Sauron regains it, then he will be invincible at least for the foreseeable future: ‘If he recovers it, then he will command [all the other Rings of Power] again, even the Three [held by the elves], and all that has been wrought with them will be laid bare, and he will be stronger than ever.’ Second, though, Gandalf insists that the Ring is deadly dangerous to all its possessors: it will take them over, ‘devour’ them, ‘possess’ them. The process may be long or short, depending on how ‘strong or well-meaning’ the possessor may be, but ‘neither strength nor good purpose will last – sooner or later the dark power will devour him’. Furthermore this will not be just a physical take-over. The Ring turns everything to evil, including its wearers. There is no one who can be trusted to use it, even in the right hands, for good purposes: there are no right hands, and all good purposes will turn bad if reached through the Ring. Elrond repeats this assertion later on, ‘I will not take the Ring’, as does Galadriel, ‘I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel’. But finally, and this third point is one which Gandalf has to re-emphasize strongly and against opposition in ‘The Council of Elrond’, the Ring cannot simply be left unused, put aside, thrown away: it has to be destroyed, and the only place where it can be destroyed is the place of its fabrication, Orodruin, the Cracks of Doom. These assertions determine the story. It becomes, as has often been noted, not a quest but an anti-quest, whose goal is not to find or regain something but to reject and destroy something.

My Dearest Emaline, Please forgive me for my behavior last night. I am so sorry I hurt you. You did not deserve such callous treatment. I know you don’t understand the responsibilities that I face, and unfortunately, they far outweigh any personal feelings or desires I possess. I hope one day you will come to understand this and find it in your heart to forgive me. Inside the case is a collection of medical supplies, including several potent drugs. Doc has assured me these will help your brother regain his strength. And contrary to what you now believe, I do hope he recovers. I will never forget you or the courage you have displayed. The brief time we spent together will forever remain in my heart. I am eternally in your debt, Reece

My Everest story would be incomplete if I didn’t give final credit to the Sherpas who had risked their lives alongside us every day. Pasang and Ang-Sering still climb together as best friends, under the direction of their Sirdar boss--Kami. The Khumba Icefall specialist, Nima, still carries out his brave task in the jumbled ice maze at the foot of the mountain: repairing and fixing the route through. Babu Chiri, who so bravely helped Mick when he ran out of oxygen under the South Summit, was tragically killed in a crevasse in the Western Cwm several years later. He was a Sherpa of many years’ Everest experience, and was truly one of the mountain’s greats. It was a huge loss to the mountaineering fraternity. But if you play the odds long enough you will eventually lose. That is the harsh reality of high-altitude mountaineering. You can’t keep on top of the world forever. Geoffrey returned to the army, and Neil to his business. His toes never regained their feeling, but he avoided having them amputated. But as they say, Everest always charges some sort of a price, and in his own words--he got lucky. As for Mick, he describes his time on Everest well: “In the three months I was away, I was both happier than ever before, and more scared than I ever hope to be again.” Ha. That’s also high-altitude mountaineering for you. Thengba, my friend, with whom I spent so much time alone at camp two, was finally given a hearing aid by Henry. Now, for the first time, he can hear properly. Despite our different worlds, we shared a common bond with these wonderful Sherpa men--a friendship that was forged by an extraordinary mountain. Once, when the climber Julius Kugy was asked what sort of person a mountaineer should be, he replied: “Truthful, distinguished, and modest.” All these Sherpas epitomize this. I made the top with them, and because of their help, I owe them more than I can say. The great Everest writer Walt Unsworth, in his book Everest: The Mountaineering History, gives a vivid description of the characters of the men and women who pit their all on the mountain. I think it is bang on the money: But there are men for whom the unattainable has a special attraction. Usually they are not experts: their ambitions and fantasies are strong enough to brush aside the doubts which more cautious men might have. Determination and faith are their strongest weapons. At best such men are regarded as eccentric; at worst, mad… Three things they all had in common: faith in themselves, great determination, and endurance. If I had to sum up what happened on that journey for me, from the hospital bed to the summit of the world, I tend to think of it as a stumbling journey. Of losing my confidence and my strength--then refinding it. Of seeing my hope and my faith slip away--and then having them rekindled. Ultimately, if I had to pass on one message to my children it would be this: Fortune favors the brave. Most of the time.

I beg your pardon, my ladies, Mr. Trottenham. I did not realize I’d be intruding unannounced.” “Deene, good day.” Trottenham rose and bowed, smacking his heels together audibly. “The more the merrier, I say, what? Saw your colt beat Islington’s by two lengths. Well done, jolly good and all that. Islington’s made a bit too much blunt off that animal in my opinion.” Trottenham apparently had a nervous affliction of the eyebrows, for they bounced up and down as he spoke, suggesting either a severe tic or an attempt to indicate some sort of shared confidence. “Perhaps the ladies would rather we save the race talk for the clubs?” “The ladies would indeed,” Louisa said. “Sit you down, Deene, and do the pretty. Mr. Trottenham was just leaving.” She gave a pointed look at the clock, while Eve, who had said nothing, busied herself pouring tea, which Deene most assuredly did not want. “Leaving?” Trottenham’s eyebrows jiggled around. “Suppose I ought, but first I must ask Lady Eve to join me at the fashionable hour for a drive around The Ring. It’s a beautiful day, and I’ve a spanking pair of bays to show off.” Deene accepted his cup of tea with good grace. “Afraid she’s not in a position to oblige, Trottenham, at least not today.” He smiled over at Eve, who blinked once then smiled back. Looking just a bit like Louisa when she did. “Sorry, Mr. Trottenham.” She did not sound sorry to Deene. “His lordship has spoken for my time today.” Trottenham’s smile dimmed then regained its strength. “Tomorrow, then?” Jenny spoke up. “We’re supposed to attend that Venetian breakfast with Her Grace tomorrow.” “And the next day is His Grace’s birthday. Couldn’t possibly wander off on such an occasion as that,” Louisa volunteered. “Why don’t I see you out, Mr. Trottenham, and you can tell me where you found these bays.” She rose and took him by the arm, leaving a small silence after her departure, in which Deene spared a moment to pity poor Trottenham. “I have an appointment at the modiste,” Lady Jenny said, getting to her feet. “Lucas, I’m sure you’ll excuse me.” She swanned off, leaving Eve sitting before the tea tray and Deene wondering what had just happened. “Did you tell them I’ve a preference for leeks?” “I did not, but I cannot vouch for the queer starts my sisters take.

Eric could not recall a moment when frustration had consumed him so thoroughly. He stared unseeing at the far wall, trying to stop the caustic rise of bile in his throat. Dammit-all. The Haarb invade again in unknown numbers. I swore on my honor to protect a woman who thwarts my attempts at every turn. Three-quarters of my men lie dead. My head is fit to explode and I sit here too weak to stand, wearing a gods-be-damned dress. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! His empty bowl flew across the width of the cave, smashing into little bits against the far wall. Amused feminine eyes tracked the bowl’s flight and returned to him. “You seem to be regaining your strength. I’ll be back later to look at your dressings.” Sophi rose, a wicked glint in her eyes. “Very fetching robe, Commander. I don’t know many men who could pull off that look.

Wonderful You Love you for being so meaningful, i my meaningless life, Love you for being so true, even when my life was a complete lie, Love you for being so strong, when i was weak within, Love you for being so natural, when i was being artificial, Love you for being an end to my pain , Love you for being the strength that i regain, Love you for all the colors in life, Love you for all that matters in my life, Love you for being my power, Love you for being my saver,

Wilderness leaders need to understand that there are varying normal responses to a crisis. Until there is time to regroup, behaviors may seem unusual when, in truth, they should be expected. Some behaviors that may emerge in the face of a crisis include: 1. Regression. Many grown people revert to an earlier stage of development. The theory is that, since their parents used to care for them as children, someone else may care for them now if they behave in a childlike manner. In particular, tantrums used to be very effective. Tantrum-like or very dependent behavior is not unusual. 2. Depression. Closing into one’s inner world is another common response to crisis. This is where some people find the sources of strength to cope with an emergency. This is characterized as a shutdown effect: fetal positioning, slumped shoulders, downcast eyes, arms crossed over the chest, and unwillingness or difficulty in communicating. 3. Aggression. Some people lash out, physically or emotionally, at threats, including the vague threat of an emergency. High adrenaline levels may intensify the response, and so may the feelings of frustration, anger, and fear that commonly surround unexpected circumstances. This response is characterized by explosive body language, including swinging fists and jumping up and down. What one should do about the various behaviors that surface during a crisis depends somewhat on the individual circumstances. As a general rule, open communication, acknowledgement of the emotional impact of the event, and a healthy dose of patience and tolerance can go far during resolution of the situation. Some basic procedures to consider in crisis management might include the following: 1. Engage the patient in a calm, rational discussion. You can start the patient down the trail that leads through the crisis. 2. Identify the specific concerns about which the patient is stressed. You both need to be talking about the same problems. 3. Provide realistic and optimistic feedback. You can help the patient return to objective thinking. 4. Involve the patient in solving the problem. You can help the patient and/or the patient can help you choose and implement a plan of action. Someone who completely loses control needs time to settle down to become an asset to the situation. Breaking through to someone who has lost control can be a challenge. Try repetitive persistence, a technique developed for telephone interrogation by emergency services dispatchers. Remain calm, but firm. Choose a positive statement that includes the person’s name, such as, “Todd, we can help once you calm down.” (An example of a negative statement would be, “Todd, we can’t help unless you settle down.”) Persistently repeat the statement with the same words in the same tone of voice. The irresistible force (you) will eventually overwhelm the immovable object (the out-of-control person). Surprisingly few repetitions are usually needed to get through to the patient, as long as the tone of voice remains calm. Letting frustration or other emotions creep into the tone of voice, or changing the message, can ruin the entire effort. Over time, the overwhelming responses that generated the reaction may occasionally resurface. This is normal. Without being judgmental or impatient, regain control through repetitive persistence. A crisis may bring out a humorous side (sometimes appropriately, sometimes not) among the group. When you wish to release the intensity surrounding a situation or crisis, appropriate laughter is one of the best methods. It should also be noted that many people cope just fine with emergency situations and unexpected circumstances. They are a source of strength and an example of model behavior for the others.

It was the economy that troubled most people prior to World War II. Europe, especially Germany, was dealing with a deep worldwide depression. Fascism was gaining a stronghold in Germany as well as in many other European countries. Although small and generally not popular, the Communist Party was the only organized group to stand in opposition to the Nazis. Small bands of these Communists occasionally attempted to disrupt the government by rioting in the streets. Occasionally gunfire would be heard, but very little could be done about it by a people that did not want to get involved. Hitler’s “Brown Shirts” were rapidly solidifying their position, and the Nazi Party was becoming stronger. Even though they frequently violated the National Constitution, they brought order to what had been chaos. The Treaty of Versailles, enacted after World War I, was hated by the German people, who felt that it suppressed them in a most demeaning way. Now however, Hitler was putting people to work building cars and an autobahn highway system that connected the larger cities. Modernization of airports and the development of a national railroad were all in violation of the imposed international regulations. Now however, workers were bringing paychecks home and could once again feed their families. Therefore, little thought was given to Hitler’s power grab. Germany was emerging from the dark era following World War I, and things were getting better. The Vaterland was regaining its strength, without regard to what France and other European countries thought.... After all, what could they, or would they, do about it?

Your marriage to Lord Rayyel was a symbol of peace, one that is now tainted beyond compare. What you do in your own bed is none of my business, my lady, but there is no saving you from this ruin. To regain the honour that will win you back your throne, you have to become a new symbol: one of strength, the way a Dragonlord ought to be. And so.” He gestured at my sword. “Prove your worth. Slay the dragon.

At the bottom of the hill, after Boston College, the route passes St. Ignatius Church on the right. It was here that textile worker Doroteo Flores of Guatemala was running down the hill in 1952 when he looked to the church for support. He had hoped that a win at the world’s greatest race might help him to find employment or notoriety and allow him to make a better life for himself and his family. With a prayer in his heart, the Roman Catholic regained his stride and the will to win. “Coming over the hills I asked my God, ‘How do I do it?’ ” he said. “He listened and gave me strength, and I ran with greater sense of purpose.” After winning Boston in 1952, Flores’s home country named the national stadium in Guatemala City after him.

Guisinger’s theory is that people with the anorexic adaptation could lead a tribe to food when everyone else was too weak to think clearly or want to move. Once they found new food sources and regained strength, she says, the group would draw the person with anorexia back into health through the social routines of eating3—by including her, encouraging her, and supporting her eating until she’d regained weight and strength.

The English rendering for the word shabat as “rest” can be a little misleading. It is not to rest to regain your strength, it is to “cease” from your activity or to interrupt your normal activity to accomplish something. What are you to accomplish on the Sabbath? Used here in Exodus you have a sort of play the word yashev that means to dwell, or sit down. Shabot has a numerical value of 702. The word macoreth also has a numerical value of 702 and means to bond.

was regaining his strength now on a fairly steady diet

Rest (Shabbat) EXODUS 16:30: “SO THE people rested on the seventh day.” Rest—Hebrew: shabat—rest, to cease, be still, to interrupt, The word rest in this passage is vayishevethu. From the root word shabat which means to rest and to cease. We learn in Genesis 2:2 that God “rested” on the seventh day. I mean all that creating into being must have worn poor God out, surely God needed a rest; I know I would have. The English rendering for the word shabat as “rest” can be a little misleading. It is not to rest to regain your strength, it is to “cease” from your activity or to interrupt your normal activity to accomplish something. What are you to accomplish on the Sabbath? Used here in Exodus you have a sort of play the word yashev that means to dwell, or sit down. Shabot has a numerical value of 702. The word macoreth also

I don’t know for sure, but I think maybe God was trying to tell me that gentleness begins with strength, quietness with security. A great tree is both moved and unmoved, for it changes with the seasons, but its roots keep it anchored in the ground. Mastering a gentle and quiet spirit didn’t mean changing my personality, just regaining control of it, growing strong enough to hold back and secure enough to soften.

him from his goal. If they planned carefully, they could make their escape out into the jungle under the cover of darkness. But only after they had a chance to eat and regain their strength.  When he finished the bath, he found new clothes waiting on a bench: white linen pants and

And what is your assessment of Lady Rosslyn?” Rafe blurted out without thinking. The vampire remained silent as he took the seat opposite Rafe. Finally, he looked up, eyes intent. “You can’t kill her. She would be too much of an asset to our people. Imagine having our own doctor for our kind. She might be able to fix Mary’s leg.” He smiled. “And I think she’s completely smitten with you.” Rafe doubted that, as much as the thought still made his chest tight. “Does your offer still stand to Change her?” Anthony’s smile dimmed. “It would, if I had not grown so weakened donating blood for your surgeries. By the time I regain my strength, the deadline for the Elders’ decree will have passed.” Rafe slammed his fist on the table. “Damn it! I should have had William open a vein before I dismissed him. At least then he could have been useful for once.” “He wouldn’t have done it. He would have quit before lifting a finger to help anyone but himself.