Resident Appreciation Quotes

When I say that evil has to do with killing, I do not mean to restrict myself to corporeal murder. Evil is that which kills spirit. There are various essential attributes of life -- particularly human life -- such as sentience, mobility, awareness, growth, autonomy, will. It is possible to kill or attempt to kill one of these attributes without actually destroying the body. Thus we may "break" a horse or even a child without harming a hair on its head. Erich Fromm was acutely sensitive to this fact when he broadened the definition of necrophilia to include the desire of certain people to control others-to make them controllable, to foster their dependency, to discourage their capacity to think for themselves, to diminish their unpredectibility and originalty, to keep them in line. Distinguishing it from a "biophilic" person, one who appreciates and fosters the variety of life forms and the uniqueness of the individual, he demonstrated a "necrophilic character type," whose aim it is to avoid the inconvenience of life by transforming others into obedient automatons, robbing them of their humanity. Evil then, for the moment, is the force, residing either inside or outside of human beings, that seeks to kill life or liveliness. And goodness is its opposite. Goodness is that which promotes life and liveliness.

A deep love resides inside each of us. This love is independent of the desires, thoughts, and opinions, good or bad, which are readily offered to us. It is a love that is gentle and kind, accepting and nonjudgmental, playful and spontaneous, courageous and curious. It is always encouraging and always evolving. This love can be discovered only through turning off the noise around us, coming to ourselves in silence, meditation, and prayer. If we listen carefully we will hear the murmurs of our inner voice tell yearnings of our truest selves. What is available to us is a profound understanding, appreciation, and full acceptance of self, all of the good and all of the bad. Only when we truly know that we are able to tap into this part of ourselves can we begin to love others fully. Love for others is the manifestation of love for self. We cannot love another more than we love ourselves. Life is a mirror. If you want to know what love for yourself looks like, look at your love for others. If you want to know what your love for others look like, look at your love for self. When you love yourself this way, you love God this way. This relationship is the divine love triangle; self, God, and others in any order.

As much as Jefferson loved France residence abroad gave him greater appreciation for his own nation. He was a tireless advocate for things American while abroad, and a promoter of things European while at home. Moving between two worlds, translating the best of the old into the new and explaining the benefits of the new to the old, he created a role for himself as both intermediary and arbiter.

I think Skyblock at its core is the ultimate challenge in resource management. You spawn on a tiny island in an empty universe. All you have is a tree, some supplies and some dirt to stand on. You have to treasure EVERY dirt block, because if one falls into the void, there's no way to replace it and as you carefully navigate your absurd circumstance, you gain a new appreciation for the few things you have as you meticulously use them to their fullest effect. With nothing but some ice, lava and saplings you slowly transform this empty expanse into a world of your very own. Skyblock teaches us that no matter how ridiculous the odds may seem, within us resides the power to overcome these challenges and achieve something beautiful. That one day, we'll look back at where we started and be amazed by how far we've come.

Ikigai resides in the realm of small things. The morning air, the cup of coffee, the ray of sunshine, the massaging of octopus meat and the American president’s praise are on equal footing. Only those who can recognize the richness of this whole spectrum really appreciate and enjoy it.

We believe that many Christians do not fully appreciate the odd way in which the church, when it is most faithful, goes about its business. We want to claim the church's "oddness" as essential to its faithfulness.

In the internal decoration, if not in the external architecture of their residences, the English are supreme. The Italians have but little sentiment beyond marbles and colors. In France, meliora probant, deteriora sequuntur -- the people are too much a race of gadabouts to maintain those household proprieties of which, indeed, they have a delicate appreciation, or at least the elements of a proper sense. The Chinese and most of the Eastern races have a warm but inappropriate fancy. The Scotch are poor decorists. The Dutch have, perhaps, an indeterminate idea that a curtain is not a cabbage. In Spain, they are all curtains -- a nation of hangmen. The Russians do not furnish. The Hottentots and Kickapoos are very well in their way. The Yankees alone are preposterous.

... ongoing care for the soul rather than seek for a cure appreciates the mystery of human suffering and does not offer the illusion of a problem-free life. I sees every fall into ignorance and confusion as an opportunity to discover that the beast residing at the center of the labyrinth is also an angel. To approach this paradoxical point of tension where adjustment and abnormality meet is to move closer to the realization of our mystery-filled, star-born nature. It is a beast this thing that stirs in the core of our being, but it is also the star of our innermost nature. We have to care for this suffering with extreme reverence so that in our fear and anger at the beast, we do not overlook the star.

To where," added Leroy, "resides the answer to your question: why are we living? what is essential in life?" He looked hard at the lady. "The essential, in life, is to perpetuate life: it is childbirth, and what precedes it, coitus, and what precedes coitus, seduction, that is to say kisses, hair floating in the wind, silk underwear, well-cut brassieres, and everything else that makes people ready for coitus, for instance good chow - not fine cuisine, a superfluous thing no one appreciates anymore, but the chow everyone buys - and along with chow, defecation, because you know, my dear lady, my beautiful adored lady, you know what an important position the praise of toilet paper and diapers occupies in our profession. Toilet paper, diapers, detergents, chow. That is man's sacred circle, and our mission is not only to discover it, seize it, and map it but to make it beautiful, to transform it into song. Thanks to our influence, toilet paper is almost exclusively pink, and that is a highly edifying fact, which, my dear and anxious lady, I would recommend that you contemplate seriously.

... ongoing care for the soul rather than seek for a cure appreciates the mystery of human suffering and does not offer the illusion of a problem-free life. I sees every fall into ignorance and confusion as an opportunity to discover that the beast residing at the center of the labyrinth is also an angel. To approach this paradoxial point of tension where adjustment and abnormality meet is to move closer to the realization of our mystery-filled, star-born nature. It is a beast this thing that stirs in the core of our being, but it is also the star of our innermost nature. We have to care for this suffering with extreme reverence so that in our fear and anger at the beast, we do not overlock the star. ~Thomas Moore *Care of the Soul*

Nature has no human inhabitant who appreciates her. The birds with their plumage and their notes are in harmony with the flowers, but what youth or maiden conspires with the wild luxuriant beauty of Nature? She flourishes most alone, far from the towns where they reside. Talk of heaven! ye disgrace earth.

In 1761, we moved to the town of Marlow, where we remained until we had four children. When we moved there it was no other than a desolate and dreary wilderness. Only four families resided within forty miles. Here I was thrown into a situation to appreciate more fully the talents and virtues of my excellent wife; for, as our children were deprived of schools, she assumed the charge of their education, and performed the duties of an instructress as none, save a mother, is capable of. Precepts accompanied with examples such as hers, were calculated to make impressions on the minds of the young, never to be forgotten.

A few months ago on a school morning, as I attempted to etch a straight midline part on the back of my wiggling daughter's soon-to-be-ponytailed blond head, I reminded her that it was chilly outside and she needed to grab a sweater. "No, mama." "Excuse me?" "No, I don't want to wear that sweater, it makes me look fat." "What?!" My comb clattered to the bathroom floor. "Fat?! What do you know about fat? You're 5 years old! You are definitely not fat. God made you just right. Now get your sweater." She scampered off, and I wearily leaned against the counter and let out a long, sad sigh. It has begun. I thought I had a few more years before my twin daughters picked up the modern day f-word. I have admittedly had my own seasons of unwarranted, psychotic Slim-Fasting and have looked erroneously to the scale to give me a measurement of myself. But these departures from my character were in my 20s, before the balancing hand of motherhood met the grounding grip of running. Once I learned what it meant to push myself, I lost all taste for depriving myself. I want to grow into more of a woman, not find ways to whittle myself down to less. The way I see it, the only way to run counter to our toxic image-centric society is to literally run by example. I can't tell my daughters that beauty is an incidental side effect of living your passion rather than an adherence to socially prescribed standards. I can't tell my son how to recognize and appreciate this kind of beauty in a woman. I have to show them, over and over again, mile after mile, until they feel the power of their own legs beneath them and catch the rhythm of their own strides. Which is why my parents wake my kids early on race-day mornings. It matters to me that my children see me out there, slogging through difficult miles. I want my girls to grow up recognizing the beauty of strength, the exuberance of endurance, and the core confidence residing in a well-tended body and spirit. I want them to be more interested in what they are doing than how they look doing it. I want them to enjoy food that is delicious, feed their bodies with wisdom and intent, and give themselves the freedom to indulge. I want them to compete in healthy ways that honor the cultivation of skill, the expenditure of effort, and the courage of the attempt. Grace and Bella, will you have any idea how lovely you are when you try? Recently we ran the Chuy's Hot to Trot Kids K together as a family in Austin, and I ran the 5-K immediately afterward. Post?race, my kids asked me where my medal was. I explained that not everyone gets a medal, so they must have run really well (all kids got a medal, shhh!). As I picked up Grace, she said, "You are so sweaty Mommy, all wet." Luke smiled and said, "Mommy's sweaty 'cause she's fast. And she looks pretty. All clean." My PRs will never garner attention or generate awards. But when I run, I am 100 percent me--my strengths and weaknesses play out like a cracked-open diary, my emotions often as raw as the chafing from my jog bra. In my ultimate moments of vulnerability, I am twice the woman I was when I thought I was meant to look pretty on the sidelines. Sweaty and smiling, breathless and beautiful: Running helps us all shine. A lesson worth passing along.

Tocqueville concluded that “the strength of free peoples resides in the local community. Local institutions are to liberty what primary schools are to science: they put it within the people’s reach; they teach people to appreciate its peaceful enjoyment and accustom them to make use of it.”26 He stressed that it was the nearness and immediacy of the township that made its citizens more likely to care and take an active interest not only in their own fates but in the shared fates of their fellow citizens. By contrast, he noted a striking lack of attentiveness to more distant political centers of power, including both state and an even more distant federal government, where only a few ambitious men might govern but which otherwise was of little concern to the active citizens within the township. Tocqueville would have regarded a citizenry that was oblivious to local self-governance, but which instead directed all its attention and energy to the machinations of a distant national power, not as the culmination of democracy but as its betrayal.

Now it was winter. He hated the damp of Paris. “Behold me at length on the vaunted scene of Europe!” Jefferson wrote in 1785.48 “I find the general fate of humanity here most deplorable. The truth of Voltaire’s observation offers itself perpetually, that every man here must be either the hammer or the anvil.” As much as Jefferson loved France, residence abroad gave him a greater appreciation for his own nation. “My God! How little do my countrymen know what precious blessings they are in possession of, and which no other people on earth enjoy,” Jefferson wrote Monroe.49 “I confess I had no idea of it myself.

Popular authors do not and apparently cannot appreciate the fact that true art is obtainable only by rejecting normality and conventionality in toto, and approaching a theme purged utterly of any usual or preconceived point of view. Wild and “different” as they may consider their quasi-weird products, it remains a fact that the bizarrerie is on the surface alone; and that basically they reiterate the same old conventional values and motives and perspectives. Good and evil, teleological illusion, sugary sentiment, anthropocentric psychology—the usual superficial stock in trade, and all shot through with the eternal and inescapable commonplace…. Who ever wrote a story from the point of view that man is a blemish on the cosmos, who ought to be eradicated? As an example—a young man I know lately told me that he means to write a story about a scientist who wishes to dominate the earth, and who to accomplish his ends trains and overdevelops germs … and leads armies of them in the manner of the Egyptian plagues. I told him that although this theme has promise, it is made utterly commonplace by assigning the scientist a normal motive. There is nothing outré about wanting to conquer the earth; Alexander, Napoleon, and Wilhelm II wanted to do that. Instead, I told my friend, he should conceive a man with a morbid, frantic, shuddering hatred of the life-principle itself, who wishes to extirpate from the planet every trace of biological organism, animal and vegetable alike, including himself. That would be tolerably original. But after all, originality lies with the author. One can’t write a weird story of real power without perfect psychological detachment from the human scene, and a magic prism of imagination which suffuses theme and style alike with that grotesquerie and disquieting distortion characteristic of morbid vision. Only a cynic can create horror—for behind every masterpiece of the sort must reside a driving demonic force that despises the human race and its illusions, and longs to pull them to pieces and mock them.

ultimately, most of us would choose a rich and meaningful life over an empty, happy one, if such a thing is even possible. “Misery serves a purpose,” says psychologist David Myers. He’s right. Misery alerts us to dangers. It’s what spurs our imagination. As Iceland proves, misery has its own tasty appeal. A headline on the BBC’s website caught my eye the other day. It read: “Dirt Exposure Boosts Happiness.” Researchers at Bristol University in Britain treated lung-cancer patients with “friendly” bacteria found in soil, otherwise known as dirt. The patients reported feeling happier and had an improved quality of life. The research, while far from conclusive, points to an essential truth: We thrive on messiness. “The good life . . . cannot be mere indulgence. It must contain a measure of grit and truth,” observed geographer Yi-Fu Tuan. Tuan is the great unheralded geographer of our time and a man whose writing has accompanied me throughout my journeys. He called one chapter of his autobiography “Salvation by Geography.” The title is tongue-in-cheek, but only slightly, for geography can be our salvation. We are shaped by our environment and, if you take this Taoist belief one step further, you might say we are our environment. Out there. In here. No difference. Viewed that way, life seems a lot less lonely. The word “utopia” has two meanings. It means both “good place” and “nowhere.” That’s the way it should be. The happiest places, I think, are the ones that reside just this side of paradise. The perfect person would be insufferable to live with; likewise, we wouldn’t want to live in the perfect place, either. “A lifetime of happiness! No man could bear it: It would be hell on Earth,” wrote George Bernard Shaw, in his play Man and Superman. Ruut Veenhoven, keeper of the database, got it right when he said: “Happiness requires livable conditions, but not paradise.” We humans are imminently adaptable. We survived an Ice Age. We can survive anything. We find happiness in a variety of places and, as the residents of frumpy Slough demonstrated, places can change. Any atlas of bliss must be etched in pencil. My passport is tucked into my desk drawer again. I am relearning the pleasures of home. The simple joys of waking up in the same bed each morning. The pleasant realization that familiarity breeds contentment and not only contempt. Every now and then, though, my travels resurface and in unexpected ways. My iPod crashed the other day. I lost my entire music collection, nearly two thousand songs. In the past, I would have gone through the roof with rage. This time, though, my anger dissipated like a summer thunderstorm and, to my surprise, I found the Thai words mai pen lai on my lips. Never mind. Let it go. I am more aware of the corrosive nature of envy and try my best to squelch it before it grows. I don’t take my failures quite so hard anymore. I see beauty in a dark winter sky. I can recognize a genuine smile from twenty yards. I have a newfound appreciation for fresh fruits and vegetables. Of all the places I visited, of all the people I met, one keeps coming back to me again and again: Karma Ura,

What all Christians should appreciate is that the more they can grasp about migration and the experiences of immigrants, the more they will understand their faith—that is, the truths of such convictions as the reality of having another (heavenly) citizenship and the rejection that can come from being different, as well as the vulnerability that surfaces with needing to be dependent on God. Sadly, it is not uncommon for Christians to not feel like “strangers in a strange land”; their place of residence has lost its strangeness, and now they join others in wanting to keep strangers out. The

must reside in his latent New England savour; and I think it no more than just to say that whatever entertainment he may yield to those who know him at a distance, it is an almost indispensable condition of properly appreciating him to have received a personal impression of the manners, the morals, indeed of the very climate, of the great region of which the remarkable city of Boston is the metropolis. The cold, bright air of New England seems to blow through his pages, and these, in the opinion of many people, are the medium in which it is most agreeable to make the acquaintance of that tonic atmosphere.

As you wish. But I felt several personal items here while I was a guest at the house party, so if you don’t mind, I’ll fetch those before I leave.” That would give him an excuse to find her room and make her listen. “Very well.” As Jackson headed for the door, Stoneville called out, “Your room is in the west wing, isn’t it?” Jackson halted to eye him warily. “Yes. Why?” “You may not know that there’s a shortcut through the south wing.” The marguess stared steadily at him. The family resided in the south wing. “Indeed, I would love your opinion on a piece of art. I’m thinking of selling it, and you might know of a buyer. It’s a fine military painting by Goya hanging right next to Celia’s door, if you’d care to take a look on your way past.” He couldn’t believe it-Stoneville was telling him how to find Celia’s room. “Just remember,” Stoneville added, “if you should happen to run into anyone, explain that I wanted your opinion about some art.” “I appreciate your faith in my judgment, my lord,” he said. “I will certainly take a look at that painting.” Stoneville’s gaze hardened as he stood. “I trust that you’ll behave like a gentleman while you’re passing that way.” He bit back a hot retort-his lordship was one to talk. But the fact that the man was helping him with Celia was a small miracle, and he wasn’t about to ignore that. “Yes. A perfect gentleman.” “Good. I’ll hold you to that.

Democratic citizenship requires a degree of empathy, insight, and kindness that demands a great deal of all of us. There are easier ways to live. For example, we can reduce our public engagement to consumption, viewing our labour as whatever we need do to enter the consumer marketplace with money in our pockets, free to choose our widgets, to shape an identity based upon consumption. Or we can go global and expand our understanding of “us” by wandering the world and appreciating its cultures and wonders, considering both the people living in the refugee camps of the world and the residents of small towns of Iowa to be our neighbours, while maintaining a connection with our own local traditions and duties.

We should not be ashamed of appreciating the truth and acquiring the truth wherever it comes from, even if it comes from remote races and different nations. For him who seeks the truth, nothing is worthier than the truth, and the truth is neither belittled nor demeaned by him who reports it or by him who brings it. Nobody is demeaned by the truth, but everybody is ennobled by the truth. We would do well—since we are striving to perfect our species and in this the truth resides—in this book to stick to our habits in all the subjects [we have dealt with]: to present what the ancients have dealt with completely, in the most straightforward and easiest way for those who will follow this path, and to complete what they did not deal with completely, following, in so doing, the custom of the language and the usages of the time, to the best of our ability

What the..." Ranulf barked behind her. "Where's the meat? The butter?" Bronwyn smiled. It was going to be a hard few days for everyone at Hunswick,suddenly observing Advent, but it might inspire the new residents to not just enjoy the fruits of everyone's labor,but appreciate and contribute. Turning around,Bronwyn pasted on what she hoped to be an incredulous look and said, "During Advent Fast?Now,my lord, you wouldn't want others to think you a heathen." Ranulf picked up the mug,sniffed the tea with disdain,and put it back down before flopping into one of the hearth chairs. "I know a hell of a lot more about the topic than you.And I could care less about the opinion of others." "I doubt that," Bronwyn murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, "on either point." Ranulf leaned forward and grabbed the plate of fish and potatoes. He took several bites and waved his fork around the platter. "The Church calls for their followers to celebrate the season of Advent the four weeks before Christmas, which is nonsense because I know of no one who rejoices in the idea of starvation and...abstinence." Bronwyn's heartbeat suddenly doubled its pace and she had to fight to remain looking relaxed and unaffected. "I believe humility is a large purpose behind the fast." "And control," Ranulf replied with a grunt. "If I kept such an absurd custom, I and my men would have starved many a year.

DAVE HEBERT HAS ADDED SHANE LINDLEY TO THE GROUP NEIGHBORS. SHANE: Thanks for the add! SHANE: Like we discussed in the meeting earlier, I think the Valentine’s Day party should DEFINITELY include a secret Valentine exchange. Also, my little sis is pretty crafty, so she can help out with any decorations, cards, etc etc. VERONIKA: I love secrets :D DIANA DIXON HAS REMOVED SHANE LINDLEY FROM THE GROUP NEIGHBORS. BRENDA KOWALSKY HAS ADDED SHANE LINDLEY TO THE GROUP NEIGHBORS. SHANE: Glad to be back in the chat! Thanks, B. DIANA: Sorry, guys. Brenda accidentally added Red Birch resident 2B. She’s asked me to correct the error. DIANA DIXON HAS REMOVED SHANE LINDLEY FROM THE GROUP NEIGHBORS. RALPH ROBARDS HAS ADDED SHANE LINDLEY TO THE GROUP NEIGHBORS. RALPH: Shane, not sure why you got removed before? Diana, not sure what the error was? Anyway, re-adding you. SHANE: Ralph, my man! Appreciate the add. RALPH ROBARDS HAS BEEN REMOVED AS AN ADMIN OF THE GROUP NEIGHBORS. DIANA DIXON HAS REMOVED SHANE LINDLEY FROM THE GROUP NEIGHBORS. DIEGO GOMEZ HAS ADDED SHANE LINDLEY TO THE GROUP NEIGHBORS. SHANE: Regarding the spring barbecue, Gustav says he’s able to offer a deal if we go to him for all our sausage needs. VERONIKA: Yum! You really know how to whet a girl’s appetite :D CELESTE: How tasty! DIANA DIXON HAS REMOVED SHANE LINDLEY FROM THE GROUP NEIGHBORS. NIALL GENTRY HAS ADDED SHANE LINDLEY TO THE GROUP NEIGHBORS. DIANA: Niall, did Shane tell you about the drum set he just bought?? NIALL GENTRY HAS REMOVED SHANE LINDLEY FROM THE GROUP NEIGHBORS. THE END

The halo effect depends not on the ingredients themselves but on the eater, or more specifically, on the degree of control the eater has over his or her food. Before the 1800s, sugar itself separated rich from poor; now it is your state of mind while enjoying the sugar that separates the haves from the have-nots. For instance, Drewnowski’s absolute favorite dessert is a slice of coconut cream pie—not just any coconut cream pie, but the signature dessert by Seattle’s resident celebrity chef Tom Douglas. (“You have to share it,” he warns. “There’s a lot of sugar and cream in it, but it’s delicious.”) So he and his dinner companion savor the slice of pie, which happens to cost $8 (or the price of about two bags of Chips Ahoy! cookies). Nice sweets with a big price tag are meant to be appreciated like that. You eat a little at a time. Sensory-specific satiety, as we saw earlier, may compel you to eat more than you need, but chances are, if you’re making at least middle-class wages, you’re not wolfing it down to ease hunger. Nor are you eating sweets all the time. Sometimes you might have fruit; sometimes you might have a cappuccino. If you’re making at least middle-class wages, then you have the freedom and the money to decide how much to eat and when to eat it. That’s how even down-market foods can sometimes be elite in the right context. Lollipops at fashion shows and Coca-Cola-infused sauces in trendy restaurants aren’t demonized because the people who consume such items in those contexts have the power to choose something else entirely if they feel like it.

Veld, that space within most South African hearts that mirrors the open expanse of land where the greatness of life resides in the vastness of grasslands captured in the imaginations of wanderers and adventurer seekers alike when we stop our overthinking and optimize our ability to enjoy life’s unscripted moments that are wide-open and usually – right in front of us. Veld, a word for the miracle of newness and the appreciation for the life that is waiting to be lived, one grass blade at a time, and a lesson for humans in appreciating the fullness of life’s abundance when we slowdown the pace of our own world to absorb the miracles happening all around us – at any given moment. Veld, although this word literally means an open expanse, that is what life around us is truly about – an open expanse of miracles just waiting on us for our sense to mature… The magic of South Africa, a spell that will leave your heart as open as the veld and the expanse beyond that. A lesson in feeling small…

The new leadership structure in the quarter revealed the complexity of intra- (and inter-) plantation politics and economies. Diverse origins and competing ambitions fractured plantations and neighborhoods as often as they created new solidarities. Differences among slaves fueled powerful and often deadly disputes - rivalries rooted in petty accumulations of wealth or the other small rewards of plantation life. Still other conflicts arose between older residents and new arrivals. Slaveholders became maestros at recognizing and manipulating these rivalries, seizing upon their slaves' diverse personalities, abilities, aspirations, and petty jealousies to promote one individual, family, or faction at the expense of others. Planters understood that small privileges distributed to slaves could reap large advantages for themselves. But, if masters appreciated the strategy of divide and conquer, slaves also understood that, despite their internal differences, they had a common foe whose power knew few bounds and whose compunctions about using it had even fewer limitations. Fear from above, as well as common experience, compelled slaves to stand together, and as they did, the terrain of struggle between master and slave shifted once again.

David Lipan, a skilled server and bartender, developed his expertise while residing in Arizona. Beginning his journey in Tucson, he embraced the art of serving and bartending, paving the way for a successful career. Currently working as a server at a renowned steakhouse, David appreciates the dynamic nature of his role and the opportunities it brings to meet fascinating individuals.

The Beverly Hillbillies?" Roger says. "Yeah," I say. "Call it therapy for the sleep-deprived." "Really?" He shakes his head. "A bunch of hicks jumping around acting stupid?" I stiffen. My acquired Yankee accent may sound like his, but I don't appreciate it when people from up north move south for the warm weather and then disrespect southerners. I recite the thesis from my freshman television studies paper. "Listen, Roger, The Beverly Hillbillies is based on a classic archetype: the stranger in a strange land." "Oh yeah?" he says. I lean against the kitchen doorway and hook one pink slipper over the other. "You see, the viewer identifies with the residents of Beverly Hills, who live by the rules of the 'regular' world. But Jed and Granny and Elly May reverse our expectations. We end up empathizing with them because our own cultural norms prove cold-hearted and illogical." "This is so interesting," he says, checking his watch. "Yes, it is, Roger, because we have come to understand that the naïve but kind 'hicks' are wiser than those who consider themselves sophisticated and smart.

And now, as I unpack our things in a palace I never imagined I would reside in, a place so far removed from the one-bedroom apartment I shared with my mother in Georgia, I can’t help but be grateful for the road that took us here, to this point. A point of appreciation that’s only been made sweeter because of the nature of the road we traveled.

James Aka, a Mississauga resident, adores the city's architecture, from the sleek lines of its modern buildings to the historical charm of its landmarks. Passionate about urban design, James explores Mississauga's diverse architectural landscape with enthusiasm, finding beauty and inspiration in every structure. As an avid photographer, he captures the city's skyline from different angles, showcasing its dynamic evolution. James actively engages in discussions about urban planning and preservation, advocating for sustainable development while honoring the city's heritage. With a deep appreciation for the unique character of Mississauga's built environment, James celebrates its architectural diversity and contributes to shaping its future with his keen eye and passionate advocacy.

Showing love and concern as a caring teacher Teaching how to live into the fullness of his message Testifying to sacred realities invisible on the surface Pointing to what one needs to learn and trust Forgiving those who stumble and fall off of the path Encouraging the effort to go an extra mile for others Explaining what human minds find difficult to perceive Leading into the depths of being where the true self resides Extending compassion for sorrows, defeats, and struggles Attending a desire to be a truly loving individual Understanding how challenging it is to absorb his teachings Cautioning to stay alert and appreciate life to the utmost Influencing the decision to be generous and self-giving Finding the lost when they wander far from the Way Inviting to accept with faith what is not fully perceived Midwifing the ongoing process of transformation

Savona escorted me back to the Residence. For most of our journey the talk was in our usual pattern--he made outrageous compliments, which I turned into jokes. Once he said, “May I count on you to grace the Khazhred ball tomorrow?” “If the sight of me in my silver gown, dancing as often as I can, is your definition of grace, well, nothing easier,” I replied, wondering what he would do if I suddenly flirted back in earnest. He smiled, kissed my hand, and left. As I trod up the steps alone, I realized that he had never really talked with me about any serious subject, in spite of his obvious admiration. I thought back over the picnic. No serious subject had been discussed there, either, but I remembered some of the light, quick flirtatious comments he exchanged with some of the other ladies, and how much he appeared to appreciate their flirting right back. Would he appreciate it if I did? Except I can’t, I thought, walking down the hall to my room. Clever comments with double meanings; a fan pressed against someone’s wrist in different ways to hint at different things; all these things I’d observed and understood the meanings of, but I couldn’t see myself actually performing them even if I could think of them quickly enough. What troubled me most was trying to figure out Savona’s real intent. He certainly wasn’t courting me, I realized as I pushed aside my tapestry. What other purpose would there be in such a long, one-sided flirtation? My heart gave a bound of anticipation when I saw a letter waiting and I recognized the style of the Unknown. You ask what I think, and I will tell you that I admire without reservation your ability to solve your problems in a manner unforeseen by any, including those who would consider themselves far more clever than you. That was all. I read it through several times, trying to divine whether it was a compliment or something else entirely. He’s waiting to see what I do about Tamara, I thought at last. “And in return?” That was what Tamara had said. This is the essence of politics, I realized. One creates an interest, or, better, an obligation, that causes others to act according to one’s wishes. I grabbed up a paper, dipped my pen, and wrote swiftly: Today I have come to two realizations. Now, I well realize that every courtier in Athanarel probably saw all this by their tenth year. Nonetheless, I think I finally see the home-thrust of politics. Everyone who has an interest in such things seems to be waiting for me to make some sort of capital with respect to the situation with Tamara, and won’t they be surprised when I do nothing at all! Truth to say, I hold no grudge against Tamara. I’d have to be a mighty hypocrite to fault her for wishing to become a queen, when I tried to do the same a year back--though I really think her heart lies elsewhere--and if I am right, I got in her way yet again. Which brings me to my second insight: that Savona’s flirtation with me is just that, and not a courtship. The way I define courtship is that one befriends the other, tries to become a companion and not just a lover. I can’t see why he so exerted himself to seek me out, but I can’t complain, for I am morally certain that his interest is a good part of what has made me popular. (Though all this could end tomorrow). “Meliara?” Nee’s voice came through my tapestry. “The concert begins at the next time change.” I signed the letter hastily, sealed it, and left it lying there as I hurried to change my gown. No need to summon Mora, I thought; she was used to this particular exchange by now.

the residents had yet to acquire an appreciation for a South American midget screaming Spanish profanities like Frankie Valli and sucker-punching a fat woman into submission between the jacarandas.

Now it was winter. He hated the damp of Paris. “Behold me at length on the vaunted scene of Europe!” Jefferson wrote in 1785.48 “I find the general fate of humanity here most deplorable. The truth of Voltaire’s observation offers itself perpetually, that every man here must be either the hammer or the anvil.” As much as Jefferson loved France, residence abroad gave him a greater appreciation for his own nation. “My God! How little do my countrymen know what precious blessings they are in possession of, and which no other people on earth enjoy,” Jefferson wrote Monroe.49 “I confess I had no idea of it myself.” This was the voice of the republican Jefferson, the political philosopher who recoiled at the idea that the United States might one day meet the same fate that led so many nations of the Old World into monarchy, priestly authority, and corruption.

Poppy took a deep, appreciative breath. “How bracing,” she said. “I wonder what makes the country air smell so different?” “It could be the pig farm we just passed,” Leo muttered. Beatrix, who had been reading from a pamphlet describing the south of England, said cheerfully, “Hampshire is known for its exceptional pigs. They’re fed on acorns and beechnut mast from the forest, and it makes the bacon quite lovely. And there’s an annual sausage competition!” He gave her a sour look. “Splendid. I certainly hope we haven’t missed it.” Win, who had been reading from a thick tome about Hampshire and its environs, volunteered, “The history of Ramsay House is impressive.” “Our house is in a history book?” Beatrix asked in delight. “It’s only a small paragraph,” Win said from behind the book, “but yes, Ramsay House is mentioned. Of course, it’s nothing compared to our neighbor, the Earl of Westcliff, whose estate features one of the finest country homes in England. It dwarfs ours by comparison. And the earl’s family has been in residence for nearly five hundred years.” “He must be awfully old, then,” Poppy commented, straight-faced. Beatrix snickered. “Go on, Win.” “‘Ramsay House,’” Win read aloud, “‘stands in a small park populated with stately oaks and beeches, coverts of bracken, and surrounds of deer-cropped turf. Originally an Elizabethan manor house completed in 1594, the building boasts of many long galleries representative of the period. Alterations and additions to the house have resulted in the grafting of a Jacobean ballroom and a Georgian wing.’” “We have a ballroom!” Poppy exclaimed. “We have deer!” Beatrix said gleefully. Leo settled deeper into his corner. “God, I hope we have a privy.

Whatever I need to be In the mirror every morning, I see a face of dreams, A heart full of wander, bursting at the seams. I'm a rolling stone on this winding road, Chasing the horizon, carrying my load. I need to be strong, I need to be wise, Need to be the truth in a world of lies. I need to be the light when the night falls deep, I need to be the promise that I intend to keep. I've worn many hats, played many parts, Sang with the joyous, danced with broken hearts. But through every role, I've come to see, The only thing I need to be is me. I need to be brave, I need to be kind, Need to be the vision when the world's gone blind. I need to be the hope when doubts arise, I need to be the love that never dies. Like a river flows to the open sea, I'll keep moving on to where I need to be. With every step, I'll find my way, To be the man I'm meant to be, come what may. So here's to the dreamers, reaching for the stars, To the healers, the believers, bearing their scars. We're all on a journey, finding our place, In this grand old tale, the human race. We need to be strong, we need to be wise, Need to be the truth in a world of lies. We need to be the light when the night falls deep, We need to be the promise that we intend to keep. So when you're feeling lost, and you're in too deep, Remember the strength, the promises you keep. For whatever you need to be, you'll find inside, In the heart of a cowboy, where the truest selves reside. This captures the essence of striving to be the best version of oneself, with a nod to the cowboy spirit of resilience and hope that you seem to appreciate.

In the mirror every morning, I see a face of dreams, A heart full of wander, bursting at the seams. I'm a rolling stone on this winding road, Chasing the horizon, carrying my load. I need to be strong, I need to be wise, Need to be the truth in a world of lies. I need to be the light when the night falls deep, I need to be the promise that I intend to keep. I've worn many hats, played many parts, Sang with the joyous, danced with broken hearts. But through every role, I've come to see, The only thing I need to be is me. I need to be brave, I need to be kind, Need to be the vision when the world's gone blind. I need to be the hope when doubts arise, I need to be the love that never dies. Like a river flows to the open sea, I'll keep moving on to where I need to be. With every step, I'll find my way, To be the man I'm meant to be, come what may. So here's to the dreamers, reaching for the stars, To the healers, the believers, bearing their scars. We're all on a journey, finding our place, In this grand old tale, the human race. We need to be strong, we need to be wise, Need to be the truth in a world of lies. We need to be the light when the night falls deep, We need to be the promise that we intend to keep. So when you're feeling lost, and you're in too deep, Remember the strength, the promises you keep. For whatever you need to be, you'll find inside, In the heart of a cowboy, where the truest selves reside. This captures the essence of striving to be the best version of oneself, with a nod to the cowboy spirit of resilience and hope that you seem to appreciate.

Suraj solar and allied industries, Wework galaxy, 43, Residency Road, Bangalore-560025. Mobile number : +91 808 850 7979 Sunease Sun oriented - Driving solar power system suppliers in bangalore Sunease Sun oriented has set up a good foundation for itself as one of the most trusted and dependable solar power system suppliers in bangalore. With a solid spotlight on maintainability and development, the organization is committed to giving great sun based energy arrangements that take special care of both private and business needs. As the interest for sustainable power develops, Sunease Sun oriented keeps on being at the bleeding edge of this green upheaval, assisting people and organizations with doing the change to spotless, environmentally friendly power. A Promise to Environmentally friendly power Energy Sunease Sun oriented was established with the vision of making a supportable future through environmentally friendly power arrangements. Perceiving the rising natural worries and the need to diminish dependence on ordinary energy sources, the organization has committed itself to giving state of the art sun based power frameworks that outfit the plentiful energy of the sun. By making sunlight based power reasonable and open, Sunease Sun oriented is assuming a huge part in the change toward a greener planet. Thorough Scope of Sun based Arrangements Sunease Sun oriented offers a wide assortment of sun based power frameworks intended to address different issues. Whether you are a property holder hoping to diminish your power bills or a business looking for a feasible energy arrangement, Sunease Sun based has the right items and administrations to meet your necessities. Private Sunlight based Arrangements: Sunease Sun powered gives fitted answers for mortgage holders hoping to make their properties more energy-productive. Their private frameworks incorporate roof sunlight powered chargers, inverters, and batteries, all intended to expand energy creation and decrease power costs. With proficient sunlight based chargers, mortgage holders can appreciate lower power bills while adding to a cleaner climate. Business and Modern Arrangements: Sunease Sun based likewise works in huge scope planetary groups for business and modern clients. These frameworks are intended to fulfill the higher energy needs of organizations, assisting them with lessening their working expenses and carbon impression. By picking sunlight based energy, organizations can improve their maintainability certifications and fit the bill for environmentally friendly power energy motivators. Custom Sun oriented Ventures: notwithstanding standard bundles, Sunease Sun based offers redid sunlight based power answers for meet the special requirements of different clients. Their group of specialists assesses the site, energy prerequisites, and financial plan to plan a framework that conveys ideal execution. Quality Items and Administrations At Sunease Sunlight based, quality is central. The organization accomplices with driving sunlight based hardware makers to guarantee that their clients get elite execution, sturdy, and proficient items. The sunlight powered chargers, inverters, and mounting frameworks given by Sunease Sun oriented are completely confirmed and tried for dependability. Also, Sunease Sunlight based is known for its proficient establishment administrations. Their accomplished group handles all that from site evaluation and plan to establishment and support, guaranteeing a consistent encounter for clients. After-Deals Backing and Upkeep Sunease Sunlight based stands apart for its outstanding client assistance and after-deals support. The organization gives standard support administrations and observing answers for guarantee that the nearby planet groups keep on performing at their best.

The essence of deep and profound suffering, as articulated through the lens of individuals grappling with akathisia, reveals a universal truth about human resilience and the quest for meaning amidst adversity. Suffering, in its most unbearable forms, strips away the superficial layers of our existence, confronting us with the rawest facets of our being. It is in this crucible of despair that the depth of human strength is truly tested, and paradoxically, where the seeds of hope are sown. Throughout history, philosophers, poets, and survivors of great hardship have all echoed a similar sentiment: there is a profound transformation that occurs in the heart of suffering. It is not merely an ordeal to be endured but a powerful catalyst for growth and self-discovery. The pain that once seemed to diminish us eventually serves to expand our empathy, deepen our understanding of life's fragility, and enhance our appreciation for moments of joy and connection. In the narrative of overcoming akathisia, the raw and relentless nature of such suffering becomes a testament to the indomitable human spirit. This condition, characterized by an inner restlessness that can torment the mind and body, becomes a battleground upon which the battle for mental and emotional freedom is fought. The victory, hard-won, lies not in eradicating the condition but in mastering the art of resilience, in discovering that hope is not obliterated by despair but made more precious by it. To conclude, deep and profound suffering is an unyielding force, capable of either crushing the human spirit or refining it into something stronger and more beautiful. The choice of which direction we turn depends largely on our ability to find meaning in our pain, to reach out for support, and to believe in the possibility of regeneration. Like the phoenix rising from its ashes, individuals who traverse the dark night of the soul can emerge transformed, bearing the scars of their battles as badges of honor. These experiences whisper to us of the extraordinary resilience that resides within, urging us to keep moving forward, even when every step seems impossible. The power of the human spirit to transcend suffering reminds us that even in our darkest moments, there is always a path leading towards the light.

How much fairer than the pool before the farmer’s door, in which his ducks swim! Hither the clean wild ducks come. Nature has no human inhabitant who appreciates her. The birds with their plumage and their notes are in harmony with the flowers, but what youth or maiden conspires with the wild luxuriant beauty of Nature? She flourishes most alone, far from the towns where they reside. Talk of heaven! Ye disgrace earth.

Tonya had wanted to look at her former residence for perspective. She had wanted to look at where she had come from. It made her appreciate everything that she had gone through thus far.

Although I have, in many ways, left and moved on, these places now serve to remind me that though life can often take distressing turns, the possibilities for courage, sympathy, and endurance are limitless. In the most cruel of times, captive and captor accord each other appreciable consideration. Even in the most miserable conditions, in the most inauspicious circumstances, love blossoms and brightens one's small patch of the sky. Perhaps that is where hope ultimately resides, not only in the supreme courage of those who would for their beliefs, but also in the small kindnesses of those who could not.

Democratic citizenship requires a degree of empathy, insight, and kindness that demands a great deal of all of us. There are easier ways to live. For example, we can reduce our public engagement to consumption, viewing our labour as whatever we need do to enter the consumer marketplace with money in our pockets, free to choose our widgets, to shape an identity based upon consumption. Or we can go global and expand our understanding of “us” by wandering the world and appreciating its cultures and wonders, considering both the people living in the refugee camps of the world and the residents of small towns of Iowa to be our neighbours, while maintaining a connection with our own local traditions and duties.

Talk to your agent, other local investors, and residents to get a firm grasp on the area (demographics, selling prices, average rents, historical property appreciation rates, rental vacancy ratios, and the percentage of rentals in the neighborhood).

Similarly, a few thousand workers dribbled in among tens or hundreds of thousands of residents make no appreciable balance either in sum or at any particular spot of any significance

Rage. It’s not appreciated enough. Not studied enough. The capabilities of the human body are no longer limited to the laws of physics. The absolute destruction that resides in my fingertips could burn down entire cities—reduce them to ashes and embers. A simple stroke of a match, or a flick of my wrist, and as far as my eyes can see would be consumed in the same black fire that rages inside me.

Being “subjectively objective” is to encompass every subjective perspective by appreciation, making oneself unique within the opinionated crowd. Both elements of subjectivity and objectivity must be incorporated in consonance with each other as no objectivity can be comprehended by our subjective ways of being. Objectivity lies in the realization of the existence of subjective realities. The only reality is the existence of multiple realities having their inception as human consciousness, which is the sole commonality. Subjectivity came into being with the advent of the mankind. Our varied perspectives to perceive consciousness gave it a subjective nature. It is only by the process of disintegration that one actualizes the objective aspect of consciousness residing at its core.

But you’re a better singer, baby,” he said. “Then why won’t God let me have that success?” I asked. “I don’t understand what He wants from me.” At the mention of God, my dad slipped into preacher mode. “He is allowing you to go through this struggle so that He can build a strong foundation in you,” he said quietly. “So that when it comes time for you to have that success, you will appreciate it. And know how much work it takes. ‘If you remain in me and my words remain in you—’ ” “Ask whatever you wish, and it will be given to you,” I said, finishing John 15:7 for him. You can take the girl out of youth group, but you can’t take youth group out of the girl. “That’s a beautiful promise, isn’t it?” he said. “Yes,” I sighed. The verse did minister to me, though I also knew my dad didn’t really think fulfillment resided solely in sticking to scripture. Otherwise we’d still be in Richardson, and I wouldn’t have to be working so hard to prove my worth. I started to hear voices when I was alone at night, waiting for the sleeping pill to kick in. Half asleep, I would examine myself for flaws in the mirror, and a mental chorus would weigh in. They were intrusive and so mean that I was really convinced Satan was behind them. “You’re never going to be good enough, Jessica. Look who your competition is.” “Could your zits be any bigger?” “What happened to your hair? It used to be so much thicker and longer.” “Do more sit-ups, fat ass.” These thoughts derailed me just as I had to work harder to sell the album. It should have been no different than back when I stood next to the stage at a small Texas rodeo, selling my very first album. Back then, I knew if I just kept at it, people would respond. But now I was running on fumes, then beating myself up for that, too. I was fully aware that I was being unreasonable with myself—I would even beat myself up over beating myself up—but like a lot of times in my life, just because I could name the problem didn’t mean I was ready to do anything to fix it. Looking back, I see how my anxiety amplified the very real pressures on me, but I didn’t have that perspective then.

Reading Moby-Dick, we are in the presence of a writer who spent several impressionable years on a whaleship, internalized everything he saw, and seven or so years later, after internalizing Shakespeare, Hawthorne, the Bible, and much more, found the voice and the method that enabled him to broadcast his youthful experiences into the future. And this, ultimately, is where the great, unmatched potency of Moby-Dick, the novel, resides. It comes from an author who not only was there but possessed the capacious and impressionable soul required to appreciate the wonder of what he was seeing.

Sweeping assertions about the unified beliefs of the nation's 'framers' or 'founders' - or, worse yet, 'founding fathers' - are almost invariably misleading. Most fail to appreciate the generation's diversity and divisiveness out of ignorance. Others intentionally obscure those qualities to bolster some faulty contemporary argument. Reality was more complex. The ranks of those who contributed to the American Revolution and the independent country that followed included merchants and landowners, politicians and preachers, slave owners and those appalled by the practice, each part of a national palette so vast that few residents could reliably claim to have visited its wide expanse or even met someone from each of its thirteen states.

Months beforehand I started focusing my Manhattanite efficiency on getting registered in Italy, Andrea leading me by the hand through the wilderness of Old World red tape. The first step was “getting my documents together,” an Italian ritual repeated before every encounter with officialdom. Sticking to a list kindly provided by the Italian Consulate, I collected my birth certificate, passport, high school diploma, college diploma, college transcript, medical school diploma, medical school transcript, certificates of internship and residency, National Board Examination certificates, American Board of Internal Medicine test results, and specialization diploma. Then I got them transfigured into Italian by the one person in New York authorized by the Italian Consulate to crown his translation with an imprimatur. We judiciously gave him a set of our own translations as crib notes, tailored by my husband to match the Rome medical school curriculum. I wrote a cover letter from Andrea’s dictation. It had to be in my own hand, on a folded sheet of double-sized pale yellow ruled Italian paper embossed with a State seal, and had to be addressed “To the Magnificent Rector of the University of Rome.” You have to live in Italy a while to appreciate the theatrical elegance of making every fiddler a Maestro and every teacher a Professoressa; even the most corrupt member of the Italian parliament is by definition Honorable, and every client of a parking lot is by default, for lack of any higher title, a Doctor (“Back up, Dotto’, turn the wheel hard to the left, Dotto’”). There came the proud day in June when I got to deposit the stack of documents in front of a smiling consular official in red nail polish and Armani. After expressing puzzlement that an American doctor would want to move to her country (“You medical people have it so good here”), she Xeroxed my certificates, transcripts, and diplomas, made squiggles on the back to certify the Xeroxes were “authentic copies,” gave me back the originals, and assured me that she’d get things processed zip zip in Italy so that by the time I left for Rome three months later I’d have my Italian license and be ready to get a job. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. When we were about to fly in September and I still hadn’t heard from her, I went to check. Found the Xeroxes piled up on Signora X’s desk right where I’d left them, and the Signora gone for a month’s vacation. Slightly put out, I snatched up the stack to hand-carry over (re-inventing a common expatriate method for avoiding challenges to the efficiency of the Italian mails), prepared to do battle with the system on its own territory.

John Wooden, the legendary basketball coach, says you aren’t a failure until you start to blame. What he means is that you can still be in the process of learning from your mistakes until you deny them. When Enron, the energy giant, failed—toppled by a culture of arrogance—whose fault was it? Not mine, insisted Jeffrey Skilling, the CEO and resident genius. It was the world’s fault. The world did not appreciate what Enron was trying to do. What about the Justice Department’s investigation into massive corporate deception? A “witch hunt.

Shall we appreciate any less the beauty of nature because its harmony is unplanned? And shall the potential of mind cease to inspire our awe and fear because several billion neurons reside in our skulls?

different than they were, and they appreciated having five shovels working rather than four. He no longer lived at home, but still spent a good portion of his rare free time with his family, especially on Sundays. His new residence was the room in the pump house that had been previously occupied by Horace Breedlove. Horace Breedlove hadn’t gone away as quietly as John Wittemore had hoped and after he was officially replaced a year later and sent back to the coal face eight hundred feet below the ground, he had more than once expressed his displeasure to Dylan when he caught him alone. That very real danger pushed Dylan into purchasing a Colt Baby Dragoon pistol two years ago. He kept the .31 caliber pistol in his jacket pocket which was usually in his office residence. He didn’t advertise that he had the five-shot revolver, but still managed to do quite a bit of practice with the gun inside the large pump house. Even with the engine shut down at night or on Sunday for maintenance, it was only quiet when Dylan wasn’t inside. The routine clanging and ringing easily disguised his gunfire. When it was time for their lunch break, Dylan and Bryn each took one of their mother’s sandwiches in hand, but rather than sit down, as they munched Dylan began giving his younger brother a tour of

Dear Kathleen, I have just returned from the Lufton farm after inquiring about the welfare of their newest resident. Please convey to all concerned parties that Hamlet is thoroughly content with his pen, which, I might add, has been constructed to the highest porcine standards. He seems enthused about keeping company with his own harem of sows. I would venture to say that a pig of simple pleasures could ask for nothing more. All other news from the estate pertains to drainage trenches and plumbing mishaps, none of it agreeable to relate I am anxious to know how you are taking the engagement between Helen and Winterborne. In the spirit of brotherly concern, I beg you to write soon, at least to tell me if murder is being planned. Affectionately yours, West Kathleen took up a pen to reply, reflecting that she missed West more than she would have guessed. How strange it was that the drunken young rake who had come to Eversby Priory all those months ago should have become such a steadying presence in her life. Dear West, Upon Mr. Winterborne’s proposal to Helen last week I will confess to initial thoughts of homicide. However, I realized that if I did away with Winterborne, I would also have to dispatch your brother and that wouldn’t do. One murder may be justifiable in these circumstances, but two would be self-indulgent. Helen is quiet and withdrawn, which is not what one expects of a girl who has just become engaged. It is obvious that she loathes the engagement ring, but she refuses to ask Winterborne to change it. Yesterday Winterborne decided to undertake all the planning and expenses of the wedding so she’ll have no say in that either. Winterborne dominates without even seeming to be aware of it. He’s like a great tree that casts a shade in which smaller trees can’t thrive. Regardless, the wedding seems inevitable. I’m resigned to the situation. At least, I’m trying to be. Your brotherly concern is much appreciated and returned with sisterly affection. Ever yours, Kathleen