Rough And Tough Quotes

If the track is tough and the hill is rough, THINKING you can just ain't enough!

All great beginnings start in the dark, when the moon greets you to a new day at midnight.

I’m a modern man, a man for the millennium. Digital and smoke free. A diversified multi-cultural, post-modern deconstruction that is anatomically and ecologically incorrect. I’ve been up linked and downloaded, I’ve been inputted and outsourced, I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. I’m a high-tech low-life. A cutting edge, state-of-the-art bi-coastal multi-tasker and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond! I’m new wave, but I’m old school and my inner child is outward bound. I’m a hot-wired, heat seeking, warm-hearted cool customer, voice activated and bio-degradable. I interface with my database, my database is in cyberspace, so I’m interactive, I’m hyperactive and from time to time I’m radioactive. Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, ridin the wave, dodgin the bullet and pushin the envelope. I’m on-point, on-task, on-message and off drugs. I’ve got no need for coke and speed. I've got no urge to binge and purge. I’m in-the-moment, on-the-edge, over-the-top and under-the-radar. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom feeder. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps and run victory laps. I’m a totally ongoing big-foot, slam-dunk, rainmaker with a pro-active outreach. A raging workaholic. A working rageaholic. Out of rehab and in denial! I’ve got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant and a personal agenda. You can’t shut me up. You can’t dumb me down because I’m tireless and I’m wireless, I’m an alpha male on beta-blockers. I’m a non-believer and an over-achiever, laid-back but fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home, low-rent, high-maintenance. Super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built-to-last! I’m a hands-on, foot-loose, knee-jerk head case pretty maturely post-traumatic and I’ve got a love-child that sends me hate mail. But, I’m feeling, I’m caring, I’m healing, I’m sharing-- a supportive, bonding, nurturing primary care-giver. My output is down, but my income is up. I took a short position on the long bond and my revenue stream has its own cash-flow. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds and I watch trash sports! I’m gender specific, capital intensive, user-friendly and lactose intolerant. I like rough sex. I like tough love. I use the “F” word in my emails and the software on my hard-drive is hardcore--no soft porn. I bought a microwave at a mini-mall; I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast-food in the slow lane. I’m toll-free, bite-sized, ready-to-wear and I come in all sizes. A fully-equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically- formulated medical miracle. I’ve been pre-wash, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped, vacuum-packed and, I have an unlimited broadband capacity. I’m a rude dude, but I’m the real deal. Lean and mean! Cocked, locked and ready-to-rock. Rough, tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow, I ride with the tide. I’ve got glide in my stride. Drivin and movin, sailin and spinin, jiving and groovin, wailin and winnin. I don’t snooze, so I don’t lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty and lunch time is crunch time. I’m hangin in, there ain’t no doubt and I’m hangin tough, over and out!

The minute I'm in a little pain ... your rough, tough, scary bad boy image totally falls apart.

She had the swagger of a girl. She blushed like a boy. She had a girl’s toughness. She has a boy’s gentleness. She was as meaty as a girl. She was as graceful as a boy. She was as brave and handsome and rough as a girl. She was as pretty and delicate and dainty as a boy. She turned boys' heads like a girl. She turned girls' heads like a boy. She made love like a boy. She made love like a girl. She was so boyish it was girlish, so girlish it was boyish, she made me want to rove the world writing our names on every tree. I had simply never found someone so right. Sometimes this shocked me so much that I was unable to speak.

Channing, come back here.” “No,” she tossed off over her shoulder. “I’m warnin’ you, girl, you don’t want to make me mad.” “Tough shit, tough guy. Suck it up and walk it off.” People around them stopped and stared, nudged each other and chuckled, giving Colby a wide berth. “Last chance,” he yelled. Channing flipped him the bird without turning around. In fact, she ran away from him like her boot heels were smoking. He was going to paddle that sassy little ass but good.

when it came to listening my mother taught me silence if you are drowning their voice with yours how will you hear them she asked when it came to speaking she said do it with commitment every word you say is your own responsibility when it came to being she said be tender and tough at once you need to be vulnerable to live fully but rough enough to survive it all when it came to choosing she asked me to be thankful for the choices i had that she never had the privilege of making - lessons from mumma

Life keeps throwing me stones. And I keep finding the diamonds...

Sometimes life will be awesome. Sometimes, life will look blurry. Along the way in the journey of life, sometimes, life will be colder than warmer and sometimes warmer than colder but in all things we must remember that it is never over for a purposeful journey of life until the journey of life is over. Be it rough or smooth, good or bad, we must accomplish the task. It shall always not be good and it shall always not be bad; we only have to work hard.

When it came to being she said be tender and tough at once you need to be vulnerable to live fully but rough enough to survive it all

Well, there is rough old Albert, as ornery as any big brother a girl could have, putting his arm around Savannah and cooing to her like a repenting hound dog, and promising her she is not common nor shameful. I watched all this and thought you just never know sometimes what's in a man's heart. When you think he is all tough nails and boards he can be different on the inside. It makes me wonder about other men I know, too.

Aye, that’s me. Rough tough squaddie with the intellectual depth of a shallow baby bath and the educational background of a hedgerow. Complicated? Yeah, right.” Dan laughed. Vadim laughed, too. “Sorry, but that just about nails it.” He grew more serious and whispered. “But you also have the heart of a tiger and the vastness of a mountain.

Tough and tuff are two different words. Tough is the same as rough; tuff means cool, sharp—like a tuff-looking Mustang or a tuff record. In our neighborhood both are compliments.

Sometimes LIFE is rough and tough. That's still NO excuse for you to be.

It's hard to have a serious conversation with you when you're wearin' lighted cocks on your head." AJ defiantly thrust out her chin and the penises bobbled. "We aren't having a conversation. You're give me tough-guy attitude. If you won't acknowledge me in public, you don't have the right to chastise me for anything I do in public or in private. And now you lost the right to do anything to me in private either, bucko." "Quit bein' so goddamm childish." Her eyes narrowed to silver slits. "Quit bein' such a goddamn dickhead." "You're the one with dicks on your head, baby doll." "Yeah? I can take mine off any old time I please, but you wear your dickhead like a second skin. Or should I say as a second foreskin?

When your pain gets tough, your game needs to get rough.

Biscuits are rough, potatoes are tough. I pray to God we all get enough.

In life, toughness and roughness go together.

My compass and guiding star: MyDaddy, that's who you are. Discipline I learned from you, With patience in all I do. Sang-froid you gifted to me, Along with versatility. You reveal the profound beauty Found in Family Duty. You've instilled me with toughness, To overcome any roughness. Thanks to you I conquer worlds; I strive to be MyDaddy's girl.

The following obituary appeared in the Pittsburgh Sun-Telegraph of Sept. 16, 1958: A GREAT POET died last week in Lancieux, France, at the age of 84. He was not a poet's poet. Fancy-Dan dilletantes will dispute the description "great." He was a people's poet. To the people he was great. They understood him, and knew that any verse carrying the by-line of Robert W. Service would be a lilting thing, clear, clean and power-packed, beating out a story with a dramatic intensity that made the nerves tingle. And he was no poor, garret-type poet, either. His stuff made money hand over fist. One piece alone, The Shooting of Dan McGrew, rolled up half a million dollars for him. He lived it up well and also gave a great deal to help others. "The only society I like," he once said, "is that which is rough and tough - and the tougher the better. That's where you get down to bedrock and meet human people." He found that kind of society in the Yukon gold rush, and he immortalized it.

As she watched, he examined the can intently, read the ingredients, then returned it to the shelf and chose another, repeating his thorough study of it. The contrast between his rough, tough-guy appearance and the domestic act he was performing did funny things to her head. She had a sudden, breathtaking vision of a dark-haired little boy sitting in the seat of the cart, laughing up at Cian, grabbing at his swinging braids with chubby little fists, while his daddy inspected the ingredients on a jar of baby food. Her mind’s eye picture of sexy, strong man with beautiful, helpless child made something soft and warm blossom behind her chest.

On the inside, the copycats of the ruffians are more delicate than the copycats of prudes.

if its gets rough, you need to get tough.

When the going gets tough, the going gets rough

We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm.

Rough nature shapes tough people

You are such a baby when it comes to me. I see you all rough and tough when you're scaring everyone around you with your bad-boy image and you fall apart because I'm in pain.

You'll be great," Cole said, patting her shoulder. He took one last look at Sam's face. Whatever he saw there made him smile. "But maybe you should go a little easy on him; he's had it tough." She looked at Sam's face, too. "Rough as in dating gorgeous blondes named Selena who yell at you in the alley, or rough as in getting to go boating all day long for a living?" Cole tossed back his head and laughed. "You get a raise for that. I'll tell our accountant." He turned to Sam again. "Give her a raise.

Saying goodbye is rough. I think I told you once that goodbye sounds so stupid and final and blah, blah, blah. But I was younger then. I didn’t know what I know now. Roads can diverge. It’s tough but true. It’ll be okay. In the end. So you’ll go one way. And we’ll go another. Maybe one day we’ll meet again. But even if we don’t, remember this: We have lived. We have loved. We have lost. But we’re standing. For all that we are, we’re still standing.

You hurt me more than that bullet. Not by lying about who you were but by not coming to see me. You’re supposed to be an expert at working out the most efficient path to get to where you want to be. Since for the last three weeks that path didn’t lead to me, you left me thinking you didn’t want me at all.” He glared. “But I got over my sulk and started to wonder if I was wrong. I think you do want me but you’re afraid. My big, rough, tough bodyguard is scared shitless.

That's not what justice is," the colonel jeered, and began pounding the table again with his big fat hand. "That's what Karl Marx is. I'll tell you what justice is. Justice is a knee in the gut from the floor on the chin at night sneaky with a knife brought up down on the magazine of a battleship sandbagged underhanded in the dark without a word of warning. Garroting. That's what justice is when we've all got to be tough enough and rough enough to fight Billy Petrolle. From the hip. Get it?

While you desire lasting change with positive results, it will take commitment from you to transform your dreams into a reality. Be aware that there can be tough moments when you're ready to throw in the towel. Frustrating times when you may want to quit. When it gets rough or you hit a roadblock, you must forge ahead and keep going. Despite blood, sweat, and tears, do not give up on yourself. You are worth the fight for a brighter future!

Sometimes you have to let go a little bit and travel the path of least resistance but this doesn’t mean that you quit when things get tough, as you are working towards a goal! It just means that you may only be able to see a rough draft of your final destination, right now, and that it’s safe to explore along the way.

I’ve been around the world twice, talked to everyone once, seen two whales fuck, been to three world fairs, and I even know a man in Thailand with a wooden cock. Push more peter, more sweeter and more completer than any other peter pusher around. I’m a hard bodied, hairy chested, rootin, tootin, shootin, parachutin, demolition double cap crimping, Frogman. “There ain’t nothing I can’t do, no sky too high, no sea to rough, no muff too tough. “Learnt a lot of lessons in my life, never shoot a large calibre man with a small calibre bullet. Drive all kinds of truck 2 bys, 4 bys, 6 bys, those big motherfuckers that bend and go tshhhh, tshhhh, when you step on the breaks. Anything in life worth doing, is worth overdoing, moderation is for cowards. I’m a lover, I’m a fighter, I’m a UDT Navy Seal Diver, I wine, dine, intertwine and sneak out the back door when the revealing is done. So, if you’re feeling froggy you better jump because this Frogman’s been there, done that, and is going back for more. Cheers Boys!

The swaying figure's white, haggard face was rough with beard-stubble. His shirt was in tatters which blew back behind him in twisted ribbons, showing the starved stack of his ribs. A filthy rag was wrapped around his right hand. He looked sick, sick and dying, but even so he also looked tough enough to make Andolini feel like a soft-boiled egg.

When your enemy is tough make your actions rough, you will meet at the same point.

When times get tough and your path gets rough, just hold on. You'll get there soon enough.

I’m putting no pressure on myself now. I decided I’ve got nothing more to prove. I used to be so tough on myself. Now, I’m just having fun.

be tender and tough all at once you need to be vulnerable to live fully but rough enough to survive it all

As for describing the smell of a spaniel mixed with the smell of torches, laurels, incense, banners, wax candles and a garland of rose leaves crushed by a satin heel that has been laid up in camphor, perhaps Shakespeare, had he paused in the middle of writing Antony and Cleopatra — But Shakespeare did not pause. Confessing our inadequacy, then, we can but note that to Flush Italy, in these the fullest, the freest, the happiest years of his life, meant mainly a succession of smells. Love, it must be supposed, was gradually losing its appeal. Smell remained. Now that they were established in Casa Guidi again, all had their avocations. Mr. Browning wrote regularly in one room; Mrs. Browning wrote regularly in another. The baby played in the nursery. But Flush wandered off into the streets of Florence to enjoy the rapture of smell. He threaded his path through main streets and back streets, through squares and alleys, by smell. He nosed his way from smell to smell; the rough, the smooth, the dark, the golden. He went in and out, up and down, where they beat brass, where they bake bread, where the women sit combing their hair, where the bird-cages are piled high on the causeway, where the wine spills itself in dark red stains on the pavement, where leather smells and harness and garlic, where cloth is beaten, where vine leaves tremble, where men sit and drink and spit and dice — he ran in and out, always with his nose to the ground, drinking in the essence; or with his nose in the air vibrating with the aroma. He slept in this hot patch of sun — how sun made the stone reek! he sought that tunnel of shade — how acid shade made the stone smell! He devoured whole bunches of ripe grapes largely because of their purple smell; he chewed and spat out whatever tough relic of goat or macaroni the Italian housewife had thrown from the balcony — goat and macaroni were raucous smells, crimson smells. He followed the swooning sweetness of incense into the violet intricacies of dark cathedrals; and, sniffing, tried to lap the gold on the window- stained tomb. Nor was his sense of touch much less acute. He knew Florence in its marmoreal smoothness and in its gritty and cobbled roughness. Hoary folds of drapery, smooth fingers and feet of stone received the lick of his tongue, the quiver of his shivering snout. Upon the infinitely sensitive pads of his feet he took the clear stamp of proud Latin inscriptions. In short, he knew Florence as no human being has ever known it; as Ruskin never knew it or George Eliot either.

Rough and tough diGriz the Killer who never killed! It was nothing to be ashamed of, quite the opposite in fact. I placed a value on human life, the one unchanging value in existence. Angelina valued herself and her desires, and nothing else. To follow her down the twisted path of her own making I would have to place myself in the same mental state that she lived in.

I make up a lie, and it is a good one. Vague and boring. He only wants to talk about himself now anyway. After all, this is what Cassius was bred for. There are roughly fifteen kids who have that same quiet gleam in their eye. Not evil. Just excited. And those are the ones to watch, because they’re the born killers. Looking around, it’s easy to see that Roque was right. There weren’t many tough fights. This was forced natural selection. Bottom of the heap getting slaughtered by the top. Hardly anyone is severely injured except a couple of small lowDrafts. Natural selection sometimes has its surprises.

Without making any great show of it, Mather withdrew from him. Though they saw each other in company, and he was never obviously distant toward Edward, the friendship was never the same. Edward was in agonies when he considered that Mather was actually repelled by his behavior, but he did not have the courage to raise the subject. Besides, Mather made sure they were never alone together. At first Edward believed that his error was to have damaged Mather's pride by witnessing his humiliation, which Edward then compounded by acting as his champion, demonstrating that he was tough while Mather was a vulnerable weakling. Later on, Edward realized that what he had done was simply not cool, and his shame was all the greater. Street fighting did not go with poetry and irony, bebop or history. He was guilty of a lapse of taste. He was not the person he had thought. What he believed was an interesting quirk, a rough virtue, turned out to be a vulgarity. He was a country boy, a provincial idiot who thought a bare-knuckle swipe could impress a friend. It was a mortifying reappraisal. He was making one of the advances typical of early adulthood: the discovery that there were new values by which he preferred to be judged.

The little blue engine looked up at the hill. His light was weak, his whistle was shrill. He was tired and small, and the hill was tall, And his face blushed red as he softly said, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.” So he started up with a chug and a strain, And he puffed and pulled with might and main. And slowly he climbed, a foot at a time, And his engine coughed as he whispered soft, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.” With a squeak and a creak and a toot and a sigh, With an extra hope and an extra try, He would not stop — now he neared the top — And strong and proud he cried out loud, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!” He was almost there, when — CRASH! SMASH! BASH! He slid down and mashed into engine hash On the rocks below... which goes to show If the track is tough and the hill is rough, THINKING you can just ain’t enough!

If, for example, your parent had a rough childhood and was unable to make sense of what happened, he or she would be likely to pass on that harshness to you—and you, in turn, would be at risk for passing it along to your children. Yet parents who had a tough time in childhood but did make sense of those experiences were found to have children who were securely attached to them. They had stopped handing down the family legacy of nonsecure attachment.

Suddenly there were two strong arms around her, holding her tightly, more tightly than Triss's parents had ever dared to hug Triss. Violet smelt of oil, cigarettes, and some kind of perfume. Her coat was rough against Not-Triss's face. Not Triss could feel Pen there too, scrambling to be part of it, resting her head against Not-Triss's back. "You're all thorny," whispered Pen, shifting position. "I'll hurt you both," whispered Not-Triss. "My thorns - they'll hurt you." "What, me?" answered Violet. "Don't be silly. I'm tough as nails. I've got a hide like a dreadnought." Violet did not feel cold or metallic lke nails or a battleship. She felt warm. Her voice was a bit shaky, but her hug was as firm as the hills or the horizons.

The road of life can be tough at times. when the road gets bumpy and rough you must buckle up and go for the ride. Every road in life is a teacher if you are willing to learn from it. In order to grow and prosper you must take the ride, just buckle up put on your sunglasses and enjoy the ride.

Justice is a knee in the gut from the floor on the chin at night sneaky with a knife brought up down on the magazine of a battleship sandbagged underhanded in the dark without a word of warning. Garroting. That’s what justice is when we’ve all got to be tough enough and rough enough to fight Billy Petrolle. From the hip. Get it?

In a lot of ways home improvement is like marriage. It’s not glamorous. It can take a lot of hard work and effort. There are days it feels like it might be easier to burn the whole thing to the ground and start all over again. Then you remember how much you love the house or your husband and you recommit yourself to what it takes to see the whole thing through. Even when it might involve paintbrushes and compromise and sanding and scraping all the rough edges. And when you look back on a tough patch a few months after the worst has passed, you don’t remember all the hard work and the tears. You just have the satisfaction of knowing you’ve made something beautiful.

A private snooper, eh?” He was going tough on me. I laid my fork down and looked at him. I can make pretty nasty faces when I have to. “Shorty, maybe just for the hell of it I’ll take you apart. You may be a rough apple, but I can make your face look like it’s been run through a grinder, and the more I think of the idea the more I like it.

Please do not misunderstand me,” he once told Wilson. “We too came into the world with the noble instincts and the lofty aspirations which you express so often and so eloquently. We have become what we are because we have been shaped by the rough hand of the world in which we have to live and we have survived only because we are a tough bunch.

Maverick texted her throughout the day making sure she was okay, and who knew that the word fuck could sound so sweet? I'm fucking worried about you. He'll fucking pay if he hurts you. IS IT 5OFUCKINGCLOCK YET? That one came complete with a winky face.And when a big tough biker dude sent you shouty caps and a winky face, it could make you smile.

I have known Hammy for years, he has been shot in the chest twice at point blank range with a sawn off shotgun. The other hard men must have been shocked when he got out the car he was in and chased them with his own hand gun, he has also been stabbed multiple times in prison and out on the rough tough streets of Glasgow but he is still standing.

Language is very tough, though, a tenacity that is backed up by a long history. However it is treated, its autonomy cannot be lost or seriously damaged, even if that treatment is rather rough. It is the inherent right of all writers to experiment with the possibilities of language in every way they can imagine—without that adventurous spirit, nothing new can ever be born.

Dark gray, flexible, and infinitely tough. Seven-foot membranous wings of same color, found folded, spread out of furrows between ridges. Wing framework tubular or glandular, of lighter gray, with orifices at wing tips. Spread wings have serrated edge. Around equator, one at central apex of each of the five vertical, stave-like ridges are five systems of light gray flexible arms or tentacles found tightly folded to torso but expansible to maximum length of over three feet. Like arms of primitive crinoid. Single stalks three inches diameter branch after six inches into five substalks, each of which branches after eight inches into small, tapering tentacles or tendrils, giving each stalk a total of twenty-five tentacles. At top of torso blunt, bulbous neck of lighter gray, with gill-like suggestions, holds yellowish five-pointed starfish-shaped apparent head covered with three-inch wiry cilia of various prismatic colors. Head thick and puffy, about two feet point to point, with three-inch flexible yellowish tubes projecting from each point. Slit in exact center of top probably breathing aperture. At end of each tube is spherical expansion where yellowish membrane rolls back on handling to reveal glassy, red-irised globe, evidently an eye. Five slightly longer reddish tubes start from inner angles of starfish-shaped head and end in saclike swellings of same color which, upon pressure, open to bell-shaped orifices two inches maximum diameter and lined with sharp, white tooth like projections - probably mouths. All these tubes, cilia, and points of starfish head, found folded tightly down; tubes and points clinging to bulbous neck and torso. Flexibility surprising despite vast toughness. At bottom of torso, rough but dissimilarly functioning counterparts of head arrangements exist. Bulbous light-gray pseudo-neck, without gill suggestions, holds greenish five-pointed starfish arrangement. Tough, muscular arms four feet long and tapering from seven inches diameter at base to about two and five-tenths at point. To each point is attached small end of a greenish five-veined membranous triangle eight inches long and six wide at farther end. This is the paddle, fin, or pseudofoot which has made prints in rocks from a thousand million to fifty or sixty million years old. From inner angles of starfish-arrangement project two-foot reddish tubes tapering from three inches diameter at base to one at tip. Orifices at tips. All these parts infinitely tough and leathery, but extremely flexible. Four-foot arms with paddles undoubtedly used for locomotion of some sort, marine or otherwise. When moved, display suggestions of exaggerated muscularity. As found, all these projections tightly folded over pseudoneck and end of torso, corresponding to projections at other end.

It was the Die Trying promotion tour, and I wasn't mugged. In fact, I mugged the other guy. Promotion tours are hard work, but the compensation is freebie visits to places you might not otherwise go, so I always make a habit, when the day is done, of taking a stroll, usually about midnight. I was in San Francisco, so figured I'd go look at the Tenderloin part of town, which is rough. This guy stepped out and basically said, "Give me your money." ... I was amazed how quickly I snapped back through almost 40 years and suddenly became that tough city kid again. I got right in the guy's face and told him he had to give me his money or I'd break his arms. Just a purely instinctive reaction from long ago. Never back down. Never show fear. He only had five bucks. I gave it to the next homeless person I saw.

The Truth About Boys and Girls You may be surprised to learn that baby boys actually appear to be more fragile at birth than do baby girls. Yup, studies show that the rough, tough little guys made of “snakes and snails and puppy-dog tails” appear to be more easily stressed and more susceptible to health problems. They are often “fussier” than girls; they cry more easily and seem to have a harder time learning to calm themselves down (what is sometimes called “self-soothing”). Baby boys may be more sensitive to changes in routine, and to parental anger or depression.

Upset over having deceived her sister, her failure as a prostitute, and the tension in waiting for Berkman to make his move, Goldman walked aimless about New York in the July heat and whiled away her evenings at Zum Groben Michel. The bar, a few blocks from her room, had become the hangout of one of the sects of anarchists. Its odd name was the result of a window sign painter’s mistake. Instead of garden, a word used by many German beer halls, the painter wrote groben, meaning coarse, rough, or tough — which suited the owner, who was known as Tough Mike. All Goldman could do now was wait.

Because it wasn’t enough to be accompanied by the beast who scared the crap out of every god in Heaven, Xuanzang was assigned a few more traveling companions. The gluttonous pig-man Zhu Baijie. Sha Wujing, the repentant sand demon. And the Dragon Prince of the West Sea, who took the form of a horse for Xuanzang to ride. The five adventurers, thusly gathered, set off on their— “Holy ballsacks!” I yelped. I dropped the book like I’d been bitten. “How far did you get?” Quentin said. He was leaning against the end of the nearest shelf, as casually as if he’d been there the whole time, waiting for this moment. I ignored that he’d snuck up on me again, just this once. There was a bigger issue at play. In the book was an illustration of the group done up in bold lines and bright colors. There was Sun Wukong at the front, dressed in a beggar’s cassock, holding his Ruyi Jingu Bang in one hand and the reins of the Dragon Horse in the other. A scary-looking pig-faced man and a wide-eyed demon monk followed, carrying the luggage. And perched on top of the horse was . . . me. The artist had tried to give Xuanzang delicate, beatific features and ended up with a rather girly face. By whatever coincidence, the drawing of Sun Wukong’s old master could have been a rough caricature of sixteen-year-old Eugenia Lo from Santa Firenza, California. “That’s who you think I am?” I said to Quentin. “That’s who I know you are,” he answered. “My dearest friend. My boon companion. You’ve reincarnated into such a different form, but I’d recognize you anywhere. Your spiritual energies are unmistakable.” “Are you sure? If you’re from a long time ago, maybe your memory’s a little fuzzy.” “The realms beyond Earth exist on a different time scale,” Quentin said. “Only one day among the gods passes for every human year. To me, you haven’t been gone long. Months, not centuries.” “This is just . . . I don’t know.” I took a moment to assemble my words. “You can’t walk up to me and expect me to believe right away that I’m the reincarnation of some legendary monk from a folk tale.” “Wait, what?” Quentin squinted at me in confusion. “I said you can’t expect me to go, ‘okay, I’m Xuanzang,’ just because you tell me so.” Quentin’s mouth opened slowly like the dawning of the sun. His face went from confusion to understanding to horror and then finally to laughter. “mmmmphhhhghAHAHAHAHA!” he roared. He nearly toppled over, trying to hold his sides in. “HAHAHAHA!” “What the hell is so funny?” “You,” Quentin said through his giggles. “You’re not Xuanzang. Xuanzang was meek and mild. A friend to all living things. You think that sounds like you?” It did not. But then again I wasn’t the one trying to make a case here. “Xuanzang was delicate like a chrysanthemum.” Quentin was getting a kick out of this. “You are so tough you snapped the battleaxe of the Mighty Miracle God like a twig. Xuanzang cried over squashing a mosquito. You, on the other hand, have killed more demons than the Catholic Church.” I was starting to get annoyed. “Okay, then who the hell am I supposed to be?” If he thought I was the pig, then this whole deal was off. “You’re my weapon,” he said. “You’re the Ruyi Jingu Bang.” I punched Quentin as hard as I could in the face.

After two weeks came the first letter from Alexander. Tatiasha, Can there be anything harder than this? Missing you is a physical aching that grips me early in the morning and does not leave me, not even as I draw my last waking breath. My solace in these waning empty summer days is the knowledge that you’re safe, and alive, and healthy, and that the worst that you have to go through is serfdom for four well-meaning old women. The wood piles I’ve left are the lightest in the front. The heaviest ones are for the winter. Use them last, and if you need help carrying them, God help me, ask Vova. Don’t hurt yourself. And don’t fill the water pails all the way to the top. They’re too heavy. Getting back was rough, and as soon as I came back, I was sent right out to the Neva, where for six days we planned our attack and then made a move in boats across the river and were completely crushed in two hours. We didn’t stand a chance. The Germans bombed the boats with the Vanyushas, their version of my rocket launcher, the boats all sank. We were left with a thousand fewer men and were no closer to crossing the river. We’re now looking at other places we can cross. I’m fine, except for the fact that it’s rained here for ten days straight and I’ve been hip deep in mud for all that time. There is nowhere to sleep, except in the mud. We put our trench coats down and hope it stops raining soon. All black and wet, I almost felt sorry for myself until I thought of you during the blockade. I’ve decided to do that from now on. Every time I think I have it so tough, I’m going to think of you burying your sister in Lake Ladoga. I wish you had been given a lighter cross than Leningrad to carry through your life. Things are going to be relatively quiet here for the next few weeks, until we regroup. Yesterday a bomb fell in the commandant’s bunker. The commandant wasn’t there at the time. Yet the anxiety doesn’t go away. When is it going to come again? I play cards and soccer. And I smoke. And I think of you. I sent you money. Go to Molotov at the end of August. Don’t forget to eat well, my warm bun, my midnight sun, and kiss your hand for me, right in the palm and then press it against your heart. Alexander Tatiana read Alexander’s letter a hundred times, memorizing every word. She slept with her face on the letter, which renewed her strength.

a cute girl. And her body… I take the hand suffering from exposure and it’s still very cold. I touch her cheek with the back of my other hand and it’s warm. She leans into that like she’s starving for a gentle gesture. It makes me close my eyes for a minute. She’s so needy. It would be easy to just take care of that need. Instead, I kick off my boots and take my shirt off, then place her hand under my armpit. She tries to pull away but I hold her still and smile. “It’s a nice warm place, Syd. You have to heat up this hand. I’m pretty sure it’s gonna blister no matter what, but it needs to be warmed up.” “It’s gross,” she says. “I can do it—” “No,” I tell her back, sitting down on the bed and pulling on her at the same time, so she can’t remove it. “I’ll do it.” I scoot all the way back on the half-moon-shaped bed, which takes up roughly one half of the circular room, making her crawl along with me. Her tits are nice and firm, and hang down and bounce a little in a very alluring way. I keep pulling her until she’s sitting next to me, her frozen hand slipping out of place. So I put my arm around her and place her hand under my opposite arm, making her hug me a little. She stiffens when I do this and that makes me laugh a little. “You afraid of intimacy, Sydney? Tough girl like you?” “You’re tricking me somehow, I can feel it.” But even as she says this, she rests her head on my chest. “Probably. If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I don’t give anything away for free. So now that I’m taking care of your mistake out there, let’s talk about that deal. I went above and beyond. I didn’t let you freeze, I came out of my nice warm house to save your ass. So the way I see it, you owe me. Start

Pizzoccheri — SERVES 4 TO 6 — 1 medium Savoy cabbage A big, sexy slab of Valtellina cheese, or something similar, like fontina 3 large yellow potatoes A fuck of a lot of butter 4 large garlic cloves 1 pound pizzoccheri Extra-virgin olive oil 2 handfuls grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, or Bitto (if available and you can afford it) Salt Remove and discard any tough outer leaves from the cabbage and roughly chop it into long pieces. Thinly cut about 15 pieces of Valtellina cheese and also grate about 3 cups. Set aside. Preheat the oven to 325°F. Peel and dice the potatoes and boil until cooked but still firm, about 15 minutes or so. Halfway through boiling, add the cabbage to the potatoes. When the potatoes and cabbage are cooked, drain them and set them aside. In a large, deep frying pan over low heat, melt the fuckload of butter. Gently crush (if that’s even possible) the garlic cloves, place them in the pan, and cook until they soften and the butter has melted but not turned brown. Boil the pizzoccheri until al dente and drain, reserving about 2 cups of the water. Return the pizzoccheri to the pot and drizzle them with a little olive oil or some butter so they don’t stick together. Pour a little of the garlic butter into a baking dish and begin to layer the ingredients, starting with the pizzoccheri, then the cabbage, then the potatoes, then both cheeses, drizzling more garlic butter over the whole mixture after each layer, adding a bit of the reserved pasta water to ensure it doesn’t get too thick but making sure it doesn’t get too watery. You may need only a cup. Top the final layer with a drizzle of olive oil and more grated cheese. Cover with foil and bake for about 15 minutes or so. Remove the foil and return to the oven until the top has a slight crisp. Salt to taste. Serve it and eat it and drink a lot of wine with it and think about how much you deserve it after you burned off so many

DICAEOPOLIS Why, what has happened? AMPHITHEUS I was hurrying to bring your treaty of truce, but some old dotards from Acharnae(1) got scent of the thing; they are veterans of Marathon, tough as oak or maple, of which they are made for sure—rough and ruthless. They all started a-crying: "Wretch! you are the bearer of a treaty, and the enemy has only just cut our vines!" Meanwhile they were gathering stones in their cloaks, so I fled and they ran after me shouting. f(1) The deme of Acharnae was largely inhabited by charcoal-burners, who supplied the city with fuel. DICAEOPOLIS Let 'em shout as much as they please! But HAVE you brought me a treaty? AMPHITHEUS Most certainly, here are three samples to select from,(1) this one is five years old; take it and taste. f(1) He presents them in the form of wines contained in three separate skins. DICAEOPOLIS Faugh! AMPHITHEUS Well? DICAEOPOLIS It does not please me; it smells of pitch and of the ships they are fitting out.(1) f(1) Meaning, preparations for war. AMPHITHEUS Here is another, ten years old; taste it. DICAEOPOLIS It smells strongly of the delegates, who go around the towns to chide the allies for their slowness.(1) f(1) Meaning, securing allies for the continuance of the war. AMPHITHEUS This last is a truce of thirty years, both on sea and land. DICAEOPOLIS Oh! by Bacchus! what a bouquet! It has the aroma of nectar and ambrosia; this does not say to us, "Provision yourselves for three days." But it lisps the gentle numbers, "Go whither you will."(1) I accept it, ratify it, drink it at one draught and consign the Acharnians to limbo. Freed from the war and its ills, I shall keep the Dionysia(2) in the country. f(1) When Athens sent forth an army, the soldiers were usually ordered to assemble at some particular spot with provisions for three days. f(2) These feasts were also called the Anthesteria or Lenaea; the Lenaem was a temple to Bacchus, erected outside the city. They took place during the month Anthesterion (February).

Paley’s book Boys and Girls is about the year she spent trying to get her pupils to behave in a more unisex way. And it is a chronicle of spectacular and amusing failure. None of Paley’s tricks or bribes or clever manipulations worked. For instance, she tried forcing the boys to play in the doll corner and the girls to play in the block corner. The boys proceeded to turn the doll corner into the cockpit of a starship, and the girls built a house out of blocks and resumed their domestic fantasies. Paley’s experiment culminated in her declaration of surrender to the deep structures of gender. She decided to let the girls be girls. She admits, with real self-reproach, that this wasn’t that hard for her: Paley always approved more of the girls’ relatively calm and prosocial play. It was harder to let the boys be boys, but she did. “Let the boys be robbers,” Paley concluded, “or tough guys in space. It is the natural, universal, and essential play of little boys.” I’ve been arguing that children’s pretend play is relentlessly focused on trouble. And it is. But as Melvin Konner demonstrates in his monumental book The Evolution of Childhood, there are reliable sex differences in how boys and girls play that have been found around the world. Dozens of studies across five decades and a multitude of cultures have found essentially what Paley found in her midwestern classroom: boys and girls spontaneously segregate themselves by sex; boys engage in much more rough-and-tumble play; fantasy play is more frequent in girls, more sophisticated, and more focused on pretend parenting; boys are generally more aggressive and less nurturing than girls, with the differences being present and measurable by the seventeenth month of life. The psychologists Dorothy and Jerome Singer sum up this research: “Most of the time we see clear-cut differences in the way children play. Generally, boys are more vigorous in their activities, choosing games of adventure, daring, and conflict, while girls tend to choose games that foster nurturance and affiliation.

As we were getting Mia’s things ready for her discharge, her nurse started to excuse herself to get a wheelchair to transport Mia to the car. Instantly, Mia said, “I’m not riding in a wheelchair.” “Yes, you are, Mia. It’s a hospital regulation,” I said, believing that was true. “Mom,” she protested, “they said I’m supposed to walk as much as possible. I’m walking to the car.” I saw a certain look in Mia’s eyes as she made this announcement, the look that says “I am going to push hard for this.” I knew she was determined, and I would fight a losing battle to try to talk her out of it. “I’m walking out of here,” she said again. I guess the medical staff noticed that look too because they allowed her to try to walk, with a nurse close beside her. Seeing that little girl limp her way down the hall, holding Reed’s hand, was one of the proudest moments of my life. I was absolutely amazed by her spunk and determination. I grabbed my cell phone from my purse and snapped a picture. She is such a fighter, I thought as Jase and I followed her. Visually, she looked roughed up, as though she had been through about fifteen rounds in a boxing match. But in that moment, she showed a level of toughness and resilience I have never seen in a child. Remembering the information we were told on that first visit to ICI when Mia was seventeen days old, that she would need physical therapy to help her walk again after this surgery, I thanked God as I watched our daughter walk right out of the hospital twenty-four hours postoperation! When we got into the car, Jase asked Mia, “Well, what do you think about that?” “I’m a little tired, but I made it,” she replied. Indeed she did.

Acronyms Seriously Suck: There is a creeping tendency to use made up acronyms at SpaceX. Excessive use of made up acronyms is a significant impediment to communication and keeping communication good as we grow is incredibly important. Individually, a few acronyms here and there may not seem so bad, but if a thousand people are making these up, over time the result will be a huge glossary that we have to issue to new employees. No one can actually remember all these acronyms and people don’t want to seem dumb in a meeting, so they just sit there in ignorance. This is particularly tough on new employees. That needs to stop immediately or I will take drastic action—I have given enough warnings over the years. Unless an acronym is approved by me, it should not enter the SpaceX glossary. If there is an existing acronym that cannot reasonably be justified, it should be eliminated, as I have requested in the past. For example, there should be no “HTS” [horizontal test stand] or “VTS” [vertical test stand] designations for test stands. Those are particularly dumb, as they contain unnecessary words. A “stand” at our test site is obviously a *test* stand. VTS-3 is four syllables compared with “Tripod,” which is two, so the bloody acronym version actually takes longer to say than the name! The key test for an acronym is to ask whether it helps or hurts communication. An acronym that most engineers outside of SpaceX already know, such as GUI, is fine to use. It is also ok to make up a few acronyms/contractions every now and again, assuming I have approved them, eg MVac and M9 instead of Merlin 1C-Vacuum or Merlin 1C-Sea Level, but those need to be kept to a minimum. This was classic Musk. The e-mail is rough in its tone and yet not really unwarranted for a guy who just wants things done as efficiently as possible. It obsesses over something that other people might find trivial and yet he has a definite point. It’s comical in that Musk wants all acronym approvals to run directly through him, but that’s entirely in keeping with the hands-on management style that has, mainly, worked well at both SpaceX and Tesla. Employees have since dubbed the acronym policy the ASS Rule.

Fuck you.” “Oh, now you want me too.” Syn barked a laugh. “I thought you were straight.” “Syn,” Furi snapped. “Knock it off.” Syn took Furi’s backpack off his shoulder and slid it on to his own. He intertwined their fingers and Furi couldn’t ignore how much he liked that gesture from his tough Sergeant. Doug still stood very close to Furi, watching them both through narrowed eyes. “Stop looking like that,” Furi whispered. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Doug whispered back. Furi turned and looked behind him at Syn’s ruggedly gorgeous face then down at their joined hands. He turned back to Doug’s concerned eyes. “Yes, I do.” Furi leaned in and chastely kissed Doug on the lips and watched him turn and leave. When Furi turned back, Syn was wearing a large frown and his chest was frozen like he was holding his breath. Furi got as close to Syn as he could. “What’s the matter?” “Don’t do that again.” Syn’s voice was rough and low. “Do what?” Furi frowned in confusion. Syn brought his free hand up and wiped the pad of his thumb across Furi’s full lips. “Don’t put your lips on him again.” Syn shook his head when Furi opened his mouth to argue. “I know it was friendly, and it didn’t mean anything, but humor me, okay? Don’t put your mouth on his. Syn leaned in and pulled Furi’s bottom lip into his mouth and gently sucked on it, right there in the IHOP parking lot. “Only I get to taste these pretty lips,” Syn moaned inside Furi’s mouth. Furi put his arms around Syn’s shoulders. “Okay,” he whispered back, kissing Syn’s cheek. “Let’s go.” Syn carried Furi’s backpack to the large Suburban he’d parked beside the building and placed it in the back seat. “Whose truck is this?” Furi asked. “I borrowed it from work. It belongs to the team. We can use them if needed.” Syn started the powerful engine. Furi hooked his seat belt and turned to look at Syn, realizing he was just sitting there, staring straight ahead. Furi unhooked his belt. “Babe. What’s the matter?” Syn took his glasses back off and turned his body so he was facing Furi. “Furi. What you did today ... don’t do that again. I can respect your privacy. Really, I can. But in light of recent events, please don’t cut yourself off like that. I was ... I thought ..." “Fuck, Syn. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I wanted to call you so many times today.” Syn’s eyes widened. “Just to hear your voice. Not because I was in trouble. But, I didn’t want to seem all clingy and shit. We fucked once and already I’m acting sprung. Can’t stop thinking of you.” Furi knew his embarrassment was making him blush. But Syn was trying to find the words to say he was scared today, so Furi wasn’t holding back on his feelings. They closed the distance over the large console and let their kiss be their words.

O happy age, which our first parents called the age of gold! Not because of gold, so much adored in this iron age, was then easily purchased, but because those two fatal words mine and thine, were distinctions unknown to the people of those fortunate times; for all things were in common in that holy age: men, for their sustenance, needed only lift their hands and take it from the sturdy oak, whose spreading arms liberally invited them to gather the wholesome savoury fruit; while the clear springs, and silver rivulets, with luxuriant plenty, ordered them their pure refreshing water. In hollow trees, and in the clefts of rocks, the laboring and industrious bees erected their little commonwealths, that men might reap with pleasure and with ease the the sweet and fertile harvest of their toils. The tough and strenuous cork-trees did of themselves, and without other art than their native liberality, dismiss and impart their broad light bark, which served to cover these lowly huts, propped up with rough-hewn stakes, that were first built as a shelter against the inclemencies of air. All then was union, all peace, all love and friendship in the world; as yet no rude plough-share with violence to pry into the pious bowels of our mother earth, for she, without compulsion, kindly yielded from every part of her fruitful and spacious bosom, whatever might at once satisfy, sustain, and indulge her frugal children. Then was the when innocent, beautiful young sheperdesses went tripping over the hills and vales; their lovely hairs sometimes plaited, sometimes loose and flowing, clad in no other vestment but what was necessary to cover decently what modesty would always have concealed. The Tyrian dye and the rich glossy hue of silk, martyred and dissembled into every color, which are now esteemed so fine and magnificent, were unknown to the innocent plainness of that age; arrayed in the most magnificent garbs, and all the most sumptous adornings which idleness and luxury have taught succeeding pride: lovers then expressed the passion of their souls in the unaffected language of the heart, with the native plainness and sincerity in which they were conceived, and divested of all that artificial contexture, which enervates what it labours to enforce: imposture, deceit and malice had not yet crept in and imposed themselves unbribed upon mankind in the disguise of truth and simplicity: justice, unbiased either by favour or interest, which now so fatally pervert it, was equally and impartially dispensed; nor was the judge's fancy law, for then there were neither judges nor causes to be judged: the modest maid might walk wherever she pleased alone, free from the attacks of lewd, lascivious importuners. But, in this degenerate age, fraud and a legion of ills infecting the world, no virtue can be safe, no honour be secure; while wanton desires, diffused into the hearts of men, corrupt the strictest watches, and the closest retreats; which, though as intricate and unknown as the labyrinth of Crete, are no security for chastity. Thus that primitive innocence being vanished, the opression daily prevailing, there was a necessity to oppose the torrent of violence: for which reason the order of knight-hood-errant was instituted to defend the honour of virgins, protect widows, relieve orphans, and assist all the distressed in general. Now I myself am one of this order, honest friends; and though all people are obliged by the law of nature to be kind to persons of my order; yet, since you, without knowing anything of this obligation, have so generously entertained me, I ought to pay you my utmost acknowledgment; and, accordingly, return you my most hearty thanks for the same.

That kind of thing happened all the time.” It was normal. Google personnel were interacting exactly as the kindergartners in the spaghetti-marshmallow challenge interacted. They did not manage their status or worry about who was in charge. Their small building produced high levels of proximity and face-to-face interaction. Page’s technique of igniting whole-group debates around solving tough problems sent a powerful signal of identity and connection, as did the no-holds-barred hockey games and wide-open Friday forums. (Everyone in the group talks and listens in roughly equal measure.) They communicated in short, direct bursts. (Members face one another, and their conversations and gestures are energetic.) Google was a hothouse of belonging cues; its people worked shoulder to shoulder and safely connected, immersed in their projects.

I was interested in dislocation and alienation, and I had noticed that people who have spent their lives in the military have trouble adjusting to civilian life afterward. It’s like moving to a different planet. So I wrote a character who had been first a military brat, then a military officer, and was now plunged unwillingly into the civilian world. And because the books would be broadly crime novels, I made him an ex–military cop in order to give him plausible familiarity with investigative procedures and forensics and so on. Those twin decisions gave him a double layer of alienation. First, his transition from the rough, tough world of the army made him a fish out of water in civilian life, which situation was then further reinforced by any law enforcement officer’s separation from the rest of the population.

Winterland by Stewart Stafford Obelisk columns of a wintry afternoon, Bony fingers of nascent green in June, Pink snow clouds kissed by fading sun, Dark gold streets, hurry home as one. Shared body heat tenderises life so tough, Fusion shelter from gales so rough, Windows scream, a voyeur's peek inside, Lovers dismissed with wailing to chide. Darkness claims stragglers of day, Wrestles all an eye sees, stealing it away, Sleep whispers drowsy promises in our ears, We two, melding - strangers from our fears. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

The Dark Cloud Is a shove into a corridor that has a rough and tough crowd Is an arrogant enemy that thinks they have the right to be proud Is a promise that was made in front of other people that was loud Is an evil deed that goes unpunished and is socially allowed

Pick a kettlebell you can clean and press—a clean before each press, that is—roughly five to eight times. C&P it once with your weaker arm, switch hands and put it up with your stronger arm. Rest. Two reps. Another short break. Three reps. Then start over at one. Do three ladders, for a total of 18 repetitions, the first week; add a ladder the next week and a ladder the week after. Five ladders, total 30 reps. You will stay with five ladders from now on. Although the top “rung” of each ladder, especially the last, should be tough, you must not fail! Never train to failure! If you want to know why, read Power to the People! The Party is always right.

That evening [April 13, 1945] Dad [General Eisenhower], General Bradley, General Hodges, a group of aides, and I sat around talking. Dad had just sent his message of condolences to President Roosevelt's widow. But the thing most on his mind was the horror camp near Gotha that he had gone through only the day before. The scene of the atrocities had left him visibly shaken and he had not yet adjusted the entire episode in his mind. With him on the visit was the reputedly rough-and-tough George Patton, who had become physically ill. Dad had cabled home to ask for a contingent of reporters and legislators to come immediately to witness.

when it came to listening my mother taught me silence if you are drowning their voice with yours how will you hear them she asked when it came to speaking she said do it with commitment every word you say is your own responsibility when it came to being she said be tender and tough at once you need to be vulnerable to live fully but rough enough to survive it all when it came to choosing she asked me to be thankful for the choices i had that she never had the privilege of making - lessons from mumma

The journey to success is very scary, sad, hard, tough, and rough. It's not easy, but you must start it to become successful in life.

When the road gets really rough, lean on Him even more. He is still The Way!

**Verse 1:** In the shadow of the mountain, under the big blue sky, Times are tough, the road is rough, and the well's run dry. The fields are barren, the cattle are thin, Hard times have come knocking, wearing a wicked grin. **Chorus:** But I'll keep on fighting through the storm and the strife, Hard times may bend me, but they won't take my life. With grit and with grace, I'll stand my ground, 'Cause hard times can't keep a good heart down. **Verse 2:** The factory's closed, the jobs are gone, Folks are feeling forgotten, but we've got to carry on. The bank's calling, the bills are due, But I've got faith, and I'll see it through. **Chorus:** But I'll keep on fighting through the storm and the strife, Hard times may bend me, but they won't take my life. With grit and with grace, I'll stand my ground, 'Cause hard times can't keep a good heart down. **Bridge:** When the night feels endless, and hope seems lost, I look to the stars, no matter the cost. The dawn is coming, it's just out of sight, I'll hold on till morning, through the darkest night. **Chorus:** But I'll keep on fighting through the storm and the strife, Hard times may bend me, but they won't take my life. With grit and with grace, I'll stand my ground, 'Cause hard times can't keep a good heart down. **Outro:** So here's to the fighters, the dreamers, the brave, To those who find strength, even when they're afraid. We'll weather these hard times, we won't back down, Together we'll rise, 'cause we're homeward bound.

Like I said, I had a rough upbringing. A little kindness from a stranger goes a long way.

Ones you consider true, May also ditch you; And ones who are rough, May save when it is tough; So, to form opinions, Never be in a rush; Take time, And ruminate enough.

That swindler, he tricked my ma and got away with it too. But he didn’t even slow her down. It’s good to cry a bit,’cause that helps us get through the rough parts. And the winter is tough, there’s no doubt. But we just hang on until spring when that ache will be all but swallowed up.

I know you think of yourself as Mr. Rough-and-Tough-Buff-and-Stuff, but Bob’s your chicken. You need to be more considerate of his feelings.” Otis hunched shoulders and crossed his arms. “Bah.

Center of Southern Politics and Society found that, even though sexism was more common in white Republican men, “roughly 11 million white male Independents and Democrats feel enough animosity towards working women and feminists to make them unlikely to vote for one of them.”55 In the end, 12 percent of Sanders supporters ended up supporting Trump in the general election. When surveyed, almost half of those Sanders supporters turned Trump voters said they disagreed that white people have advantages in the United States, whereas only about 5 percent of Clinton voters disagreed that white people have advantages.56 Defection after a tough primary isn’t unusual. In the 2008 election, 15 percent of Clinton primary voters ended up voting for McCain in the general election, and many remember the racial tensions in that primary almost as vividly as they do the ones from the 2016 election.57 But the combination of the charged rhetoric of the 2016 election, the blatant sexism, ableism, and white supremacy of the Trump campaign, and the large policy differences between Trump and Sanders led many to expect that the number of voters who were willing to cross over to support the Republican candidate would be much lower than it had been in the 2008 election.

The female of this species can be roughly divided into two types: indoors and outdoors. Both are utterly terrifying. Neither generally wears pantalon rouge, but there is unquestionably a uniform. I’m not sufficiently au fait with it to know who makes it, but they must have made a fortune out of it as it appears to be a mandatory sartorial requirement. It’s a sort of green tartan waistcoat, made from the hardiest of tweed. It looks like the sort of thing that’s tough enough to drag through a hedge backwards without damaging a single stitch. It is invariably accompanied by a waxed jacket (Barbour). The outdoor female pantalon rouge wears, without exception, trousers that she has almost certainly knitted herself with the wool from the pelt of a long extinct species of mammal which has been hanging on the wall of her ancestral home for several hundred years; they are sufficiently coarse that they could comfortably exfoliate a rhinoceros. Every item of her clothing is of a colour that might have been designed with no other purpose than to disguise mud, a material of which she maintains a permanent film.

During times when the terrain is rough, ugly is pretty.

My training is unconventional, it is tough and brutal. There will be days when you will not be able to stand the sight of me. It is intense and exhausting. I am not here to be your friend, I am not here to pat your back when times get rough, I am not here to coddle you. I am here to be your coach and help get you to the next level. I come from Russia with some of the strictest coaching around. I have learned from the best, and just because you are your father's daughter does not mean I will go easy on you.

[Verse] I got the blues settin' in Life dealt a hand real tough But I'll face the day my friend Even when it feels real rough [Verse 2] Storm and strife all around Hard times knockin' at my door But they won't steal my ground I'll fight them More and more [Chorus] It's okay Not to be okay To feel lost in the light I'll find my way someday Through the dark of the night [Verse 3] Resilience is my chosen path Challenges I won't lose Even when they bring the wrath I bend I don't break I choose [Bridge] Though the road feels long And the night feels cold I know where I belong With a heart that's bold [Verse 4] Standin' tall through the pain When life turns out to be cruel I dance in the rain Bend Not break That's my rule

Hope Keeps Us Going September 21, 2024 at 8:13 AM Verse 1: In this small town, where the sunsets glow, Dreams are planted in the fields we know. Life gets tough, but we find our way, With hope in our hearts, we face each day. Chorus: Hope’s the spark that pulls you forward, The fire that keeps you going strong. Everyone must dream, to give ourselves hope, To stop dreaming, well, that’s like saying You can never change your future, oh no. Verse 2: Underneath the stars, by the fire’s light, We share our dreams, deep into the night. With family and love, we stand so tall, Through the highs and lows, we give it our all. Chorus: Hope’s the spark that pulls you forward, The fire that keeps you going strong. Everyone must dream, to give ourselves hope, To stop dreaming, well, that’s like saying You can never change your future, oh no. Bridge: When the road gets rough and the nights are long, Remember why we dream, and keep holding on. With every sunrise, a new chance to see, The future’s bright, just believe in me. Chorus: Hope’s the spark that pulls you forward, The fire that keeps you going strong. Everyone must dream, to give ourselves hope, To stop dreaming, well, that’s like saying You can never change your future, oh no. Outro: So let’s keep dreaming, with hope in our hearts, Together we’ll make it, no matter how far. With love and resilience, we’ll find our way, Hope keeps us going, day by day.

In the beginning, sure, it must have been rough. All of the plant life was pure poison to human metabolisms and had to be cleared away so edible crops could be grown. The native fauna was just as poisonous, with teeth and claws to match. It was tough. So tough that ordinary cows and sheep had a shockingly short life expectancy. Selective

He made an immediate impression, biker tough. The men admired him. A sexual rush made women blush. He was a turn-on. There was a wildness to Jake that unsettled the ladies. A roughness that dared them to domesticate him. Other guys were equally tall, broad shouldered, and muscled. It was Jake's face that set him apart. Angular and strong boned. Alpha and masculine. His sharp gaze undressed and penetrated a woman's deepest thoughts. His cheekbones slashed to a single dimple, unshaved jaw. Wicked grin. His mouth promised midnight arousal and morning satisfaction.

With God on Our Side August 13, 2024 at 7:30 AM [Verse] This country’s going to hell, it's plain to see, So let's put God back where He should be. We, the people, must take a stand, Together we're strong, hand in hand. [Verse 2] Out here in the country, where life is tough, With calloused hands, we know how to be rough. We'll take back this land, through toil and fight, With faith in our hearts, we'll set things right. [Chorus] Proud Americans, leading the way, We won't back down, come what may. Standin' up for what's ours, with God on our side, For our country, we'll rise, never backslide. [Verse 3] Through fields of golden grain, where freedom grows, In small-town squares, where everyone knows, We'll stand united, let our voices be heard, Living by truth, not just by word. [Verse 4] In every church bell's toll, in every prayer, Our spirit's strong, we'll show we care. No room for compromise, we'll hold the line, For faith and country, through the test of time. [Chorus] Proud Americans, leading the way, We won't back down, come what may. Standin' up for what's ours, with God on our side, For our country, we'll rise, never backslide.

It was a tough night," Marcus said briefly, another humorless smile crossing his mouth. "But they got what they paid for." "Jesus," Thomas murmured. Marcus slanted a glance at him, and his green eyes were hard, brittle. "Don't think about it, pet. I don't. No one who lives it dwells on this fucking stuff. You just thank God or your own balls for getting yourself through it, pulling yourself up into something better. The day I see pity in your face, I want your fucking ass out of my life.

May 1915. The Australians, who were about to go into action for the first time in trying circumstances, were cheerful, quiet and confident. There was no sign of nerves nor of excitement. As the moon waned, the boats were swung out, the Australians received their last instructions, and men who six months ago had been living peaceful civilian lives had begun to disembark on a strange and unknown shore in a strange land to attack an enemy of a different race. The boats had almost reached the beach, when a party of Turks, entrenched ashore, opened a terrible fusillade with rifles and a Maxim. Fortunately, the majority of the bullets went high. The Australians rose to the occasion. Not waiting for orders, or for the boats to reach the shore, they sprang into the sea, and, forming a sort of rough line, rushed at the enemy’s trenches. Their magazines were not charged, so they just went in with cold steel. It was over in a minute. The Turks in the first trench were either bayoneted or they ran away, and their Maxim was captured. Then the Australians found themselves facing an almost perpendicular cliff of loose sandstone, covered with thick shrubbery. Somewhere, half-way up, the enemy had a second trench, strongly held, from which they poured a terrible fire on the troops below and the boats pulling back to the destroyers for the second landing party. Here was a tough proposition to tackle in the darkness, but those colonials, practical above all else, went about it in a practical way. They stopped for a few minutes to pull themselves together, got rid of their packs, and charged their magazines. Then this race of athletes proceeded to scale the cliffs without responding to the enemy’s fire. They lost some men, but did not worry. In less than a quarter of an hour the Turks were out of their second position, either bayoneted or fleeing. But then the Australasians, whose blood was up, instead of entrenching, rushed northwards and eastwards, searching for fresh enemies to bayonet. It was difficult country to entrench. Therefore they preferred to advance.

You’re tough enough to take it.” “Everything.” Every rough, raw part of him, head to toe. Body and soul.

Ask me if I’m serious.” He let out a sigh, shook his head, and then looked at me. “You serious, Peeb?” I grinned. “Yep. Now, remember that face. That was my serious face.” “Be a tough one to forget. Looks like all the rest.” I tried to formulate a scowl, but ended up grinning in the process. He laughed. “You ready, Mr. Serious?” “Born ready, Boss.” He

Let’s have a bet, then. If I’m right, you kiss me,” he says. “And if I’m right?” “Name it.” It’s like taking candy from a baby. Mr. Macho Guy’s ego is about to be taken down a notch, and I’m all too happy to be the one to do it. “If I win you take me and the class project seriously,” I tell him. “No teasing me, no making ridiculous comments.” “Deal. I’d feel terrible if I didn’t tell you I have a photographic memory.” “Alex, I’d feel terrible if I didn’t tell you I copied the info straight from the book.” I look at the research I’d done, then flip open to the corresponding page in my chem book. “Without looking, what does it need to be cooled at?” I ask. Alex is a guy who thrives on challenges. But this time the tough guy is going to lose. He closes his own book and stares at me, his jaw set. “Twenty degrees. And it needs to be dissolved at one hundred degrees, not seventy,” he answers confidently. I scan the page, then my notes. Then back at the page again. I can’t be wrong. Which page did I--“Oh, yeah. One hundred degrees.” I look up at him in complete shock. “You’re right.” “You gonna kiss me now, or later?” “Right now,” I say, which I can tell shocks him because his hands go still. At home, my life is dictated by my mom and dad. At school, it’s different. I need to keep it that way, because if I have no control in every aspect of my life I might as well be a mannequin. “Really?” he asks. “Yeah.” I take one of his hands in mine. I’d never be this bold if we had an audience, and am thankful for the privacy of the nonfiction titles surrounding us. His breathing slows as I sit up on my knees and lean into him. I’m ignoring the fact that his fingers are long and rough and that I’ve never actually touched him before. I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be, though. I’m the one in control this time. I can feel him restraining himself. He’s letting me make the move, which is a good thing. I’m afraid of what this boy would do if he let loose. I place his hand against my cheek so it cups my face and I hear him groan. I want to smile because his reaction proves I have the power. He’s unmoving as our eyes meet. Time stops again. Then I turn my head into his hand and kiss the inside of his palm. “There, I kissed you,” I say, giving him back his hand and ending the game. Mr. Latino with the big ego got bested by a ditzy, blond bimbo.

Rishikesh is one of the most wanted places for adventure lovers. Rishikesh is also well-known among Hindus for its pilgrimage. The free of charge graceful river and also Substring Mountains make this place beautiful for travelers. It is really one of the best locations for people wanting onward to get tons of adventure, and fun. It's also a precious knowledge for nature lovers. The major fair activity in Rishikesh is White Water Rafting. It has grown to a well-liked and daring spot for white water rafting enthusiast as the place offers an impressive experience of average to very tough and rough rapids in the region of River Ganges. Uttarakhand adventure is well known rafting company in Rishikesh. Many adventurous tourists both from India and overseas stay this place to experience the real challenge of white water rafting. All services for white water rafting Rishikesh is available here, and there are preparation guides for rafting from whom a tourist can take help in this sport. River rafting in Rishikesh is one of the majority popular sport activities because of free flowing rivers from Himalayas. Rafting, camping, trekking, and Rock Climbing, Bungee jumping is some of the sports education that a traveler can consider. We are best rafting company in Rishikesh. Important and Helpful Information and Rafting Safety Tips for All Rafting Users • Important Equipments Shell Be take for River Rafting and Camping • Sunglasses and water glasses with retaining cord, Battery Torch • Swimming costume and quick drying shorts for river • Odomos, Antiseptic Cream and Sunscreen Lotion, First Aid Box • Only Use River Sandals & old Sneakers , no flip flops • River Rafting Guide & Splash life jackets. • Other required safety accessories • Waterproof disposable camera with Extra Battery (Full Battery Charge). • Mobile Phone with Extra Mobile Batteries (Electricity may be off) • We provide River Rafting Gears & Assistance • Helmets & river rafting gears • Trekking Shoes

Looking at him like he’d grown another head, she raised her hands up as she asked, “Don’t you have some other girl you want to harass? Maybe a girl who would actually appreciate it?” “Nope. You are the only girl I want to harass.” Which was the truth. Since he’d met Deanna, no other woman had existed for him. If he wasn’t with her, he was thinking about her. When he was with her, he wanted to stay with her, get to know her—and not only in the biblical sense, but that was definitely on top of his list. More attendees started filing out of the double doors, and Deanna’s head fell back as she let out a small groan. She might not have meant for the gesture to be or sound sexual, but that’s exactly what it’d been. He wanted to lean forward and press his lips to the soft skin on her neck, slide his hands up her dress and find out if she was wearing lace panties, silk panties, or no panties… “You win.You can drive me home.” She sounded anything but happy at her acquiescence, but Lucky was happy…Very happy. Well, this night had gone from bad, to worse, to horrible, to just plain humiliating. As Lucky opened the passenger side door to his SUV and held her hand while she got in, she immediately sent up a silent prayer that he didn’t notice the way a shiver ran up her arm from the touch of his large, rough hands. Deanna took a deep breath and pushed down the frustration and panic that was battling inside of her for top billing. Once he shut the door, she tugged her skirt down. When he got in, the entire left side of her body broke out in goosebumps from the intense stare he directed at her, but she kept her eyes trained ahead, looking out the windshield. She sat with her jaw set, her hands folded in her lap, and her back straight, hoping to convey that she just wanted to go home. “You’re quiet,” Lucky observed as they drove out of the parking lot. Proving his point, Deanna continued focusing out the window, at the moonlight dancing off the river. She knew she was being rude. She was a little too emotional and didn’t trust herself to speak. Especially considering the six glasses of wine she’d had this evening. Loose lips sank ships, and alcohol made her one Chatty Cathy capable of taking down an armada of ocean liners. “How was your evening tonight, Lucky?” he asked himself before answering his own question. “Oh, it was great, actually. Thanks for asking.” Deanna bit her lips to keep from smiling. She should’ve been annoyed at his adolescent behavior, and if it were any other guy, she was sure she would’ve been. But this was Lucky. And, whether she liked it or not (which, for the record, she didn’t), what should’ve been annoying or irritating on him always landed in the charming and amusing columns. “Of course!” he replied enthusiastically, still talking to himself. “I’m so glad you had a good time! What was the highlight of your evening, if you don’t mind me asking?” If he kept going, she was going to start cracking up, so she worked to maintain her composure. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Which she was fully aware made her behavior even more adolescent than his. She was being ridiculous. Still, trying to disguise her amusement, Deanna sighed. “Fine. You win again. What do you want to talk about?” Lucky shook his head as he clicked his tongue. “Sorry, Pop-Tart. You had your chance.” Pop-Tart? Had he seriously just called her Pop-Tart!? Before she was able to form an appropriately indignant response, he continued the conversation he was having with himself. “Wow. Highlight of my evening…” He hissed through his teeth. “That’s a tough one. I’m going to have to go with the dance that I had with this smokin’-hot brunette.” Her cheeks burned at his description. Then she tried to remind herself that he was joking around, but the message got to her head and, she feared, her heart too late.

Rough makes us tough.

So that Chicago, with shipping and steel and livestock, came to think of itself as a burly city, tough and muscular, with rough-and-tumble football and politics and literature. Today of course we are a city of offices and whirring computers and financial shenanigans, but our founding myths remain. I would guess not one in ten Chicagoans has ever seen a real fight where the antagonists are trying to slice each other’s throats, but we airily say we are a tough city, nor have they seen a pig or a soybean plant, but we proudly say we characterize and epitomize the rural values of middle America.