Runaway Train Quotes

(Lucy to Isabeau)" “Cool.” She tilted her head. “You don’t look crazy.” “You’re like a runaway train,” Logan groaned at her. “Can’t you shut her up?” he asked his brother pleadingly. “How?” Nicholas said somewhat helplessly. “Kiss her, you idiot.

Just remember that forgiveness is so much easier than regret.

Well, I’ve only managed to do the drummer and the bassist so far, but I’m thinking I could get a threesome going and knock out the others. Maybe I’ll gangbang with the roadies when we stop for dinner!

For every tear you shed for someone else’s grief, it takes one off of their suffering.

But this is inaccurate. A runaway train is an accident. Me, I'll jump in front of the tracks. I'll even tie myself down in front of the speeding engine. There's some illogical part of me hat still believes if you want Superman to show up, first there's got to be someone worth saving.

As a self-respecting dude, I'd never believed in fairy tales, but in that moment, I did. I'd found my angel to live happily-ever-after with.

I know all about the missionary position, Angel. In fact, I believe I was trying to acquaint you with it earlier when you cock blocked me.

You make me think things... feel things I never have before .

You know how much I love you , Jacob? As High as the Sky , Mama! That's right, sweet boy

He Apologized and he's watching Tangled. I think Abby brainwashed him while we were gone,

Well, believe it Angel because it's the truth. You're all I want or need at the moment.

I've fallen for you, Jake.

You can stop a raging forest fire, a herd of stampeding buffalo or even a runaway freight train, but you can’t stop a good man".

Can I spoon you?” My eyebrows shot up. “Can you what?” The shadow of a smile fluttered on Jake’s lips. “You really don’t know what that is, do you?” An embarrassed flush filled my cheeks as I ducked my head. “No,” I murmured. Jake’s finger came under my chin and tipped my head up to look at him. “It’s okay. I’ll show you.

You're impossible" "And you're everything I could ever want.

When I started to my roost, Jake grabbed my arm, pulling me against him. “Sleep with me,” he whispered in my ear. I jerked away, ready to launch into a tirade for him playing on my emotions to put the moves on me when the tormented expression on his face stopped me cold. He stared pleadingly into my eyes. “I’m still so fucking scared, Angel. I need someone just to hold tonight so I won’t be alone.

We all have our pasts and baggage, Mimi. It’s our decision whether they fuck with our future.

Fate has a funny way of intervening in people’s lives.

Thank you—for all your compliments about the general badassery of my family’s DNA.

This man was different from all others; he was forbidden fruit, the outsider. Her mother had trained her well, but she had never told her what to do if a man set her heart to throbbing like the hooves of a runaway horse.

I barely know how to be with someone when I’m whole. How the hell am I supposed to be with you when I’m so fucking broken?

It was the way your sweet, soft hands wiped away my tears, and the way your body just curved into mine when you let me hold you. It all made me feel, for just an instant, that everything really was going to be all right. No one has ever comforted me like that…except my mom.” What the fuck? Did I just say all that out loud? I shook my head furiously from side to side as the room started spinning me like a Tilt-a-Whirl at the county fair back home. Abby grabbed my shoulders to steady me. I blinked my eyes trying to focus on her blurry, but beautiful image. “Most of all, it’s that I want someone like you to want me—just for me, not for Jake Slater the singer of Runaway Train.” I smacked my hand hard against my chest. “For what’s really inside me.

Oh God, we’ve become the dudes we used to make fun of, haven’t we?

He was going to miss everything. But he guessed that was how everybody always felt. Everyone was losing things, leaving things behind, clinging to old memories as they rushed into the future. Everyone was a passenger on a runaway train.

I didn't see it happening, but the wheels were falling off of me. I didn't care about responsibilities like paying rent, I was just on a runaway train ride. The horribly ironic cosmic trick of drug addiction is that drugs are a lot of fun when you first start using them, but by the time the consequences manifest themselves, you're no longer in a position to say, 'Whoa, gotta stop that.' You've lost that ability, and you've created this pattern of conditioning and reinforcement. It's never something for nothing when drugs are involved.

Music is the literature of the heart; it commences where speech ends.” ~Alphonse de Lamartine

He knows what will upset me before it even happens and like a superhero, bends the track of the runaway train before it strikes.

You're riding a runaway train into a tunnel that leads into a station where there's a welcome-home party from all your worst nightmares

They don’t know I only speak in runaway train stations and everybody is always a few minutes too late to the platform. No one has ever gotten the chance to get too close because it is never romantic to fuck the girl who makes love to her own sadness every single night.

Frozen, I stood staring at him like he was a vision or something. His hair was still damp, and a few droplets glistened on his face. When he caught me, warmth burned across my cheeks. “Were you just ogling me, Angel?” “No, I wasn’t.” He chuckled. “I think you were.” I whirled around and swept my hands to my hips. “Fine I was ogling you. Happy now?” “Actually I am. I like it when you look at me like you want me. Like you think I’m… handsome.” My brows rose in surprise. “Handsome? That doesn’t sound like the way you would describe yourself.” With a grin, he asked, “And just how would I describe myself?” “Hmm, sexy, hot as hell, and panty melting?” I challenged as I handed him a Coke. “Yeah, you’re right. Those really describe me better.

Never let anyone pull at your heart strings unless they plan on permanently tying them to their own—Anonymous

When you fell into my life, I was shattered beyond repair. But as the shining angel of redemption, you didn’t seem to care. While the tempest swirled around me, you led me to solid ground. You’re the purest, deepest love a man like me has ever found. There is a fire that burns within me that only you can ignite. You’re the light that fills my soul in the darkest, bleakest night. You’re the balm that cures the wound; the lifeline in the storm. You are the song of my heart, the music of my soul.

You a fan of the show?” AJ asked. “Oh, yeah, I adored it—well, until the whole sixth season and Billith.” AJ snickered. “I couldn’t agree more. I used to be pretty much obsessed with it, but yeah, I couldn’t get it up for the last two seasons. Now I’m more a Walking Dead and Sons of Anarchy fan myself.

Summers there are awful! Winters there are awful! Why do you stay? You ought to run away! Hop a train! Stow away on a bus! What am I saying? You could just buy yourself a ticket. It would be interesting to talk to you if you did it the other way, though. We could compare scars and bruises. It might be fun.

It doesn't matter why I hesitated... because it doesn't change the fact I was like a runaway train that was out of control. And this had led me to this moment. I don't have any intention of seeking forgiveness for my sins. You are the only one who can stop me. So I think that maybe I was waiting for someone to stop me in my tracks.

Everyone was losing things, leaving things behind, clinging to old memories as they rushed into the future. Everyone was a passenger on a runaway train. It was true that Zen would be going farther than most. But at least he didn’t

A runaway train, packed with passengers is about to crash. You can save all the passengers by switching the train to another track, but if you do that, one innocent person will die. Is it right to sacrifice one to save the lives of many?

But you gave me the melody I never knew I had.” He took my hand in his and brought it to his chest. “The melody straight from my heart.

This is where the runaway train started down the track. I was inside the dining car enjoying a plate of cookies or something. I didn't feel it then. But the train had been boarded on Saturday night when we drank the bat. And this was the beginning of its journey. Right here.

I may walk you down that aisle and consent for Jake to marry you, but I’ll never fully give you away. You’ll always be my little girl.” His hand came to his chest. “You’ll forever remain right in my heart, Abigail.

Do I have a code name? II'm pretty sure I get a code name. I'd like to choose it." His fingers fall from my elbow. A pity. "Yes," he says. "As a matter of fact, you do have a code name." "I knew it!" My twirl is the glee-filled kind. "What is it? Sidewinder or Lightning or maybe Pegasus?" "We were calling you Butterfly." Huh. "That's nice, I guess." A little soft, but okay. "Then, the tabloids gave you the moniker. The Lost Butterfly, so we had to change it." I perk up. "I suggested it," he baits. "What did you suggest?" I look up at Akio with stars in my eyes. The possibilities are endless---Sunshine, Moonflower, Cherry Blossom. My thoughts are a runaway train. Maybe he likes me. Maybe he's not as mean as he seems. Maybe I've terribly misjudged him and this is just a rocky start to a friendship that turns to love that will last the ages. Our affair will inspire folksy campfire ballads. It's the first time I see Akio smile. It's part evil, part satisfied, as if he's just won a bet with himself. "Radish.

I've decided this is all your fault, Ms. Leone. I've run away before, you know, but stowed away or jumped trains or broke into buildings, I just ran away and got caught. But I think all that stuff you told us about the Underground Railroad got lodged in my subconscious, and somewhere inside it gave me the strength or courage or insanity to really get away. So see? This is all your fault.

You," Seven pronounced, "are a train wreck of sexual history." But this is inaccurate. A runaway train is an accident. Me, I'll jump in front of the tracks. I'll even tie myself down in front of the speeding engine. There's some illogical part of me that still believes if you want Superman to show up, first there's got to be someone worth saving.

The root of all sin is found in the runaway indulgence of God-given desires.

So in the future when there are times you want to strangle Jacob or he’s tested your love, just remember that forgiveness is so much easier than regret.

Do you know there’s an old saying that for every tear you shed for someone else’s grief, it takes one off of their suffering?

It is like trying to stop a runaway train with one hand tied behind my back.

Now we’re riding a runaway train that’s carrying us all away to that final night where nothing is remembered and nothing matters.

I clenched my jaw with determination. “It won’t work, Angel. I have to sing about love, relationships, and sex. You know, bullshit like that. A song about my fucking heart being ripped to shreds because my mother is dying isn’t going to make an album, least of all a single.

A certain song can mean the difference between life and death for someone who is depressed and suicidal. Music can inspire and give hope. It can show adulation and worship and praise love and people.

You really have the nerve to stand there and ask me that?” When he didn’t respond, I practically growled as I took a step towards him. “You blow so hot and cold with me that I’m not sure which way is up. It’s a wonder I don’t need a chiropractor from your emotional whiplash. One minute you’re telling me you want a girl like me to be interested in you and the next you’re coyly asking how I feel about Garrett.” Finally toe to toe, I glared up at him. “You’re really good at charming the panties off girls at ten paces, but you can’t even tell a girl how you really feel when she’s up close and personal!

As I bounced her on my knee, AJ undid the first three buttons on his shirt and ripped off his tie. "I'm ready to dance." "You've been dancing the entire time we haven't been on stage." I replied. "No, I mean I really want to dance." "Ugh," I groaned. "You mean that mexican shit.

As the German philosopher Walter Benjamin wrote, revolution is not a runaway train; it is the application of the emergency brake. It is capitalism which is out of control, driven as it is by the anarchy of market forces, and socialism which attempts to reassert some collective mastery over this rampaging beast.

If I’m going to ride this out and stay alive, then I’m king high ballbuster. I took on God and almost did the old man in. A few grumpy horns and hoofs types and a petting zoo full of rabid Pokemons? I’m Satan. I can deal that and play “Smoke on the Water” while getting a lap dance on a runaway train all at the same time.

Sometimes you’re just too close to a situation to truly see things the way they should be

And I get lost in your eyes and thrilled at your touch. Nights like these were made for love.

Oh Jake, my love for you doesn’t stop just because there’s a rough patch in the road, or I don’t get what I want.

Belief and reader absorption come in the details: An overturned tricycle in the gutter of an abandoned neighborhood can stand for everything. - Stephen King

Yeah, sorry. I lost my train of thought there for a second.” Now it’s his turn to bite down on his bottom lip, his cheeks pinching up in a knowing smirk. “Yeah, that train was a runaway all right.

Elizabeth didn’t know what was more shocking: the little man’s language or the intensity with which Calvin reacted to that language. Within moments of hearing the words “you fucking machine” and “sons of bitches,” Calvin’s face took on a crazed look usually not seen outside of low-budget zombie films. He pulled harder and faster, his exhales so loud, he sounded like a runaway train, and yet the little man was not satisfied; he kept yelling at Calvin, demanding more and getting more as he counted down the strokes like an angry stopwatch: Twenty! Fifteen! Ten! Five! And then the count evaporated and all that was left were two simple words that Elizabeth couldn’t agree with more. “Way enough,” the coxswain said. Upon which Calvin slumped heavily forward as if he’d been shot in the back.

My grandfather was a railroad brakeman, sixty years with the D&H. I'd sit on his lap when I was little, I remember, at the upstairs apartment on Watkins Avenue in Oneonta overlooking the tracks, and we'd look out at the yard together and watch the trains hooking up, and he'd pull his gold watch out of his vest pocket and squint at the dial, a gold pocket watch, and the bulging surface of the watch case was all scritch-scratched, etched with tiny soft lines, hundreds of tiny scratches, interlaced. And then he'd check the yard, my Grandpa, to see if the trains were running on time. In those days there was a rhythm to everything, there was an order to things, but now we're riding a runaway train that's carrying us all away to that final night where nothing is remembered and nothing matters.

I lay there and I thought of what that teacher said, and of all the things I’d been: child, rebellious teenager, runaway, whore, lover, bad mother, bad wife. I’m not sure if I can remake myself as a good wife, but a good mother—that I have to try.

all this important stuff has *no one in charge of it.* Some people claim to be, but they're in charge of one tiny piece of it, and maybe they think *their* piece is a brake or a steering wheel, but they're wrong. The world's economy is a runaway train, the driver dead at the switch, the passengers clinging on for dear life as their possessions go flying off the freight-cars and out the windows, and each curve in the tracks threatens to take it off the rails altogether. There's a small number of people in the back of the train who fiercely argue about when it will go off the rails, and whether the train can be slowed down by everyone just calming down and acting as though everything was all right. These people are the economists, and some of the first-class passengers pay them very well for their predictions about whether the train is doing all right and which side of the car they should lean into to prevent their hats from falling off on the next corner. Everyone else ignores them.

Bad habits are autocatalytic: the process feeds itself. They foster the feelings they try to numb. You feel bad, so you eat junk food. Because you eat junk food, you feel bad. Watching television makes you feel sluggish, so you watch more television because you don’t have the energy to do anything else. Worrying about your health makes you feel anxious, which causes you to smoke to ease your anxiety, which makes your health even worse and soon you’re feeling more anxious. It’s a downward spiral, a runaway train of bad habits.

But everything slipped through his fingers sooner or later, and with time he began to wonder whether it was circumstance that denied him a good hold on his earnings, or whether he simply didn’t care enough to keep what he had. The train of thought, once begun, was a runaway. Everywhere, in the wreckage around him, he found evidence to support the same bitter thesis: that he had encountered nothing in his life—no person, no state of mind or body—he wanted sufficiently to suffer even passing discomfort for. A downward spiral began. He spent three months in a wash of depression and self pity that bordered on the suicidal. But even that solution was denied him by his newfound nihilism. If nothing was worth living for it followed, didn’t it, that there was nothing worth dying for either.

when Shin needed special-effects scale models to achieve a shot of an exploding train for the climax of Runaway, he asked, tongue-in-cheek, whether Kim wouldn’t just give him instead a real train to blow up. To his surprise, an actual, functioning train was delivered to the set, loaded to the brim with explosives. Shin had only one take to get it right, but that was a lovely problem to have. Runaway’s final train explosion became one of North Korean cinema’s iconic images.

On the third day after all hell broke loose, I come upstairs to the apartment, finished with my shift and so looking forward to a hot shower. Well, lukewarm—but I’ll pretend it’s hot. But when I pass Ellie’s room, I hear cursing—Linda Blair-Exorcist-head-spinning-around kind of cursing. I push open her door and spot my sister at her little desk, yelling at her laptop. Even Bosco barks from the bed. “What’s going on?” I ask. “I just came up but Marty’s down there on his own—he won’t last longer than ten minutes.” “I know, I know.” She waves her hand. “I’m in a flame war with a toxic bitch on Twitter. Let me just huff and puff and burn her motherfucking house down…and then I’ll go sell some coffee.” “What happened?” I ask sarcastically. “Did she insult your makeup video?” Ellie sighs, long and tortured. “That’s Instagram, Liv—I seriously think you were born in the wrong century. And anyway, she didn’t insult me—she insulted you.” Her words pour over me like the ice-bucket challenge. “Me? I have like two followers on Twitter.” Ellie finishes typing. “Boo-ya. Take that, skank-a-licious!” Then she turns slowly my way. “You haven’t been online lately, have you?” This isn’t going to end well, I know it. My stomach knows it too—it whines and grumbles. “Ah, no?” Ellie nods and stands, gesturing to her computer. “You might want to check it out. Or not—ignorance is bliss, after all. If you do decide to take a peek, you might want to have some grain alcohol nearby.” Then she pats my shoulder and heads downstairs, her blond ponytail swaying behind her. I glance at the screen and my breath comes in quick, semi-panicked bursts and my blood rushes like a runaway train in my veins. I’ve never been in a fight, not in my whole life. The closest I came was sophomore year in high school, when Kimberly Willis told everyone she was going to kick the crap out of me. So I told my gym teacher, Coach Brewster—a giant lumberjack of a man—that I got my period unexpectedly and had to go home. He spent the rest of the school year avoiding eye contact with me. But it worked—by the next day, Kimberly found out Tara Hoffman was the one talking shit about her and kicked the crap out of her instead

But everything slipped through his fingers sooner or later, and with time he began to wonder whether it was circumstance that denied him a good hold on his earnings, or whether he simply didn’t care enough to keep what he had. The train of thought, once begun, was a runaway. Everywhere, in the wreckage around him, he found evidence to support the same bitter thesis: that he had encountered nothing in his life—no person, no state of mind or body—he wanted sufficiently to suffer even passing discomfort for. A downward spiral began. He spent three months in a wash of depression and self pity that bordered on the suicidal. But even that solution was denied him by his newfound nihilism. If nothing was worth living for it followed, didn’t it, that there was nothing worth dying for either.

At times, we want to "feel" God. The truth is, we won't always have happy emotions. We won't always feel like loving. We won't always feel like pressing forward but, we can move into our daily journey by remembering that "Be sure of this : I am with you always, even to the end of the age" - (Matthew 28:20 NLT) In those moments where you feel empty or like you've driven miles away from God, we have to remember this powerful promise, " When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown" (Isaiah 43:2 NLT). So, you may feel frustrated with God because things aren't going your way and you may have fallen into depression. It's time for you to get back in the car and go back home to our King Jesus. All of your flesh is going to fight you to find something more comfortable but, you must learn to train your flesh to do what the Bible says to do in the midst of tests. Here are a few things that I did when I was fell into this trap.

Fleeing first, in November 1813, Presley represented the greatest blow, for a body servant was a master’s favorite and confidante: no one knew Jones better than Presley did. Presley, however, preferred to serve a Royal Navy captain. In 1815 a visitor to HMS Havannah recognized Presley, whom he praised as “uncommonly likely & trained as a House Servant.” The visitor noted that Presley had renamed himself “Washington,” evidently after the great revolutionary leader who had won liberty and independence for the Americans.3 As a black Washington, Presley returned to free his friends and family left behind. In October 1814, Presley guided a British raiding party to Kinsale, liberating the rest of the slaves and casting Jones out. Presley’s return represents a common pattern in the slave escapes during the war. Runaways tended to bolt in two stages: in the first, a pioneer runaway made initial contact with the British, and then in the second stage, he returned home to liberate kin and friends.

Days like that I feel that my mind is going 1,000,000 miles an hour, visions of the past, present, and future race through my mind. It races, like a train as if I was looking out the window of the car while it is speeding down the line. I am on a track that will never end.' 'I feel that I am going to derail from this runaway train that I am becoming. I cannot sleep at night, because of the fear inside me.' 'I feel restless, depressed, and loveless as well as not content with myself. I would have to say that my passion for life is gone; my imagination is the only thing that keeps me going.' 'I write the day's events that have gone by in my book of life of all the pastimes, while dreaming of what could have been in it, and besides what has not been in it.' 'If this does not stop, I am going to crack. I look into my mirror, and I do not see me, I see an impression of what I used to be.' 'I see my long brown hair that covers part of my face and covers my blue eyes of emotion. I see the cross around my neck that brings me confidence.' 'I hide behind a smile; I see the body in which nobody thinks is without drought flawless.' 'The bare body that is touched in all ways, yet I tried to hide behind my makeup. I gasp at my pale skin and the look of my body.' 'I am 95 pounds, really tiny; surely there is someone that would find me attractive?' 'I wonder if I can find someone who can think for themselves. I want someone who will love me, for who I am- and not what they want me to be.' 'Most importantly, I need someone that will not use me. Is that too much to ask for?' 'Fear!' 'Anxiety is something that I have inside, it is the source of the things which lead to distress. Not finding someone that loves me, for who I am, is some of my fears.' 'I fear the fact that I am most likely going to be alone forever. Another being that everyone that has meaning in my life is fading away from me it seems.' 'I fear not having a family by my side at all times. I have tears about the overwhelming struggle to rebuild my reputation, which has been destroyed.' 'I ask this question if I was to die tomorrow would anybody come to my wake, to see me lying there?' 'I fear what society has done to me. I fear that I have no trust in anyone or anything. I fear that my life has no meaning.' 'I fear that I will never get out of this hell.' 'I just want to start my life and get a degree in nursing someday from- 'The Conemaugh School of Nursing,' if I can make it through all of this. I do not think that is too much to ask for or is it?' 'I think that if I could be left alone, with the one that I want. I could have a life; you know what I am sure of it. I fear that the towering entity will never collapse, and the demons will keep playing in my head. I fear that I will never have a social ability, to be part of the nobility of compatibility.' 'I fear that the terror will never stop in these innocent lives like mine, and they will not be saved. I fear that nobody will ever see my creativity or recognize me for the good in which I do for others. I feel like I am the only one left in this world, that I call my life.' 'All the beauty in life has been dejected, and it is all ablaze around me. Yes, I fear to be in the outside realm of things.' 'I want to scream yet no one is going to hear it. I ask- am I becoming institutionalized?

Thanks to our discussion in the last chapter, we can also agree that character is a product of perseverance: “Suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope” (Rom. 5:3–4). I don’t know how that idea strikes you, but it sounds a little backward to me. I would expect that a person with character would find it easier to persevere through difficult circumstances. That makes sense. But how does perseverance produce character? When I look at the world around me, it seems to me that most things actually decay over time rather than grow stronger. The longer we live in our home, the more I see spots that need a paint touch-up. The longer I drive my car, the more I find I need to take it in for tune-ups and repairs. And the longer I live, the more I realize my body isn’t what it used to be! But maybe this process of perseverance leading to character works differently. Surely God is the X-factor. When you add God to the equation, persistence over time builds up character and strength instead of taking it away. Consider, if you will, the snowball. Left by itself, it doesn’t amount to much. It’s just a little round chunk of white frozen water. Yet place that snowball at the top of a steep hill on a snowy day, and things begin to change. If you invest some time rolling that snowball across the ground so it picks up snow and grows into a larger ball, you begin to create something big and heavy. If you invest even more time and energy (this is where perseverance comes in), you might get that ball rolling down the hill. And the longer it rolls, the faster it goes, the bigger it gets. Now you’ve got something powerful. This is a force to be reckoned with. This is when people start running for cover. Your little snowball suddenly becomes a runaway freight train! I believe that equation of suffering, which produces perseverance, which produces character, works in a similar fashion. Our willingness to trust and rely on the Lord in a time of trouble invites His power to work in our lives. The more we trust and depend on Him, the easier it becomes. As the Lord says, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matt. 11:30). Pretty soon our perseverance enables the Lord to add character to our “snowball”—and the more we persevere, the stronger we grow. We find ourselves rolling downhill toward a godly life. It still might be a bumpy ride, but the size and momentum of our snowball just about guarantees that as long as we are pursuing God’s will for our lives, nothing will stop us.

Everything going well in here?” Steve asked, stepping into the room to check their progress. “Moving like a runaway freight train,” Cassie assured him. “Then slow down. There’s no need to rush.” “Aye, aye, Captain,” she teased. He smiled and returned to the kitchen, where he was laying down linoleum with George. “Steve says that at the pace we’re

Glennon argues, in essence, that the national security state has become a runaway train and that presidential elections are contests that determine who gets to pretend he’s driving.

Any more pits?” “Plenty. An interesting one lies on the Bakerloo line. At the south end of the London depot there’s a junction. One line leads to Elephant and Castle, the other to a dead end and a runaway line for trains unable to stop. Behind the walls of this tunnel lies a plague pit.” Drake suppressed a shudder. “Think about that the next time you’re on the tube.” “Another exists at Green Park, discovered when they were building the Victoria Line. And more . . . so many more. Hayden, Drake, we can’t possibly cover every single one. Not by ourselves.

You a fan of the show?” AJ asked. “Oh, yeah, I adored it—well, until the whole sixth season and Billith.

When I opened my eyes, I had an entirely different attitude about meditation. I didn’t like it, per se, but I now respected it. This was not just some hippie time-passing technique, like Ultimate Frisbee or making God’s Eyes. It was a rigorous brain exercise: rep after rep of trying to tame the runaway train of the mind. The repeated attempt to bring the compulsive thought machine to heel was like holding a live fish in your hands. Wrestling your mind to the ground, repeatedly hauling your attention back to the breath in the face of the inner onslaught required genuine grit. This was a badass endeavor.

The Cave 91a DNA virus experiment was based on CRISPR technology. The plan was to evolve a virus that could spread easily and mostly harmlessly but be trained to kill a single person. For most, it would seem like the common flu. For the one unlucky person it was designed for, a runaway cytokine storm would brew in their lungs, the inflammation impossible to treat, until they drowned in lethal mucous.

Please call me Forest, okay?” he asked. Dink hugged his uncle. “How was the train ride?” Uncle Warren

I’m already convinced this guy could make me come like a runaway freight train, leaving me devastated and deliciously broken. I want that pleasure. I want the pain, too.

But instead, my father sat us down for an explanation of lesbianism.... ...I was mortified, and looked over at my girlfriend to see if this was all registering with her, but she was too busy daydreaming to notice the runaway train that was thundering thought the motel room. She hadn't spoken a single word to any of the adults so far on the trip, and even when she occasionally spoke to me, it was in such a eerily quiet tone that only a nine-year-old- girl or a dog could hear it. I'm pretty sure that Bob and Donna thought she was a deaf-mute, albeit one who could miraculously sense the vacuum seal breaking on a can of Pringles from a mile away. I was eager to let the whole thing go, when my friend asked casually, 'But what's munching the carpet got to do with anything?

listening to the sound of a bell Bells are used in many cultures around the world to help people come together, to create harmony within oneself and harmony with others. In many Asian countries, every family has at least one small bell in their home. You can use any kind of bell that makes a sound you enjoy. Use the sound of that bell as a reminder to breathe, to quiet your mind, to come home to your body, and to take care of yourself. In Buddhism, the sound of the bell is considered to be the voice of the Buddha. Stop talking. Stop thinking. Come back to your breathing. Listen with all your being. This way of listening allows peace and joy to penetrate every cell of your body. You listen not only with your ears, not only with your intellect; you invite all the cells in your body to join in listening to the bell. A bell doesn’t take up much space. You could surely find room on a table or a shelf somewhere, no matter where you live, even if you share a small room. Before you invite the bell to come home with you, you must make sure that the sound of the bell is good. The bell doesn’t need to be big, but the sound should be pleasant. Prepare yourself each time to listen and to receive the sound of the bell. Instead of “striking” the bell, “invite” the bell to sound. Look at the bell as a friend, an enlightened being that helps you wake up and come home to yourself. If you wish, you can set the bell on a small cushion—just like any other bodhisattva doing sitting meditation. As you listen to the bell, practice breathing in and releasing all the tension that’s built up, releasing the habit of your body, and especially your mind, to run. Although you may be sitting down, very often you are still running within. The bell is a welcome opportunity for you to go back to yourself, enjoy your in-breath and out-breath in such a way that you can release the tension and come to a full stop. The bell, and your response to it, helps stop the runaway train of thoughts and emotions racing through you all throughout the day and night. In the morning, before you go to work or before the children go to school, everyone can sit down together and enjoy breathing for three sounds of the bell. That way you begin your day with peace and joy. It’s nice to sit there, to breathe, either on your own or with your family, and look at a meaningful object in your home or a tree outside your window and smile. This can become a regular practice, a reliable refuge right there in your house or apartment. It doesn’t take a long time, and it’s richly rewarding. It is a very beautiful practice, the practice of peace, presence, and harmony in the home. breathing room Dedicate a room or a portion of a room for meditation.

I’ve wanted so much space that I created a fortress.

warrior at Valhalla! How did you get him?” Archie shrugged. “He saw me training and then offered to teach me. He believes in learning through pain and defeat.” He paused. “But I rock at sword fighting. Soon I might even beat you!” Freya smiled. When she first met Archie, he was being bullied and beaten at

Humanity had become a group of irresponsible children playing with matches, it was just a matter of time until someone started a fire. Earth had become a runaway train that everybody was imprisoned within; running towards a cliff that everyone could see, but nobody was hitting the brakes, despite all the warnings that some passengers were shouting.

As you know, here in the city of Los Angeles, we train our beautiful animals to hold a suspect in place by barking. Heaven help us she bites some shitbird unless he’s trying to kill you, coz our spaghetti-spined, unworthy city council is only too willing to pay liability blackmail to any shyster lawyer who oozes out a shitbirds ass….” “Your military patrol dog, however, is taught to hit her target like a run-away truck, and will take his un-American ass down like a bat out of hell on steroids. You put your military dog on a shitbird, she’ll rip him a new asshole, and eat his liver when it slides out. Dogs like our Maggie here are trained to mean business.

Even so, dozens of blacks did escape each year. They established rogue settlements in the mountains, where they grew crops, raised families, practiced their religions, and trained bands of swift and effective jungle warriors to raid the plantations, free slaves, and kill Englishmen. In their capital, Nanny Town, the runaways were said to be led by an ancient and powerful witch, Granny Nanny, who protected her warriors with magical spells.

Sartre’s puzzle has something in common with a famous thought experiment, the ‘trolley problem’. This proposes that you see a runaway train or trolley hurtling along a track to which, a little way ahead, five people are tied. If you do nothing, the five people will die — but you notice a lever which you might throw to divert the train to a sidetrack. If you do this, however, it will kill one person, who is tied to that part of the track and who would be safe if not for your action. So do you cause the death of this one person, or do you do nothing and allow five to die? (In a variant, the ‘fat man’ problem, you can only derail the train by throwing a hefty individual off a nearby bridge onto the track. This time you must physically lay hands on the person you are going to kill, which makes it a more visceral and difficult dilemma.) Sartre’s student’s decision could be seen as a ‘trolley problem’ type of decision, but made even more complicated by the fact that he could not be sure either that his going to England would actually help anyone, nor that leaving his mother would seriously harm her.

Your dog will determine the distance of these first runaways. Young pups may only be able to trail short distances where older dogs may cover 50 yards quickly. Just remember to keep it short enough for the dog not to lose interest, but long enough to see the dog’s head drop to the ground which tells you he is using its nose. Periodically try to place at least one turn in the Intensity trail so the dog doesn’t always think the find is going to be straight ahead. You will be able to tell the dog is becoming distracted or bored when you see him pausing or stopping to check or smell other things. If this occurs, quickly have the trail layer make a noise or motion to regain the focus. When the dog regains his focus, quickly give a verbal cue showing your approval. It is best to alert the trail layer to this possibility so they are prepared to react. Opal running a hound in Italy

If the Cassius relationship was a runaway train, Liv had just jumped off a bridge and landed squarely in the coal tender.

We were runaway trains set to collide on the same track.

As you get older, the sum of preferences you’ve accumulated is very, very large. These habitual reactions end up as runaway freight trains controlling your mood. We should control our own moods.

Still, I seem to be stuck on a runaway train, barreling down the track despite all warnings that I’m about to jump it and either crash into something horrific or end up in a no-man’s-land without a compass. My damned Highlander heart. I’m an Unseelie prince with Keltar chivalry in my blood that will never cease governing my actions so long as my heart beats. No woman, no person should ever have to live without choices, without control over their life.

Memory can be a fickle thing. We choose what we want to remember. So, forget everything else about today, and remember it as the day you made that mountain your bitch.

Runaways are the foundation for what air scent dogs do – it’s a chain of behavior we start with puppies from day one. In short, the handler holds the dog while another person runs away and hides a short distance away. The dog is released with a “go find” command, locates the subject, returns to the handler, and does a trained final response (TFR) such as a bark, jump, or tug to communicate that he has found a subject. “Show me!” shouts the handler, who then sprints after the dog, who has already whirled and is now dashing madly back to the lost person. Upon arrival, the dog’s favorite toy magically appears, a big party ensues, and the handler and training subject yip and yell to excite and reward the K9.

We are entering a new era of multiple frontier risks, including runaway technologies and complex geopolitical crises. To remain on the front foot, the world requires symbiotic foresight in public policy and highly trained multidisciplinary thinkers who can connect the dots using frameworks such as Neuro-Techno-Philosophy.

Hansen, pull up what you can on the Ukraine sightings and we’ll put together a plan. Everyone else take a break. We’re chasing a runaway train through Time and space – this could take a while.

Daddy's Little Girl [Verse] I remember when you took your first steps, Tiny shoes dancing in the soft spring grass, I was chasing dreams, didn't see the moments pass, Now all I have are these memories to confess. [Verse 2] Birthday candles lighting up your eyes, I was on the road while you cried your childish cries, Missed your laughter, your hugs, and all your highs, Each mile I traveled was another goodbye. [Chorus] I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me the most, I'm sorry I wasn't the father you needed me to be, But you'll always be daddy's little girl, No matter where life leads you, in my heart, you're free. [Verse 3] Years have flown by like a runaway train, Photographs can't capture all the joy and pain, I missed your proms, your fears, your growing pains, But you shined a light that helped me see again. [Verse 4] I see your face in every sunset's hue, Wishing I could turn back and stand beside you, Your forgiveness is a gift that pulls me through, You're the song I sing when the day is anew. [Chorus] I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me the most, I'm sorry I wasn't the father you needed me to be, But you'll always be daddy's little girl, No matter where life leads you, in my heart, you're free.

That’s it, Johnny Reb,” Caleb challenged. “Turn tail and run.” With a bellow Joss whirled and came at Caleb with all the restraint of a runaway freight train. His powerful fist caught Caleb squarely under the chin and sent him flying backwards into the grass, past his mother’s headstone. Blood trickled down Caleb’s chin, but he grinned at his brother as he got to his feet. “I’m still here, Joss,” he said. “And I’m not going anywhere until you sit down and talk with me like a sane man.” Joss’s thick chest heaved with the effort of his breathing. Sweat glistened on his face, and his hand was still knotted into a fist, but his eyes were wet. “Damn you,” he spat, and then he walked away. This

It’s not uncommon to feel like your life is a runaway train. It’s part of the human condition.