Shinee Key Quotes

Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the key-hole.

My dream isn’t to become the ‘best’; it’s to be someone who I’m not ashamed to be.

Self-esteem is the switch in the circuit of your life that dims or brightness of your future. Bring it low and you don't shine your light; raise it up and you brighten the corner where you are.

i. drive the scenic route. ii. take more self-care days. iii. sing, even if it’s off-key. iv. make time for your passions. v. let yourself feel joy. -don’t waste a single moment.

The path to self-discovery is not a straight line. It’s a zigzag. We move in and out of awareness: one step forward, three steps to the left, a baby step back, another leap forward. A lightbulb moment might shine brightly one day, but then flicker the next. It takes work to hold tightly to a certain consciousness, to live in its wisdom. Every day, I have to intentionally maintain an awareness of my value.

I plucked my soul out of its secret place, And held it to the mirror of my eye, To see it like a star against the sky, A twitching body quivering in space, A spark of passion shining on my face. And I explored it to determine why This awful key to my infinity Conspires to rob me of sweet joy and grace. And if the sign may not be fully read, If I can comprehend but not control, I need not gloom my days with futile dread, Because I see a part and not the whole. Contemplating the strange, I’m comforted By this narcotic thought: I know my soul.

No, none of these things are the key. When it comes right down to it, I know of only one factor that separates those who consistently shine from those who don't: The difference between average people and achieving people is their perception of and response to failure. Nothing else has the same kind of impact on people's ability to achieve and to accomplish whatever their minds and hearts desire.

But there’s still more I can do, other ways for me to grow and — as I keep relearning — it’s okay to own a desire for more. In fact, it’s how we honor those who have paved the way for our place at the table. “You don’t want modesty,” Maya Angelou once said, “you want humility. Humility comes from inside out. It says someone was here before me and I’m here because I’ve been paid for. I have something to do and I will do that because I’m paying for someone else who has yet to come.” When we dim our light we don’t do anyone a favor. It’s a disservice because when you’re in the presence of someone who knows his or her worth, like the extraordinary Maya did, you want to shine brighter. Self-honoring energy is contagious.

Some say freedom is a gift placed in our hands by our forefathers. Some say freedom is a human right that none should be denied. Some say freedom is a privilege that can and will be seized if taken for granted. Some say freedom is the key that opens doors otherwise meant to imprison. Some say freedom is power to do, to be, to say, and to accomplish what the oppressed cannot. Some say freedom is a responsibility—a weight to be carried and shared by those willing to protect it. Perhaps freedom is all these things. But in my eyes, I see freedom as a treasure. It is a gem so rare and precious the fiercest battles rage over it. The blood of thousands is spilled for it—past, present, and future. Where true and unblemished freedom exists, it shines with perfect clarity, drawing the greedy masses, both those who desire a portion of the spoils and those who would rob the possessor of the treasure, hoping to bury it away. Without freedom I am a slave in shackles on a ship lost at sea. With freedom I am a captain; I am a pirate; I am an admiral; I am a scout; I am the eagle souring overhead; I am the north star guiding a crew; I am the ship itself; I am whatever I choose to be.

To sparkle is to shine but to dazzle is divine!

We must treat ourselves with care, respect and compassion before we can effectively extend these things to others.

there are girls lined along the street, girls in miniskirts, thigh-highs, and halter tops. The girls stand at the curbs as cars cruise by. Key-lime Cadillac's, fire-red Tornadoes, wide-mouthed, trolling Lincolns, all in perfect shape. Chrome glints. Hubcaps shine. Not a single rust spot anywhere. But now the gleaming cars are slowing. Windows are rolling down and girls are bending to chat with the drivers. There are calls back and forth, the lifting of already miniscule skirts, and sometimes a flash of breast or an obscene gesture, the girls working it, laughing, high enough by 5am to be numb to the rawness between their legs and the residues of men no amount of perfume can get rid of. It isn't easy to keep yourself clean on the street, and by this hour each of those young women smells in the places that count like a very ripe, soft French cheese…They're numb, too, to thoughts of babies left at home, six month olds with bad colds lying in used cribs, sucking on pacifiers, and having a hard time breathing…numb to the lingering taste of semen in their mouths along with peppermint gum, most of these girls, no more than 18, this curb on 12th street their first real place of employment, the most the country has to offer in the way of a vocation. Where are they going to go from here? They're numb to that, too, except for a couple who have dreams of singing backup or opening up a hair shop...

Each of us has immense potential to achieve what we desire, unless we enliven and enlighten our life with inspiration, bring our dreams or desires into reality we will never shine as bright as our potential.

You’ve always known,” Tony continued, and he began to walk closer. For the first time, Tony began to walk closer. “You’re deep down in yourself in a place where nothing comes through. We’re alone here for a little while, Danny. This is an Overlook where no one can ever come. No clocks work here. None of the keys fit them and they can never be wound up. The doors have never been opened and no one has ever stayed in the rooms. But you can’t stay long. Because it’s coming.

O soft embalmer of the still midnight, Shutting, with careful fingers and benign, Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light, Enshaded in forgetfulness divine: O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes, Or wait the "Amen," ere thy poppy throws Around my bed its lulling charities. Then save me, or the passed day will shine Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,— Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole; Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul. To Sleep

In the words of Chinese Zen master Layman P’ang (c. 740–808 A.D.): My daily affairs are quite ordinary; but I’m in total harmony with them. I don’t hold on to anything, don’t reject anything; nowhere an obstacle or conflict. Who cares about wealth and honor? Even the poorest thing shines. My miraculous power and spiritual activity: drawing water and carrying wood.

Our bodies play a huge role in the accomplishment of our goals and our overall happiness. Embodiment... is about tuning into our physical bodies and learning ways to support our health and well-being so that we can do what we need to do, and enjoy the journey.

As a man thinketh within himself, so is he (Prov. 23:7) And later the words of Job: Thou shalt decree a thing and it shall be established unto thee and light shall shine upon thy way. (Job 22:28) From the philosopher, James Allen, I learned: Through his thoughts, man holds the key to every situation and contains within himself that transforming and regenerative agency by which he may make himself what he wills.

This story is one for which some people will have to suspend their belief. If it wasn't me and this wasn't happening to me, I would be one of those people. Many won't struggle to believe it, though, for their minds have been opened; unlocked by whatever kind of key causes people to believe. Those people are either born that way or, as babies, when their minds are like little buds, they are nurtured until their petals slowly open and prepare for the very nature of life to feed them. As the rain falls and the sun shines, they grow, grow, grow; minds so open, they go through life aware and accepting, seeing light where there is dark, seeing possibility in dead ends, tasting victory as others spit out failure, questioning when others accept. Just a little less jaded, a little less cynical. A little less likely to throw in the towel. Some peoples' minds open later in life, through tragedy or triumph. Either thing acting as the key to unlatch and lift the lid on that know-it-all box, to accept the unknown, to say goodbye to pragmatism and straight lines. But then there are those whose minds are merely a bouquet of stalks, which bud as they learn new information - a new bud for a new fact - but yet they never open, never flourish. They are the people of capital letters and full stops, but never of question marks and ellipses...

It begins with us letting Him into the darkness. It completes with Him shining His light. Somehow, it’s both. Fully. The honesty of earth meets the truth of Heaven. The cross and the resurrection. This is the completion. And I have found the order to be key: earth is the question. Heaven is the answer.

Give of your magic. Because if you do not give of your personal magic in a beautiful loving expressive way, then you are definitely losing the game of life and others are taking over. So be yourself. Let the magic of yourself begin to shine through. Not in a bombastic way, but in a sincere feeling way. You are a sovereign soul who is capable of filling the world with something different by adding your consciousness to this world and giving something special - your uniqueness.

I think maybe bad things seem worse when people are alone. When they can turn that bad thought over and over in their head, polishing it like a stone, until it shines dark and black. Maybe the key to making things better is being with other people. Little by little, smiles and laughter and hugs can chip away at any dark stone, even if it’s as big as a boulder to start. Then finally, bit by bit, it shrinks until it’s no bigger than a pebble, something that even I could kick down the road.

Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight, O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming? And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam, In full glory reflected now shines in the stream: ‘Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave! And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion, A home and a country should leave us no more! Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave: And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave! Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved home and the war’s desolation! Blest with victory and peace, may the heav’n rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto: “In God is our trust.” And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Gregori stared with dismay at the small, two-story house enclosed in wrought-iron latticework and sandwiched between two smaller, rather rundown properties in the crowded French Quarter of New Orleans. He inserted the key in the lock and turned to look at Savannah's face. It was lit up with expectation, her blue eyes shining. "I have definitely lost all good sense," he muttered as he pushed open the door. The interior was dark, but he could see everything easily. The room was layered with dust, old sheets covered the furniture, and the wallpaper was peeling in small curls from the walls. "Isn't it beautiful?" Savannah flung out her hands and turned in a circle. Jumping into Gregori's arms, she hugged him tightly. "It's so perfect!" He couldn't help himself; he kissed her inviting mouth. "Perfect for torching. Savannah,did you even look at this place before you bought it?" She laughed and ruffled his thick mane of hair. "Don't be such a pessimist. Can't you see its potential?" "It is a firetrap," he groused.

We don't draw loved ones into our lives coincidentally. They're there to shine a light on our unfinished emotional business, to reveal to us our deepest tendencies. And as my life is proving to me even now, those patterns appear time and again, often cleverly disguised. And they'll keep right on showing up until we're willing to truly look at them.

One of the key defense mechanisms of a phoenix is to shine so brightly, their predators are temporarily stunned and unable to pursue.

As material items can still leave us feeling unfulfilled, perhaps a better gauge of success is simply happiness, finding enjoyment in what we do.

When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep![a] So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep. There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved: so I said, "Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair." And so he was quiet; and that very night, As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight, - That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, Were all of them locked up in coffins of black. And by came an angel who had a bright key, And he opened the coffins and set them all free; Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run, And wash in a river, and shine in the sun. Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind; And the angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy, He'd have God for his father, and never want joy. And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark, And got with our bags and our brushes to work. Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm; So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.

But perhaps we can grant that something happens when the thinking mind takes a vacation. Absence of verbal thought or day-dreaming clearly doesn’t mean torpor and vacuity. Rather, it’s as if the seat of consciousness escapes from its jumpy, nervous, verbal isolation cell and takes residence in some other section of the theater, where the lights shine more brightly and where things feel more direct, more real. On what street is this theater found? Where are the sensations of life?

I was too young to imagine what truth really meant and too old to believe that one day it would always win. Truths are no shining key to help you open the doors to better places. They are a burden: a curse that lies upon you until you impose it on someone else.

Natural for you, perfectly natural,” the Professor whispered. “Natural to refuse the key that is given. To be blind in the darkness of knowing. To be filled with a dark light that we must shine on the people around us. A light that makes us weep and pull down our own houses.

She dances, She dances around the burning flames with passion, Under the same dull stars, Under the same hell with crimson embers crashing, Under the same silver chains that wires, All her beauty and who she is inside, She's left with the loneliness of human existence, She's left questioning how she's survived, She's left with this awakening of brutal resilience, Her true beauty that she denies, As much she's like to deny it, As much as it continues to shine, That she doesn't even have to admit, Because we all know it's true, Her glory and success, After all she's been through, Her triumph and madness, AND YET, SHE STANDS. Broken legs- but she's still standing, Still dancing in this void, You must wonder how she's still dancing, You must wonder how she's not destroyed, She doesn't even begin to drown within the flames, But little do you realize, Within these chains, She weeps and she cries, But she still goes on, And just you thought you could stop her? You thought you'd be the one? Well, let me tell you, because you thought wrong. Nothing will ever silence her, Because I KNOW, I know that she is admiringly strong, Her undeniable beauty, The triumph of her song, She's shining bright like a ruby, Reflecting in the golden sand, She's shining brighter like no other, She's far more than human or man, AND YET, SHE STANDS. She continues to dance with free-spirit, Even though she's locked in these chains, Though she never desired to change it, Even throughout the agonizing pain, Throughout all the distress, Anxiety, depression, tears and sorrow, She still dances so beautify in her dress, She looks forward to tomorrow, Not because of a fresh start but a new page, A new day full of opportunities, Despite being trapped in her cage, She still smiles after being beaten so brutally, A smile that could brighten anyone's day, She's so much more than anyone could ask for, She's so much more than I could ever say, She's a girl absolutely everyone should adore, She never gets in the way, Even after her hearts been broken, Even after the way she has been treated, After all these severe emotions, After all all the blood she's bled, AND YET, SHE STANDS. Even if sometimes she wonders why she's still here, She wonders why she's not dead, But there's this one thing that had been here throughout every tear, Throughout the blazing fire leaving her cheeks cherry red, Everyday this thing has given her a place to exist, This thing, person, these people, Like warm sunlight it had so softly kissed, The apples of her cheeks, Even when she's feeling feeble, Always there at her worst and at her best Because of you and all the other people, She has this thing deep inside her chest, That she will cherish forever, Even once you're gone, Because today she smiles like no other, Even when the sun sets at dawn, Because today is the day, She just wants you to remember, In dark and stormy weather, It gets better. And after what she's been through she knows, Throughout the highs and the lows, Because of you and all others, After crossing the seas, She has come to understand, You have formed this key, This key to free her from this land, This endless gorge that swallowed her, Her and other men, She had never knew, nor had she planned, That because of you, She's free. AND YET, THIS VERY DAY, SHE DANCES. EVEN IN THE RAIN.

I am on a lonely road and I am traveling Traveling, traveling, traveling Looking for something, what can it be Oh I hate you some, I hate you some, I love you some Oh I love you when I forget about me I want to be strong I want to laugh along I want to belong to the living Alive, alive, I want to get up and jive I want to wreck my stockings in some juke box dive Do you want - do you want - do you want to dance with me baby Do you want to take a chance On maybe finding some sweet romance with me baby Well, come on All I really really want our love to do Is to bring out the best in me and in you too All I really really want our love to do Is to bring out the best in me and in you I want to talk to you, I want to shampoo you I want to renew you again and again Applause, applause - Life is our cause When I think of your kisses my mind see-saws Do you see - do you see - do you see how you hurt me baby So I hurt you too Then we both get so blue. I am on a lonely road and I am traveling Looking for the key to set me free Oh the jealousy, the greed is the unraveling It's the unraveling And it undoes all the joy that could be I want to have fun, I want to shine like the sun I want to be the one that you want to see I want to knit you a sweater Want to write you a love letter I want to make you feel better I want to make you feel free I want to make you feel free

I looked up, appreciating the sky filled with bright twinkling lights, focusing directly on the one which was the least luminous. At first glance. I felt bad for the star, being surrounded by so many dazzling ones, it must have been hard. Then I realised, it wasn't how bright the star shined, rather the fact it sparkled at all.

The sleeper dreams of an egg and knows an egg. He dreams the egg is hatched and a bird rises from the shell. Awake, he sees an egg and knows a star, and the star will shine. But how shall we wake the sleeper from his dreaming? How shall we enter his chamber and wake him to power? We can show him the door, but how shall we give him the key?

My very fingertips rehearsed how they would work the keys of the trumpet, imagination's trumpet, when I got ready to blow it at last. The peals of that brass would be heard beyond the earth, out in space itself. When that Messiah, that savior faculty the imagination was roused, finally we could look again with open eyes upon the whole shining earth.

For some reason such grand concepts as love and kindness often get relegated to the realm of the spiritual, as if they have no place in all other aspects of life. Quite simply, this is about humanity. Not only is love very much a part of what makes us human, it is the strongest force for being able to work together collaboratively in community so that we may thrive.

Because your rational mind knows that tunnels have two ends, your emotional mind can be kept in check when pitch blackness descends in the confusing middle. Instead of collapsing into a nervous mess, the director who has a clear internal model of what creativity is—and the discomfort it requires—finds it easier to trust that light will shine again. The key is to never stop moving forward.

Blue approaches the temple in pilgrim’s guise: hair shorn to show the shine of circuitry curling around ears and up to scalp, eyes goggled, mouth a smear of chrome sheen, eyelids chrome hooded. She wears antique typewriter keys on her fingertips in veneration of the great god Hack, and her arms are braceleted in whorls of gold, silver, palladium, glinting brighter than bright against her dark skin.

Hey, Bode, you want to not shine that thing in my face.." (Lovecraft 117). This quote was said by Kinsey after seeing a flash light hit in her eyes. This was before she realize that it was actually Sam who was pointing the light at her. After that immediately, she was hit in the face by Sam. This happened near the end of the book when Sam was breaking into the house and trying to steal the keys from the Lockes.

LIFE WITHOUT A FAITH IS LIKE THAT NEW BEAUTIFUL RED SHINE CAR, YOU SEE IT PULLING ON YOUR DRIVEWAY, IT'S FINLEY WRAPPED WITH A BIG RED BOW ON TOP. THE HOUSE DOOR KNOCKS, YOU OPEN THE DOOR AND IS YOUR FATHER WALKS IN HANDLE YOU A SET OF KEYS AND TELL YOU "HAPPY SWEET 16TH BIRTHDAY" YOU ARE SO EXCITED AND RUN TO THE CAR WHEN YOU OPEN THE DOOR YOU FIND OUT THE CAR IS COMPLETELY EMPTY WITHOUT SEATS, AND WITHOUT A STARING WHEEL

Control: February 15 Sometimes, the gray days scare us. Those are the days when the old feelings come rushing back. We may feel needy, scared, ashamed, unable to care for ourselves. When this happens, it’s hard to trust ourselves, others, the goodness of life, and the good intentions of our Higher Power. Problems seem overwhelming. The past seems senseless; the future, bleak. We feel certain the things we want in life will never happen. In those moments, we may become convinced that things and people outside of ourselves hold the key to our happiness. That’s when we may try to control people and situations to mask our pain. When these “codependent crazies” strike, others often begin to react negatively to our controlling. When we’re in a frenzied state, searching for happiness outside ourselves and looking to others to provide our peace and stability, remember this: Even if we could control things and people, even if we got what we wanted, we would still be ourselves. Our emotional state would still be in turmoil. People and things don’t stop our pain or heal us. In recovery, we learn that this is our job, and we can do it by using our resources: ourselves, our Higher Power, our support systems, and our recovery program. Often, after we’ve become peaceful, trusting, and accepting, what we want comes to us—with ease and naturalness. The sun begins to shine again. Isn’t it funny, and isn’t it true, how all change really does begin with us? I can let go of things and people and my need to control today. I can deal with my feelings. I can get peaceful. I can get calm. I can get back on track and find the true key to happiness—myself. I will remember that a gray day is just that—one gray day.

Understand that the Cosmos is not an alien wave of planets that have no personal connection with you Look at the stars Feel them vibrating through your whole body They are your friends and are part of your Greater Self The sky you are looking at is very alive The stars are not just shining at you They are beckoning unto you to be one with them They are beaming their message for humanity to join the Universal balance

Chopin étude. At first, she rushed, hit the wrong keys, could not get the rhythm right, but she continued, and as the music unwound like a silken rope from a magic skein, she entered that kingdom that art created, between reality and the possibility of other realities, between harsh life and shining beauty, between death and the possibility of eternity, that radiant realm that nourished her soul and made her understand why she lived.

I will win you away from every earth, from every sky, For the woods are my place of birth, and the place to die, For while standing on earth, I touch it with but one foot, For I’ll sing your worth as nobody could or would. I will win you from every time and from every night, From all banners that throb and shine, from all swords held tight, I’ll drive dogs outside, hurl the keys into dark and fog, For in the mortal night I’m a more faithful dog.

One way to find greater fulfillment in our work or career is to start with being. That is, be who we inherently are -- strong, creative, joyful, balanced, worthy, loving, free, powerful, wise, beautiful beings. This means letting go of the insecurities and feelings of unworthiness we carry around. Letting go of the need to control, or the desire to be small and hide. It means putting aside the masks we sometimes wear to help us feel important or safe. It means getting down to our true selves.

For a country that is famous for exporting democracy across the globe and has branded itself as the shining city on the hill, the United States has a shameful history when it comes to embracing one of its most basic rights at home. In 1787, when the founders ratified the Constitution, only white male property owners could vote in the eleven states of the Union. In 1865, at the end of the Civil War, black men could cast a ballot freely in only five states. Women couldn’t vote until 1920. The remarkably brief Reconstruction period of 1865–1877, when there were twenty-two black members of Congress from the South and six hundred black state legislators, was followed by ninety years of Jim Crow rule. The United States is the only advanced democracy that has ever enfranchised, disenfranchised, and then reenfranchised an entire segment of the population. Despite our many distinctions as a democracy, the enduring debate over who can and cannot participate in it remains a key feature of our national character.

and in the midst of the lampstands one like a son of man,  l clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash around his chest. The hairs of his head were white, like white wool, like snow.  His eyes were like a flame of fire, his feet were like burnished bronze, refined in a furnace, and his voice was like the roar of many waters. In his right hand he held seven stars,  from his mouth came a sharp two-edged sword, and  his face was like the sun shining  in full strength. When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. But  he laid his right hand on me, saying, “Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one. I died, and behold I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades. Write therefore the things that you have seen, those that are and those that are to take place after this. As for the mystery of the seven stars that you saw in my right hand, and  the seven golden lampstands, the seven stars are the angels of the seven churches, and the seven lampstands are the seven churches.

Synergy refers to the interaction of elements that when combined produce a total effect that is greater than the sum of the individual elements. In the context of your business, consider how a team can put forth a collaborative effort that exceeds an individual’s output. Now on task, you may begin to share the key parts of your plan with the pillars of your business or family. Embrace the opportunity and be enthusiastic as you are assigning responsibilities. Everyone needs to have a “paddle in the canoe” and work in synchronicity to achieve the desired outcome.

I just remember thinking the stars were so reliable. I felt it as I drew my legs in close to my body and wrapped my arms around them; the stars are reliable, unlike any other thing in this crazy world. Leaves fall off the trees. Snow melts. Rain washes away all the things we wrote on the pavement. But the stars are relentless in shining. When it came to talking with God, I wanted to believe He was like those stars. If I looked, He’d be there. I’d lost a lot of things in the years that led up to this point—shoes and keys and books and boyfriends—but I never lost that hope.

In the second story, which reminds me to look inward for solutions to what may be troubling me, the ninth-century sage Rabia was looking for a lost key under a streetlight. Her neighbors turned out to help, but without success. Finally, they asked where she might have dropped the key, so that they could better focus their search. “Actually,” said Rabia, “I lost it in my house.” Bemused, they asked her why she didn’t look for it there. “Because,” she said, “there’s no light in my house, but out here the light is bright!” The neighbors laughed, and Rabia seized the moment to make her point. “Friends,” she said, “you are intelligent people and that is why you laugh. But tell me: When you lose your joy or peace of mind because of some disappointment or hardship, did you lose it out there [gesturing around her] or in here [gesturing to her heart]?” We tend to lay blame on our external circumstances and seek superficial solutions, but the truth is that we lost our peace and joy inside ourselves. We avoid looking inside us, where the light is dim. When we make it a lifelong practice to shine the light of compassionate awareness on ourself, our shadow gently begins to diminish, and we come closer to discovering our radiant, divine Self.

Think; Of a world without men. Where the sun shines, and the rain falls. Where the grass grows, nibbled by deer in the early morning. Where the unwary deer is pounced on by the wolf. Where the wolf when it dies in turn, is swallowed up by the earth. And where it's body lies the grass grows thicker...There is a balance in the natural world which no other creature can upset. But you, you have that power. Power, endless power: But not the wisdom to know where it will lead. You can reach out your hand and change the world. Change one thing, and that may change another unforeseen, and that another, and another, until the world lies about you in ruins and you stand alone in the desert wind of your shattered dreams...

We were quiet for a while after that. I looked around the visiting area. I had spent so much time here over the last few decades. I had eaten a lot of key lime pie out of the vending machine. And I had come to respect and love this man who sat in front of me. He was tired too, and I was just one of many battles he was fighting. We both deserved a win. It was time. And if it wasn’t, then I would take my Thursday. I would eat my last meal, and I would thank Lester for being the best friend a guy could ever have, and I would tell Bryan Stevenson that he couldn’t save everyone and I knew he had done everything he could. I would have joy knowing that I lived as big a life as anyone ever could live in a five-by-seven cell.

Many times I have been grateful for the simple, military skill of being able to live with people in confined spaces. It has helped me so much over the years on expeditions and beyond. And I was especially glad to be with Neil. When we hang with good people, some of their goodness rubs off. I like that in life. The other thing the army had taught me was how, and when, to go that extra mile. And the time to do it is when it is tough--when all around you are slowing and quitting and complaining. It is about understanding that the moment to shine brightest is when all about you is dark. It is a simple lesson, but it is one of the keys to doing well in life. I see it in friends often. On Everest that quality is everything.

I want to hear her laugh. To watch sunbeams awaken her visage and shine through her eyes. To see the gray clouds of regret that hang heavy over her head rain away to nothing. I want to hear her sunny voice dance on the breeze, as light and free as glossy bubbles, floating up…up…up to pop like hiccups. I want to know the type and form of key I must cut to unshackle even a portion of her joy. If I could pluck the winning feather; if my smile could convince; if I could stroke her vocal chords like harp strings and make each treble note ascend to euphoria. Oh, to hear the giggled melody she would release into a world craving the balm of mirth! I ache to experience that. I am desperate for it. I live for the day I hear her laugh.

It’s hard to see. There are only the shadows of things. She feels along the fridge to the wall and the phone, touching first her uncle’s keys, then her dead aunt’s, a woman Devon can feel judging her from the grave even though she’s only borrowing something, not stealing it. She has never stolen anything in her life, and she never will. She steps into the cool, still air of the closed garage and she sees Sick’s face. The way he looked at her as she let him in, the only one. His hair hung down and his lips were parted and as he moved inside her his eyes seemed to shine with a sweet sadness, the kind that only comes when you know something good can never, ever last. But you keep going anyway. All you can do is keep going and never quit.

I’ve always been a person who has believed in the love and in the power of love. It occurred to me that it is an essence which connects to the hearts of people, to the hearts of the beasts and to the One-Above-All.…… .…………. Sometimes, if people are dysfunctional together, they will have dysfunctional families and kids who are dysfunctional to the society, each in a unique disorderly way. Love, is the key to disorder and anarchy as it emanates from truth and then further emanates commitment, care, respect and sacrifice. It has the powers over emotions of a human and their mindset and it has been bringing changes to the lives of people. The problem of dysfunctional relationships is the connection is based upon truths which are not mutually established. To make a relationship functional is very much possible and is as essential to being human as the fact that we are very intelligent beings. A love based on truth will always shine brighter in any dark night. But who wants a love like that? And who dares to love as such? All that forever? Would you dare?.…………. ……. All that and many things more but not anymore. I now believe that only love cannot make anyone do everything. Neither everything is dearly loved nor it is reciprocated gracefully. Some loves fall away as the leaves of the autumn; some fires are washed by little waters; and some boats never make it to the shore. If love is truly your goal and the goal of your love is love itself then the pillars of love shall always remain true. Be good to the people you meet. And be good to those who hurt you as well. Someday, sometime, it will make sense to everyone.

She dances, She dances around the burning flames with passion, Under the same dull stars, Under the same hell with crimson embers crashing, Under the same silver chains that wires, All her beauty and who she is inside, She's left with the loneliness of human existence, She's left questioning how she's survived, She's left with this awakening of brutal resilience, Her true beauty that she denies, As much she's like to deny it, As much as it continues to shine, That she doesn't even have to admit, Because we all know it's true, Her glory and success, After all she's been through, Her triumph and madness, AND YET, SHE STANDS. Broken legs- but she's still standing, Still dancing in this void, You must wonder how she's still dancing, You must wonder how she's not destroyed, She doesn't even begin to drown within the flames, But little do you realize, Within these chains, She weeps and she cries, But she still goes on, And just you thought you could stop her? You thought you'd be the one? Well, let me tell you, because you thought wrong. Nothing will ever silence her, Because I KNOW, I know that she is admiringly strong, Her undeniable beauty, The triumph of her song, She's shining bright like a ruby, Reflecting in the golden sand, She's shining brighter like no other, She's far more than human or man, AND YET, SHE STANDS. She continues to dance with free-spirit, Even though she's locked in these chains, Though she never desired to change it, Even throughout the agonizing pain, Throughout all the distress, Anxiety, depression, tears and sorrow, She still dances so beautify in her dress, She looks forward to tomorrow, Not because of a fresh start but a new page, A new day full of opportunities, Despite being trapped in her cage, She still smiles after being beaten so brutally, A smile that could brighten anyone's day, She's so much more than anyone could ask for, She's so much more than I could ever say, She's a girl absolutely everyone should adore, She never gets in the way, Even after her hearts been broken, Even after the way she has been treated, After all these severe emotions, After all all the blood she's bled, AND YET, SHE STANDS. Even if sometimes she wonders why she's still here, She wonders why she's not dead, But there's this one thing that had been here throughout every tear, Throughout the blazing fire leaving her cheeks cherry red, Everyday this thing has given her a place to exist, This thing, person, these people, Like warm sunlight it had so softly kissed, The apples of her cheeks, Even when she's feeling feeble, Always there at her worst and at her best Because of you and all the other people, She has this thing deep inside her chest, That she will cherish forever, Even once you're gone, Because today she smiles like no other, Even when the sun sets at dawn, Because today is the day, She just wants you to remember, In dark and stormy weather, It gets better. And after what she's been through she knows, Throughout the highs and the lows, Because of you and all others, After crossing the seas, She has come to understand, You have formed this key, This key to free her from this land, This endless gorge that swallowed her, Her and other men, She had never knew, nor had she planned, That because of you, She's free. AND YET, THIS VERY DAY, SHE STILL DANCES, EVEN IN THE RAIN.

Paradiso, XXXI,108 Diodorus Siculus tells the story of a god that is cut into pieces and scattered over the earth. Which of us, walking through the twilight or retracing some day in our past, has never felt that we have lost some infinite thing? Mankind has lost a face, an irrecoverable face, and all men wish they could be that pilgrim (dreamed in the empyrean, under the Rose) who goes to Rome and looks upon the veil of St. Veronica and murmurs in belief: My Lord Jesus Christ, very God, is this, indeed, Thy likeness in such fashion wrought?* There is a face in stone beside a path, and an inscription that reads The True Portrait of the Holy Face of the Christ of Jaén. If we really knew what that face looked like, we would possess the key to the parables, and know whether the son of the carpenter was also the Son of God. Paul saw the face as a light that struck him to the ground; John, as the sun when it shines forth in all its strength; Teresa de Jesús, many times, bathed in serene light, although she could never say with certainty what the color of its eyes was. Those features are lost to us, as a magical number created from our customary digits can be lost, as the image in a kaleidoscope is lost forever. We can see them and yet not grasp them. A Jew's profile in the subway might be the profile of Christ; the hands that give us back change at a ticket booth may mirror those that soldiers nailed one day to the cross. Some feature of the crucified face may lurk in every mirror; perhaps the face died, faded away, so that God might be all faces. Who knows but that tonight we may see it in the labyrinths of dream, and not know tomorrow that we saw it.

He spoke about the different beauties of Spring and Autumn. 'Each has its own delight,' he said. 'On Spring nights the sky is beautifully shrouded with mist. The moon then is not too bright and its light seems to be floating away in the distance. How delightful it is at such a time to hear someone plucking gently at the strings of a lute that have been set in the key of the Fragrant Breeze! When Autumn comes the sky is still misty, but the lucent moon shines through so clearly that one feels one could pick it up in one's hands. The soughing of the wind and the hum of the insects blend in such a way that all the savours of Nature seem to have come together. At such moments the strumming of the great zither accompanied by the clear notes of a flute makes one wonder how one could ever have admired Spring. But then there is a Winter night when the sky is chill, the air bitter cold, and the piles of snow reflect in the moonlight.

Are you chuckling yet? Because then along came you. A big, broad meat eater with brash blond hair and ruddy skin that burns at the beach. A bundle of appetites. A full, boisterous guffaw; a man who tells knock know jokes. Hot dogs - not even East 86th Street bratwurst but mealy, greasy big guts that terrifying pink. Baseball. Gimme caps. Puns and blockbuster movies, raw tap water and six-packs. A fearless, trusting consumer who only reads labels to make sure there are plenty of additives. A fan of the open road with a passion for his pickup who thinks bicycles are for nerds. Fucks hard and talks dirty; a private though unapologetic taste for porn. Mysteries, thrillers, and science fiction; a subscription to National Geographic. Barbecues on the Fourth of July and intentions, in the fullness of time, to take up golf. Delights in crappy snack foods of ever description: Burgles. Curlies. Cheesies. Squigglies - you're laughing - but I don't eat them - anything that looks less like food than packing material and at least six degrees of separation from the farm. Bruce Springsteen, the early albums, cranked up high with the truck window down and your hair flying. Sings along, off-key - how is it possible that I should be endeared by such a tin ear?Beach Boys. Elvis - never lose your roots, did you, loved plain old rock and roll. Bombast. Though not impossibly stodgy; I remember, you took a shine to Pearl Jam, which was exactly when Kevin went off them...(sorry). It just had to be noisy; you hadn't any time for my Elgar, my Leo Kottke, though you made an exception for Aaron Copeland. You wiped your eyes brusquely at Tanglewood, as if to clear gnats, hoping I didn't notice that "Quiet City" made you cry. And ordinary, obvious pleasure: the Bronx Zoo and the botanical gardens, the Coney Island roller coaster, the Staten Island ferry, the Empire State Building. You were the only New Yorker I'd ever met who'd actually taken the ferry to the Statue of Liberty. You dragged me along once, and we were the only tourists on the boat who spoke English. Representational art - Edward Hopper. And my lord, Franklin, a Republican. A belief in a strong defense but otherwise small government and low taxes. Physically, too, you were such a surprise - yourself a strong defense. There were times you were worried that I thought you too heavy, I made so much of your size, though you weighed in a t a pretty standard 165, 170, always battling those five pounds' worth of cheddar widgets that would settle over your belt. But to me you were enormous. So sturdy and solid, so wide, so thick, none of that delicate wristy business of my imaginings. Built like an oak tree, against which I could pitch my pillow and read; mornings, I could curl into the crook of your branches. How luck we are, when we've spared what we think we want! How weary I might have grown of all those silly pots and fussy diets, and how I detest the whine of sitar music!

Many won’t struggle to believe it though, for their minds have been opened; unlocked by whatever kind of key causes people to believe. They’re either born that way or, as babies, their little budlike minds are nurtured until their petals slowly open and prepare for the very nature of life to feed them. As the rain falls and the sun shines, they grow, grow, grow; minds so open they go through life aware and accepting, seeing light where there’s dark, seeing possibility in dead ends, tasting victory as others spit out failure, questioning when others accept. Just a little less jaded, a little less cynical. A little less likely to throw in the towel. Some people’s minds open later in life, through tragedy or triumph, either thing acting as the key to unlatch and lift the lid on that know-it-all box, to accept the unknown, to say good-bye to pragmatism and straight lines. But then there are those whose minds are merely a bouquet of stalks that bud as they learn new information—a new bud for each new fact—but yet they never open, never flourish. They are the people of capital letters and full stops but never of question marks and ellipses

This is a very common thing among male groups of friends. There is a person who's always taking heat from everyone else for various reasons. Not that I'm defending this behavior though, fuck no, I hate it when guys are like this; it's barbaric and stupid. Unfortunately I think it's like an unconscious thing that just comes natural to guys when we're in groups. We take the piss out of each other all the time, prodding until we know the limits of each other and crossing the lines once in a while to test the boundaries. Some guys who're overly-nice or don't fully understand this dynamic get completely shit on by it. If you keep excusing small actions by others that violate your boundaries, they'll just keep pushing and pushing, giving less and less respect until they know how far they're allowed to go. Having people knowing your limits and making sure to not cross them equates to respect, which is what we're after. This doesn't mean you should to tell them all to fuck off now; that wouldn't work anymore because you've allowed them this far into your territory. It'd seem like an overreaction from you, which makes sense, right? "We were just joking around yesterday about the same things, he seemed cool with it, but now he's all pissed for some reason, this guys a whack..." The key thing to note if you want to avoid this in the future is to either find "nicer" friends, or to let people know when they cross a boundary. This may sound huge and dramatic, but it's honestly a really simple thing. "Haha great job idiot you messed up" ----> "Fuck you man haha" Simple as that; he/they poked at you and by throwing it back at him, you let him know you're not just going to take it. If they do something that crosses your boundary, you respond appropriately; a big cross, like outright disrespecting you, means a big reaction, like telling the guy off. Does this mean you can't be nice anymore? Nope, not at all. You can still be a nice guy; most interactions with others don't involve all this boundary bullshit - and that's when the niceness in your personality can shine through. Beyond that, it's also a personal image/confidence thing. If you truly respect yourself, how would you let anyone get away with the things they say/do to you? What if this was your little sister? Would you let others treat her the same way? If not, then why would you let them treat you this way?

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel “T hey shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us)” (Matthew 1:23 ESV). This is perhaps our oldest Christmas carol. Historians say its roots go back to the 8th century. In its earliest form, it was a “plain song” or a chant and the monks sang it a cappella. It was sung or chanted in Latin during the seven days leading up to Christmas. Translated into English by John Mason Neale in 1851, we sing it to the tune “Veni, Emmanuel,” a 15th-century melody. Many churches sing it early in the Advent season because of its plaintive tone of expectant waiting. Traditionally Advent centers on the Old Testament preparation for the coming of the Messiah who will establish his kingdom on the earth. When the words form a prayer that Christ will come and “ransom captive Israel,” we ought to remember the long years of Babylonian captivity. Each verse of this carol features a different Old Testament name or title of the coming Messiah: “O come, O come, Emmanuel.” “O come, Thou Wisdom from on high.” “O come, Thou Rod of Jesse.” “O come, Thou Day-spring.” “O come, Thou Key of David.” “O come, Thou Lord of Might.” “O come, Desire of Nations.” This carol assumes a high level of biblical literacy. That fact might argue against singing it today because so many churchgoers don’t have any idea what “Day-spring” means or they think Jesse refers to a wrestler or maybe to a reality TV star. But that argument works both ways. We ought to sing this carol and we ought to use it as a teaching tool. Sing it—and explain it! We can see the Jewish roots of this carol in the refrain: Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel. But Israel’s Messiah is also our Savior and Lord. What Israel was waiting for turns out to be the long-expected Jesus. So this carol rightly belongs to us as well. The first verse suggests the longing of the Jewish people waiting for Messiah to come: O come, O come, Emmanuel And ransom captive Israel That mourns in lonely exile here Until the Son of God appears The second verse pictures Christ redeeming us from hell and death: O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free Thine own from Satan’s tyranny From depths of Hell Thy people save And give them victory o’er the grave This verse reminds us only Christ can take us home to heaven: O come, Thou Key of David, come, And open wide our heavenly home; Make safe the way that leads on high, And close the path to misery. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel. Let’s listen as Selah captures the Jewish flavor of this carol. Lord, we pray today for all those lost in the darkness of sin. We pray for those who feel there is no hope. May the light of Jesus shine in their hearts today. Amen.

Staying at Home during this lockdown period is the right time to find your life purpose within Ba Ga Mohlala family/clan. This is an opportunity to know yourself better and to understand what motivates and feeds your mind and your soul, and also to find out as to where you fit in the bigger Ba Ga Mohlala family/clan. All members of each family/clan possess characteristics, abilities, and qualities specific to that family/clan. It is up to the family/clan to distinguish itself amongst other families/clans. Ba Ga Mohlala has become an institution to build cooperation in order to build and forge unity for social and economic benefits for Ba Ga Mohlala and Banareng in general. An institution is social structure in which people cooperate and which influences the behavior of people and the way they live. intelligence and assertiveness comes to us as our nature, it is in our blood (DNA) and all there is for us to do is to nature it and it will shine, otherwise it will gather dust and rust in us. The key of brotherhood and sisterhood is that brothers and sisters carry the same genetic code. Together, united, they carry the legacy of their forefathers. Our bond (through our shared blood/DNA) as Ba Ga Mohlala family/clan is our insurance for the future. As Ba Ga Mohlala we can have our own Law firms, Auditing Firms, Doctors's Medical Surgeries, Private School, Private Clinics or Private Hospital, farms and lot of small to medium manufacturing, service, retail and wholesale companies and become self relient. All it takes to achieve that is unity, willpower and commitment.

Back in bed I listen to every sound. The plastic tarp over the table on the balcony crunching in the cold wind. the two short clicks in the walls before the heat comes on with a low whoosh. I hear a constant base hum all around, the nervous system of the building, carrying electricity and gas and phone conversations to all our respective little boxes. I listen to it all, the constant, the rhythmic, and the random. It's hard to measure the night by sound, but it can be done. I know that when the traffic noise is quietest, it's about 4:30 in the morning. I know that when the 'Times' hits the door, it's around 5. Now the clock says it's morning, 5:45, but the November sky still says midnight. I hear the elevator ding twenty yards down the hall outside our door. Seven seconds later, I hear his keys in our lock, then his heavy backpack hitting the floor. I hear the refrigerator door open, the unsealing vacuum wheezing as the cold inside air meets the dry heat in the apartment. The cupboard door. A glass. The crescendoing fizz of a new two-liter Diet Coke bottle opening. It's a one-sided conversation with no one actually talking. I lie in the dark, close my eyes, and try not to listen to his movements around apartment. these are the sounds of our life together before it got so messy. I want to say something back. Anything, anything that sounds like things sounded last summer. Even just to myself. Just something out loud. The inside of my eyelids turn pink. My door has been opened and the light from the hallway shines through them. I won't open them. There is no noise. Like an eclipse, the world behind my closed eyes goes dark again. For just one second, before I feel a kiss on my right eye. I keep them closed. A kiss on the left one. I open them. Jack looks down at me and closes his eyes. He leans forward and puts his forehead on my chest and goes limp. ''Blues Clues' is on,' he says softly into my tee shirt. His muffled voice vibrating only a half inch away from my heart.

We may not recognize how situations within our own lives are similar to what happens within an airplane cockpit. But think, for a moment, about the pressures you face each day. If you are in a meeting and the CEO suddenly asks you for an opinion, your mind is likely to snap from passive listening to active involvement—and if you’re not careful, a cognitive tunnel might prompt you to say something you regret. If you are juggling multiple conversations and tasks at once and an important email arrives, reactive thinking can cause you to type a reply before you’ve really thought out what you want to say. So what’s the solution? If you want to do a better job of paying attention to what really matters, of not getting overwhelmed and distracted by the constant flow of emails and conversations and interruptions that are part of every day, of knowing where to focus and what to ignore, get into the habit of telling yourself stories. Narrate your life as it’s occurring, and then when your boss suddenly asks a question or an urgent note arrives and you have only minutes to reply, the spotlight inside your head will be ready to shine the right way. To become genuinely productive, we must take control of our attention; we must build mental models that put us firmly in charge. When you’re driving to work, force yourself to envision your day. While you’re sitting in a meeting or at lunch, describe to yourself what you’re seeing and what it means. Find other people to hear your theories and challenge them. Get in a pattern of forcing yourself to anticipate what’s next. If you are a parent, anticipate what your children will say at the dinner table. Then you’ll notice what goes unmentioned or if there’s a stray comment that you should see as a warning sign. “You can’t delegate thinking,” de Crespigny told me. “Computers fail, checklists fail, everything can fail. But people can’t. We have to make decisions, and that includes deciding what deserves our attention. The key is forcing yourself to think. As long as you’re thinking, you’re halfway home.

Often we are told, and rightly so, that we can know God by knowing ourselves, for we are made in His image. We are not base, it is said, but divine. Yet this, perhaps, is saying too much. For even in our baseness—in our excrement—we might discern the work of our Creator. All things come from God, Crivano says. Even shit can be sublimed. But should it be? Tristão fixes Crivano with a fierce glare. Then he steps to the windows, and with a smooth sudden motion slings the chamberpot’s contents into the canal below. The liquid strikes the surface with a weak slap. Should it be sublimed? Tristão says. Should it be transcended? When we seek to do this, is our desire truly to know God? Or is it to know that God truly is as we always have imagined him: the perfect distillate of our corrupt selves? So—we are made in the image of God. Have we considered what this might mean? Innumerable are the egos in man, Paracelsus writes, and in him are angels and devils, heaven and hell. Perhaps God too is like this. Pure and impure. Is it so difficult to imagine? A God of flesh and bone? A God that shits? His voice chokes off, as if overwhelmed by some passion: rage, sorrow, Crivano can’t guess which. Tristão drifts away, toward his own approaching form in the mirror-talisman; the image of his torso gradually fills the glass. With the silver window eclipsed the room seems to grow smaller; Crivano shuffles his feet to keep his balance. I want to know, Tristão says, how God is unlike us. I want to know how our eyes become traitors. To know what they refuse to see. I no longer seek to transcend, nor even to understand. I want only to dirty my hands. To smell. To feel. Like a child who plays with mud. I believe the key is here— His fingers brush the flat glass before him; they’re met by fingers from the opposite side. —but not in the way that others have said. The Nolan warned us of this. Do you remember? He said the image in the mirror is like the image in a dream: only fools and infants mistake it for the true likeness of the world, but likewise it is foolish to ignore what it shows us. Therein lies the danger. Do we look upon these reflections without delusion, like bold Actaeon? Or, like Narcissus, do we see only what we wish to see? How can we be certain? With love in our hearts, we creep toward each shining surface, but we are all haunted, always, by ourselves.

Love is the key to the heart.

My marriage to Jamie had been for me like the turning of a great key, each small turn setting in play the intricate fall of tumblers within me. Bree had been able to turn that key as well, edging closer to the unlocking of the door of myself. But the final turn of the lock was frozen—until I had walked into the printshop in Edinburgh, and the mechanism had sprung free with a final, decisive click. The door now was ajar, the light of an unknown future shining through its crack. But it would take more strength than I had alone to push it open.

For some time now, the conventional wisdom at most agencies has been to partner with experts in specific fields—social networking, gaming, mobile, or any other discipline—in order to “get the best people for the job.” But given the success of AKQA, R/GA, and so many other innovators, perhaps it can be argued that to be truly holistic in our approach, it’s better to grow innovations from one’s own stem cells, so to speak, than to try to graft on capabilities on an ad-hoc basis. Some would no doubt argue that it makes the most economic sense to hire experts to execute as needed, rather than taking on more overhead in an increasingly competitive marketplace. But it should be pointed out that it’s hard to have the original ideas themselves if your own team doesn’t have a firm grasp of the technologies. Without a cross-disciplinary team of in-house experts, who knows what opportunities you—and by extension, your clients—may miss. “It comes down to the brains that you have working with you to make it a reality,” John Butler, cofounder of Butler, Shine, Stern & Partners, tells me. “The history of the ad agency is the Bernbach model—the writer and art director sitting in a room together coming up with an idea,” he says, referring to legendary adman Bill Bernbach, cofounder of DDB and the man who first combined copywriters and art directors as two-person teams. Now, all that’s changed. “[Today, there are] fifteen people sitting in a room. Media is as much a part of the creative department as a writer or an art director. And we have account planners—we call them ‘connection planners’—in the room throwing around ideas,” he says. “That facilitates getting to work that is about the experience, about ways to compel consumers to interact with your brand in a way that they become like free media” by actively promoting the brand for you. If his team worked on the old Bernbach model, Butler adds, they would never have created something like those cool MINI billboards that display messages to drivers by name that I described in the last chapter. The idea actually spun out of a discussion about 3-D glasses for print ads. “Someone in the interactive group said, ‘We can probably do that same thing with [radio frequency identification] technology.’” By using transmitters built into the billboards, and building RFID chips into MINI key fobs, “when a person drives by, it will recognize him and it will spit out a message just for him.” He adds with considerable understatement: “Through having those capabilities, in-house engineers, technical guys who know the technology and what’s available, we were able to create something that was really pretty cool.

My name is Matt Royal. I’m a lawyer who retired early, fed up with the rat race that the once honorable profession of law had become. I moved to Longboat Key, a small island about ten miles long and perhaps a half-mile wide at its broadest point. It lies off the southwest coast of Florida, south of Tampa, about halfway down the peninsula. Sarasota Bay separates the key from the mainland. Anna Maria Island is to the north, the islands connected by the two-lane Longboat Pass Bridge. The southern end of the key is attached by a bridge to Lido and St. Armands Keys, which in turn are connected to the city of Sarasota by the soaring John Ringling Bridge. The Gulf of Mexico’s turquoise waters lap gently on our beaches and the sun almost always shines. A cold day is a rarity, even in February. I live in paradise.

Begin to invest in productive capacity, and the ability to see people flying or shining on the platform you have set for them in support of your vision. You need to draw the best out of them so that the reach and impact of your vision becomes phenomenal. See them as your extension, the multiplication of the tentacles of your vision and mission – sometimes when they shine, they are not trying to replace you at all, they are trying to be a “little you” somewhere you cannot be, as you focus on other key strategic issues elsewhere.

Paul exposed this strategy in his letter to the Corinthians, saying that Satan has blinded people’s minds, “lest the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine on them” (2 Corinthians 4:4).

Everlasting Light Let me be your everlasting light Your sun when there is none I'm a shepherd for you And I'll guide you through Let me be your everlasting light Let me be your everlasting light Your home when there is cold In me you can confide When no one's by your side Let me be your everlasting light Oh baby, can't you see It's shining just for you Loneliness is over Dark days are through They're through Let me be your everlasting light Your train going away from pain Love is the coal that makes this train roll Let me be your everlasting light Yeah, let me be your everlasting light Let me be your everlasting light Be your everlasting light

The path to self-discovery is not a straight line. It’s a zigzag. We move in and out of awareness: one step forward, three steps to the left, a baby step back, another leap forward. A lightbulb moment might shine brightly one day, but then flicker the next. It takes work to hold tightly to a certain consciousness, to live in its wisdom. Every day, I have to intentionally maintain an awareness of my value. I know I’m worthy. But you don’t cross over into the Land of Self-Worth and just become a permanent resident. You have to keep your passport current. You have to work to preserve your status.

We made a bargain,' Rhysand said. I flinched as he brushed a stray lock of my hair from my face. He ran his fingers down my cheek- a gentle caress. The throne room was all too quiet as he spoke his next words to Tamlin. 'One week with me at the Night Court every month in exchange for my healing services after her first task.' He raised my left arm to reveal the tattoo, whose ink didn't shine as much as the paint on my body. 'For the rest of her life,' he added casually, but his eyes were now upon Amarantha. The Faerie Queen straightened a little bit- even Jurian's eye seemed fixed on me, on Rhysand. For the rest of my life- he said it as if it were going to be a long, long while. He thought I was going to beat her tasks. I stared at his profile, at the elegant nose and sensuous lips. Games- Rhysand liked to play games, and it seemed I was now to be a key player in whatever this one was.

Paint me. Put me in a sports coat with a big pattern. In silk or wool or cotton. Padded shoulders. Nipped in at the waist. A wide tie. Silk, of course. Paint me in one of my light ties on a white shirt. Make my clean, heavily starched shirt jump from the canvas. Have my good Johnson and Murphy shoes shined. Make my creases sharp. Creases count all seasons of the year. If you don’t want to paint me in spring or autumn in a sports coat, paint me in winter when I have just come in from the cold wearing a suit, with a cashmere coat in the crook of my arm. Hat still on my head. Pocket square. Tie clip. All the Ziggy details in place. Or paint me in one of my shirts that let me wear a collar bar. Remind us that that is how, once upon a time, we did it. That ours was a world of pocket squares, and tie clips—tie clips were most important, as they held a dancer’s tie in place midflight—and stick pins, and gold cigarette lighters and silver key fobs and money clips of metal or a plain rubber band, and cufflinks, and good hats, and mohair V-neck golf sweaters and fine tuxedos and Murine. Don’t paint me dropping Murine in my eyes. Or me in my boxer shorts and white cotton V-neck shirt sitting at my dressing table in my room at the Gotham, my toes tickled by the wool wall-to-wall carpet. Or maybe paint that. How and where we got ready. And we were ready. Paint our readiness.

Humans are wired to oversimplify explanations for both good and bad outcomes through what philosophers call the single cause fallacy. We shine a spotlight on one big reason for a calamity—say, a failed presidential bid (“neglect of a key swing state”) or a sports team’s late-season collapse (“the star pitcher’s torn hamstring”)—when the outcome is actually a result of multiple factors.

Rated R Sacred Sex Inner Occulus: Swirling Crystals Globes Whirling Shining Keys Keep Returning

I feel that smile all the way down to the darkest corner of my soul, the place where light never shines and I keep all the monsters hidden under lock and key. She smiles with her whole body. With her whole being, like she’s a conductor of light itself and all that’s good and pure in the universe is being channeled through her on its way to me, where it surrounds me and bathes me in golden rays of sunshine, so warm and sweet I could almost cry.

Each book, a treasure chest of knowledge. And the advent of the modern library did not disturb him: The introduction of computers and other “screens” into libraries only increased that access to information. That was key, he long felt, to an informed society, one that cleaved to both empathy and critical thinking: access to information. Simply being able to know things—true things!—meant the world to him. And better still, reference librarians served well in the role that the internet never did: They were the perfect bouncers at the door of bad information. Or, put differently, they were the best vectors to transmit truth. Just as diseases required strong vectors to survive, thrive, and spread, Benji always felt that the power of a healthy society hinged on powerful vectors that allowed good information to do the same: survive, thrive, spread. Unhealthy societies quashed truth-tellers, hid facts, and curtailed debate (often at the end of a sword or rifle). Information, as the saying went, wanted to be free. And a healthy society understood that and helped it to be so. And libraries were the perfect, shining example of that assistance.

Bright light can never be over powered by darkness even in the blackest moment of death there will always be lite shining with GOD for every death in life a star is born in the sky the one promise that is forever in life a new door always opens when one door closes you will always have a key to unlock any door you open a forever promise from GOD for eternal life on earth or your heavenly life you will never be seperated from the ones you love and they loved only a new message will be sent by air mail heavens wind always blows for the ones that have given there last breath GOD

BRIGHT LIGHT CAN NEVER BE OVER POWERED BY DARKNESS EVEN IN THE MOMENT OF BLACKEST DEATH THERE WILL ALWAYS BE LIFE A LITE WILL FOR EVER SHINE WITH GOD FOR EVERY DEATH A STAR IS BORN IN THE SKY THE A FOREVER PROMISE FOR ETERNA LIFE FOR EVERY CLOSED DOOR A NEW ONE OPENS YOU WILL HOLD THE KEY TO UNLOCK EACH DOOR IN LIFE ON EARTH AND YOUR HEAVENLY LIFE YOU WILL NEVER BE SEPERATED FROM THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE AND THOSE THAT LOVE YOU THE ONLY ONE THAT BREATHES FRESH AIR INTO YOUR SOUL TO RECIEVE ONLY A NEW MESSAGE LIFE HAS NO END FOR GOD"S PROMISES NEVER LIE HIS WIND WILL CONTINUE TO BLOW EVEN AFTER YOUR LAST BREATH IS TAKEN A WORLD WITH NO END

We don't draw loved ones into our lives coincidentally. They're there to shine a light on our unfinished emotional business, to reveal to us our deepest tendencies. And as my life is proving to me even now, those patterns appear time and time again, often cleverly disguised. And they'll keep right on showing up until we're willing to truly look at them.

Dearest heart, meet me, see me and speak with me. Keep your door open, walk with me through the gate. What else is there to truly await? Turn the key. Unleash your truth and wisdom. Spill out upon me. Dearest moon, awaken within me, all while I bloom. As the sun shines upon you moon, you too shine upon my Soul. Heart, we are here and now we walk.

Everything was going well in my life. My career was spit-shined and gleaming, I’d made a name for myself in the sports world, and I had plans to get back onto the battlefield like a Navy SEAL should. But sometimes, even when you are doing everything right in life, shit storms appear and multiply. Chaos can and will descend without warning, and when (not if) that happens, there won’t be anything you can do to stop it. If you’re fortunate, the issues or injuries are relatively minor, and when those incidents crop up it’s on you to adjust and stay after it. If you get injured or other complications arise that prevent you from working on your primary passion, refocus your energy elsewhere. The activities we pursue tend to be our strengths because it’s fun to do what we’re great at. Very few people enjoy working on their weaknesses, so if you’re a terrific runner with a knee injury that will prevent you from running for twelve weeks, that is a great time to get into yoga, increasing your flexibility and your overall strength, which will make you a better and less injury-prone athlete. If you’re a guitar player with a broken hand, sit down at the keys

Luther’s story reminds us that not every kind of mental, spiritual, or psychological effect can be achieved by dint of hard work and control. Like falling asleep, some spiritual tasks require a more glancing approach. But Wallace is not alone in thinking that self-control is the key. Western culture in the twentieth century can be read, in part, as a series of responses to the death of God—to the death in the culture, in other words, of a grounded, public, and shared sense that there is a single, unquestioned set of virtues—Judeo-Christian virtues—in accordance with which one’s life is properly led.

Sweet, sweet books. Each book, a treasure chest of knowledge. And the advent of the modern library did not disturb him: The introduction of computers and other “screens” into libraries only increased that access to information. That was key, he long felt, to an informed society, one that cleaved to both empathy and critical thinking: access to information. Simply being able to know things—true things!—meant the world to him. And better still, reference librarians served well in the role that the internet never did: They were the perfect bouncers at the door of bad information. Or, put differently, they were the best vectors to transmit truth. Just as diseases required strong vectors to survive, thrive, and spread, Benji always felt that the power of a healthy society hinged on powerful vectors that allowed good information to do the same: survive, thrive, spread. Unhealthy societies quashed truth-tellers, hid facts, and curtailed debate (often at the end of a sword or rifle). Information, as the saying went, wanted to be free. And a healthy society understood that and helped it to be so. And libraries were the perfect, shining example of that assistance.

Guys are so easy. They fall for sex, they fall for tears, they fall for the silent treatment, they fall for jealousy, they fall for disinterest. There are any number of things you can do to manipulate a guy. The key is knowing the guy well enough. Is he a knight in shining armor, a child, a lecher, a man who needs a challenge? Not all of the above tactics will work on all men–you have to mix and match.

To remain authentic to your soul’s mission is a titanic task. Committing to shining the Light in such a dark world is something that only heroes do. Use your talents to serve the Light, regardless of the key that will open the pass to higher realms and the new earth.

High Lord of Summer possesses our piece, and the reigning mortal queens have the other entombed in their shining palace by the sea. Prythian’s half is guarded, protected with blood-spells keyed to Summer himself. The one belonging to the mortal queens … They were crafty, when they received their gift. They used our own kind to spell the Book, to bind it—so that if it were ever stolen, if, let’s say, a High Lord were to winnow into their castle to steal it … the Book would melt into ore and be lost. It must be freely given by a mortal queen, with no trickery, no magic involved.” A little laugh. “Such clever, lovely creatures, humans.

(Verse 1) In the glow of a **dawn's early light**, With the dew on the grass, shining so bright, A cup of coffee, a **gentle breeze**, These little things, oh how they please. (Chorus) **Grab your hat and dance in the rain,** **Kick off your boots, forget the pain,** **Laugh with friends, under the sun's reign,** **Life's a sweet ride, hop on the train!** **Raise your glass to the stars above,** **Sing with heart, push and shove,** **Every little moment, fit like a glove,** **It's the simple things that we love!** (Verse 2) A **dog's wagging tail**, a **porch swing's sway**, The **colors of flowers** that brighten the day, A **song on the radio** that takes you back, To the **sweet old memories** that never lack. (Bridge) **Lights down low, we're just starting up,** **Fill up the tank, let's raise our cup,** **To the moments that feel like a live wire,** **Simple sparks igniting our fire.** **Sync to the beat of the city's pulse,** **Every little win, every single result,** **We're living loud in the here and now,** **In the simple life, we take our bow.** (Verse 3) **Under the wide-open sky so blue,** **Life's painting scenes, each one anew,** **A simple hello, a wave goodbye,** **In these little things, our dreams fly high.** **With every sunrise, we start again,** **Finding joy in the whisper of the wind,** **A hearty laugh, a warm embrace,** **In the simple life, we find our grace.** (Chorus) **Turn it up, let the bass line roll,** **Simple life's got that rock 'n' roll soul,** **Snap your fingers, tap your feet,** **Living for the moment, life's so sweet.** **Catch the vibe, let it take control,** **These little things are how we roll,** **From the heartland to the city's grip,** **It's the simple life that makes us flip.** (Verse 4) **The jukebox plays a tune that's bittersweet,** **Echoing tales of love and deceit,** **But in the neon glow, we find our truth,** **In simple things, we reclaim our youth.** **A twist of fate, a turn of the key,** **Life's full of surprises, as we can see,** **A chance encounter, a new beginning,** **In the simple life, we keep on winning.**

How do we find out what’s in the book?” “You will know soon enough.” “How are the Kings of Yejedin still alive? How did they make it past the seals on the realms after the Gods War?” I could feel Liam’s frustration and hear it in his voice. Roccurrem spoke in riddles, and Liam was in no mood to be denied the answers he sought. “Your family is full of secrets, Samkiel. Secrets that far outstretch this world.” “What?” The swirling mass around it seemed to shine brighter before dimming. “You are the key that connects the ones seeking revenge. There must always be a Guardian. Unir perceived the end, knew the consequences, and took action. Realms were locked—and your death will open them all. It is foretold. Chaos will return, and chaos will reign. You have seen a fraction of it.” Liam went rigid, a shuddering breath escaping him. “Seen it? How has he seen it?” My eyes darted between them. “Are you talking about the nightmares?” “He sees as his father and his father before him did. Distorted as it may be, it still rings true. The realms will open again.” “But if they open, that means Liam will die.” “So it is written; so it shall be.

Liberation's Song" In the silence of the soul's retreat, Liberation's song finds its beat. Echoes of truth, in every breath, Leading souls to life beyond death. Transcendence calls in whispers soft, Awakening spirits, lifting aloft. In the art of liberation, we find, The keys to freedom, to the divine. Let go of chains that bind the soul, Embrace the journey, make it whole. Liberation's song, a melody divine, Guiding souls to the light, to shine.

One of the key takeaways from the trip was that independent bookshops overseas had their own distinct personality – a personality that reflected that of their owners. To make the bookshop’s personality shine, she needed courage. For her courage to reach the customers, she needed sincerity. Courage. And sincerity.

Observer: “In our being, where the tangible meets the intangible, there lies a duality as ancient as time itself - the ego and the essence. These twin forces, ever-present and perpetually intertwined, are the sun and moon of our inner universe, each holding sway over the landscape of our spirit in a dance as old as the stars.” Sun: “I am the essence, the unwavering light within. A constant, unfiltered sun, burning at the core of our being. Untouched by the transient world, I am the eternal truth in your heart, the perpetual whisper of your authentic self.” Moon: “And I, the ego, mirror the silver luminescence of experience. Shaped by the ebb and flow of life’s tides, I reflect the lessons, beliefs, and identities formed through your journey. In me, the tales of your identity are woven through societal norms and cultural echoes, ever-evolving and dynamic.” Sun: “Unlike you, who waxes and wanes, I am a perpetual beacon. I am solid, the silent guide amidst the storms of life, illuminating the path to enlightenment. I am the light that shines beyond all darkness, the eternal truth within.” Moon: “True, I may dance in shadows, casting illusions, but through my reflective glow, I bring lessons, growth, and an understanding of our place in the material world. My phases are a reminder of life’s impermanence and the transformative power of introspection and self-inquiry.” Sun: “It is in recognizing our dual nature that the process of transformation begins. From the unexamined to the enlightened existence, I offer wisdom, authenticity, and a connection to the eternal. Understanding the self is the key to liberation.” Moon: “Together, we form the yin and yang of existence. My reflective lessons and your radiant wisdom define the human experience. In understanding our dance, one finds the rhythm of their soul, a balance between action and introspection, between the material world and the spiritual journey.” Sun: “The journey of self is thus a celestial voyage between us. Embracing both my luminescence and your reflection leads to harmony, living attuned to the eternal rhythm of light and shadow.

33. Don’t believe in good or bad, or winning and losing, or victory and defeat, or ups and down. At your lowest and your highest, whether you are happy or despairing or calm or angry, there is a kernel of you that stays the same. That is the you that matters. 34. Don’t worry about the time you lose to despair. The time you will have afterwards has just doubled its value. 35. Be transparent to yourself. Make a greenhouse for your mind. Observe. 36. Read Emily Dickinson. Read Graham Green. Read Italo Calvino. Read Maya Angelou. Read anything you want. Just read. Books are possibilities. They are escape routes. They give you options when you have none. Each one can be a home for an uprooted mind. 37. If the sun is shining, and you can be outside, be outside. 38. Remember that the key thing about life on earth is change. Cars rust. Paper yellows. Technology dates. Caterpillars become butterflies. Nights morph into days. Depression lifts. 39. Just when you feel you have no time to relax, know that this is the moment you most need to make time to relax. 40. Be brave. Be strong. Breathe, and keep going. You will thank yourself later.

Despite what we learn daily about healthy exercise practices, healthy diets, and good medical care, the bottom line is that the most significant way of contributing to our own good health is through the quality of our thought processes. This power is a valuable gift, in light of the absolute lack of control we have over other aspects of life. Think about being on a turbulent flight in bad weather. You have no control over the winds, or the skills or the mental state of the pilot flying the plane. But you do have the power to minimize your discomfort. You can decide to read a book, strike up a conversation with the person next to you, take your antioxidants, wrap up in a warm blanket, sleep, listen to music, or watch the movie. Alternatively, you can listen to every engine noise and allow yourself to be debilitated by worry the entire flight. It’s your choice. Ultimately, you are the only one who can make significant deposits into your health bank account. This is not the job of your doctor, your nutritionist, your lover, or your parents. There is no supplement, no healthcare provider, and no exotic herb that can possibly do for you what you can do for yourself. The key is compassion for yourself. Dr. Hendricks has noted that any area of pain, blame, or shame in our lives is there because we have not loved that part of ourselves enough. No matter what you’re feeling, the only way to get a difficult feeling to go away is simply to love yourself for it. If you think you’re stupid, then love yourself for feeling that way. It’s a paradox, but it works. To heal, you must be the first one to shine the light of compassion on any areas within you that you feel are unacceptable (and we’ve all got them).

H = L + F + G Dedicated to those of us in need of a mathematical equation to explain the key to happiness in life. Simply put, it means Happiness = Look for Good Ie. Look for the good in life ... the silver lining in each of our experiences.