Short Entry Quotes

Keeping a journal: The short entries are often as dry as instant tea. Writing them down is like pouring hot water over them to release their aroma.

Poetry can unleash a terrible fear. I suppose it is the fear of possibilities, too many possibilities, each with its own endless set of variations. It's like looking too closely and too long into a mirror; soon your features distort, then erupt. You look too closely into your poems, or listen too closely to them as they arrive in whispers, and the features inside you - call it heart, call it mind, call it soul - accelerate out of control. They distort and they erupt, and it is one strange pain. You realize, then, that you can't attempt breaking down too many barriers in too short a time, because there are as many horrors waiting to get in at you as there are parts of yourself pushing to break out, and with the same, or more, fevered determination.

I started keeping a diary, which I called ‘the life book’. I began with the idea of writing one short entry each day, just a line or two, describing something good. I suppose by ‘good’ I must have meant something that made me happy or brought me pleasure.

The world of the known and the not yet known is bridged by wonderment. But wonderment happens largely in a situation where the child’s world is separate from the adult world, where children must seek entry, through their questions, into the adult world. As media merge the two worlds, as the tension created by secrets to be unraveled is diminished, the calculus of wonderment changes. Curiosity is replaced by cynicism or, even worse, arrogance. We are left with children who rely not on authoritative adults but on news from nowhere. We are left with children who are given answers to questions they never asked. We are left, in short, without children.

She said to me, over the phone She wanted to see other people I thought, Well then, look around. They're everywhere Said that she was confused... I thought, Darling, join the club 24 years old, Mid-life crisis Nowadays hits you when you're young I hung up, She called back, I hung up again The process had already started At least it happened quick I swear, I died inside that night My friend, he called I didn't mention a thing The last thing he said was, Be sound Sound... I contemplated an awful thing, I hate to admit I just thought those would be such appropriate last words But I'm still here And small So small.. How could this struggle seem so big? So big... While the palms in the breeze still blow green And the waves in the sea still absolute blue But the horror Every single thing I see is a reminder of her Never thought I'd curse the day I met her And since she's gone and wouldn't hear Who would care? What good would that do? But I'm still here So I imagine in a month...or 12 I'll be somewhere having a drink Laughing at a stupid joke Or just another stupid thing And I can see myself stopping short Drifting out of the present Sucked by the undertow and pulled out deep And there I am, standing Wet grass and white headstones all in rows And in the distance there's one, off on its own So I stop, kneel My new home... And I picture a sober awakening, a re-entry into this little bar scene Sip my drink til the ice hits my lip Order another round And that's it for now Sorry Never been too good at happy endings...

Hatred was easy. The permutations constant over the years: A stranger at a fair who palmed my crotch through my shorts. A man on the sidewalk who lunged at me, then laughed when I flinched. The night an older man took me to a fancy restaurant when I wasn't even old enough to like oysters. Not yet twenty. The owner joined our table, and so did a famous filmmaker. The men fell into a heated discussion with no entry point for me: I fidgeted with my heavy cloth napkin, drank water. Staring at the wall. "Eat your vegetables," the filmmaker suddenly snapped at me. "You're a growing girl." The filmmaker wanted me to know what I already knew: I had no power. He saw my need and used it against me.

Closely related are the entries in his bestiary, a compendium of short tales of animals and moral lessons based on their traits. Bestiaries were popular among the ancients and in the Middle Ages, and the spread of printing presses meant that many were reprinted in Italy beginning in the 1470s. Leonardo had a copy of the bestiary written by Pliny the Elder and three others by medieval compilers.

It was not her way to make a conspicuous entry into anyone’s life, but towards the end of that week Sebastian said rather sourly: “You and mummy seem very thick,” and I realized that in fact I was being drawn into intimacy by swift, imperceptible stages, for she was impatient of any human relationship that fell short of it.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this to you before, but a few years ago, I started keeping a diary, which I called ‘the life book’. I began with the idea of writing one short entry each day, just a line or two, describing something good. I suppose by ‘good’ I must have meant something that made me happy or brought me pleasure.

When I was done raking and bagging, I banged on the door and demanded entry /...let me in by the hair on your chinny, chin-chin/ (a fairytale moment there) Dick opened it and in his posthest voice, said that before he could possibly consider letting me re-cross the threshold he needed to ask me whether I was a good f*cking fairy or a bad f*cking fairy? Grinning, I told him that I was very wicked fairy and if he had a wand about his person that I could have lend of, I would prove it. He said that was the right answer and promptly yanked me inside where he located and presented me with his wand, breathily ordering the sorcerer's apprentice to perform magic with it. Judging by the look on his face afterwards, I knew I'd impressed him with my oral sorcery and I was more than happy with the short-lifting sorcery Shane performed on me as the same time.

As chain stores rise, there is also a loss of dynamism, competition, and market entry for new ideas and products. Keep in mind that today’s major chain was once a small individual store on a street somewhere. A bit more economic chaos, even if it is inconvenient in the short run, actually tends to be correlated with higher rates of innovation.

In short, I'm not very concerned with quantity and quality; I just want a reasonable entry for every day of my life, starting now.

Any bridge you refuse to burn gives Satan an invitation and re-entry point into your life.

CONGRATULATIONS DL Havlin! Your entry, "There are No Lights in Naples", an unpublished short fiction - flash fiction genre category, is a finalist for the 2016 Royal Palm Literary Awards competition!

Topic and page number, you capture your thoughts as short, objective sentences known as Bullets. Each Bullet is paired with a specific symbol to categorize your entry. We use Bullets not only because it takes less time,

An asteroid or comet traveling at cosmic velocities would enter the Earth’s atmosphere at such a speed that the air beneath it couldn’t get out of the way and would be compressed, as in a bicycle pump. As anyone who has used such a pump knows, compressed air grows swiftly hot, and the temperature below it would rise to some 60,000 Kelvin, or ten times the surface temperature of the Sun. In this instant of its arrival in our atmosphere, everything in the meteor’s path—people, houses, factories, cars—would crinkle and vanish like cellophane in a flame. One second after entering the atmosphere, the meteorite would slam into the Earth’s surface, where the people of Manson had a moment before been going about their business. The meteorite itself would vaporize instantly, but the blast would blow out a thousand cubic kilometers of rock, earth, and superheated gases. Every living thing within 150 miles that hadn’t been killed by the heat of entry would now be killed by the blast. Radiating outward at almost the speed of light would be the initial shock wave, sweeping everything before it. For those outside the zone of immediate devastation, the first inkling of catastrophe would be a flash of blinding light—the brightest ever seen by human eyes—followed an instant to a minute or two later by an apocalyptic sight of unimaginable grandeur: a roiling wall of darkness reaching high into the heavens, filling an entire field of view and traveling at thousands of miles an hour. Its approach would be eerily silent since it would be moving far beyond the speed of sound. Anyone in a tall building in Omaha or Des Moines, say, who chanced to look in the right direction would see a bewildering veil of turmoil followed by instantaneous oblivion. Within minutes, over an area stretching from Denver to Detroit and encompassing what had once been Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City, the Twin Cities—the whole of the Midwest, in short—nearly every standing thing would be flattened or on fire, and nearly every living thing would be dead. People up to a thousand miles away would be knocked off their feet and sliced or clobbered by a blizzard of flying projectiles. Beyond a thousand miles the devastation from the blast would gradually diminish. But that’s just the initial shockwave. No one can do more than guess what the associated damage would be, other than that it would be brisk and global. The impact would almost certainly set off a chain of devastating earthquakes. Volcanoes across the globe would begin to rumble and spew. Tsunamis would rise up and head devastatingly for distant shores. Within an hour, a cloud of blackness would cover the planet, and burning rock and other debris would be pelting down everywhere, setting much of the planet ablaze. It has been estimated that at least a billion and a half people would be dead by the end of the first day. The massive disturbances to the ionosphere would knock out communications systems everywhere, so survivors would have no idea what was happening elsewhere or where to turn. It would hardly matter. As one commentator has put it, fleeing would mean “selecting a slow death over a quick one. The death toll would be very little affected by any plausible relocation effort, since Earth’s ability to support life would be universally diminished.

Their conversation ceased abruptly with the entry of an oddly-shaped man whose body resembled a certain vegetable. He was a thickset fellow with calloused and jaundiced skin and a patch of brown hair, a frizzy upheaval. We will call him Bell Pepper. Bell Pepper sidled up beside The Drippy Man and looked at the grilled cheese in his hand. The Drippy Man, a bit uncomfortable at the heaviness of the gaze, politely apologized and asked Bell Pepper if he would like one. “Why is one of your legs fatter than the other?” asked Bell Pepper. The Drippy Man realized Bell Pepper was not looking at his sandwich but towards the inconsistency of his leg sizes. “You always get your kicks pointing out defects?” retorted The Drippy Man. “Just curious. Never seen anything like it before.” “I was raised not to feel shame and hide my legs in baggy pants.” “So you flaunt your deformity by wearing short shorts?” “Like you flaunt your pockmarks by not wearing a mask?” Bell Pepper backed away, kicking wide the screen door, making an exit to a porch over hanging a dune of sand that curved into a jagged upward jab of rock. “He is quite sensitive,” commented The Dry Advisor. “Who is he?” “A fellow who once manipulated the money in your wallet but now curses the fellow who does.

I must write about the things of the world with no glazing.” She fought doggedly against the great suction into her own subjectivity: “I shall perish if I can write about no one but myself.” Something like this went through nearly every entry in her journal over long periods. In

including thousands of paintings in his unique, semi-cartoonish style, often densely packed with animals and figures—Elvis, George Washington, angels—and set fancifully in apocalyptic landscapes. In short order, he was appearing on Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show and creating album covers for R.E.M. and Talking Heads. Upon entry to the garden, I was greeted by a giant self-portrait of a smirking Finster in a burgundy suit, affixed to a cinderblock wall. At the bottom are the words “I began painting pictures in Jan-1976—without any training. This is my painting. A person don’t know what he can do unless he tryes. Trying things is the answer to find your talent.

Privacy was a much different concept in former times. In inns, sharing beds remained common into the nineteenth century, and diaries frequently contain entries lamenting how the author was disappointed to find a late-arriving stranger clambering into bed with him. Benjamin Franklin and John Adams were required to share a bed at an inn in New Brunswick, New Jersey, in 1776, and passed a grumpy and largely sleepless night squabbling over whether to have the window open or not. Even at home, it was entirely usual for a servant to sleep at the foot of his master’s bed whatever his master might be up to within the bed. The records make clear that King Henry V’s steward and chamberlain both were present when he bedded Catherine of Valois.

Although Dalton tried to avoid all honors, he was elected to the Royal Society against his wishes, showered with medals, and given a handsome government pension. When he died in 1844, forty thousand people viewed the coffin, and the funeral cortege stretched for two miles. His entry in the Dictionary of National Biography is one of the longest, rivaled in length only by those of Darwin and Lyell among nineteenth-century men of science.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this to you before, but a few years ago, I started keeping a diary, which I called ‘the life book’. I began with the idea of writing one short entry each day, just a line or two, describing something good. I suppose by ‘good’ I must have meant something that made me happy or brought me pleasure. I went back to look at it the other day, and the early entries are all from that autumn, almost six years ago now. Dry upturned sycamore leaves scuttling like claws along the South Circular Road. The artificial buttered taste of popcorn in the cinema. Pale-yellow sky in the evening, Thomas Street draped in mist. Things like that. I didn’t miss a day through all of September, October, November that year. I could always think of something nice, and sometimes I would even do things for the purpose of putting them in the book, like taking a bath or going for a walk. At the time I felt like I was just absorbing life, and at the end of the day I never had to strain to think of anything good I had seen or heard. It just came to me, and even the words came, because my only aim was to get the image down clearly and simply so that I would later remember how it felt. And reading those entries now, I do remember what I felt, or at least what I saw and heard and noticed. Walking around, even on a bad day, I would see things—I mean just the things that were in front of me. People’s faces, the weather, traffic. The smell of petrol from the garage, the feeling of being rained on, completely ordinary things. And in that way even the bad days were good, because I felt them and remembered feeling them. There was something delicate about living like that—like I was an instrument and the world touched me and reverberated inside me.

I've had so much time to think down here, and I want to say that I think that the most important thing in life are thankfulness, forgiveness, and love. Mama taught me to always be thankful. And when you say thank you it makes other people feel happy. And forgiveness, because, life is too short to be cross. It's also not fun. And, last but not least, love- because when you have love in your heart, nothing and no one can take it away from you.

Here is an entry from June 12, 1989, three and a half years after my father’s death: I feel so helpless sometimes. I know that my destiny is in my own hands, but to what extent? There is so much to think about—family, friends, career, LIFE! Will my grandchildren read this, years from now, and see it as the only thing to remember me by? No legacy? We’re here for such a short time. But what exactly are my ambitions? I thought ambition was viewed as bad, as wrong. It turns out it’s the key to everything. Where will I be in ten years? I want to be successful. What do I believe in—really believe in? Hell, Megyn, what do you even know about the world? I want to know what my teachers know. Where is it all? In books? I know where it is—it’s in years and years of research and experiences. That’s not something I can just have. I have to get it all for myself. I’m just sitting here wondering who I really am inside and—who am I to become?

Much of the greatness of the human spirit can be seen in our passionate pursuit of knowledge, truth, justice, beauty, perfection, and love. At the same time, few things are so haunting as the stories of the very greatest seekers falling short. Leonardo da Vinci's magnificent failures point to a very personal entry point to the wonder of calling - when something more than human seeking is needed if seeking is to be satisfied, then calling means that seekers themselves are sought.

Normally, you don’t think about how many times you do laps. If you do, you start to get a little dizzy, go all Camus about the futility of the situation. Your laces on the right side start to get loose from always turning against them. Normally I switch it up, do a little fancy footwork and skate backward for a bit, but what if that messed up the youth magic? What if I sped up time instead of reversing it and my face melted off like the Nazis when they opened the Ark of the Covenant?

Thanks to Casey Ashcraft Honebrink! The book includes my winning "IN HIDING" as a short story along with 23 other winning entries from talented members of WRITERS ASSEMBLED. The anthology, THE BEST OF WRITERS ASSEMBLED 2017: BEHIND CLOSED DOORS is a mixed-genre collection. It really has a little something for everyone : action, suspense, humor, romance, fantasy, supernatural, science fiction, drama, poetry, and personal stories. You can find it on Amazon, get your copy today! Thanks for recognizing and supporting our group!

Horne Fisher had in him something of the aristocrat, which is very near to the anarchist. It was characteristic of him that he turned into this dark and irregular entry as casually as into his own front door, merely thinking that it would be a short cut to the house. He made his way through the dim wood for some distance and with some difficulty, until there began to shine through the trees a level light, in lines of silver, which he did not at first understand. The next moment he had come out into the daylight at the top of a steep bank, at the bottom of which a path ran round the rim of a large ornamental lake.

Megan Meade’s Guide to the McGowan Boys Entry One Observation #1: When they’re beautiful, they know they’re beautiful. Like the second-to-oldest one, Evan. He’s a senior. He is perfection personified. And he knows it. You can tell because he just sort of smiles knowingly when you gape at him. Not that I’ve been gaping at him. Not at all. Anyway, too soon yet to tell if it negatively affects his behavior. (Like Mike Blukowsi and his Astrodome-sized ego problem.) Observation #2: They like skin. Especially skin they think they’re not necessarily supposed to be seeing. Like the space between your belly tee and your waistband. Observation #3: They have no problem bringing up events that would mortify me into shamed silence if the roles were reversed. Like Evan totally brought up the wiffleball bat incident, when if that had happened to me, I’d be wishing on every one of my birthday cakes for everyone to forget it. Observation #4: They gossip. Can you believe it? I overheard Finn and Doug in the backyard talking about some girl named Dawn who blew off some guy named Simon for some other guy named Rick for like TWENTY MINUTES! They sounded like those old mole-hair ladies at Sal’s Milkshakes. ‘Member the ones who lectured us for a whole hour that day about how young women shouldn’t wear shorts? Wait, okay, I got sidetracked. Observation #5: The older ones are so cute with the younger ones. They were playing ultimate Frisbee when I first got here and Evan totally let Caleb and Ian tackle him. It was soooooo cute. **sigh.** Observation #6: They’re cliquey. I mean, eye-rolling, secret-handshake, don’t-talk-to-us-unless-you’ve-got-an-X-and-a-Y cliquey. Very schooled in the art of the freeze-out. Observation #7: They have no sense of personal space. I need a lock on my door. STAT. Observation #8: Boys are icky. Do not even get me started on the state of the bathroom. I’m thinking of calling in a haz-mat team. Seriously. Observation #9: They have really freaky things going on down there. Yeah, I don’t think I’m ready to elaborate on that one yet. Observation #10: They know how to make enemies. Big time.

Once a competitor’s move has occurred, the denial of an adequate base for the competitor to meet its goals, coupled with the expectation that this state of affairs will continue, can cause the competitor to withdraw. New entrants, for example, usually have some targets for growth, market share, and ROI, and some time horizon for achieving them. If a new entrant is denied its targets and becomes convinced that it will be a long time before they are met, then it may withdraw or deescalate. Tactics for denying a base include strong price competition, heavy expenditures on research, and so on. Attacking new products in the test-market phase can be an effective way to foretell a firm’s future willingness to fight and can be less expensive than waiting for the introduction to actually occur. Another tactic is using special deals to load customers up with inventory, thereby removing the market for the product and raising the short-run cost of entry. It can be worth paying a substantial short-run price to deny a base if a firm’s market position is threatened. Essential to such a strategy, however, is a good hypothesis about what a competitor’s performance targets and time horizon are. An example of such a situation may be Gillette’s withdrawal from digital watches. Although claiming it had won significant market shares in test markets, Gillette bowed out, citing the substantial investments required to develop technology and margins lower than those available in other areas of its business. Texas Instruments’ strategy of aggressive pricing and rapid technological development in digital watches probably had a substantial impact on this decision.

There has been so much misinformation spread about the nature of this interview that the actual events that took place merit discussion. After being discreetly delivered by the Secret Service to the FBI’s basement garage, Hillary Clinton was interviewed by a five-member joint FBI and Department of Justice team. She was accompanied by five members of her legal team. None of Clinton’s lawyers who were there remained investigative subjects in the case at that point. The interview, which went on for more than three hours, was conducted in a secure conference room deep inside FBI headquarters and led by the two senior special agents on the case. With the exception of the secret entry to the FBI building, they treated her like any other interview subject. I was not there, which only surprises those who don’t know the FBI and its work. The director does not attend these kinds of interviews. My job was to make final decisions on the case, not to conduct the investigation. We had professional investigators, schooled on all of the intricacies of the case, assigned to do that. We also as a matter of procedure don’t tape interviews of people not under arrest. We instead have professionals who take detailed notes. Secretary Clinton was not placed under oath during the interview, but this too was standard procedure. The FBI doesn’t administer oaths during voluntary interviews. Regardless, under federal law, it would still have been a felony if Clinton was found to have lied to the FBI during her interview, whether she was under oath or not. In short, despite a whole lot of noise in the media and Congress after the fact, the agents interviewed Hillary Clinton following the FBI’s standard operating procedures.

Ideas for Journal Entries You may find the following ideas useful in beginning your journal or keeping the entries varied. If you are not used to expressing your thoughts on paper, it may seem awkward at first. The longer you do it, the easier it will become. You’ll be amazed at the insight you gain into your life. -Write about your most memorable experience with social anxiety. How did you feel? What did you think? How did others react? Why do you think the event happened? -Write about situations that make you anxious every day. Record your thoughts, feelings, and actions. You may want to divide the page into columns with the headings: situation or event; negative thoughts; physical reactions; and actions. Following is an example of how this may look: Situation or Event Should I attend the first art class after school. Negative Thoughts I thought about skipping out. I was afraid of what people would think. I wanted to do a good job. Physical Reactions I felt a shortness of breath. In general, I was nervous and in a bad mood. Actions I took some deep breaths and visualized the class going well. Later, I became engrossed in my drawing. -Write about a time when you were pleased with how you acted in a social situation. -Identify times when anxiety symptoms kept you from doing something that you really wanted to do. How did you feel? What might have happened if you had not been afraid? -Write a letter to someone who made you feel bad about yourself. You aren’t going to show the letter to anyone, so feel free to write whatever you want. -Write out a conversation with your inner voice. Begin the entry with a question directed to yourself, then write your mental response. It may help to label the different voices A and B. Dialogue writing is a very effective way to get to the heart of the matter.

Have you ever been in a place where history becomes tangible? Where you stand motionless, feeling time and importance press around you, press into you? That was how I felt the first time I stood in the astronaut garden at OCA PNW. Is it still there? Do you know it? Every OCA campus had – has, please let it be has – one: a circular enclave, walled by smooth white stone that towered up and up until it abruptly cut off, definitive as the end of an atmosphere, making room for the sky above. Stretching up from the ground, standing in neat rows and with an equally neat carpet of microclover in between, were trees, one for every person who’d taken a trip off Earth on an OCA rocket. It didn’t matter where you from, where you trained, where your spacecraft launched. When someone went up, every OCA campus planted a sapling. The trees are an awesome sight, but bear in mind: the forest above is not the garden’s entry point. You enter from underground. I remember walking through a short tunnel and into a low-lit domed chamber that possessed nothing but a spiral staircase leading upward. The walls were made of thick glass, and behind it was the dense network you find below every forest. Roots interlocking like fingers, with gossamer fungus sprawled symbiotically between, allowing for the peaceful exchange of carbon and nutrients. Worms traversed roads of their own making. Pockets of water and pebbles decorated the scene. This is what a forest is, after all. Don’t believe the lie of individual trees, each a monument to its own self-made success. A forest is an interdependent community. Resources are shared, and life in isolation is a death sentence. As I stood contemplating the roots, a hidden timer triggered, and the lights faded out. My breath went with it. The glass was etched with some kind of luminescent colourant, invisible when the lights were on, but glowing boldly in the dark. I moved closer, and I saw names – thousands upon thousands of names, printed as small as possible. I understood what I was seeing without being told. The idea behind Open Cluster Astronautics was simple: citizen-funded spaceflight. Exploration for exploration’s sake. Apolitical, international, non-profit. Donations accepted from anyone, with no kickbacks or concessions or promises of anything beyond a fervent attempt to bring astronauts back from extinction. It began in a post thread kicked off in 2052, a literal moonshot by a collective of frustrated friends from all corners – former thinkers for big names gone bankrupt, starry-eyed academics who wanted to do more than teach the past, government bureau members whose governments no longer existed. If you want to do good science with clean money and clean hands, they argued, if you want to keep the fire burning even as flags and logos came down, if you understand that space exploration is best when it’s done in the name of the people, then the people are the ones who have to make it happen.

After dinners in Ris-Orangis, Derrida would gladly offer to drive home any guests without transport. He enjoyed driving, and always went into Paris by car. He’d learned when still very young, on the job, with his father’s car. But since he had never studied the highway code, he had his own ideas about it, which could sometimes lead to spectacular results. He considered, for example, that most ‘no entry’ signs did not actually apply to him, and that big roads should automatically have priority over smaller ones. At the wheel, he rapidly lost his cool. In traffic jams, he could almost get hysterical. And, to crown it all, whenever he stopped for even a short time he would start taking notes. In a letter to Éric Clémens, he indicated in a PS: ‘Excuse the handwriting, I’m writing in the car (what a life!), but I’ve stopped, not even at a red light. I’ve just thought of the title for a book: Written at a Red Light . . .’33 But while he was not a reassuring figure at the wheel, he never had an accident.

Very few entities are powerful enough to create Patinas, and those that can guard them closely. The library is here. But Arriane’s right. We’ll need to figure out the way in.” “I heard you need an Announcer to get through one,” Arriane said. “Cosmic legend.” Annabelle shook her head. “Every Patina is different. Access is entirely up to the creator. They program the code.” “I once heard Cam tell a story at a party about how he accessed a Patina,” Rolan said. “Or was that a story about a party that he threw in a Patina?” “Luce!” Daniel said suddenly, making all of them startle in midair. “It’s you. It was always you.” Luce shrugged. “Always me what?” “You’re the one who always rang the bell. You’re the one who had entry to the library. You just need to ring the bell.” Luce looked at the empty street, the fog tinting everything around them brown. “What are you talking about? What bell?” “Close your eyes,” Daniel said. “Remember it. Pass into the past and find the bellpull-“ Luce was already there, back at the library the last time she’d been in Vienna with Daniel. Her feet were firmly on the ground. It was raining and her hair splayed all across her face. Her crimson hair ribbons were soaked, but she didn’t care. She was looking for something. There was a short path up the courtyard, then a dark alcove outside the library. It had been cold outside, and a fire blazed within. There, in the musty corner near the door, was a woven cord embroidered with white peonies hanging from a substantial silver bell. She reached into the air and pulled. The angels gasped. Luce opened her eyes. There, in the center of the north side of the street, the row of contemporary town houses was interrupted at its midpoint by a single small brown house. A curl of smoke rose from its chimney. The only light-aside from the angel’s wings-was the dim yellow glow of a lamp on the sill of the house’s front window. The angels landed softly on the empty street and Daniel’s grip around Luce softened. He kissed her hand. “You remembered. Well done.

To summarize my trading strategy for VWAP False Breakouts: Once I’ve made my watchlist for the day, I monitor the price action around VWAP at the Open and during the morning session for the Stocks in Play. A good Stock in Play shows respect toward VWAP. If the Stock in Play sells off below the VWAP but bounces back and breaks out above the VWAP, it means the buyers are gaining control and short sellers perhaps had to cover. However, if it loses the VWAP again in the Late-Morning (from 10:30 a.m. to 12 p.m.), it means that this time the buyers were mostly weak or exhausted. This provides a short opportunity with a stop loss above VWAP. The profit target can be the by then low of the day, or any other important technical level. I try to go short when a Stock in Play has lost the VWAP. Sometimes I go short before the price loses the VWAP, to get a good entry while it is ticking down toward VWAP in the anticipation of a VWAP loss. However, be very careful, for the job of a trader is identification and not anticipation. Take small size and add more shares on the way down if you have truly identified a good trading setup.

To summarize the VWAP Reversal Strategy: After I build my watchlist in the morning, I closely monitor the shortlisted stocks in the first five minutes after the Open. I identify their opening range and their price action. The stocks will either move higher or below the VWAP. Depending on the price action, I may be able to take an Opening Range Breakout to the long or short side. I monitor the price when it moves away from the VWAP and look for a sign of weakness. If it is above the VWAP, failing to make a new high of the day may be a sign that the buyers are exhausted. If it is below the VWAP, failing to make a new low of the day or a new 5-minute low can be a sign that the sellers are gone, and the stock can be ready for a squeeze back to the VWAP. I take the trade only if I can get a good entry and a good risk/reward ratio. Remember, most of the time stocks move really fast without offering a good entry and a good risk/reward ratio. If I am short above the VWAP, I cover my short at the VWAP and bring my stop loss to break-even. If I am long below the VWAP, I sell part of my position at the VWAP, and keep the rest for a squeeze above the VWAP (or as some traders would call it, a VWAP Pop). Do ensure you bring your stop loss to break-even, because sometimes the stock can bounce back from the VWAP as well.

Can a reasonable man ever truly question the nobility of the heat engine he calls his body? What option does he have but to heap praise on his form, to self-adore, to admire, and to hold it up as the greatest statement of beauty in a beautiful garden? What, though, is to be admired in such a frighteningly fragile machine; a perilously needy contraption laced with kilometres of liquid and electrical conduits prone to leaks, rot, clogs, and short-circuits? What is there to be proud of in a machine that has an eight hour battery life and is predetermined to spend half its existence in a defenceless, catatonic coma? What is to be revered in a mechanism let loose in a sealed off room where almost everything—including its single source of light and warmth—makes it sick, but whose immune system functions by late entry crisis-response imitation? Where is the awe in a contrivance that freezes and dies if placed a little over here, or overheats and dies if placed a little over there? Where is the wonder in an instrument that is crushed to a pulp if dropped a little down there, or boiled away to nothing if lifted a little up there? Where is the marvel in an appliance where three-quarters of the planet’s surface will drown it, and three-quarters of the atmosphere will asphyxiate it? What is there to be cherished in a machine born innately greedy and so utterly useless that it has to wait three years for its neural networks to hook-up and come online before it even begins to get a hint of who or even what it is, and only then can it start to relearn absolutely everything its forebears had already bothered to learn? Where is the artistry in a thinking engine whose sweetest fuel can only be embezzled from other thinking engines?

The insensitivity of Roosevelt’s reply startled Churchill. The subtext seemed clear: Roosevelt was concerned only about assistance that would directly help sustain the safety of the United States from German attack, and cared little whether the Middle East fell or not. Churchill wrote to Anthony Eden, “It seems to me as if there has been a considerable recession across the Atlantic, and that quite unconsciously we are being left very much to our fate.” Colville noted how the accumulation of bad news that night left Churchill “in worse gloom than I have ever seen him.” Churchill dictated a reply to Roosevelt in which he sought to frame the importance of the Middle East in terms of the long-range interests of the United States itself. “We must not be too sure that the consequences of the loss of Egypt and the Middle East would not be grave,” he told Roosevelt. “It would seriously increase the hazards of the Atlantic and the Pacific, and could hardly fail to prolong the war, with all the suffering and military dangers that this would entail.” Churchill was growing weary of Roosevelt’s reluctance to commit America to war. He had hoped that by now the United States and Britain would be fighting side by side, but always Roosevelt’s actions fell short of Churchill’s needs and expectations. It was true that the destroyers had been an important symbolic gift, and that the lend-lease program and Harriman’s efficient execution of its mandate were a godsend; but it had become clear to Churchill that none of it was enough—only America’s entry into the war would guarantee victory in any reasonable period of time. One result of Churchill’s long courtship of Roosevelt, however, was that now at least the prime minister felt able to express his concerns and wishes with more candor, directly, without fear of driving America away altogether.

From a nitty-gritty, practical standpoint, here is the drill that can get you there:   Loose Papers Pull out all miscellaneous scraps of paper, business cards, receipts, and so on that have crept into the crevices of your desk, clothing, and accessories. Put it all into your in-basket for processing.   Process Your Notes Review any journal entries, meeting notes, or miscellaneous notes scribbled on notebook paper. List action items, projects, waiting-fors, calendar events, and someday/ maybes, as appropriate. File any reference notes and materials. Stage your “Read/Review” material. Be ruthless with yourself, processing all notes and thoughts relative to interactions, projects, new initiatives, and input that have come your way since your last download, and purging those not needed.   Previous Calendar Data Review past calendar dates in detail for remaining action items, reference information, and so on, and transfer that data into the active system. Be able to archive your last week’s calendar with nothing left uncaptured.   Upcoming Calendar Look at future calendar events (long- and short-term). Capture actions about arrangements and preparations for any upcoming events.   Empty Your Head Put in writing (in appropriate categories) any new projects, action items, waiting-fors, someday/maybes, and so forth that you haven’t yet captured.   Review “Projects” (and Larger Outcome) Lists Evaluate the status of projects, goals, and outcomes one by one, ensuring that at least one current kick-start action for each is in your system.   Review “Next Actions” Lists Mark off completed actions. Review for reminders of further action steps to capture.   Review “Waiting For” List Record appropriate actions for any needed follow-up. Check off received items.   Review Any Relevant Checklists Is there anything you haven’t done that you need to do?   Review “Someday/Maybe” List Check for any projects that may have become active and transfer them to “Projects.” Delete items no longer of interest.   Review “Pending” and Support Files Browse through all work-in-progress support material to trigger new actions, completions, and waiting-fors.   Be Creative and Courageous Are there any new, wonderful, hare-brained, creative, thought-provoking, risk-taking ideas you can add to your system?

Generation Y is said to have a sense of entitlement. Many employers complain of the demands their entry-level employees often make. But I, as one observer, do not believe it is a sense of entitlement. This generation wants to work hard and is willing to work hard. What we perceive as entitlement is, in fact, impatience. An impatience driven by two things: First is a gross misunderstanding that things like success, money or happiness, come instantly. Even though our messages and books arrive the same day we want them, our careers and fulfillment do not. The second element is more unsettling. It is a result of a horrible short circuit to their internal reward systems. These Gen Yers have grown up in a world in which huge scale is normal, money is valued over service and technology is used to manage relationships. The economic systems in which they have grown up, ones that prioritize numbers over people, are blindly accepted, as if that’s the way it has always been.

At this juncture you must be wondering why this chapter reads like a clipped diary entry or even a concise narration of an unremarkable event. You should know that the harsh terrain rewards a short account where dialogue is kept to the minimum because words can hang mid-air.

the Allied authorities would still have to reckon with the entry of “some 6 million persons—say, 1 1/2 million families—into a country already short of well over 4 million dwellings. The new houses which the building industry, working at maximum output, could provide would hardly touch the fringe of this problem.

You said the god spoke to you. What did He say?" "That I was sent here, in answer to prayers, Illvin's among others, probably. The Bastard dared me, by my own son's god-neglected death, not to turn aside." She frowned fiercely in memory, and dy Cabon edged a little back from her. "I asked Him what the gods, having taken Teidez, could give me that I would trade spit for. He answered, Work. His blandishments were all decorated about with annoying endear merits that would have bought a human suitor a short trip to the nearest mud puddle by the hands of my servants. His kiss on my brow burned like a brand. His kiss on my mouth"—she hesitated, went on doggedly—"aroused me like a lover, which I most certainly am not." Dy Cabon edged farther back, smiling in anxious placation, and made little agreeing-denying motions, his hands like flippers. "Indeed not, Royina. No one could mistake you for such." She glowered at him, then went on. "Then He disappeared, leaving you holding the sack. So to speak. If this was prophecy, it bodes you ill, Learned." He signed himself. "Right, right. Um. If the first kiss was a spiritual gift, so ought the second to be. Yes, I quite see that." "Yes, but He didn't say what it was. Bastard. One of his little jokes, it seems." Dy Cabon glanced up as if trying to decide if that were prayer or expletive, guessed correctly, and took a breath, marshaling his thoughts. "All right. But He did say. He said, Work. If it sounds like a joke, it was probably quite serious." He added more cautiously, "It seems you are made saint again, will or nil." "Oh, I can still nil." She scowled. "That's what we all are, you know. Hybrids, of both matter and spirit. The gods' agents in the world of matter, to which they have no other entree. Doorways. He knocks on my door, demanding entry. He probes with his tongue like a lover, mimicking above what is desired below. Nothing so simple as a lover, he, yet he desires that I open myself and surrender as if to one. And let me tell you, I despise his choice of metaphors!" Dy Cabon flippered frantically at her again. It made her want to bite him. "You are a very fortress of a woman, it is true!" She stifled a growl, ashamed to have let her rage with his god spill over onto his humble head. "If you don't know the other half of the riddle, why were you put there?" "Royina, I know not!" He hesitated. "Maybe we should all sleep on it." He cringed at her blistering look, and tried again. "I will endeavor to think." "Do.

tip. I always try to catch a moment when I just stand back and quietly watch my family and friends enjoying themselves and each other. Let that moment wash over you so you can store it up for the times when life gets stressful. Those moments are like precious treasures we can pause to look at again and again. You might even keep a hospitality journal—a book to record the memories of your time together. Or, like we have, a guest book by the front door for our friends to sign so we remember our time together. Entries can be short and sweet, just enough to jog your memory: ice cream sandwiches on the patio with family and friends, game night with the grandparents, pizza party with the neighbors. You might write down what was on the menu, who attended, any details that you cherished—twinkly lights on the porch, the smell of homemade brownies baking, or jokes you laughed at, stories you shared. There

A critical but often ignored impact of FDI is that on the (current and future) domestic competitors. An entry by a TNC through FDI can destroy existing national firms that could have 'grown up' into successful operations without this premature exposure to competition, or it can pre-empt the emergence of domestic competitors. In such cases, short-run productive capabilities are enhanced, as the TNC subsidiary replacing the (current and future) national firms is usually more productive than the latter. But the level of productive capability that the country can attain in the long run becomes lower as a result. This is because TNCs do not, as a rule, transfer the most valuable activities outside their home country, as I will discuss in greater detail later. As a result, there will be a definite ceiling on the level of sophistication that a TNC subsidiary can reach in the long run. To go back to the Toyota example in chapter 1, had Japan liberalized FDI in its automobile industry in the 1960s, Toyota definitely wouldn't be producing the Lexus today-it would have wiped out or, more likely, have become a valued subsidiary of an American carmaker. Given this, a developing country may reasonably decide to forego short-term benefits from FDI in order to increase the chance for its domestic firms to engage in higher-level activities in the long run, by banning FDI in certain sectors or regulating it. This is exactly the same logic as that of infant industry protection that I discussed in the earlier chapters-a country gives up the short-run benefits of free trade in order to create higher productive capabilities in the long run. And it is why, historically, most economic success stories have resorted to regulation of FDI, often in a Draconian manner, as I shall now show.

Megan Meade’s Guide to the McGowan Boys Entry Seven Observation #1: Boys are capable of being hurt. Even the ones that seem totally happy and confident and like they pretty much rule the planet. Observation #2: When the penis takes over, it TAKES OVER. Doug slept with Hailey. He SLEPT with HAILEY. I can’t even count the number of important and obvious facts that had to be ignored in order for this to happen. Observation #3: Boys can be counted on. Finn totally bailed me out when I got stranded. He even cut his date with Kayla short to do it. Of course, when you look at observation #2, it seems they can’t ALWAYS be counted on. So maybe there’s a footnote to this one. Boys can be counted on unless they’re thinking with their penises. Of course, Finn was on a date, so he probably was in penis-thinking mode. Now I’m confusing myself. Hey, did you ever notice what a funny word penis is? Especially when you keep repeating it over and over…

America’s short-lived experiment with language planning is so obscure to modern memory that while the Klingon language has a 3,000-word entry on Wikipedia, as of this writing, the American Academy of Language and Belles Lettres has no entry at all.

On November 2, 1899, eight members of the United States Navy were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for extraordinary heroism and service beyond the call of duty. On the night of June 2, 1898, they had volunteered to scuttle the collier USS Merrimac, with the intention of blocking the entry channel to Santiago de Cuba. On orders of Rear Admiral William T. Sampson, who was in command, their intention was to trap Spanish Admiral Cervera’s fleet in the harbor. Getting the USS Merrimac underway, the eight men navigated the ship towards a predetermined location where sinking her would seal the port. Their course knowingly took them within the range of the Spanish ships and the shore batteries. The sailors were well aware of the danger this put them into, however they put their mission first. Once the Spanish gunners saw what was happening, they realized what the Americans were up to and started firing their heavy artillery from an extremely close range. The channel leading into Santiago is narrow, preventing the ship from taking any evasive action. The American sailors were like fish in a barrel and the Spanish gunners were relentless. In short order, the heavy shelling from the Spanish shore batteries disabled the rudder of the Merrimac and caused the ship to sink prematurely. The USS Merrimac went down without achieving its objective of obstructing navigation and sealing the port. ‎Fête du Canada or Canada Day is the anniversary of the July 1, 1867, enactment of the Canadian Constitution Act. This weekend Americans also celebrate the United States’, July 4, 1776 birthday, making this time perfect to celebrate George Fredrick Phillips heroic action. Phillips was one of the men mentioned in the story above of the USS Merrimac. He was born on March 8, 1862, in Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada and joined the United States Navy in March 1898 in Galveston, Texas. Phillips became a Machinist First Class and displayed extraordinary heroism throughout the Spanish bombardment during their operation. He was discharged from the Navy in August 1903, and died a year later at the age of 42 in Cambridge, Massachusetts. His body was returned to Canada where he was interred with honors at the Fernhill Cemetery in his hometown of Saint John, New Brunswick.

A rat, Evie,” she murmured. “A rat on my table . . . gnaws the threads . . . the salamander stares at me from the shadows . . . the serpent coils around the tree . . . and chokes its roots.” How had she gotten so much worse in such a short time? Her gaze darted. “Spite couldn’t spit . . . and the Devil knew his verses. The cups see the future . . . in a chalice of blood.” ...“Only you can bring us back. You must win . . . the earth depends on it. Cards know it . . . beware the Fool . . . dark dealings. The dark calling, the calling dark.” When she started on another rant, I touched her arm. “What about the Fool?” “The wild card! The game keeper.”... “You have to kill Death. He will turn on you—they all will. Death is poisoning me!” I read until her chest no longer rose and fell. My grandmother was at peace. For some reason, I turned to the last page. Gran had updated the chronicles. The first entry: The cunning Empress has beguiled Death, until all he can see is her. He reunites an Arcana with her Tarasova, courting his own destruction. Another entry: They are murdering me, but the Empress turns a blind eye. Though they have tricked her, I see clearly. She won’t do what’s necessary, so I have put the end into motion. She can never be with him. She has no idea what Life and Death become. . . . What had she meant by that? And what “necessary” thing had she put into motion? I left you clues, Evie. Nothing is as it seems. Midnight serpents choke the roots. The Agent. The ro—

Bad fit customers and technical support There is a line between helping a customer and building custom software for them. You want to avoid one-off features because the effort to build one custom feature is the same effort to help ten good fit customers. If a customer requires custom work, then they are usually a poor fit. These bad customers will drain the life from your team and these customers redirect resources from critical tasks, such as mandatory upgrades, and helping good fit customers succeed. Enough bad customers can cause low employee morale and high turn-over in any department. Here are the differences between good and bad fit customers: Good Customer Traits Bad Customer Traits Software performs the features that he needs Constantly emails about missing features An attractor that leaves reviews, case studies Rude or unpleasant over the phone, a detractor Entry level staff members provide support Senior level staff provides technical support Requires a short call to set-up and configure Requires coding changes and tons of phone support Company is organized Company is a mess Fits into an ideal customer profile Fits into no customer profile Feels like a good fit You get a bad feeling about the company

What do I write about? Basically, whatever happens to be bubbling in my mind at the time, but my short entries seem to be mostly about these three things: 1. Observations of their language development 2. Observations of their personal traits and interests 3. Noteworthy incidents and experiences

The explosion At first the crew thought a meteoroid had hit them. As well as the noise of an explosion, the electrics were going haywire and the attitude control thrusters had fired. In fact, a short circuit had ignited some insulation in the Number 2 oxygen tank of the Service Module. The Service Module provided life support, power and other systems to the Command Module, which held the astronauts as they travelled to and from lunar orbit. The Lunar Module was a separate, though connected, craft that would be used to ferry the men to the lunar surface and back. The fire caused a surge in pressure that ruptured the tank, flooding the fuel cell bay with gaseous oxygen. This surge blew the bolts holding on the outer panel, which tore off free and spun into space, damaging a communications antenna. Contact with Earth was lost for 1.8 seconds, until the system automatically switched to another antenna. The shock also ruptured a line from the Number 1 oxygen tank. Two hours later all of the Service Module’s oxygen supply had leaked into the void. As the Command Module’s fuel cells used oxygen with hydrogen to generate electricity, it could now only run on battery power. The crew had no option but to shut down the Command Module completely and move into the Lunar Module. They would then use this as a ‘lifeboat’ for the journey back to Earth before rejoining the Command Module for re-entry. As for the mission, the Service Module was so badly damaged that a safe return from a lunar landing was impossible. These men would not be landing on the Moon. 320,000 km from home The Flight Director immediately aborted the mission. Now he just had to get the men home. The quickest way would be a Direct Abort trajectory, using the Service Module engine to essentially reverse the craft. But it was too late:

207, 2nd Floor, 3rd Main Rd, Chamrajpet, Bengaluru, Karnataka 560018 Call – +91 7022122121 Kannada Books Purchase: Veeraloka Books: Discover the World of Literature At the heart of Karnataka's vibrant literary tradition are its rich cultural heritage and nothing better exemplifies that than Kannada books. Veeraloka Books is the ideal destination for all of your book needs if you're a fan of Kannada literature, from timeless classics to contemporary works. Veeraloka Books is now a trusted name for book lovers looking to add to their Kannada collection Why shop for Kannada books from Veeraloka Books? Veeraloka Books is more than just a bookstore; it is also a point of entry into the vast realm of Kannada literature. Veeraloka Books caters to every kind of reader, whether you're just starting out or have a long history of reading. Veeraloka Books ought to be your first choice for Kannada books for the following reasons: Complete Collection: The selection of Kannada books offered by Veeraloka Books spans genres. The collection is intended to appeal to a wide range of readers' preferences and includes everything from children's books and biographies to short stories, essays, poetry, and historical narratives. Famous Authors: Investigate the works of Kannada literary icons like Da and Kuvempu. Ra. Bendre, K. Shivaram Karanth, and U.R. Ananthamurthy, as well as contemporary authors who are influencing contemporary Kannada literature, are all examples. Veeraloka Books guarantees that you will have access to the best works by contemporary and established authors. Special Editions: Rare and exclusive limited-edition prints of classic Kannada books are frequently available at Veeraloka Books. Veeraloka is a treasure trove for bibliophiles who value one-of-a-kind editions. Cost-effective Pricing: Veeraloka Books makes sure that readers don't have to give up quality for price when purchasing Kannada books. You won't have to break the bank to build your own personal library thanks to low prices and frequent sales. Simple Shopping Experience Online: Veeraloka Books has embraced technology to provide a seamless online shopping experience as digital platforms have grown in popularity. From the convenience of your own home, you can browse, select, and Kannada Books Purchase. It has never been easier to buy Kannada books thanks to a website that is easy to use and offers quick delivery options. Top Novel and Fiction Genres to Explore: Immerse yourself in vivid characters and immersive narratives that highlight Kannada culture, history, and society. Poetry: Through timeless poetry collections, discover the splendor of Kannada verse. Motivation and self-help: Leading Kannada authors can serve as sources of guidance and inspiration for personal development and success. Literature for Kids: Engaging tales and folklore from Kannada's long history will enchant your children. Support the Local Literature and Language By selecting Veeraloka Books for your Kannada book purchases, you are not only supporting the Kannada language and its extensive literary heritage. Veeraloka Books is dedicated to distributing regional literature to readers all over the world. In conclusion, Veeraloka Books provides an unparalleled buying experience for Kannada books. It is the ideal location for readers to immerse themselves in the world of Kannada literature due to its extensive collection, reasonable prices, and straightforward online shopping. Veeraloka Books has something for everyone, whether you're looking for contemporary writings or classic novels. Make your way over to Veeraloka Books right now to get lost in the splendor of Kannada literature!

Write the date and under that write about anything you like; it doesn't have to be about you. Write until you feel like stopping. Then stop. If you like, do this more than once. If you are already writing a journal, then one day this week make your entry about how and why you began your journal. Write about what were you were hoping to achieve in journalling and reflect on how well that has panned out. Think and write about the unexpected benefits and rewards you've got from it.

A LL THE ENTRIES in Freud’s diary of his last decade are short. Very few are more than one line long.

The night before the last round, the leaders of the Soviet team tried to persuade me not to play in that match. The conversation took place on various levels, from ‘the possibilities of obtaining entry visas to our country are not unlimited’, to ‘don’t forget that you still have a sister in Leningrad’. They did not manage to convince me. ‘I am playing for Holland, not against the Soviet Union’, I repeated, which was not entirely true. A short line from a Soviet newspaper – ‘in the USSR-Holland match, Polugaevsky’s game on board two ended in a draw’ – was my reward: after my departure, my name could not appear in the Soviet press. A report in the Leningrad sports paper, about how 1st-3rd places in the 1973 Dutch Championship were shared by Enklaar and Zuidema, is something that I retain to this day.

A New Yorker by birth is David Karp, the child prodigy who at age 21, in 2007, founded Tumblr, whose headquarters are located just one block east of Hunch. The son of a composer and a science teacher, at 14 Karp began working as an intern in an online animation company; at 15, tired of traditional school, he continued to study at home alone, learning, among other things, Japanese; then he became the chief technology officer of the Internet site UrbanBaby and at 17 he went to Tokyo for five months by himself. In 2006, UrbanBaby was bought by CNET, and Karp used his share of proceeds to establish Tumblr, a blogging platform with elements of social networking that allows its users to follow other bloggers. Tumblr allows users to build a collection of content according to their own tastes and interests. Easy to use, with a format of short entries to be enriched with photos and videos, Tumblr has quickly gained many followers among the creative community as well as the public at large. Today it is home to nearly 70 million blogs, including those of Lady Gaga and Barack Obama, with a total audience of 140 million users. At 26, Karp is leading a company with over 100 employees, valued at more than $800 million, with shareholders of the caliber of Virgin Group’s Richard Branson. He defines Tumblr as new media, as opposed to technology, and seeks to attract non-traditional ads, inviting brands to create awareness and desire in their ads, rather than just trying to capture intent. Karp has already received several acquisition offers from other media groups, but he has always refused because he thinks big: he wants to reach billions, not millions of users and one day be in a position to acquire rather than be acquired. Meanwhile, in order to grow he is convinced that New York City, the capital of media and advertising, is the right city.[47]

Key to the Pronunciations This dictionary uses a simple respelling system to show how entries are pronounced, using the symbols listed below. Generally, only the first of two or more identical headwords will have a pronunciation respelling. Where a derivative simply adds a common suffix such as -less, -ness, or -ly to the headword, the derivative may not have a pronunciation respelling unless some other element of the pronunciation also changes. as in hat //, fashion // as in day //, rate // as in lot //, father //, barn // as in big // as in church //, picture // as in dog //, bed // as in men //, bet //, ferry // as in feet //, receive // as in air //, care // as in soda //, mother /, her // as in free //, graph //, tough // as in get //, exist // as in her //, behave // as in fit //, women // as in time /t/, hire //, sky // as in ear //, pierce // as in judge //, carriage // as in kettle //, cut //, quick // as in lap //, cellar //, cradle // as in main //, dam // as in need //, honor //, maiden // as in sing //, anger // as in go //, promote // as in law //, thought //, lore // as in boy //, noisy // as in wood //, sure // as in food //, music // as in mouse //, coward // as in put //, cap // as in run //, fur //, spirit // as in sit //, lesson //, face // as in shut //, social // as in top //, seat //, forty // as in thin //, truth // as in then //, father // as in very //, never // as in wait //, quit // as in when //, which // as in yet //, accuse // as in zipper //, musician // as in measure //, vision // Foreign Sounds as in Bach // as in en route //, Rodin / / as in hors d’oeuvre //, Goethe // as in Lully //, Utrecht // Stress Marks Stress (or accent) is represented by marks placed before the affected syllable. The primary stress mark is a short, raised vertical line // which signifies that the heaviest emphasis should be placed on the syllable that follows. The secondary stress mark is a short, lowered vertical line // which signifies a somewhat weaker emphasis than on the syllable with primary stress. Variant Pronunciations There are several ways in which variant pronunciations are indicated in the respellings. Some respellings show a pronunciation symbol within parentheses to indicate a possible variation in pronunciation; for example, in sandwich //. Variant pronunciations may be respelled in full, separated by semicolons. The more common pronunciation is listed first, if this can be determined, but many variants are so common and widespread as to be ofequal status. Variant pronunciations may be indicated by respelling only the part of the word that changes. A hyphen will replace the part of the pronunciation that has remained the same. Note: A hyphen sometimes serves to separate syllables where the respelling might otherwise look confusing, as at reinforce //.

Going to the office wasn't as pleasant lately, Sam thought, as he made his way through the back entry to the detectives' division. There weren't so many people there that day, and it seemed like a lot of them were avoiding the place, just staying away as much as they could. He could understand that. After almost ten years as a Denver cop, Sam was sick of seeing what humanity was really capable of. He had grown up reading cop stories, always seeing how the cops would save the day, watching them rescue the innocent and punish the guilty every week on TV, until he finally knew that he had to be one himself. After a short stint in the Army that never even got him out of the country, he'd come home and applied for the academy. He'd been accepted, and that was the start of an illustrious career. Now, it was all he could do to drag himself out of bed in the mornings, make himself come in and see what new horrors he'd have to deal with. The past four months he'd been on loan to the DEA, and they'd made some big drug busts, shut down some of the most evil purveyors of sin and death that ever lived, but they were like the mythical hydra—as soon as you cut off one of its heads, three more grew back to take its place. Sam wanted to stop cutting off heads and find the creature's heart, but there was almost no evidence as to where that heart might be. They knew there was something big behind the drug operations in the city, but it was so well organized and so carefully designed that no one seemed to have any idea where or how to find it. His cell rang as he sat down at his desk, and he saw his partner's number. Dan Jacobs was already out on his station, watching one of the dealers they'd identified the day before. “Yo,” Sam answered. “Sam, it's Dan. I been thinkin', and it seems to me that we might be lookin' in the wrong direction, y'know?” Sam blinked a couple of times. “Danny, I've been awake for about fifteen minutes, and haven't even opened my Starbuck's yet. What the heck are you talkin' about?” “I'm sayin', maybe we're goin' about this all the wrong way, tryin' to find dealers and trail 'em, follow the tracks up the ladder. There's something about this whole setup that smacks of serious organization, something big enough to hide in plain sight, know what I mean? If it's that well laid out, we can follow minions all day long, we're never gonna find the top guy, because they don’t ever see the top guys.” Sam nodded. “Yeah, you're probably right,” he said, “but unless you got a crystal ball lead on where else to go, I don’t know what good it's doin' us. Where else we gonna find any leads at all? Got a clue, there?” “Maybe,” Dan said. “We've been tailing a lot of these clowns the past few weeks, right? Have you noticed one thing they all do the same?” Sam thought about it, but nothing jumped out at him. He looked at it from a couple of different angles, then shook his head. Into the phone, he said, “Nope. So, what is it?” “Facebook. No matter what else they're doin', these bastards never miss checking in on Facebook every day, several times a day. They go on, look at what people are sayin' on their pages, sometimes they answer and sometimes they don't, and then they go back to their drug dealin' ways.” Sam rubbed his temple. “Dan, everyone does that. Everyone on freakin' earth is on Facebook, and always checkin' it out. That's just part

What rendered it all acceptable was that government won the war, in astonishingly short order. Had the war dragged on or ended badly, the trust reposed in government might have been withdrawn. But the greatest conflict in human history was brought to a victorious conclusion for the United States only three and a half years after American entry. America’s unprecedentedly large government defeated fascism; America’s big government placed the United States at the pinnacle of world power. In the process, big government restored the nation’s economic vitality and self-confidence. By 1945 most Americans found big government thoroughly acceptable, even necessary, and they had ample reason for feeling the way they did.

loon 1   n. INFORMAL a silly or foolish person.  late 19th cent.: from LOON2 (referring to the bird's actions when escaping from danger), perhaps influenced by LOONY. Linked entries: LOON LOONY loon 2   n. a large diving waterbird with a sleek black or gray head, a straight pointed bill, and short legs set far back under the body. Loons breed by lakes in northern latitudes and have wailing calls.  Family Gaviidae and genus Gavia: five species, including the common loon (G. immer) of both Canada and Eurasia.  mid 17th cent.: probably by alteration of Shetland dialect loom, denoting esp. a guillemot or a diver, from Old Norse.

One sleepless night shortly after the boy’s arrival, I was going through a tough time, missing you. Bernard heard my sobs and crept into my bed. We held each other close. I could not help but relish his intimacy and his warm body next to mine. Wrapping my arms around the boy, we were aroused by the passionate auras surrounding the both of us. As an experienced ‘big brother’ I took charge. I kissed his tender lips before planting soft kisses on his closed lids, and soon I was nibbling at his delicate earlobes. He groaned with pleasure, desiring to do the same to me. Before I knew it, we were taking turns caressing each other’s nipples. Our seductive foreplay lasted for a long time until we could stave off our sexual urges no longer. He engulfed my manhood, licking, suckling and engorging mouthfuls of my rod. I could hold back no longer. Pressing his head against my crotch, I released my abundance into his orifice with forceful intensity. Yet he continued to nourish himself on my length; unwilling to relinquish his feed, he greedily guzzled the last drop of my seed down his yearning throat. His sensuality propelled me to share my lingering sustenance from his delectable tongue. We French kissed until we were drunk with the elixir of love. His youthful beauty did not fail to arouse me to another bout of sexual vitality. As I flipped him on his stomach, he lifted his derriere to receive my pulsing organ. He hungered for my entry and I – I was deliriously ready to feed this angelic sprite with my protruding protraction. Gently and lovingly I submerged myself into his person, gyrating slowly to the rhythmic flow of our entangled bewilderment. He opened willingly to my warmth as I plunged inside him, at times fast and furious and at others slow and gentle. In the process I ground his manhood onto the bed, coercing him into ecstatic moans before giving in to cries of whimpering ecstasies. My hand reached around his slender torso, working his hardness to the point of no return. He could not hold off any further. Jets of oozing cum shot onto my stroking palm. His sexiness sent my ejaculation spewing deep inside his opening as he swallowed my dripping seed between his pining fissures. He devoured his own seed from my fingers as I planted caresses on his amorous mouth, sharing every creamy bead of his milkiness between us. He wanted me in him, like I did you, long after our tantalizing desires had subsided. Our friendship took on an intimate significance that night, which we shared over and over again during our time together before Bernard left for Scotland and I to my new dig. Keep your news coming, Andy. Like you, I look forward to receiving your uplifting messages. Love and kisses, Young, Xoxoxo

21st April, 1873.—Tried to ride, but was forced to lie down, and they carried me back to vil. exhausted. [The men explain this entry thus:—This morning the Doctor tried if he were strong enough to ride on the donkey, but he had only gone a short distance when he fell to the ground utterly exhausted and faint. Susi immediately undid his belt and pistol, and picked up his cap which had dropped off, while Chumah threw down his gun and ran to stop the men on ahead. When he got back the Doctor said, "Chumah, I have lost so much blood, there is no more strength left in my legs: you must carry me." He was then assisted gently to his shoulders, and, holding the man's head to steady himself, was borne back to the village and placed in the hut he had so recently left. It

AFGHAN WAR LOGS (EXTRACTS) These logs consist of a short report on every incident regarded as noteworthy by American troops in Afghanistan between January 2004 and December 2009. Around 90,000 incidents are reported in the document passed to WikiLeaks, though only around 75,000 were released. These seven entries detail incidents of civilian casualties caused by British troops in October, November and December 2008. Like other similar reports throughout the logs, they give an insight into the chaotic nature of the battlefield and the constant risk – and consequences of – mistakes by coalition troops. Some of the information in each report has been removed and some acronyms have been expanded for the sake of readability, but each original report can be identified by its number and read in full on the WikiLeaks website. Some of the logs were redacted by WikiLeaks on release.

Can you see the entry?” “Yes.” “Watch.” “It’s only two o’clock. Will be hours before he come.” “Watch.” He expected her to fidget or try to make conversation, but she didn’t. She sat behind him, a second presence in the car, quiet and still, watching. They watched for an hour and ten minutes, silent, as people came and went around them, parking, backing out, pushing buggies filled high with groceries. Rina did not move or speak for the entire time, but then she suddenly pulled herself forward, and pointed past his chin. “That window on the top floor, on the side there away from the freeway. That was mine.” Then she settled back and said nothing more. Pike studied her in the rearview, but only for a moment. He didn’t want her to catch him staring. An hour and twenty minutes later, she abruptly pulled herself forward again. “That girl. She is one of the girls there. In the green.” A young woman in black spandex shorts and a lime green top came around the corner and went to the glass door. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and a large gym bag was slung over her shoulder. On her way back from the gym. She was lean and fit, but her breasts were too large to be natural. She looked very young. Rina said, “You see? I know this girl when they bring her here. They make her waitress, and then she dance.” “Stripper.” “Yes. And this.” The girl let herself into the lobby, then pushed a button for the elevator. Fifteen minutes later, Rina pulled forward again. “There. In the black car.” A black BMW convertible turned off Sepulveda and crept past the building as if looking for a parking place. The driver was a white male in his twenties with a thick neck and long, limp hair. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled, a day-old beard, and mirrored sunglasses. Pike

In one of Chekhov’s short stories, a little boy is drawing a picture. His father asks him why the man in the picture is taller than the house. “If he were smaller,” says the child reasonably, “you couldn’t see his eyes.” ENTRY:

Put that down, you bloody nit,” Grey said, halting just short of striking range. “What the devil are you doing here?” Twelvetrees straightened up, his expression going from alarm to outrage. “What the devil are you doing here, you infamous fiend?” Fraser laughed, and both Grey and Twelvetrees glared at him. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” he said mildly, though his broad face still bore a look of amusement. He waved his fingers, in the manner of one urging a small child to go and say hello to an aged relative. “Be going on wi’ your business. Dinna mind me.” Jamie looked around, picked up a small wing chair that Grey had knocked over in his precipitous entry, and sat in it, leaning back with an air of pleased expectation.

who looks with unconcern on a Man struggling for Life in the water and when he has reached ground encumbers him with help’) is matched in the Dictionary by the delightfully acerbic entry quoted at the head of this chapter. Chesterfield’s apathy had its reward: Johnson’s fury was spent.ar The lexicographer’s rejection of his patron’s belated assistance has often been identified as key moment in the history of publishing, marking the end of the culture of patronage.7 This is not strictly accurate. Patronage had been in decline for fifty years, yet would survive, in attenuated form, for another fifty. Indeed, Johnson was in the 1760s awarded a pension by the Crown—a subtle form of sponsorship, tantamount to state patronage. The letter’s importance is not so much historical as emotional; it would become a touchstone for all who repudiated patrons, and for all who embraced the laws of the marketplace. In the short term, however, Johnson’s rejection of Chesterfield did not endear him to the booksellers who had underwritten the Dictionary.

So, what exactly did Ignita tell you about me?” he hissed, sounding decidedly peevish, even to his own ears. “All good?” “Besides that you are her favourite great-nephew by any measure under the suns –” wielding the foot-wide ladle with aplomb, she poured one last bucketful of dragonwort soup, a noted restorative, down his throat with a pleasant gurgle “– she said that you are honourable, faithful, creative, artistic, misunderstood, a Dragon whose heart lives in his poetry, which you have sadly neglected to admit to me; you are finicky to a fault, severely short-sighted and lacking in firepower.” Gnarr-rum-blasted-death! he swore unhappily. “Nice list. Thanks for sharing.” Blithely, the mite added, “Ignita is also furious that you did not come to her earlier with your eye problems.” Blitz said something even ruder. “She even claimed that I’m more stubborn than you, which I believe was meant to be a compliment. Now, hold still. The eye drops are next.” “She specifically said, ‘Lacking in fire power?’ ” He sighed moodily, unable to break the sense of being utterly defeated. This was not a happy place for a Dragon. His wings drooped as if they weighed a tonne each, and his food stomach churned with nausea. “She didn’t use words such as disabled, worthless, fireless lizard, witless fool, cold-hearted undraconic worm, a Dragon who is no Dragon at all, or –” “Blitz, stop.” “So, why don’t you just run back to Daddy, little Princess? Go on. Go home. Why be dragged down in the maelstrom of a worthless loser?” “Blitz! Shut your stupid fangs.” “Whinging being so charismatic in a Dragon …” Grinding her teeth furiously, the girl who was climbing his neck leaned over to his left upper ear canal and hissed, “Do you know what I would go back to, you thumping great moron? Let me give you the salient highlights. Since I was old enough to walk and my mother passed, it has been impressed upon me that my sole purpose in life is to get married to the richest fool I can charm into my bed, no matter how despicable he might be. I will not inherit. That privilege is for my brothers. Instead, I am merely an entry on my kingdom’s asset register – a very fat entry. I am commanded to be charming, accomplished and perfectly presented at all times. I go to balls to catch wealthy Princes. Can you imagine what it is like to be valued for your dark, beautiful skin, and nothing else? To only ever be seen skin-deep – I mean … you know?” Blitz groaned softly. “So aye, I don’t really want to go home, in case that was somehow unclear. I would rather live with an enormously unreasonable, complaining, crabby, haughty chunk of a Dragon, because among your many admirable qualities and your damnably beautiful honour, you have one gift I value above all others. Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?” He croaked, “Of course, aye … sort of … not a whole lot. Sorry.” Nonsensical, but true. Warm moisture dripped into his ear. Crying! Oh, by his wings, what had he done now? The Princess whispered, “You see me, and accept me, just as I am.

The spectrum of market-entry vehicles is vast, from short-term plays using domestic distributors to sell internationally, to long-term strategies like setting up foreign operations. Understanding the cost, risk, and time commitment involved as you move along this spectrum is crucial, as it determines not only the potential return on your investment but also the complexity of disengagement should you choose to exit the market.

In most right-side POD failures, once the stock breaks down it will generally carry through the 20-day moving average and then find support at the 50-day or 200-day moving averages, depending on where they lie within the overall pattern, and then try to rally. In most cases this rally will carry back up into the 20-day moving average, which presents a secondary short-sale entry point. The breakdown from there is nothing short of exhilarating for any short-seller short the stock at that point!

In the same journal entry in which she wrote, “I do not love anybody except myself,” she swore to live a life determined by her own standards and goals. She would hatch her escape

Study after study showed that green spaces shifted the autonomic nervous system from fight-or-flight to rest-and-digest. Consequently, moods, blood pressure, heart rate, and breathing patterns improved, and stress hormone levels decreased. Short doses of nature, including mere photographs of nature, sharpened performance. Other studies showed they increased feelings of generosity and social connectedness. The presence of houseplants in hospital rooms lessened pain and hastened recovery from surgery. Studies of functional brain scans showed regions associated with empathy and love lighting up when exposed to nature scenes, while urban scenes and sounds lit up regions associated with fear and anxiety. I added my next entry to the How to Get Off the Couch list: 4. Get a daily dose of nature.

Sometimes Evelyn got stuck on a word, using it for everything until it started to mean nothing and everything. This week, it was “world.” Everything was the world. The world was everything. It made sense from that vantage point, but the previous week, it had been “wax,” which had the bonus quality of being both a noun and a verb. I waxed her breakfast of wax and then had the wax to give her wax when she really wanted the world. World? Whirled. Whorled. Were Eld. Was she working her way through the dictionary? It was like the language of flowers, a song heard in a different lifetime.

Plus, I figured that if I were lucid dreaming, then my environment would have been momentarily shaken, due to the fact that I was at optimum awareness, or getting close to optimum awakeness. My environment had not been shaken, so my diary, in reality, really did contain an entry labeled A Philosophical Aspect. Furthermore, in dreaming, my reasoning and cognitive abilities tend to be very limited, because I’m hardly awake, but I was actually thinking about verifying that my perception was a perception of reality. I also realized that I maintained this thought process for extended periods of time, which meant that I had not been dreaming. The thought process, if I were dreaming, should have been short, because utilizing reflective thinking and reasoning, in my case, was in the closest proximity to being awake. When I reflectively think and reason in a dream, I start waking up, so any deep thinking in a dream would immediately end due to the fact that it would be interrupted while I am waking up. If I weren’t dreaming, I would continue my deep thinking instead of stopping to wake up. My cognitive abilities were obviously too strong and long-lasting to imply that I was dreaming.

In short, empathy is about putting others before, while denying yourself entry; even of heaven.

7 Benefits Of Drinking Purified Water 7 Benefits Of Drinking Purified Water Everyone has a proper to get entry to natural water. As a count of fact, it's miles one of the essential human rights. Today, many nations of the arena do now no longer have get entry to to natural ingesting water. The precise information is that you may remedy this hassle at a non-public level. After all, you may ensure that your faucet water is secure on your fitness. Therefore, it's miles critical which you search for purification. In this article, we're going to shed a few mild at the blessings of ing esting purified water. Read directly to discover more. 1. Human Body is 80% Water Water makes 80% of the human body. Therefore, it's miles critical on your fitness and normal well-being. Besides, those purifiers make sure which you usually drink purified water. As a count of fact, those gadgets are your pal and defend your lifestyles and the lifestyles of your own circle of relatives. 2. A Good Alternative to Bottled Water Bottled water isn't precise for the surroundings as hundreds of thousands of plastic bottles turn out to be in landfills. Apart from this, the transportation of those bottles reasons the era of carbon emissions. So, when you have a cleanser on your home, you don`t want to shop for bottled units. In this manner, you may defend the surroundings. 3. Protection in opposition to Damage Aluminum is related to Alzheimer's disease. According to investigate studies, if aluminum makes its manner into your mind, it will likely be extraordinarily tough to get it out. Therefore, it's miles critical which you defend your mind from harm because of aluminum. 4. Saving Money How regularly do you buy bottled water for you or your own circle of relatives members? Of course, everybody buy those bottles on a each day basis. So, in case you need to keep away from this approach, we endorse which you set up an powerful purification system. After all, you do not need to turn out to be losing your hard earned cash on some thing that you may get at your home. 5. Avoiding Chlorine Consumption If you're the use of town water, recognize that municipal remedy vegetation use chlorine to put off dangerous organisms, which include bacteria. Besides, chlorine is an detail that could purpose exclusive kinds of cancer, coronary heart diseases, and respiratory. 6. Protection in opposition to dangerous elements Your faucet water passes via lengthy pipelines which are complete of various kinds of elements, which include slime. Therefore, the pleasant of water drops significantly. Therefore, it's miles critical to put in purifiers to purify faucet water and live included in opposition to dangerous elements. 7. Instant Access to Pure Water If you put in an awesome cleanser, you've got got on the spotaneous get entry to to freshwater. Filtered liquid is freed from all kinds of germs and bacteria. You can use masses of liquid for ingesting and washing your end result and vegetables. Also, those gadgets will permit you to use your water for numerous purposes. In short, those are simply a number of the blessings of ingesting purified water. If you need to drink natural, you may set up a water cleanser at your home. Are you searching out the great water cleanser factor? If so, you may visit Olansi China. They assist you to choose the great unit at

Many other things relate also to this production of the Other - a hysterical, speculative production. Racism is one example, in its development throughout the modern era and its current recrudescence. Logically, it ought to have declined with progress and the spread of Enlightenment. But the more we learn how unfounded the genetic theory of race is, the more racism intensifies. This is because we are dealing with an artificial construction of the Other, on the basis of an erosion of the singularity of cultures (of their otherness one to another) and entry into the fetishistic system of difference. So long as there is otherness, alienness and a (possibly violent) dual relation, there is no racism properly so called. That is to say, roughly, up to the eighteenth century, as anthropological accounts attest. Once this 'natural' relation is lost, we enter upon an exponential relation with an artificial Other. And there is nothing in our culture with which we can stamp out racism, since the entire movement of that culture is towards a fanatical differential construction of the Other, and a perpetual extrapolation of the Same through the Other. Autistic culture posing as altruism. We talk of alienation. But the worst alienation is not being dispossessed by the other, but being dispossessed of the other: it is having to produce the other in the absence of the other, and so continually to be thrown back on oneself and one's own image. If, today, we are condemned to our image (to cultivate our bodies, our 'looks', our identities, our desires), this is not because of alienation, but because of the end of alienation and the virtual disappearance of the other, which is a much worse fate. In fact, the definition of alienation is to take oneself as one's focus, as one's object of care, desire, suffering and communication. This definitive short-circuiting of the other ushers in the era of transparency. Plastic surgery becomes universal. And the surgery performed on the face and the body is merely the symptom of a more radical surgery: that performed on otherness and destiny. What is the solution? There is no solution to this erotic trend within an entire culture; to this fascination, this whirl of denial of otherness, of all that is alien and negative; to this foreclosing of evil and this reconciliation around the Same and its multiple figures: incest, autism, twinship, cloning. All we can do is remind ourselves that seduction lies in non-reconciliation with the other, in preserving the alien status of the Other. One must not be reconciled with oneself or with one's body. One must not be reconciled with the other, one must not be reconciled with nature, one must not be reconciled with the feminine (that goes for women too). Therein lies the secret of a strange attraction.

Millennials used job hopping to improve their income with every move in order to compensate for the initial low pay they accepted when joining the workforce during the 2008 recession. This acts as a caution to employers who are seeking to incorporate Gen Z into the workforce in what is expected to be a recessionary period after COVID-19. Companies should carefully consider whether compromising entry-level compensation in the short term is worth it, considering the potential benefit of gaining Gen Z’s long-term loyalty. Gen Zers are eager to stay longer in the organization. If we find ways to make it work for them by meeting their expectations, it will be a win-win.

The sole book now in Dorothy’s possession is a copy of Hamilton’s Mythology. A book she has loved since childhood, when she spied the tattered paperback in a bin in her local library, passed over by all the other kids for its ruined state. It says on the back, published in the U.S.A. She has learned to read this foreign language from this book, this book of myths. She loves each of the little chapters, how they are short, and self-contained, but also all fit together in a larger universe of gods and goddesses, spirits, lower and higher, deities of all types and their seconds, their assistants, their rivalries and hierarchies, their relative powers and weaknesses. Their petty squabbles and sordid doings and secret crushes. Every time she opens the book, she hopes to turn to a new page, a new god, a little tiny thing. She likes the minor gods the best, because they are easier to master, to learn everything about. She can search out and soak up all of the other things that other people had written or said about this minor god, and in that way become an authority on such a god. And when she becomes an authority someday, an expert in her own right, she thinks that maybe she might be able to make her own entry in the book. To create a tiny god from scratch. She has not named it yet. Perhaps the god of bus rides. The god of sponge baths, or maps, or minimum wage. The god of immigrants.

shouldn’t be startled by his sudden presence, but fear locks my knees and traps the breath in my throat, and for a second, I can’t move.  The commander stops short upon his entry, his black eyes widening when he sees my nakedness.

human view of reality is little short of pathetic. Our normal reality is like each of us living in a tiny, windowless cell in a house that contains a hundred thousand rooms and covers a thousand acres of land, We believe that the cell is all there is, so we live in it isolated and alone. What is even sadder is that if a few people like me manage to tunnel out of their cells and see some of the other rooms awaiting entry, the majority of people think we are imagining things.

What good was such a short article? Why didn’t it tell you what you really needed to know, like how far a ghul would follow you, or if they were attached to their home territories? The entry for unicorns was twice as long, and what good was that to anybody? Unicorns were cowards and only dangerous in packs. Every now and then you’d get one hanging around the village trash heap, but it’d run off if you yelled at it. But there it was, six whole paragraphs, and meanwhile he knew no more about ghuls than he had an hour ago.

The cavernous entry should have dwarfed King Mabanda, as he was rather short and unimpressive physically; however, his presence was larger than life to every soul in Maleziland, godlike in both power and authority.

Byl jsem tady ve čtvrtek, Ty jsi tady nebyl, tak jsem zase hned utek, strašně jsem se zlobil.

Portugal and Spain were not eligible for association in the 1960s. Their regimes were incompatible with the EC, for which only democratic countries were suitable partners; and Portugal had already in 1960 become a founder member of the Efta, which Britain had promoted in reaction to the establishment of the EEC and which, being confined to a purely trading relationship, was not so concerned about the political complexion of its members. So when democracy replaced dictatorship in the 1970s, both Iberian countries negotiated entry into the EEC without any prior form of association. This was one reason why the negotiations were protracted, with entry achieved only in 1986.

What do those kids expect to do with that biscuit eater?” Ames laughed. ‘’You know how boys are. I’ll bet this is the first time in history a colored boy and a white boy ever had a joint entry in a field trial. They get riled if anybody calls him a biscuit eater.

This is the subject of an art work by the Brooklyn-based artist Andrew Norman Wilson called ScanOps. The project began in 2007, when Wilson was contracted by a video-production company to work on the Google campus. He noted sharp divisions between the workers; one group, known as ScanOps, were sequestered in their own building. These were data-entry workers, the people to whom those mysterious hands belonged. Wilson became intrigued by them, and began filming them walking to and from their ten-hour shifts in silence. He was able to capture a few minutes of footage before Google security busted him. In a letter to his boss explaining his motives, Wilson remarked that most of the ScanOps workers were people of color. He wrote, “I’m interested in issues of class, race and labor, and so out of general curiosity, I wanted to ask these workers about their jobs.” In short order, he was fired.

Stimson flew to Potsdam the next day to see me,” Truman remembered, “and brought with him the full details of the test. I received him at once and called in Secretary of State Byrnes, Admiral Leahy, General George Marshall, General Henry Arnold, and Admiral Ernest King.” It was too early to understand the implications and as Truman recalled, “we were not ready to make use of this weapon against the Japanese.” In his memoirs, Truman wrote that the plan was to stay the course “with the existing military plans for the invasion of the Japanese home islands.”102 Truman’s diary reveals a different and more telling narrative. His mind appears to have already been made up shortly after confirmation of the Alamogordo test, which is not surprising given he had a full understanding of what an invasion would entail. “We have discovered the most terrible bomb in the history of the world,” he confided to his diary in a July 26 entry. “This weapon is to be used against Japan between now and August 10th. I have told the Sec. of War, Mr. Stimson, to use it so that military objectives and soldiers and sailors are the target and not women and children.”103 That same entry reveals not just the intent, but also the thinking behind the target. “Even if the Japs are savages, ruthless, merciless and fanatic, we as the leader of the world for the common welfare cannot drop this terrible bomb on the old capital [Kyoto] or the new [Tokyo] . . . The target will be a purely military one and we will issue a warning statement asking the Japs to surrender and save lives.”104 Truman was face-to-face with Stalin, aware that he possessed the deadliest weapon the world had ever seen.

When judges have discretion, they may consider a defendant’s background and impose a lighter penalty if the defendant’s personal circumstances—extreme poverty or experience of abuse, for example—warrant it. This flexibility—which is important in all criminal cases—is especially important in drug cases, as studies have indicated that many drug defendants are using or selling to support an addiction.75 Referring a defendant to treatment, rather than sending him or her to prison, may well be the most prudent choice—saving government resources and potentially saving the defendant from a lifetime of addiction. Likewise, imposing a short prison sentence (or none at all) may increase the chances that the defendant will experience successful re-entry. A lengthy prison term may increase the odds that re-entry will be extremely difficult, leading to relapse, and re-imprisonment.

I checked The Oxford Book of Canadian Short Stories out of the library. One of the entries in it is titled “The Day I Sat with Jesus on the Sundeck and a Wind Came Up and Blew My Kimono Open and He Saw My Breasts.

studies have indicated that many drug defendants are using or selling to support an addiction.75 Referring a defendant to treatment, rather than sending him or her to prison, may well be the most prudent choice—saving government resources and potentially saving the defendant from a lifetime of addiction. Likewise, imposing a short prison sentence (or none at all) may increase the chances that the defendant will experience successful re-entry. A lengthy prison term may increase the odds that re-entry will be extremely difficult, leading to relapse, and re-imprisonment.

In our rush to employ a world’s worth of eager amateurs—and build an encyclopedia with entries about school massacres while they’re still playing on the news—isn’t it possible we’re missing something, some pause or just a kind of breath that leads to wisdom? What was that admonishment from the poet Rainer Maria Rilke? “Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” But we never do find time for a lack of knowledge. We want to know now. Living a question requires a fondness for absence that appears to be in short supply.

When judges have discretion, they may consider a defendant’s background and impose a lighter penalty if the defendant’s personal circumstances—extreme poverty or experience of abuse, for example—warrant it. This flexibility—which is important in all criminal cases—is especially important in drug cases, as studies have indicated that many drug defendants are using or selling to support an addiction.75 Referring a defendant to treatment, rather than sending him or her to prison, may well be the most prudent choice—saving government resources and potentially saving the defendant from a lifetime of addiction. Likewise, imposing a short prison sentence (or none at all) may increase the chances that the defendant will experience successful re-entry. A lengthy prison term may increase the odds that re-entry will be extremely difficult, leading to relapse, and re-imprisonment. Mandatory drug sentencing laws

Three-Step Risk Management Step 1: Determine your maximum dollar risk for the trade you’re planning (never more than 2% of your account). Calculate this before your trading day starts. Step 2: Estimate your maximum risk per share, the stop loss, in dollars, from your entry. I will explain later in this book what the stop loss should be depending upon which specific strategy you are planning to trade. Step 3: Divide “1” by “2” to find the absolute maximum number of shares you are allowed to trade each time. To better illustrate this, let’s return to the example of MOH from a few pages back. If you have a $40,000 account, the 2% rule will limit your risk on any trade to $800. Let’s assume you want to be conservative and risk only 1% of that account, or $400. That will be Step 1. As you monitor MOH, you see a situation develop where the VWAP Strategy (see Chapter 7) may very well work in your favor. You decide to sell short the stock at $50, and you want to cover them at $48.82, with a stop loss at $50.40. You will be risking $0.40 per share. That will be Step 2 of risk control. For Step 3, calculate your share size by dividing “Step 1” by “Step 2” to find the maximum size you may trade. In this example, you will be allowed to buy a maximum of 1,000 shares. In this case, you may not have enough cash or buying power to buy 1,000 shares of MOH at $50 (because you have only $40,000 in your account). So instead you will buy 800 shares or, perhaps, even 500 shares. Remember, you can always risk less, but you are not allowed to risk more than 2% of your account under any circumstance.

point out that it was a romantic gesture aimed at him and not the couple of overweight blokes smoking and playing cards whom she had glimpsed inside the Portakabin. Thanks,” he said, taking the sandwich off the plate and biting into it without even looking at it. Crystal spared another thought for the chickens. God only knows what they had gone through in order to keep Tommy Holroyd fed. Best not to think about it. Keep your mouth shut. “Anything else, babe?” she asked. “Nah. Close the door again on the way out, will you?” The entry phone buzzed while she was still in the hallway and Tommy shouted through the door, “Get that, will you?” When Crystal peered at the monitor next to the front door she could see a girl standing in front of the camera. She was so short that only the top half of her head showed. Crystal pressed the button on the microphone and said, “Hello?” The girl held up something, a wallet or a card, Crystal couldn’t make it out. “I’m DC Reggie Chase,” she said. “I’m here with my colleague DC Ronnie Dibicki.” She indicated someone else, out of sight of the camera. “We’d like to have a chat with Mr. Holroyd. Mr. Thomas Holroyd.” Detectives? “It’s a routine inquiry,” the detective said. “Nothing to be alarmed by.” Keep

In his first class of the day, correlated language arts, a class for students at least two years below their grade level in English, Boobie Miles spent the period working on a short research paper that he called “The Wonderful Life of Zebras.” He thumbed through various basic encyclopedia entries on the zebra. He ogled at how fast they ran (“Damn, they travel thirty miles”) and was so captivated by a picture of a zebra giving birth that he showed it to a classmate (“Want to see it have a baby, man?”). By the end of the class, Boobie produced the following thesis paragraph: Zebras are one of the most unusual animals in the world today. The zebra has many different kind in it nature. The habitat of the zebra is in wide open plain. Many zebras have viris types of relatives. He then went on to algebra I, a course that the average college-bound student took in ninth grade and some took in eighth. Because of his status as a special needs student, Boobie hadn’t taken the course until his senior year. He was having difficulty with it and his average midway through the fall was 71. After lunch it was on to creative writing, where Boobie spent a few minutes playing with a purple plastic gargoyle-looking monster. He lifted the fingers of the monster so it could pick its nose, then stuck his own fingers into its mouth. There were five minutes of instruction that day; students spent the remaining fifty-odd minutes working on various stories they were writing. They pretty much could do what they wanted. Boobie wrote a little and also explained to two blond-haired girls what some rap terms meant, that “chillin’ to the strength,” for example, meant “like cool to the max.” Boobie enjoyed this class. It gave him an unfettered opportunity to express himself, and the teacher didn’t expect much from him. His whole purpose in life, she felt, was to be a football player. “That’s the only thing kids like that have going for them, is that physical strength,” she said.

In short, the entry of women into immigrant society was integral to the process by which Japanese immigrants sank roots in American soil.

Benjamin Constant (1767-1830), the considerably influential Swiss-French political thinker, activist and writer on political theory and religion,708 whose ideas influenced the liberal movement in Spain, the liberal revolution in Portugal in 1820, the Greek war of independence soon after, and revolutionary movements stretching from Belgium, to Poland to as far as Brazil and Mexico over the same period also had his views on the matter. The only short text that he wrote before his death on the expedition of Algiers, while wishing for the victory of French forces and refusing ‘to respect the quality of sovereignty in a barbarian’, the Dey of Algiers, castigated the expedition as a political ploy on the eve of a crucial general election.709 But Constant, after dismissing the quarrel between Charles X and the Dey as an ‘affaire d’honneur’, declared that he would support the expedition ‘if it led to the ‘colonization’ of the Regency: for it to become an ‘affaire nationale’, he contended, ‘an undisputed, indisputable colonization should be the prize of victory and the fruit of the sacrifices risked’ by the Bourbon regime.710 Constant final hours on this earth must have been filled with glee as the news of the French entry into Algeria reached him on his death- bed. Pro or anti Regime, all welcomed the news of the expedition.