Sicker Than A Quotes

When I say I'll murder my baby's mother, maybe I wanted to but I didn't. Anybody who takes it literally is 10 times sicker than I am.

Sometimes the world is so much sicker than the inmates of its institutions.

Because unrequited love is like a dead, useless organ. It’s functionless. It’s sicker than a disease. You can cure a disease, but you can’t fix a defective soul.

That we are not much sicker and much madder than we are is due exclusively to that most blessed and blessing of all natural graces, sleep.

Mad woman on another tour; Everything she is she spits out on the floor. An old man tells me she's sicker than the rest. God I've never been afraid like this.

Were she better, or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius note, ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars/But in ourselves.

We've established the most enormous medical entity ever conceived... and people are sicker than ever. We cure nothing! We heal nothing!

She sicker than my mama was when she die. But she more evil than my mama and that keep her alive.

Everyone in this tale had a rock-solid hamartia: hers, that she is so sick; yours, that you are so well. Were she better or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius note, “The fault, dear Brutus, is no in our stars / But in ourselves.” Easy to say when you’re a Roman nobleman (or Shakespeare!), but there is no shortage of fault to be found amid our stars.

If I ever have to go to hospital, madam,’ one of the midwives calmly tells her, ‘I want to be seen last. Because that means everyone else there is sicker than me.

Ain't nothing wrong with Shug Avery. She just sick. Sicker than anybody I ever seen. She sicker than my mama was when she die. But she more evil than my mama and that keep her alive.

Look at the most religious areas of the world at present - the Middle East and the United States. These are sick societies, and they're going to get sicker. People are never more dangerous than when they have nothing left to believe in except God.

The worst part about being sick is not getting any sympathy from my wife. She says I have the "man-flu." The Urban Dictionary defines "man-flu" as "an illness that causes the male to be completely helpless and sicker than any other family member." In females it is known as a cold.

I have literal fucking cancer but we both know… we both know that you’re sicker than me.

Sometimes, she thought ruefully, the world is so much sicker than the inmates of its institutions.

The problem, naturally, was the entrenched perspective that all who had been committed to the asylum must be insane, and that any patient who protested her sanity was sicker than the rest.

Cause I'm sick too. At this point sicker than you. My disease is forever. I know no comfort. Since we're both maniacs, let's be nice to each other. I myself want to live. I want to burn. all I ask is no one loves me in return.

Yeah, it stings. But at least I feel something. Something besides hungry. Something besides afraid. Weird. I always thought cutters were sick. Sicker than me, even. But with a single swipe I understand why they do it. Why they like it, even though they hate it. I let the water run over the cut, ratchet it hotter, watch the blood slow, stutter, almost halt. I like the way the exposed flesh looks, all pinkish white. It looks new, although I know that isn't right. It's the same age as my skin, as my bones. Me. It's been there with me since the beginning. Been with me through thick. Thin. Daddy. Suddenly, I don't like how it looks at all.

On top of the good was a hideously ugly bronze statue in the modern style. The statue was of a couple, dressed in togas, wrapped in an embrace. Cupped in their hands was a piece of fruit. I couldn’t be sure, because realism did not appear to be the artist’s specialty, but it looked to me like a pomegranate. “Good God,” Frank, who’d trailed after us, said when he saw the statue. “Rector’s even sicker than any of us thought. I’ve never wished I was blind before, like Graves, but I do now, because then I’d never have to look at that again.” “Frank,” John said, his gaze on my face. “Be quiet.” “But what do they do in here?” Frank wanted to know. “Have picnics with their dead relatives and admire their ugly art?

Were she better or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius note, 'The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars/ But in ourselves.' Easy enough to say when you're a Roman nobleman (or Shakespeare!), but there is no shortage of fault to be found amid our stars.

Nothing saves the day so much as a good word. And nothing has been misused as often. There is power in a word, whether we read it, speak it or hear it. And we command and are commanded by the word. We scatter, we call forth, and we comfort. Words are tools, weapons, both good and bad medicine-but very beautiful when used lovingly. The word, or ka ne tsv in Cherokee, is power to help heal, or make sick people sicker by negative talk around them. The word gives confidence when it builds rather than destroys. Relationships have been shattered beyond repair by a run-away mouth. Prosperity has been dissolved by talking lack. Until we listen to our own voices and how we talk, we would never guess how we use our words.

Everyone in this tale has a rock-solid hamartia: hers, that she is so sick; yours, that you are so well. Were she better or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius, "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.

I do believe that disgust makes me sicker than hatred.

After years of voyaging through the USA medical system and taking prescription drugs, I was sicker than when I started the process.

If what God says is the truest thing about us, then it makes sense to follow him and accept our As-Is condition as the starting point. Thomas Merton said, 'The reason we never enter into the deepest reality of our relationship with God is that we so seldom acknowledge our utter nothingness before him.' If we confess the truth about ourselves, there's every reason to fear God will say, 'Yeah, that's right; and anotherthing...' and we're fairly sure there will be another thing. We are like people afraid to tell the doctor where we really hurt because we fear we may be sicker than we think. We are sicker than we think. We're dying and, crazily, running from the healer because we're ashamed, because we hate ourselves for all we are and all we're not.

Were she better or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius note, "The fault, dear Brutus, is in our stars / But in ourselves." Easy enough to say when you're a Roman nobleman (or Shakespeare!), but there is no shortage of fault to be found amid our stars.

Were she better or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius note, “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves.” Easy enough to say when you’re a Roman nobleman (or Shakespeare!), but there is no shortage of fault to be found amid our stars.

Sick and sicker and sickest. What was real and what was fake? Was Amma really sick and needing my mother’s medicine, or was the medicine what was making Amma sick? Did her blue pill make me vomit, or did it keep me from getting more ill than I’d have been without it?

When I first met him, Dr. Collins had said: “When you have a concussion, you don’t have good instincts about what will make you better. You want to lie in a dark room. You don’t want to be social. You want to drop out of your life. That bad instinct, coupled with bad advice, makes you much, much sicker than you need to be.

Were she better or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius note, "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves." Easy enough to say when you're a Roman nobleman (or Shakespeare!), but there is no shortage of fault to be found amid our stars.

Her fingertip traced his smile. “I’m sorry I was so crazy about the healer giving me blood, but I really can’t stand it yet, even thinking about it. When we’re together, it seems different, something beautiful and natural, but the thought of anyone else—” Her stomach lurched, and she broke off. Jacques’ mouth skimmed her face, settled on her lips for a brief, disturbing moment. “I understand. I am stronger now, little red hair. I can care for you properly.” Her eyebrows shot up, and she frowned. “That isn’t exactly what I meant. Don’t go all macho on me. That would make me sicker than finding some cute human male to feed off.” She was teasing him. Intellectually he knew it, but for a moment a red haze of jealousy clouded his mind. Rage welled up, and he forced it under control. He knew immediately that he was lucky she didn’t want to take sustenance from another man. Something in his fragmented mind, or perhaps it was his possessive nature, would not stand for it. No man, human or Carpathian, was going to be completely safe until he learned to control his fear of losing her. Jacques raked a hand through his hair. “I have a long way to go before I will be normal again.” She burst out laughing. “No one has said you ever were normal, Jacques.

Well O. the thing's sick. It's even sicker than 4. Was it 4? The one you said that Loach inspired, where you'd supposedly just that very day dropped out of Jesuit seminary after umpteen years of disciplined celibacy because of carno-spiritual yearnings you hadn't even been quite in touch with as carno-spiritual in nature until you just now this very moment laid eyes on the Subject? With the breviary and rented collar?’ 'That was 4, yes. 4's pretty much of a gynecopia also, but within a kind of narrower demographic psychological range of potential Subjects. Notice I never said 4 was no-miss.’ 'Well you must be a very proud young man. This is even sicker. The fake ring and fictional spouse. It's like you're inventing somebody you love just to seduce somebody else into helping you betray her. What's it like. It's like suborning somebody into helping you desecrate a tomb they don't know is empty.’ 'This is what I get for passing down priceless fruits of hard experience to somebody who still thinks it's exciting to shave.’ 'I ought to go. I have a blackhead I have to see to.’ 'You haven't asked why I called right back. Why I'm calling during high-toll hours.’ 'Plus I feel some kind of toothache starting, and it's the weekend, and I want to see Schacht before Mrs. Clarke's confectionery day in the sun tomorrow. Plus I'm naked.

I know there must be any number of people in the world today much sicker than I ever was. I would appeal to such people to face their trials with a firm, undespairing heart and to never surrender in their battle with disease. And this applies not only to disease: No matter what kind of difficult situations one finds oneself in, some opportunity, some opening, can always be found to fight one’s way out. The important thing is always to have hope and to face the future bravely.

Were she better or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius note, “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves

It only made me sicker. But dis sickness was different than the first—the first had to do wid losing someone I cared for and who cared for me. The second had to do wid losing myself. But it worked. Because I couldn’t hurt no more. I could no longer feel. It’s been easier that way.

Were she better or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius note, “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves.” Easy enough to say when you’re a Roman nobleman (or Shakespeare!), but there is no shortage of fault to be found amid our stars. While

If it were not for the thicket— RAPUNZEL’S PRINCE:                   A thicket’s no trick.                   Is it thick? CINDERELLA’S PRINCE:                   It’s the thickest. RAPUNZEL’S PRINCE:                   The quickest                   Is pick it                   Apart with a stick— CINDERELLA’S PRINCE:                   Yes, but even one prick—                   It’s my thing about blood. RAPUNZEL’S PRINCE:                   Well, it’s sick! CINDERELLA’S PRINCE:                   It’s no sicker                   Than your thing with dwarves. RAPUNZEL’S PRINCE:                   Dwarfs. CINDERELLA’S PRINCE:                   Dwarfs . . . RAPUNZEL’S PRINCE:                   Dwarfs are very upsetting. BOTH:                   Not forgetting                   The tasks unachievable,                   Mountains unscalable—                   If it’s conceivable                   But unavailable,                   Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah—                   Agony!

When two people in a marriage are more concerned about getting the golden eggs, the benefits, than they are in preserving the relationship that makes them possible, they often become insensitive and inconsiderate, neglecting the little kindnesses and courtesies so important to a deep relationship. They begin to use control levers to manipulate each other, to focus on their own needs, to justify their own position and look for evidence to show the wrongness of the other person. The love, the richness, the softness and spontaneity begin to deteriorate. The goose gets sicker day by day.

I’m waiting in the living room, pretending and knowing that I will be caught and that I am not a widow, I’m just a weeping and annoyed wife. Brian will be gone from my life soon, although I don’t yet know how soon, and he’s also still a man with a cold. It’s a cold, not pleurisy, is what I think, even as I am tearing the fringe off a pillow at the thought of his not being upstairs any longer, not having a cold, not being a sick man than whom there is no one sicker, as I have said to him. One time, I said that I had friends with metastatic breast cancer who complained less about that than he did about his cold. And then he won’t be there for me to say it to him.

Some people can accept bad circumstances in their own lives, but some may not want to suffer alone. You understand what I mean? You’ve known people like that already I bet, even as young as you are. It’s a human trait, and as I’m seeing, as people become quicker to put themselves first, they’re quicker to judge everything in relative measures, with themselves in the center of it all. It might come down to people feeling that it’s not so much them being sick, but them wanting you to be as sick or sicker than they are. Know what I mean, boy?

...but when I opened my mouth something sicker than words came out.

Because unrequited love is like a dead, useless organ. It’s functionless. It’s sicker than a disease. You can cure a disease, but you can’t fix a defective soul. That’s the most frustrating thing in the world, to be that powerless.

unrequited love is like a dead, useless organ. It’s functionless. It’s sicker than a disease. You can cure a disease, but you can’t fix a defective soul. That’s the most frustrating thing in the world, to be that powerless.” I’m

According to the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and the National Academy of Sciences, standard chemicals are up to ten times more toxic to children than to adults, depending on body weight. This is due to the fact that children take in more toxic chemicals relative to body weight than adults and have developing organ systems that are more vulnerable and less able to detoxify such chemicals.1 According to the EPA’s “Guidelines for Carcinogen Risk Assessment,” children receive fifty percent of their lifetime cancer risks in the first two years of life.2

Populations that do not typically consume dairy products appear to exhibit lower rates of bone fracture despite consuming far less calcium than recommended.

(you’re a butterfly and butterflies are free to fly, fly away, high away, bye-bye), and I follow her each day because you are not a butterfly as long as she exists. You are not free to fly, fly away because she is a dangerous fucking pervert, photographing you, coveting you. Is there anything sicker than photographing someone while she’s sleeping?

The poor health outcomes of the world’s wealthiest nation are often presented as a mystery, yet their root causes are hiding in plain sight: these disparities are driven by inequality and discrimination, which lead to poor health in people of color in the United States, particularly African Americans. The health outcomes of Black Americans are by several measures on par with people living in far poorer nations. At every stage of life, Blacks have poorer health outcomes than whites and, in most cases, than other ethnic groups. Black babies are more than twice as likely as white babies to die at birth or in the first year of life—a racial gap that adds up to thousands of lost lives every year. Blacks in every age-group under sixty-five have significantly higher death rates than whites. Black life expectancy at birth is several years lower than that of whites. African Americans have elevated death rates from conditions such as diabetes, stroke, and heart disease that among whites are found more commonly at older ages. In a phrase, African Americans “live sicker and die quicker,” which, if you estimate years of life lost because of deaths that could’ve been prevented, adds up to tens of thousands of lost years.

In the human area, the P/PC Balance is equally fundamental, but even more important, because people control physical and financial assets. When two people in a marriage are more concerned about getting the golden eggs, the benefits, than they are in preserving the relationship that makes them possible, they often become insensitive and inconsiderate, neglecting the little kindnesses and courtesies so important to a deep relationship. They begin to use control levers to manipulate each other, to focus on their own needs, to justify their own position and look for evidence to show the wrongness of the other person. The love, the richness, the softness, and spontaneity begin to deteriorate. The goose gets sicker day by day.

the entrenched perspective that all who had been committed to the asylum must be insane, and that any patient who protested her sanity was sicker than the rest.

This image from The FATBURN Fix tells an important story: As we’ve eaten more vegetable oils, we’ve grown fatter and sicker than ever before in history. Dr. Cate be- lieves that “Calorie for calorie, seed oils are worse for our health than sugar.

Being at either end of the spectrum, either morbidly obese (BMI 40 and above) or painfully thin (BMI less than 18.5) spells trouble. It’s a classic U-curve: You don’t want to be out on the edges.

And rather than tirelessly push weight loss per se, we should promote cardiometabolic fitness and encourage people of all sizes to think about their health in terms of how well they eat and exercise rather than a number on the scale (or BMI).

There’s nothing in the world sicker-looking than the grin of the man who’s trying to join in heartily when the laugh’s on him, and to pretend that he likes it.

child who is disobedient is probably not going to have a good adult life.  It’s just a fact, unless they later turn their lives around.  A child who eats junk food is going to be sicker and fatter than one who actually eats things that are nutritious.  A child who takes drugs is going to spiral out of control.  A child who has sex outside of marriage will be subject to disease and tragedy and will often turn to murdering their own unborn child if there is an unwelcome pregnancy.  A person who steals will end up in prison.  A person who lies will destroy lives.  A person who doesn’t respect the rules of the parent, who they are supposed to love, will never be able to respect the rules of those they do not love.

It has been my experience that, even when a man has a sense of humor, it only really carries him to the point where he will join in a laugh at the expense of the other fellow. There’s nothing in the world sicker-looking than the grin of the man who’s trying to join in heartily when the laugh’s on him, and to pretend that he likes it.  

But other scenes pay off, including a heart-clutching moment when an infected Felix, riding the subway, spots a man who is sicker than he is: skeletal, coated in lesions, a vision flashing in and out as lights flicker. The movie is at its best when it’s capturing this horror-film quality of the period, the physical vulnerability that the poet Thom Gunn wrote about so beautifully in his poem “The Man with Night Sweats”: the fruitless wish that “hands were enough / to hold an avalanche off.

Despite all we have invested in this dispersed city, it has failed to maximize health and happiness. It is inherently dangerous. It makes us fatter, sicker, and more likely to die young. It makes life more expensive than it has to be. It steals our time. It makes it harder to connect with family, friends, and neighbors.

The important question is this: Do artificial sweeteners increase insulin levels? Sucralose raises insulin by 20 percent, despite the fact that it contains no calories and no sugar. This insulin-raising effect has also been shown for other artificial sweeteners, including the “natural” sweetener stevia. Despite having a minimal effect on blood sugars, both aspartame and stevia raised insulin levels higher even than table sugar. Artificial sweeteners that raise insulin should be expected to be harmful, not beneficial. Artificial sweeteners may decrease calories and sugar, but not insulin. Yet it is insulin that drives weight gain and diabetes.92

Ten o’clock,’ whispered Snape, with a smile that showed his yellow teeth. ‘Poor Gryffindor … fourth place this year, I fear …’ And he left the bathroom without another word, leaving Harry to stare into the cracked mirror, feeling sicker, he was sure, than Ron had ever felt in his life. ‘I won’t say “I told you so”,’ said Hermione, an hour later in the common room. ‘Leave it, Hermione,’ said Ron angrily. Harry had never made it to dinner; he had no appetite at all. He had just finished telling Ron, Hermione and Ginny what had happened, not that there seemed to have been much need. The news had travelled very fast: apparently Moaning Myrtle had taken it upon herself to pop up in every bathroom in the castle to tell the story; Malfoy had already been visited in the hospital wing by Pansy Parkinson, who had lost no time in vilifying Harry far and wide, and Snape had told the staff precisely what had happened: Harry had already been called out of the common room to endure fifteen highly unpleasant minutes in the company of Professor McGonagall, who had told him he was lucky not to have been expelled and that she supported whole-

You’re sick, Tirone. Sicker than I’ve ever imagined.” He moved faster, harder. “If I’m sick, what does that make you?” My tears dropped on the desk. “What does it make me?” His groans of climax filled my ear while his cum filled my pussy. “The fucking disease.

The insight is, in a sense, an epidemiological one: most often, diseases themselves make a preferential option for the poor. Every careful survey, across boundaries of time and space, shows us that the poor are sicker than the nonpoor. They're at increased risk of dying prematurely, whether from increased exposure to pathogens (including pathogenic situations) or from decreased access to services-or, as is most often the case, from both of these "risk factors" working together.2 Given this indisputable association, medicine has a clear-if not always observed-mandate to devote itself to populations struggling against poverty.

The world is so much sicker than the inmates of its institutions.

there. And what if all of this – Aaron’s grey areas, his habit of sailing close to the wind – had something to do with why Faye was missing? Not Garvin – but someone else whose path Aaron had crossed? Trampled on? She let that thought percolate for a moment. It didn’t add up. How could anyone have known where she and the kids would be that morning? Unless someone had been following them … The cab lurched around a corner and her stomach turned. She hadn’t eaten since the hotel breakfast, but the thought of food made her feel even sicker. How many hours was it now? She looked at her phone. Almost six o’clock. Faye had been missing for nearly ten hours. And now they’re back, standing on Oxford Street, in the heavy evening heat, yet again at a loss as to what to do. Hawthorn asks if they want to go to the supervisor’s office in the station, warning them it won’t be long before reporters realize they’re back. But Aaron wants to stay here, out on the street, where they’ll feel more useful. Sive is numb. Completely numb. As though her mind is shutting down to protect her from thinking the worst. Hawthorn leaves, and Jude texts. She’s in a Regent Street coffee shop, working on something, but she’ll come to meet them now. To regroup, she says. And less than ten minutes later, she’s here beside them, listening while Aaron gives her more details about their false lead in Leytonstone. Sive is only half tuned in as they swap questions and answers – Is Maggie here? Aaron asks. No, she never came back, Jude says. Are their other friends coming? Dave will follow once he runs home to get his car, Aaron says. Scott is staying with Bea and Toby, and Nita is sharing her participation in the search on Insta Live. Jude

Most people that have radiation sickness end up having a life that is much sicker than the general population.

This new, highly processed diet lacked fiber and the full spectrum of minerals, vitamins, amino acids, and other nutrients. As a result, urban populations would grow sicker and smaller. In the 1730s, before the onset of industrialization, the average Briton stood about five-seven. Within a century, population shrank two inches, to less than five-five.

I know there are people in better health than me that have been awarded their disability payments and there are people much sicker than me that have been blatantly denied.

I’m sorry I was so crazy about the healer giving me blood, but I really can’t stand it yet, even thinking about it. When we’re together, it seems different, something beautiful and natural, but the thought of anyone else--” Her stomach lurched, and she broke off. Jacques’ mouth skimmed her face, settled on her lips for a brief, disturbing moment. “I understand. I am stronger now, little red hair. I can care for you properly.” Her eyebrows shot up, and she frowned. “That isn’t exactly what I meant. Don’t go all macho on me. That would make me sicker than finding some cute human male to feed off.

Codependents aren’t crazier or sicker than alcoholics. But, they hurt as much or more.

People didn’t start farming because it was individually better for them. To the contrary, it was probably less productive than hunting and gathering, at least initially, and only worked when mixed with foraging. As populations increasingly relied on farming, archaeological studies reveal that the less nutritious diets derived from cereals and other crops produced people who were shorter, sicker, and more likely to die young. However, the effects of sedentism and the productivity of unskilled (young) labor were such that farmers reproduced more quickly than did mobile hunter-gatherers. With the “right” set of institutions, farmers could spread across the landscape like an epidemic, driving out or assimilating any hunter-gatherers in their path. Thus, early farming spread not because rational individuals prefer to farm, but because farming communities with particular institutions beat mobile hunter-gatherer populations in intergroup competition.

Most folks I know come to activist spaces longing to heal, but our movements are often filled with more ableism and burnout than they are with healing. We work and work and work from a place of crisis. Healing is dismissed as irrelevant, reserved for folks with money, an individual responsibility, something you do on your own time. Our movements are so burnout-paced, with little to no room for grief, anger, trauma, spirituality, disability, aging, parenting, or sickness, that many people leave them when we age, have kids, get sick(er) or more disabled, or just can’t make it to twelve meetings a week anymore.

The testing instruments Dr. Gray and Dr. Manguso used also had elements to uncover different kinds of malingering, lack of interest in answering, and random answers. “Malingering” is a more complicated concept than simply trying to look sick when one is actually well. Some people try to “fake bad,” to appear sicker or more mentally ill than they are. Others, including some criminal defendants who don’t like the idea of being called crazy, try to “fake good”—that is, to look normal.

The engineering mountain managers went to the summit of Mauna Kea two to three days per week, whereas the technicians went there four days per week. It was apparent to me that the technicians were sicker than the engineers.

We are still, now, in much of the world, shorter, sicker, and ding younger than our hunter-gatherer forebears, who were also, by the way, much better custodians of the planet on which we all live. And they watched over it for much longer- nearly all of those 200,000 years. That epic era once derided as "prehistory" accounts for about 95 percent of human history. For nearly all of that time, humans traversed the planet but left no meaningful mark. Which makes the history of mark-making-- the entire history of civilization, the entire history we know as history-- look less like an inevitable crescendo than like an anomaly, or blip. And makes industrialization and economic growth, the two forces that really gave us the modern world and the hurtling sensations of material progress, a blip inside a blip. A blip inside a blip that has brought us to the brink of a never-ending climate catastrophe.

I promise to be careful.” “Really careful,” she insisted. He found the hard edges of his mouth turning up. “Really really careful,” he clarified. Her fingertip traced his smile. “I’m sorry I was so crazy about the healer giving me blood, but I really can’t stand it yet, even thinking about it. When we’re together, it seems different, something beautiful and natural, but the thought of anyone else--” Her stomach lurched, and she broke off. Jacques’ mouth skimmed her face, settled on her lips for a brief, disturbing moment. “I understand. I am stronger now, little red hair. I can care for you properly.” Her eyebrows shot up, and she frowned. “That isn’t exactly what I meant. Don’t go all macho on me. That would make me sicker than finding some cute human male to feed off.” She was teasing him. Intellectually he knew it, but for a moment a red haze of jealousy clouded his mind. Rage welled up, and he forced it under control. He knew immediately that he was lucky she didn’t want to take sustenance from another man. Something in his fragmented mind, or perhaps it was his possessive nature, would not stand for it. No man, human or Carpathian, was going to be completely safe until he learned to control his fear of losing her. Jacques raked a hand through his hair. “I have a long way to go before I will be normal again.” She burst out laughing. “No one has said you ever were normal, Jacques.

The impact of second-class treatment on black people’s bodies is devastating. It is manifested not only in the black–white death gap but also in the drastic measures required when chronic disease is left unmanaged. Black patients are less likely than whites to be referred to kidney and liver transplant wait lists and are more likely to die while waiting for a transplant.68 If they are lucky enough to get a donated kidney or liver, blacks are sicker than whites at the time of transplantation and less likely to survive afterward. “Take a look at all the black amputees,” said a caller to a radio show I was speaking on, identifying the remarkable numbers of people with amputated legs you see in poor black communities as a sign of health inequities. According to a 2008 nationwide study of Medicare claims, whites in Louisiana and Mississippi have a higher rate of leg amputation than in other states, but the rate for blacks is five times higher than for whites.69 An earlier study of Medicare services found that physicians were less likely to treat their black patients with aggressive, curative therapies such as hospitalization for heart disease, coronary artery bypass surgery, coronary angioplasty, and hip-fracture repair.70 But there were two surgeries that blacks were far more likely to undergo than whites: amputation of a lower limb and removal of the testicles to treat prostate cancer. Blacks are less likely to get desirable medical interventions and more likely to get undesirable interventions that good medical care would avoid.

Our inability to control our use of technology is making us sicker, more anxious, and more distraught than ever before.

Our beliefs influence how we treat other people, which shapes how they act in return. Thoughts change the world, and cynicism is turning ours into a meaner, sadder, sicker place. All of this is deeply unpopular. Americans trust one another less than before, but 79 percent of us also think people trust too little. We loathe political rivals, but more than 80 percent of us also fear how divided we’ve become. Most of us want a society built on compassion and connection, but cynicism convinces us that things will get worse no matter what we do. So, we do nothing, and they worsen.

unrequited love is like a dead, useless organ. It’s functionless. It’s sicker than a disease. You can cure a disease, but you can’t fix a defective soul. That’s the most frustrating thing in the world, to be that powerless.

Today NIH, along with the NSF, are irreplaceable. If these institutions had never been created or expanded, the lives of millions, even billions of people around the world would be shorter than they are today, and people would be sicker.