Simple Thursday Quotes

For Children: You will need to know the difference between Friday and a fried egg. It's quite a simple difference, but an important one. Friday comes at the end of the week, whereas a fried egg comes out of a chicken. Like most things, of course, it isn't quite that simple. The fried egg isn't properly a fried egg until it's been put in a frying pan and fried. This is something you wouldn't do to a Friday, of course, though you might do it on a Friday. You can also fry eggs on a Thursday, if you like, or on a cooker. It's all rather complicated, but it makes a kind of sense if you think about it for a while.

If only life were that simple; if one could jump to the good parts and flick through the bad —

It's simple. If you go to see 'Saturday Night Fever' expecting it to be good, it's a corker. However, if you go expecting it to be a crock of shit, it's that, too. Thus 'Saturday Night Fever' can exist in two mutually opposing states at the very same time, yet only by the weight of our expectations. From this principle we can deduce that any opposing states can be governed by human expectation - even, as in the case of retro-deficit-engineering, the present use of a future technology." "I think I understand that. Does it work with any John Travolta movie?" "Only the artistically ambiguous ones such as 'Pulp Fiction' or 'Face/Off.' 'Battlefield Earth' doesn't work, because it's a stinker no matter how much you think you're going to like it, and 'Get Shorty' doesn't work either, because you'd be hard-pressed not to enjoy it, irrespective of any preconceived notions.

So you're going to have to ask yourselves on simple question: Which one of us is speaking now?

The silly sentimentalists of the French Revolution talked of the Rights of Man! We hate Rights as we hate Wrongs. We have abolished Right and Wrong. And Right and Left, said Syme with a simple eagerness, I hope you will abolish them too. They are much more troublesome to me.

So what do I do now?” “You climb the next mountain, of course.” “Oh, yeah, of course,” says Donna. Simple. “And what’s up the next mountain?” “Well, we don’t know, do we? It’s your mountain. No one’s ever climbed it before.” “And what if I don’t want to? What if I just want to go home and cry every night and pretend to everyone that everything’s okay?” “Then do that. Keep being scared, keep being lonely. And spend the next twenty years coming to see me, and I will keep telling you the same thing. Put your boots on and climb the next mountain. See what’s up there. Friends, promotions, babies. It’s your mountain.” “Will there be other mountains after that one?” “There will.

I see,” says Elizabeth, lips pursing. “And what happens if I still choose to say WPC? Will there be a warrant for my arrest?” “No, but I’ll think a bit less of you,” says Donna. “Because it’s a really simple thing to do, and it’s more respectful to me.” “Damn, checkmate, okay,” says Elizabeth, unpursing her lips. “Thank you,” says Donna.

Are you married? Yes, I mumbled, that is to say - no. Come, come, said Havisham angrily. It is a simple enough question. I was married, I answered. Died? No, I mumbled, that is to say - yes. I'll try harder questions in future, announced Havisham, for you are obviously not adept at the easy ones.

Well, you have said that you were quite certain I was not a serious anarchist. Does this place strike you as being serious?" "It does seem to have a moral under all its gaiety," assented Syme; "but may I ask you two questions? You need not fear to give me information, because, as you remember, you very wisely extorted from me a promise not to tell the police, a promise I shall certainly keep. So it is in mere curiosity that I make my queries. First of all, what is it really all about? What is it you object to? you want to abolish Government?" "To abolish God!" said Gregory, opening the eyes of a fanatic. "We do not only want to upset a few despotisms and police regulations; that sort of anarchism does exist, but it is a mere branch of the Nonconformists. We dig deeper and we blow you higher. We wish to deny all those arbitrary distinctions of vice and virtue, honour and treachery, upon which mere rebels base themselves. The silly sentimentalists of the French Revolution talked of the Rights of Man! We hate Rights and we hate Wrongs. We have abolished Right and Wrong." "And Right and Left," said Syme with a simple eagerness. "I hope you will abolish them too. They are much more troublesome to me.

And Right and Left,” said Syme with a simple eagerness, “I hope you will abolish them too. They are much more troublesome to me.

We hate Rights and we hate Wrongs. We have abolished Right and Wrong." "And Right and Left," said Syme with a simple eagerness. "I hope you will abolish them too. They are much more troublesome to me.

No one thinks of Thursday as Thor’s Day anymore, or of breakfast as breaking a fast. Modern English has thousands of former phrases and complex words that have congealed into what people now perceive as simple words, such as business (busyness), Christmas (Christ’s Mass), and spinster (one who spins).

Kisses bring viewers out of the woodwork. That’s pure and simple fandom fact, and #KevinThursday is a prime example. A kiss is the culmination of everything unspoken—all the hints and hopes and uncertainties in a budding romance. Until that moment, it’s heat and simmer, heat and simmer. It’s a look, a word, a gesture. But the kiss is the boiling point. It’s what everyone waits on and cheers for. I get that, but personally? I prefer what happens before the kiss: the accidental brush of a shoulder, the spark of a stolen glance, the seemingly throwaway comment that is steeped in history and means so much more. That’s what I love best, and it’s what I best direct.

Now, with their miniature robot army, three Harvard University researchers have upped the ante, assembling a massive swarm of simple, three-legged robots that can work as a team to assemble into different shapes on command. The advance, reported Thursday in the journal ­Science, is a feat of “engineering majesty,’’ said James ­McLurkin, director of the Multi-Robot Systems Lab at Rice University, who was not ­involved in the research. “Building 1,000 robots is hard,’’ McLurkin said. “Getting 1,000 robots to work together reliably is — how’d they say it in Boston? — ‘wicked hard.’ ’’ The technology is still in the early stages. These simple ­robots, which each weigh about as much as three nickels and cost $14 in parts, cannot build a skyscraper or clean up an oil spill. But they surmount several major problems in robotics, McLurkin said. The software the researchers designed allows individual ­robots to act on their own, using only information from their neighbors to achieve goals that dwarf their thumb-sized bodies.

Tuesday and Wednesday flew by. Dylan from 5B came over on Thursday. I didn’t smoke any pot, but I let him hotbox my apartment so I was even more completely stoned than I was the time before, except this time my eyebrows remained intact. We watched three episodes of Whose Line Is It Anyway? and laughed our asses off. Dylan was actually pretty cute. He was tall and skinny and pale with buzzed hair, but he had these really blue eyes. That night he helped me carry my laundry to the basement. “Hey Kate, you wanna go to the skate park with me tomorrow night?” “I can’t, I have a date with a lesbian.” His eyes shot open. “Oh, cool.” “It’s not what you think.” He smiled and shrugged. “It’s your business. Aren’t you still dating that douche wad in 9A?” “Stephen? No, he dumped me last week. He’s dating someone else already.” “His loss.” He said it so quickly and nonchalantly that I almost believed him. We got to the basement door. Dylan pushed it open and walked in but paused in front of me. I leaned around his body and saw Stephen making out with a different girl than he had been with earlier that week. At first I didn’t recognize her, and then I saw her token pink scrunchie bobbing above her head. It was the bimbo from the sixth floor. Every time I saw her she was with a different guy. Stephen turned and spotted me. “Kate, I thought you did your laundry on Mondays?” I contemplated sharing my thoughts on women in their thirties who still wear colorful hair pretties, but I chose to take the high road. Anyway, one or both of them would undoubtedly have a venereal disease by the end of the week, and that was my silver lining. “Don’t talk to me, Stephen.” I coughed and mumbled, “Pencil dick” at the same time. Dylan stayed near the door. Everyone in the room watched me as I emptied my laundry bag into a washer. I added soap, stuck some quarters in, closed the lid, and turned to walk out. Just as I reached the opening, Dylan pushed me against the doorjamb and kissed me like he had just come back from war. I let him put on a full show until he moved his hand up and cupped my breast. I very discreetly said, “Uh-uh” through our mouths, and he pulled his hand away and slowed the kiss. When we pulled apart, I turned toward Stephen and the bimbo and shot them an ear-splitting smile. “Hey, Steve”—I’d never called him Steve—“Will you text me when the washer is done? I’ll be busy in my apartment for a while.” He nodded, still looking stunned. I grabbed Dylan’s hand and pulled him into the elevator. Once the doors were closed, we both burst into laughter. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said. “I wanted to. That asshole had it coming.” “Well, thank you. You live with your mom, right?” “Yeah.” “Please don’t tell her about this. I can’t imagine what she would think of me.” “I’m not that much younger than you, Kate.” He jabbed me in the arm playfully and smirked. “You need to lighten up. Anyway, my mom would be cool with it.” “Well, I hope I didn’t give you the wrong idea.” “Nah. We’re buddies, I get it. I’m kind of in love with that Ashley chick from the fourth floor. I just have to wait until next month when she turns eighteen, you know?” He wiggled his eyebrows. I laughed. “You two would make a cute couple.” If only it were that simple.

Dawn was breaking over everything in colours at once clear and timid; as if Nature made a first attempt at yellow and a first attempt at rose. A breeze blew so clean and sweet, that one could not think that it blew from the sky; it blew rather through some hole in the sky. Syme felt a simple surprise when he saw rising all round him on both sides of the road the red, irregular buildings of Saffron Park. He had no idea that he had walked so near London. He walked by instinct along one white road, on which early birds hopped and sang, and found himself outside a fenced garden. There he saw the sister of Gregory, the girl with the gold-red hair, cutting lilac before breakfast, with the great unconscious gravity of a girl.

It is Ian’s regular smoothie. Some raspberries, a fistful of spinach, Icelandic yogurt (Finnish, if they are out of Icelandic), spirulina, wheatgrass, acerola cherry powder, chlorella, kelp, acai extract, cocoa nibs, zinc, beetroot essence, chia seeds, mango zest, and ginger. It is his own invention, and he calls it Keep It Simple.

Thursday 10/22 (A Desperate Situation: Jer 14:1-16; Joe 1:13, 14; 2:15-17; 1Th 5:17) “He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy.” The conditions of obtaining mercy of God are simple and just and reasonable. The Lord does not require us to do some grievous thing, in order that we may have the forgiveness of sin. We need not take long and wearisome pilgrimages, or perform painful penances to commend our souls to the God of Heaven, or to expiate our transgression; but he that confesseth and forsaketh his sin shall have mercy. This is a precious promise given to fallen man to encourage him to trust in the God of love, and to seek for eternal life in his kingdom.… Daniel did not seek to excuse himself or his people before God; but in humility and contrition of soul he confessed the full extent and demerit of their transgressions, and vindicated God’s dealings as just toward a nation that had set at naught his requirements and would not profit by his entreaties. There is great need today of just such sincere heart-felt repentance and confession. Those who have not humbled their souls before God in acknowledging their guilt, have not yet fulfilled the first condition of acceptance. If we have not experienced that repentance not to be repented of, and have not confessed our sin with true humiliation of soul and brokenness of spirit, abhorring our iniquity, we have never sought truly for the forgiveness of sin; and if we have never sought, we have never found the peace of God. The only reason why we may not have remission of sins that are past, is that we are not willing to humble our proud hearts, and comply with the conditions of the word of truth. There is explicit instruction given concerning this matter. Confession of sin, whether public or private, should be heart-felt and freely expressed. It is not to be urged from the sinner. It is not to be made in a flippant and careless way, or forced from those who have no realizing sense of the abhorrent character of sin. The confession that is mingled with tears and sorrow, that is the outpouring of the inmost soul, finds its way to the God of infinite pity. Says the psalmist, “The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.” There are too many confessions like Pharaoh when he was suffering the judgments of God. He acknowledged his sin, to escape further punishment, but returned to his defiance of Heaven as soon as the plagues were stayed. Balaam’s confession was of a similar character. Terrified by the angel standing in his pathway with drawn sword, he acknowledged his guilt, lest he should lose his life. There was no genuine repentance for sin, no contrition, no conversion of purpose, no abhorrence of evil, and no worth or virtue in his confession.… The humble and broken heart, subdued by genuine repentance, will appreciate something of the love of God, and the cost of Calvary; and as a son confesses to a loving father, so will the truly penitent bring all his sins before God. [1Jn 1:9 quoted]. -ST 3-16-88 • CC 63-A Bitter Price; BLJ 361-Repentant Souls Hate Sin and Love Righteousness

Weekly Layout Monday- Legs (Quad Dominant) and Calves A.1- Squat  6 sets total 7,5,3,7,5,3 B.1- Leg press 3-4 sets of 10 C.1- Leg Extension 3-4 sets of 10-15 C.2- Standing Calf Raise 3-4 sets of 15-20       Tuesday- Chest/Shoulder A.1- Dumbbell Bench Press 6 sets total 7,5,3,7,5,3 A.2- Leaning Lateral Raise 4 sets of 10-12 B.1- Incline Bench Press 6 sets total 7,5,3,7,5,3 B.2- Upright Rows 3 sets of 15-20 C.1- Machine Flies 3 sets of 8-10   Thursday- Back/Hamstrings A.1- Deadlift 6 sets total 7,5,3,7,5,3 A.2- Bent Over Row 3 sets of 8-10 B.1- Wide grip Pull-ups 3 sets of 10+ B.2- Cable Row 3 sets of 10-12 C.1- Leg Curl 3 sets of 6-8     Friday or Saturday- Arms    A.1- Dips with weight 6 sets total 7,5,3,7,5,3 A.2- EZ- Bar Curl 6 sets total 7,5,3,7,5,3 B.1- Hammer Curl 3 Sets of 6-8 B.2- Reverse Curl 3 Sets of 6-8 C.1- Close Grip Bench Press 3 Sets of 10-12 C.2- Skull Crushers 3 Sets of 10-12 CONCLUSION

People afflicted with social anxiety should be comforted by the simple fact that nobody gives a rat’s ass about them.  ========== Dead Soul Mary: A Novel (Winn, M.J.) - Your Highlight on page 166 | Location 2588-2594 | Added on Thursday, June 5, 2014 11:33:26 PM

the equation is pretty simple. If you’re selling things for a tenner, make sure they only cost you a fiver, and make sure you know what’s fashionable.

Thursday night is pasta night," I say. "I left you guys a lasagna Bolognese, garlic knots, and roasted broccolini. Ian is going to make the Caesar salad table side." Thursday is the day I come in only to train Ian, so on Wednesdays I always leave something for an easy pasta night. Either a baked dish, or a sauce and parboiled pasta for easy finishing, some prepped salad stuff, and a simple dessert. "Awesome. Does the lasagna have the chunks of sausage in it?" I narrow my eyes at him. "Robert Adam Farber, would I leave you a lasagna without chunks of sausage in it?" I say with fake insult in my voice. "No, El, you totally have my back on all things meat. What's for dessert?" "Lemon olive oil cake with homemade vanilla bean gelato.

That’s a start,” she said. “I’d also like you to review the rules regarding spine bending and turning over the corners of pages. If we let simple things like that slide without punishment, we could open the floodgates to poor reading etiquette and a downward spiral to the collapse of civilization.

Consistency breeds creativity. If you keep at it, the good stuff will come. You won't write a masterpiece every day. You might not lose a pound this week, but you're working on it. Bite-size change that you create Every Single Day is truckloads more powerful than anything you might dream up every other Thursday evening.

He doesn’t get domestic life, the way you can be glad for such stupid, simple things. That you can bicker and fight your way through marriage, and then Thursday night meatloaf comes to save you.

It is Ian’s regular smoothie. A punnet of raspberries, a fistful of spinach, Icelandic yoghurt (Finnish, if they are out of Icelandic), spirulina, wheatgrass, acerola cherry powder, chlorella, kelp, acai extract, cocoa nibs, zinc, beetroot essence, chia seeds, mango zest and ginger. It is his own invention, and he calls it Keep It Simple.