Slideshow Quotes

They traversed the lounge, side-stepping the occasional onanist and paying no heed to the slack-jawed, giggling addicts. A few feet away, a young woman had put her tattooed posterior on display. Aurora noticed her tattoos were dynamic, changing like a slideshow each time her bottom was slapped.

I’ve wanted boys, and I’ve wanted girls, but I’ve never wanted anyone enough to miss them, enough to pluck them from the slideshow of my old life and bring them here.

Refuse to give up, your mistakes don't define you They don't dictate where you're headed, they remind you

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by Facebook, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through photo slideshows at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connections of their youth through the machinery of night, who clicking and poking and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural brightness of tiny screens floating across the tops of cities contemplating likes, who bared their brains to the network and saw who got pregnant and who got fat and who’s living the life best lived by posting Instagrams of themselves staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through newly cropped profile pics with radiant cool eyes obsessing over whose ex’s new lover is the best looking ex-lover’s lover, who breaking their backs falling out of ergonomic chairs while shouting into the icy streets, Everybody look how clever I am, Look how much fun I am having, Look at this amazing party I went to, Look at how well-liked I am, Look at my effortless carefully constructed casual desperate thrown together fun, Everybody look, This is fun, Look, Look, I swear to God I am having so much fun.

And she needed to surf some of the pregnancy websites she'd found when she first realized she was pregnant. Her friends with kids said there was lots of good information available on the sites. But had they meant the slideshow labeled "Poppy seed to pumpkin: how big is your baby? Imagining her unborn child as an ear of corn was odd enough. But would she ever get used to the thought that by the end of this pregnancy, she'd be carrying around something--someone--the size of a small pumpkin?

Some use a slideshow program’s outline view to build a structure on which they can hang all their ideas, and then easily rearrange them by moving slides around. Use your big ideas as headings. Then break those down into their component parts. Then explain those parts with sentences.

Campbell’s slideshow lists grim domestic violence statistic after statistic: second leading cause of death for African American women, third leading cause of death for native women, seventh leading cause of death for Caucasian women. Campbell says twelve hundred abused women are killed every year in the United States.1 That figure does not count children. And it does not count the abusers who kill themselves after killing their partners, murder-suicides we see daily in the newspaper. And it does not count same-sex relationships where one or the other partner might not be “out.” And it does not count other family members, like sisters, aunts, grandmothers, who are often killed alongside the primary victim. And it does not count innocent bystanders: the twenty-six churchgoers in Texas, say, after a son-in-law has gone to a service to target his mother-in-law, or the two spa employees in Wisconsin killed alongside their client by her ex. The list is endless. And it does not count the jurisdictions who do not report their homicides, since homicide reporting is voluntary through the FBI’s Supplemental Homicide Reporting Data. So how many people are killed as a result of domestic violence each year? The bystanders, the other family members, the perpetrators’ suicides? The victims who just can’t take it anymore and kill themselves? The accidents that turn out not to be accidents at all, victims pushed out of cars and from cliffs or driven into trees. Tragedies forever uncategorized.

And she needed to surf some of the pregnancy websites she'd found when she first realized she was pregnant. Her friends with kids said there was lots of good information available on the sites. But had they meant the slideshow labeled "Poppy seed to pumpkin: how big is your baby"? Imagining her unborn child as an ear of corn was odd enough. But would she ever get used to the thought that by the end of this pregnancy, she'd be carrying around something--someone--the size of a small pumpkin?

As a waiter served their medium-rare steaks and, on multicolored rice, cooked into fetal positions, eight medium-large shrimp, Paul realized with some confusion that he might have overreacted. Staring at the herbed butter, flecked and large as a soap sample, on his steak, he was unsure what, if he had overreacted, had been the cause. It occurred to him that, in the past, in college, he would have later analyzed this, in bed, with eyes closed, studying the chronology of images—memories, he’d realized at some point, were images, which one could crudely arrange into slideshows or, with effort, sort of GIFs, maybe—but now, unless he wrote about it, storing the information where his brain couldn’t erase it, place it behind a toll, or inadvertently scramble its organization, or change it gradually, by increments smaller than he could discern, without his knowledge, so it became both lost and unrecognizable, he probably wouldn’t remember most of this in a few days and, after weeks or months, he wouldn’t know it had been forgotten, like a barn seen from inside a moving train that is later torn down, its wood carried elsewhere on trucks.

Eventually, the Samantha project was canceled.” Everyone in the audience goes awww. Branch: “What are you people? A bunch of geeks?” Instant TED classic! 5:23 PM A guy meanders onto the stage carrying a new clicker. Halfway across, he stops and hitches up his pants. Branch: “Take your time.” Huge laughter. 5:24 PM Branch: “So Samantha was canceled. But then I remembered those monkeys at Duke. And I thought, Hmmm, the complicating factor in creating a personal robot is the robot itself. Maybe we could just lose the robot.” 5:25 PM Branch’s clicker finally works, so he starts the slideshow. First image is monkeys with wires coming out of their heads. Audience gasps, some scream. Branch: “Sorry, sorry!” Branch turns off slideshow.

Like the Internet, environmentalism stretches back a long way, yet many people believe Al Gore invented it. There’s no question that Gore’s slideshow-turned-film documentary, An Inconvenient Truth, gave a huge jumpstart to the global warming … sorry, “climate change” … wait, sorry, “climate disruption” … no, hold on, “climate chaos” movement. (If the science is settled, why do they have to keep changing its name?) I won’t bother recounting all the challenges to Gore’s claims, as many others have already done so; or the widely noted disparities between the Spartan existence Gore prescribes for the rest of humanity and his own opulent, jet-set lifestyle. I’ll just point out what I consider the most damning fact of all: While he was prophesying that global warming would cause a twenty-foot sea-level rise by the year 2100, flooding coastal areas and leaving hundreds of millions homeless (a claim debunked by a University of Montana study), he spent nearly $9 million on an oceanfront mansion in the limousine-liberal enclave of Montecito, California [USA Today, “How Green Is Al Gore’s $9 Million Montecito Oceanfront Villa?” May 18, 2010]. If he truly believed in his own message, wouldn’t it have been wiser to spend $1 million on a mansion in Phoenix, Arizona, and then just wait for it to become oceanfront property? It’s no surprise that the biggest proponent of expanding government to combat “climate disruption” is also among the biggest emitters of hot gas.

The older a woman got, the more diligent she had to become about not burdening men with the gory details of her past, lest she scare them off. That was the name of the game: Don’t Scare the Men. Those who encouraged you to indulge in your impulse to share, largely did so to expedite a bus. Like I felt the wind of the bus. I could even see a couple of the passengers, all shaken by a potential suicide. And out of nowhere, the guy rushes over, yanks me toward him, and escorts me out of the street.” “The birthday boy?” “No, different guy. You all start to look the same after a while, you know that? Anyway, we were both so high on adrenaline, we couldn’t stop laughing the whole night. Then he asked me out. Now one of our jokes is about that time I flung myself into traffic to avoid him.” “You were in shock.” “No, I wasn’t.” “Why isn’t the joke that he saved your life?” “I don’t know, Amos,” I said, folding my fingers together. “Maybe we’re both waiting for the day I turn around and say, ‘That’s right, asshole, I did fling myself into traffic to avoid you.’ I’m joking.” “Are you?” “Am I?” I mimicked him. “Should the day come when you manage to face-plant yourself into a relationship, you’ll find there are certain fragile truths every couple has. Sometimes I’m uncomfortable with the power, knowing I could break us up if I wanted. Other times, I want to blow it up just because it’s there. But then the feeling passes.” “That’s bleak.” “To you, it is. But I’m not like you. I don’t need to escape every room I’m in.” “But you are like me. You think you want monogamy, but you probably don’t if you dated me.” “You’re faulting me for liking you now?” “All I’m saying is you can’t just will yourself into being satisfied with this guy.” “Watch me,” I said, trying to burn a hole in his face. “If it were me, the party would have been our first date and it never would have ended.” “Oh, yes it would have,” I said, laughing. “The date would have lasted one week, but the whole relationship would have lasted one month.” “Yeah,” he said, “you’re right.” “I know I’m right.” “It wouldn’t have lasted.” “This is what I’m saying.” “Because if I were this dude, I would have left you by now.” Before I could say anything, Amos excused himself to pee. On the bathroom door was a black and gold sticker in the shape of a man. I felt a rage rise up all the way to my eyeballs, thinking of how naturally Amos associated himself with that sticker, thinking of him aligning himself with every powerful, brilliant, thoughtful man who has gone through that door as well as every stupid, entitled, and cruel one, effortlessly merging with a class of people for whom the world was built. I took my phone out, opening the virtual cuckoo clocks, trying to be somewhere else. I was confronted with a slideshow of a female friend’s dead houseplants, meant to symbolize inadequacy within reason. Amos didn’t have a clue what it was like to be a woman in New York, unsure if she’s with the right person. Even if I did want to up and leave Boots, dating was not a taste I’d acquired. The older a woman got, the more diligent she had to become about not burdening men with the gory details of her past, lest she scare them off. That was the name of the game: Don’t Scare the Men. Those who encouraged you to indulge in your impulse to share, largely did so to expedite a decision. They knew they were on trial too, but our courtrooms had more lenient judges.

we were all itching for dick jokes and male bonding. The team took photos for the web site on an abandoned construction site (camp was in central Florida at the beginning of the mortgage crisis, so the area was filled with ruins, not unlike ancient Rome). The next day, we rode back to the same spot and took our own pictures, this time with our genitals out, and slipped it into the photographer’s slideshow. Someday, I’ll frame that photo and put it on the wall.

Zach showed Kayla a sinister slideshow with eerie castles, dragons with razor-sharp talons, and fanged, busty women wearing skimpy black leather outfits with capes, which, Kayla thought, wasn't even logical. If it's cold enough for a cape, it's too cold for a leather bikini.

Putting together a slideshow makes it all too easy for employees to only skim the surface of their ideas while creating the illusion of an intelligent argument.

Life is a presentation on slideshow one moment it ends and we just press the button for to quit the slideshow!

Life is a slideshow of stories that we create with each passing moment. Let each slide be Worth It!

The poissonnier is delivering some of his beautiful daurades and scallops." I let out a sigh of relief. "Perfect. If there's anything I can handle, it's sea bream, lovely and light," I said, nodding my head. I needed to do this. "It's winter. Fennel is in season, yes?" I asked, thinking about what would plate well with the duck, and she nodded. "Pomegranate? And hazelnuts?" "Of course," said Philippa, rubbing her hands together. "I can't wait to see what you've got up your sleeve." That would make two of us. What was I going to do with the daurade? Something simple like daurade with almonds and a romesco sauce? Did the kitchen even have almonds? The more I thought about this recipe, the more boring it sounded. Roasted daurade with lemon and herbs? Again, typical. I had an opportunity to create something special, something out of this world, on my own terms. I wanted to get creative and do something colorful, playing with the colors of winter and whatever was in season. My imagination raced with all of the possibilities- a slideshow in my mind presenting delicious temptations. A crate of oranges caught my eye. I licked my lips- a light sweet potato purée infused with orange. Braised cabbage. Seared daurade filets. Saffron. The colors, ingredients, and plating came together in my mind.

Life is a slideshow of stories that we create with each passing moment. Let each slide be Worth It!

When thinking about how to incorporate lecture videos, many online faculty imagine posting videos of their classroom lectures in the course. This is certainly one way to do it, and some institutions are investing in elaborate lecture-capture systems to facilitate this process. But lecture capture requires expensive tech and a team of skilled professionals. The small teaching way is to record short narrated slideshow videos or webcam-style videos speaking directly to the camera on your computer monitor. The key word here is short. “Traditional in-person lectures usually last an hour, but students have much shorter attention spans when watching educational videos online,” writes Philip Guo in a blog post about a study he and his colleagues conducted (Guo, 2013). The researchers compiled data from 6.9 million video-watching sessions to track engagement patterns of online students. Their findings led to a strong recommendation that online class videos should be no longer than six minutes.

Is it Guinevere?”  The Scarecrow demanded, like he’d just figured it all out.  “You know she killed Arthur, right?  She’s probably planning the same fate for you, you fool.  She wants your money.” Gwen scowled. “I doubt that.  She’s drafting me a will, which leaves my fortune to my bodyguard, Trystan Airbourne.  She was very insistent on it.  There was a slideshow.

Simon’s face blazed with happiness. On the wall behind him the slideshow Rebecca had mentioned was still going on. A framed quote flashed up against the wall: Marriage is like a long conversation that always ends too soon. Ack, Clary thought. Morbid.

We do not use writing exclusively to attain perspective upon our self-referential human existence. We dedicate our essayistic existence to witnessing the variegated acts of life. Our craniums serve as a personal planetarium, a full-dome personal theater where we can replay video and audio educational films documenting our scented and tactile observations. We feature recollections of evocative experiences, vivid daydreams, and frightful nightmares. A vast array of scientific visualizations and artistic depictions supplement our personal slideshow, knowledge we employ to frame our evolving self under the celestial sky and navigate our earthy existence.

Skriv bara att resten av året är som en stroboskopisk slideshow av mullrande basgångar, skålade glas, nickningar mot folk som vi inte känner men känner igen, klibbiga dansgolv, gummigarderobsbrickor i bakfickan, ångig rökmaskinslukt, fimpar i översvämmade toaletter, mosade cigarettpaket i tomma glas, samtal framför högtalare där enda sättet att göra sig hörd är att hålla för lyssnarens öra. Sen hemåt i en taxi med ringande öron och vakna upp dagen efter med handlederna fulla av stämplar och fickorna fulla av knöggliga sedlar och kvarglömda ölbiljetter och svettiga tuggummin och ofrivilligt stulna tändare och bruna tobaksflagor och kvitton från ställen som man knappt minns att man vart på. Fast sen minns man förstås och ler vid minnet. Kort sagt: det var en lycklig tid. Kanske den lyckligaste jag levt.

The Twenty-Year Rule Let’s stop blaming each other for things that happened more than twenty years ago. Humans change a lot in two decades. If we are lucky enough to mature and learn over time, we become better versions of our younger selves—wiser, less selfish, and more useful. In olden times—let’s say, before the Internet—your mistakes of youth would go unrecorded. The Twenty-Year Rule applied by default in most cases, because no one had an efficient way to check up on your behavior that far back. Now we have social media that creates a total slideshow of every dumbass thing you ever thought or did in your entire life. It turns out that most of us were worse people when we were younger. You wouldn’t want to know the teenage me. But I’d like to think I’ve improved since then. I’ll agree to judge you by your most recent twenty years on this planet if you will extend me the same courtesy.

I do seem to have some vague memory of showing someone a lot of photos of my dog, but I have feeling that was Boring Soozie, in revenge for having to sit through an endless slideshow of her frankly rather ugly children.

They all don’t even believe in this dumb ghost story, or so the girl that feels to death, the kids say that I go with; her noting her but legion and myth. I think about all the haunted love in this ghostly building, hell yeah, I do… that's what it’s all about. I see the light coming towards me, and then I start to come off my feet into it, weird- into the old library, there is no floor holding me. You can see the swimmers in the pool below, just like the auditorium is over there off to the one side. The shaves are floating too, everything is, there are ghostly-like boards there translucent I am not standing at all my feet are hanging down, floating on nothingness, not even my toes are touching as I seem as if I am sixty feet in the air or more, my arms crossed not wanting to look down, yet I have too. (‘Angels Fall’ playing in the background) I see it, I see, I see, the big window at the front seems to suck me into it, getting bigger and bigger. I float past all the books that have been forgotten, like the kids of the past must have done also. Oh- so long ago… The dance-like to me in my eyesight and that would be all right if I was crapping myself by it, it's cool, yet creepy; they twinkle with wonder as if they want me to know something that lies inside. Like a scrapbook, with a photo of my fall and open up or something, like that. And it did, yet it was not my life that I saw this time. It was everyone in my past that I never knew, mom, dad, and going back, it’s a slideshow ruining in reverse. That is when she opened her wings to me and said- ‘Don’t give up without a fight!’ All right- I said. ‘This is what you give up to them’ -She said, (As she is standing in front of me with a phenomenon!) I got to the end and saw myself passing and did believe it. ‘So… go-o…’ ‘Run!’ ‘Or they will kill- YOU!’ ‘Like they did me.’ (I didn’t believe it, ha- what was she- like just some dream to me, if you will. It was not something I believed in at all like up or down, I want to say here in-between. I am too young to think about death. It’s never-ever on my mind, only when some old dude kicks it, yet who gives a crap, they have nothing to say anyway.

I explained that I was just sad about my sister being dead—she used to be alive, see, and now she isn't anymore, and it just really came through in the last part of the slideshow for me... And he gently pointed out that I'd been crying significantly louder than anybody else, which I felt sort of proud of, but also ashamed of.

Math—realized I left my homework at Dad’s. Mr. Gower gave me a short-tempered Elliott when I told him that. Mr. Gower is not my favorite. Language Arts—listened to more information about our business project. We’re going to have to make a slideshow, poster, and four-page document just for the proposal. That’s just to get approval—that’s not even the final project! I am trying very hard not to think about it. Lunch—I sit with Gilbert, Kunal, Drew, and Victor because I don’t know what else to do. They don’t say “no offense” at any point, so that’s good. But the entire time they talk about their school project. Victor has the idea to make Kingdom of Krull catapults out of wooden craft sticks. Which, honestly, sounds amazing.

You know that, right?” His heart thundered, but he said, “I was … very attached to you during our investigation, but when Sandriel had me in that cell under the Comitium, she put on this fucked-up slideshow of all the photos on my phone. Of you and me. And I watched it and knew. I saw the photos of us toward the end, how I was looking at you and you were looking at me, and it was a done deal.

Images began scrolling. Crime scene photos. Scanned newspaper clippings. Pictures of flipped cars and fire-gutted buildings. Obituaries. Autopsy reports. Each item related to an accident or crime. I paused the slideshow to scan several articles. Detected the theme. Every crime was unsolved. Every accident was freakish and unexplained. Many incidents had numerous victims. Some were grisly. All were terrible. One after another the entries flashed on-screen. A few settings were identifiable. Seattle. New York City. Las Vegas. The majority were unrecognizable. Shelton turned to me. “So what, he’s into police reports? Disaster stories?” “They’re his work.” My stomach churned with revulsion. “Everything on here. This must be the Gamemaster’s private archive. A diary of his twisted games.” “Trophies.” Hi’s voice was hushed. “His collection. Every serial killer has one.” Ben’s fist slammed the coffee table. “I’ll kill this sick freak!” Suddenly the screen went blank. There were sounds like a videogame, then a new program opened. The Gamemaster’s face appeared. “Hello, Tory.” He smiled. “Welcome to my humble home.

Kiedy ostatnio udało ci się przeczytać w skupieniu od początku do końca dłuższy tekst klasyka? Kiedy samodzielnie przeprowadziłeś bardziej skomplikowane wnioskowanie? Wypowiedziałeś sąd w zdaniach pełnych i płynnych? Kiedy? Czytacie z doskoku. Wnioskujecie przez sąsiedztwo obrazów, sąsiedztwo emocji. Decydujecie, wróżąc z gestaltu. Wasze myśli są jak serie z kałasznikowa, mowa jak wodospad tagów, życie jak slideshow.