Smooth Journey Quotes

Life is similar to a bus ride. The journey begins when we board the bus. We meet people along our way of which some are strangers, some friends and some strangers yet to be friends. There are stops at intervals and people board in. At times some of these people make their presence felt, leave an impact through their grace and beauty on us fellow passengers while on other occasions they remain indifferent. But then it is important for some people to make an exit, to get down and walk the paths they were destined to because if people always made an entrance and never left either for the better or worse, then we would feel suffocated and confused like those people in the bus, the purpose of the journey would lose its essence and the journey altogether would neither be worthwhile nor smooth.

Sometimes we self-sabotage just when things seem to be going smoothly. Perhaps this is a way to express our fear about whether it is okay for us to have a better life. We are bound to feel anxious as we leave behind old notions of our unworthiness. The challenge is not to be fearless, but to develop strategies of acknowledging our fears and finding out how we can allay them.

SEASONS PASSED, FALL AND WINTER and spring and summer. Leaves blew in through the open door of Lucius Clarke’s shop, and rain, and the green outrageous hopeful light of spring. People came and went, grandmothers and doll collectors and little girls with their mothers. Edward Tulane waited. The seasons turned into years. Edward Tulane waited. He repeated the old doll’s words over and over until they wore a smooth groove of hope in his brain: Someone will come; someone will come for you.

Sometimes life will be awesome. Sometimes, life will look blurry. Along the way in the journey of life, sometimes, life will be colder than warmer and sometimes warmer than colder but in all things we must remember that it is never over for a purposeful journey of life until the journey of life is over. Be it rough or smooth, good or bad, we must accomplish the task. It shall always not be good and it shall always not be bad; we only have to work hard.

There is nothing I like better than conversing with aged men. For I regard them as travelers who have gone a journey which I too may have to go, and of whom I ought to inquire whether the way is smooth and easy or rugged and difficult. Is life harder toward the end, or what report do you give it?

Whatever the benefits of prolific and convenient air travel, we may curse it for its smooth subversion of our attempts to use journeys to make lasting changes in our lives.

Life is a zigzag journey, they say, not much straight and easy on the way, but the wrinkles in the map, explorers know, smooth out like magic at the end of where we go.

A woman is like fine whisky. Deep and subtle, smooth but strong, warm yet lingering.

So let the way wind up the hill or down, O’er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy; Still seeking what I sought when but a boy, New friendship, high adventure, and a crown. My heart will keep the courage of the quest, And hope the road’s last turn will be the best.

Life is a journey, and no road worth taking is smooth and bumpless. Life is a borrow, not a gift,

There are two missions we are obligated to carry out during our life journey. The first, is to seek Truth throughout our lifetime. The second, is simply to be good. Engrave it in your mind that life is just one big board game where you have to make it from start to finish by being good. That is all you have to do. The hardest part, is dealing with all the obstacles that prevent smooth sailing. The trick is, to always strive to be the right person in all situations – regardless of personal cost to you. Your aim is to make sure the right book on your shoulder weighs more that the bad book on the left. The scales are real. Regardless of your chosen faith, there is a measurement system to be found in all of the world's religions. After all, does it make sense for all souls, good or bad, to end up in the same place? Of course not. To really secure the very best setting in the afterlife, the vibrations of your good deeds must surpass your death.

There is nothing which for my part I like better, Cephalus, than conversing with aged men; for I regard them as travellers who have gone a journey which I too may have to go, and of whom I ought to enquire, whether the way is smooth and easy, or rugged and difficult.

Om is that eternal music which can smooth away all the creases of negativity in our Karmic database.

There are some things we learn on stormy seas that we never learn on calm smooth waters. The “God of the Storm” has something to teach us, and His love always drives His actions.

Travellers can go out into the world with their devices and prejudices intact to smooth their journeys. Yet, etymologically, a traveller is the one who suffers—or at least, one who works (travail). The traveller forgets she’s going home, and forgets herself, too.

I replied: There is nothing which for my part I like better, Cephalus, than conversing with aged men; for I regard them as travellers who have gone a journey which I too may have to go, and of whom I ought to enquire, whether the way is smooth and easy, or rugged and difficult.

Let me but live my life from year to year, With forward face and unreluctant soul, Not hastening to, nor turning from the goal; Nor mourning things that disappear In the dim past, nor holding back in fear From what the future veils; but with a whole And happy heart, that pays its toll To youth and age, and travels on with cheer. So let the way wind up the hill or down, Through rough or smooth, the journey will be joy, Still seeking what I sought when but a boy -- New friendship, high adventure, and a crown, I shall grow old, but never lose life's zest, Because the road's last turn will be the best.

There is nothing which for my part I like better, Cephalus, than conversing with aged men; for I regard them as travellers who have gone a journey which I too may have to go, and of whom I ought to inquire, whether the way is smooth and easy, or rugged and difficult.

I yearn not for the easy path, but for the right path.  For 'easy' and 'right' are rarely compatible.

His vulnerability allowed me to let my guard down, and gently and methodically, he tore apart my well-constructed dam. Waves of tender feelings were lapping over the top and slipping through the cracks. The feelings flooded through and spilled into me. It was frightening opening myself up to feel love for someone again. My heart pounded hard and thudded audibly in my chest. I was sure he could hear it. Ren’s expression changed as he watched my face. His look of sadness was replaced by one of concern for me. What was the next step? What should I do? What do I say? How do I share what I’m feeling? I remembered watching romance movies with my mom, and our favorite saying was “shut up and kiss her already!” We’d both get frustrated when the hero or heroine wouldn’t do what was so obvious to the two of us, and as soon as a tense, romantic moment occurred, we’d both repeat our mantra. I could hear my mom’s humor-filled voice in my mind giving me the same advice: “Kells, shut up and kiss him already!” So, I got a grip on myself, and before I changed my mind, I leaned over and kissed him. He froze. He didn’t kiss me back. He didn’t push me away. He just stopped…moving. I pulled back, saw the shock on his face, and instantly regretted my boldness. I stood up and walked away, embarrassed. I wanted to put some distance between us as I frantically tried to rebuild the walls around my heart. I heard him move. He slid his hand under my elbow and turned me around. I couldn’t look at him. I just stared at his bare feet. He put a finger under my chin and tried to nudge my head up, but I still refused to meet his gaze. “Kelsey. Look at me.” Lifting my eyes, they traveled from his feet to a white button in the middle of his shirt. “Look at me.” My eyes continued their journey. They drifted past the golden-bronze skin of his chest, his throat, and then settled on his beautiful face. His cobalt blue eyes searched mine, questioning. He took a step closer. My breath hitched in my throat. Reaching out a hand, he slid it around my waist slowly. His other hand cupped my chin. Still watching my face, he placed his palm lightly on my cheek and traced the arch of my cheekbone with his thumb. The touch was sweet, hesitant, and careful, the way you might try to touch a frightened doe. His face was full of wonder and awareness. I quivered. He paused just a moment more, then smiled tenderly, dipped is head, and brushed his lips lightly against mine. He kissed me softly, tentatively, just a mere whisper of a kiss. His other hand slid down to my waist too. I timidly touched his arms with my fingertips. He was warm, and his skin was smooth. He gently pulled me closer and pressed me lightly against his chest. I gripped his arms. He sighed with pleasure, and deepened the kiss. I melted into him. How was I breathing? His summery sandalwood scent surrounded me. Everywhere he touched me, I felt tingly and alive. I clutched his arms fervently. His lips never leaving mine, Ren took both of my arms and wrapped them, one by one, around his neck. Then he trailed one of his hands down my bare arm to my waist while the other slid into my hair. Before I realized what he was planning to do, he picked me up with one arm and crushed me to his chest. I have no idea how long we kissed. It felt like a mere second, and it also felt like forever. My bare feet were dangling several inches from the floor. He was holding all my body weight easily with one arm. I buried my fingers into his hair and felt a rumble in his chest. It was similar to the purring sound he made as a tiger. After that, all coherent thought fled and time stopped.

A Glimpse of Eternal Snows celebrates Nepali wildlife: a smooth grey boulder lifts its head to become a rhinoceros; a langur look-out hysterically grunts the alarm from the treetop as a tiger merges into the dappled scrub; and a menacing mantis makes her home in the makeshift bathroom and refuses to become a pet.

Disagreeing with his cousin’s characterization of the Bible as “nonsense,” he wrote that, on the contrary, one could find in it “all of the most difficult questions concerning Morals, Lawmaking, Industry, and Medical Science … resolved in the most simple way, often treated from a contemporary point of view.” He also urged her to read his own letters to her more carefully, saying that each sentence contained something specific and that “if perhaps the surface seems smooth to you, the water is very deep, and often the smoother the surface the deeper the water.

A flight attendant is the guide who helps you navigate that passage smoothly. As a death doula, I do the same thing, but the journey is from life to death, and at the end, you don’t disembark with two hundred other travelers. You go alone.

Such were our minor preparations for the journey, but above all we laid in an ample stock of good-humour, and a genuine disposition to be pleased; determining to travel in true contrabandista style; taking things as we found them, rough or smooth, and mingling with all classes and conditions in a kind of vagabond companionship. It is the true way to travel in Spain.

It has ever been thus. The way is hard and narrow, it is true. But it is a path beaten smooth by the countless others who have gone before us. And good news! We do not have to walk it alone. God Himself is with us and has blessed us with friends for the journey.

I break out laughing. I frown. I yell and scream. Sometimes, if one jokes and giggles, one causes war. So I hide how tickled I am. Tears well up in my eyes. My body is a large city. Much grieving in one sector. I live in another part. Lakewater. Something on fire over here. I am sour when you are sour, sweet when you are sweet. You are my face and my back. Only through you can I know this back-scratching pleasure. Now people the likes of you and I come clapping, inventing dances, climbing into this high meadow. I am a spoiled parrot who eats only candy. I have no interest in bitter food. Some have been given harsh knowledge. Not I. Some are lame and jerking along. I am smooth and glidingly quick. Their road is full of washed-out places and long inclines. Mine is royally level, effortless. The huge Jerusalem mosque stands inside me, and women full of light. Laughter leaps out. It is the nature of the rose to laugh. It cannot help but laugh.

Like the eddies and entrapments of life, they could only face each obstacle as it came. No promise of smooth waters, just a partner for the journey.

It is better to travel on the rough right road than smooth wrong way.

the truth of ‘ignorance is bliss’, and that it is ignorance that makes life go on smoothly.

En lugnt hav har aldrig skapat en skicklig sjöman.” Translated it means “A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor.” Any journey to your dream destination will be filled with

Until you won't step into the creepy road, you will never be able to tread a smooth path for yourself.

Life has no smooth road for any of us, we just have to keep looking upward

hurtling in all directions; he preferred the smooth creation of mass out of nothing. In other words, the universe was timeless. It had no end, nor a beginning. It just was.

It is rooted in believing we ourselves are loved and being self-aware enough to realize we all have a few rough edges we’re working to smooth out.

With equanimity, we learn that traveling the bumpy roads can sometimes offer more to our journey than simply sticking to the smooth highways.

Success is a journey. The best form of transport is Happiness.

That's the great truth of failed relationships, the narrative and the absence of narrative. Each time you tell the story, it makes less sense, the smooth arcs disintegrate into a series of jagged peaks. As you stand on one of its precipices, you can no longer see the way forward. How did you traverse from one point to another? How did you make the journey safely?

Saintey asks me to breathe in time with the blue bar—five seconds in as it fills, five seconds out as it drains. Then something striking happens. Within a few seconds, the difference between my lowest and highest heart rate is much larger than before—varying from about 60 to 90 beats per minute. And the line on the graph transforms from ugly random spikes into a smooth, snake-like curve.

Across the broken apses and shattered naves of a hundred ruined Byzantine churches, the same smooth, cold, neo-classical faces of the saints and apostles stare down like a gallery of deaf mutes; and through this thundering silence the everyday reality of life in the Byzantine provinces remains persistently difficult to visualise. The sacred and aristocratic nature of Byzantine art means that we have very little idea of what the early Byzantine peasant or shopkeeper looked like; we have even less idea of what he thought, what he longed for, what he loved or what he hated. Yet through the pages of The Spiritual Meadow one can come closer to the ordinary Byzantine than is possible through virtually any other single source. Dalrymple, William (2012-06-21). From the Holy Mountain: A Journey in the Shadow of Byzantium (Text Only) (Kindle Location 248). HarperCollins Publishers. Kindle Edition.

For the third time since I began, my walk has been delayed. In the beginning, I had considered these stops on my journey as interruptions---but I'm coming to understand that perhaps these detours are my journey. No matter how much I, or the rest of humanity wishes otherwise, life is not lived in smooth, downhill expressways, but in the obscure, perilous trails and rocky back roads of life where we stumble and feel our way through the fog of the unknown.

Steve paid attention to every nuance of the slides, even details that, as far as I could tell, were invisible to the naked eye, like font kerning—which is adjusting the space between letters—and font smoothing to make sure the curves on each font were perfect. He hired a presentation professional, Wayne Goodrich, to help finalize these details and to make sure that at every single stop on the road show, all the pieces were in place to show the presentation and video perfectly.

A slave must at all costs be slightly, if not superlatively, contemptible. An assortment of chronic moral and physical defects justifies the horrible treatment he is getting. Then the earth turns more smoothly, for each man occupies the place he deserves. A person you make use of should

Traces of historical associations can long outlast actual contact. In the dense, subtropical forests from India across to the South China Sea, venomous snakes are common, and there is always an advantage in pretending to be something dangerous. The slow loris, a weird, nocturnal primate, has a number of unusual features that, taken together, seem to be mimicking spectacled cobras. They move in a sinuous, serpentine way through the branches, always smooth and slow. When threatened, they raise their arms up behind their head, shiver and hiss, their wide, round eyes closely resembling the markings on the inside of the spectacled cobra’s hood. Even more remarkably, when in this position, the loris has access to glands in its armpit which, when combined with saliva, can produce a venom capable of causing anaphylactic shock in humans. In behaviour, colour and even bite, the primate has come to resemble the snake, a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Today, the ranges of the loris and cobras do not overlap, but climate reconstructions reaching back tens of thousands of years suggest that once they would have been similar. It is possible that the loris is an outdated imitation artist, stuck in an evolutionary rut, compelled by instinct to act out an impression of something neither it nor its audience has ever seen.

The truth is,” she said shakily, “that I am scared to death of being here.” “I know you are,” he said, sobering, “but I am the last person in the world you’ll ever have to fear.” His words and his tone made the quaking in her limbs, the hammering of her heart, begin again, and Elizabeth hastily drank a liberal amount of her wine, praying it would calm her rioting nerves. As if he saw her distress, he smoothly changed the topic. “Have you given any more thought to the injustice done Galileo?” She shook her head. “I must have sounded very silly last night, going on about how wrong it was to bring him up before the Inquisition. It was an absurd thing to discuss with anyone, especially a gentleman.” “I thought it was a refreshing alternative to the usual insipid trivialities.” “Did you really?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes searching his with a mixture of disbelief and hope, unaware that she was being neatly distracted from her woes and drawn into a discussion she’d find easier. “I did.” “I wish society felt that way.” He grinned sympathetically. “How long have you been required to hide the fact that you have a mind?” “Four weeks,” she admitted, chuckling at his phrasing. “You cannot imagine how awful it is to mouth platitudes to people when you’re longing to ask them about things they’ve seen and things they know. If they’re male, they wouldn’t tell you, of course, even if you did ask.” “What would they say?” he teased. “They would say,” she said wryly, “that the answer would be beyond a female’s comprehension-or that they fear offending my tender sensibilities.” “What sorts of questions have you been asking?” Her eyes lit up with a mixture of laughter and frustration. “I asked Sir Elston Greeley, who had just returned from extensive travels, if he had happened to journey to the colonies, and he said that he had. But when I asked him to describe to me how the natives looked and how they lived, he coughed and sputtered and told me it wasn’t at all ‘the thing’ to discuss ‘savages’ with a female, and that I’d swoon if he did.” “Their appearance and living habits depend upon their tribe,” Ian told her, beginning to answer her questions. “Some of the tribes are ‘savage’ by our standards, not theirs, and some of the tribes are peaceful by any standards…” Two hours flew by as Elizabeth asked him questions and listened in fascination to stories of places he had seen, and not once in all that time did he refuse to answer or treat her comments lightly. He spoke to her like an equal and seemed to enjoy it whenever she debated an opinion with him. They’d eaten lunch and returned to the sofa; she knew it was past time for her to leave, and yet she was loath to end their stolen afternoon.

If you’re on a plane, you’re not where you started, and you’re not where you’re going. You’re caught in between. A flight attendant is the guide who helps you navigate that passage smoothly. As a death doula, I do the same thing, but the journey is from life to death, and at the end, you don’t disembark with two hundred other travelers. You go alone.

Should is how other people want us to live our lives. It’s all of the expectations that others layer upon us. Sometimes, Shoulds are small, seemingly innocuous, and easily accommodated. “You should listen to that song,” for example. At other times, Shoulds are highly influential systems of thought that pressure and, at their most destructive, coerce us to live our lives differently. When we choose Should, we’re choosing to live our life for someone or something other than ourselves. The journey to Should can be smooth, the rewards can seem clear, and the options are often plentiful. Must is different. Must is who we are, what we believe, and what we do when we are alone with our truest, most authentic self. It’s that which calls to us most deeply. It’s our convictions, our passions, our deepest held urges and desires — unavoidable, undeniable, and inexplicable. Unlike Should, Must doesn’t accept compromises. Must is when we stop conforming to other people’s ideals and start connecting to our own — and this allows us to cultivate our full potential as individuals. To choose Must is to say yes to hard work and constant effort, to say yes to a journey without a road map or guarantees, and in so doing, to say yes to what Joseph Campbell called “the experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonance within our innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.” Choosing Must is the greatest thing we can do with our lives.

Life is a journey filled with lessons, hardships, heartaches, joys, celebrations and special moments that will ultimately lead us to our destination, our purpose in life. The road will not always be smooth; in fact, throughout our travels, we will encounter many challenges. Some of these challenges will test our courage, strengths, weaknesses, and faith. Along the way, we may stumble upon obstacles that will come between the paths that we are destined to take. In order to follow the right path, we must overcome these obstacles. Sometimes these obstacles are really blessings in disguise, only we don't realize that at the time.

Bonobo sex comes in all forms: female to female, female to male, and male to male. I put the lady sex at the beginning of this list because bonobos also live in a matriarchy. Researchers have noted female Bonobos practicing tribbing (clitoris to clitoris rubbing) to help smooth out problems. Lead females will work out their tension together for around 20 seconds. In that time there is a measurable heart rate increase, facial flushing, shrieking, and clitoris engorgement. All the usual signs of pleasure and orgasm. They also participate in kissing with tongue, and oral sex. Males and females will of course procreate, and they do it more or less with everyone. They also practice some amount of face to face mating; looking at each other during the act.

We've known each other for years." "In every sense of the word." Tanya gave him a nudge and they shared another laugh. In every sense of the word... Daisy felt a cold stab of jealousy at their intimate moment. It didn't make sense. Her relationship with Liam wasn't real. But the more time she spent with him, the more the line blurred and she didn't know where she stood. "Daisy is a senior software engineer for an exciting new start-up that's focused on menstrual products," Liam said. "She's in line for a promotion to product manager. The company couldn't run without her." Daisy grimaced. "I think that's a bit of an exaggeration." "Take the compliment," Tanya said. "Liam doesn't throw many around... At least, he didn't used to." At least, he didn't used to... Was the bitch purposely trying to goad her with little reminders about her shared past with Liam? Daisy's teeth gritted together. Well, she got the message. Tanya was a cool, bike-riding, smooth-haired venture capitalist ex who clearly wasn't suffering in any way after her journey. She was probably so tough she didn't need any padding in her seat. Maybe she just sat on a board or the bare steel frame. Liam ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the dark waves into a sexy tangle. Was he subconsciously grooming himself for Tanya? Or was he just too warm? "What are you riding now?" "Triumph Street Triple 675. I got rid of the Ninja. Not enough power." "You like the naked styling?" Liam asked. Tanya smirked. "Naked is my thing, as you know too well." Naked is my thing... As you know too well... Daisy tried to shut off the snarky voice in her head, but something about Tanya set her possessive teeth on edge. "Do you want to join us inside?" Liam asked. "We're going to have a coffee before we finish the loop." Say no. Say no. Say no. "Sounds good." Tanya took a few steps and looked back over her shoulder. "Do you need a hand, Daisy?" Only to slap you.

A shudder went through me at the thought of what I should still learn in this hour. How awry, altered and distorted everything and everyone was in these mirrors, how mockingly and unattainably did the face of truth hide itself behind all these reports, counter-reports and legends! What was still truth? What was still credible? And what would remain when I also learned about myself, about my own character and history from the knowledge stored in these archives? I must be prepared for anything. Suddenly I could bear the uncertainty and suspense no longer. I hastened to the section Chattorum res gestas, looked for my sub-division and number and stood in front of the part marked with my name. This was a niche, and when I drew the thin curtains aside I saw that it contained nothing written. It contained nothing but a figure, an old and worn-looking model made from wood or wax, in pale colours. It appeared to be a kind of deity or barbaric idol. At first glance it was entirely incomprehensible to me. It was a figure that really consisted of two; it had a common back. I stared at it for a while, disappointed and surprised. Then I noticed a candle in a metal candlestick fixed to the wall of the niche. A match-box lay there. I lit the candle and the strange double figure was now brightly illuminated. Only slowly did it dawn upon me. Only slowly and gradually did I begin to suspect and then perceive what it was intended to represent. It represented a figure which was myself, and this likeness of myself was unpleasantly weak and half-real; it had blurred features, and in its whole expression there was something unstable, weak, dying or wishing to die, and looked rather like a piece of sculpture which could be called "Transitoriness" or "Decay," or something similar. On the other hand, the other figure which was joined to mine to make one, was strong in colour and form, and just as I began to realise whom it resembled, namely, the servant and President Leo, I discovered a second candle in the wall and lit this also. I now saw the double figure representing Leo and myself, not only becoming clearer and each image more alike, but I also saw that the surface of the figures was transparent and that one could look inside as one can look through the glass of a bottle or vase. Inside the figures I saw something moving, slowly, extremely slowly, in the same way that a snake moves which has fallen asleep. Something was taking place there, something like a very slow, smooth but continuous flowing or melting; indeed, something melted or poured across from my image to that of Leo's. I perceived that my image was in the process of adding to and flowing into Leo's, nourishing and strengthening it. It seemed that, in time, all the substance from one image would flow into the other and only one would remain: Leo. He must grow, I must disappear. As I stood there and looked and tried to understand what I saw, I recalled a short conversation that I had once had with Leo during the festive days at Bremgarten. We had talked about the creations of poetry being more vivid and real than the poets themselves. The candles burned low and went out. I was overcome by an infinite weariness and desire to sleep, and I turned away to find a place where I could lie down and sleep.

Not many people understood her. She loved visiting temples. She loved children and flowers, simple things and actually everything reminded her of God's Love. She found Kindness more beautiful than anything of this world. She breathed in Faith and trusted God no matter what. She was free as a bird and travelled far and wide only to know in her heart that one day she will find what Her Soul's been searching for since eternity in God's Timing. She was often looked at as pretty and intelligent, and she loved the compliments but when someone called her Godloving that stole her heart. She loved dreams and knew that all she ever wants is a Man who could walk beside her, hand in hand, living dreams and following passions in a journey of Love's adventure. She didn't just want to be a wife, she wanted to be a partner in dreams, a co-sharer of aspirations, a travel mate through the happiness and difficulties of Life. She wasn't looking for a smooth sail, she knew every bond has trying moments, just that she wanted someone who would stand by her every step of the way, just like she would have his back every single time. She wasn't looking for a hero, she was looking for an equal, a soul-counterpart sailing through life with Love, Respect and Passion. She wasn't looking for a ring, she was waiting for a Heart that was already written in the stars as hers forever. And she knew no matter what, someday someone will come who will bend his knees before God and ask Him to make her all of his, not just for a temporary timespan but for lifetimes that their souls needed to take human shape in. She knows someday she wouldn't visit temples alone, someone would stand right beside her and together they would pray for the family that would create in the blessings of Him who has already got it all planned. - and the right person would understand her because God understands Souls and Love.

The end is a mystery, therefore think and act well now! Be robust, be focused and run the race with tenacity! When you fall, arise, learn the lessons and use them well! Learn everyday for life is an arena for learning! No one can ever be perfect! When you are speeding, be careful, for excessive speed can sometimes be dangerous, though it can get you to your journey’s end faster, and it can also make you avoid certain attacks! Sometimes the best things come delayed; when there are delays, be patient and wait, for not all things that delay are dead; time will speak with time! When it is going smoothly, watch out never to let comfort lead you astray, for because of comfort, so many people are not who they were truly meant to be, and they are in wrong tracks to an end of no glory! When darkness comes, remember life is about day and night! When day comes, note that darkness puts people to sleep; use the day well then whilst you have it! No day stays forever and no night is ever permanent! Never rejoice because someone falls during the day for you do not know what will happen to you in the night! Serendipity exists, but try your very best to do all you can to ensure that you never faint nor fall, for life is a battle! Stand for what is a must and do what is truly needed to be done! Be vigilant enough never to slumber nor be trapped in another track! Guard your tongue, for no one can hear it until you say it! Mind your actions, for it is the oil that keeps your lamps brighter for a good journey! Mind your mind for it is an engine for life, and a good remote control that controls the entire body to a good or a bad end! Guard your heart, for it is the house of your being! Remember, however in all things that human strength, efforts, wisdom and understanding is always limited! Ask God therefore for that little insight and understanding to get to your journey’s end successfully with a successful story so as to win that awesome praises from His angels! You are here for a purpose! We shall all meet the end, but how we shall meet it is truly a mystery! As you take the journey, mind the end!

Some quotes from Standing Stark: “The mind is the charioteer of experience, while the body is the vehicle that carries out the orders of its driver. The gift we have been given is the one called possibility, whose intent offers to tie all together, creating strands of a whole life rather than a disintegrated one.” “It is our own microcosmic journey that gives life meaning and weaves us into the macrocosm of existence. Life does begin with each of us. It then expands outward to touch others with how we live.” “At some time in our lives, we receive a signal to arouse from a deep sleep. If we answer the cue, we set out on a journey toward authenticity that takes us into the unknown. We begin to separate from the selves we thought we were and search for who we are.” “Set your intent and let it go. Your intent is your beginning. Worrying about the details detracts from the intent. In your strong intent, the attraction will take care of the details.” “The conscious realization I offer now is that when we learn to trust, we will be led to all we ever need. Our only job is to be awake and follow the lead.” “We can gauge the measure of truth in our lives by the lightness of our body, emotions and energy. We need only be aware in any given moment of the state of our being, and be guided. This is what we are asked to do on the spiritual path. We aren’t headed for a continuing chaotic free fall, but an order of divine nature.” “After all, if we’re on the spiritual path, we can trust that there is much we don’t know. These mysteries are hidden from us until we are ripe. The paradox is that we frantically attempt to know in order to surrender to the place of not knowing! The other paradox is that there are no mysteries because the cues are surrounding us all the time. We’re just too tied up to recognize them.” “There comes a time when we are knowingly left with the ramifications of the choices we make. While it would be comforting to think that the progressions we undertake will be painless and smooth, any change involves conflict between what was and what will be. Therein lies the opportunity for learning and alignment to an authentic life.” “Words are the shell. They feed intellectual knowledge. What lies in the middle of words is the seed that, if presented and embraced in a certain way, will take us to the place we seek.

Really Ursa, now I see why you wear white.” She mounted her horse in one smooth motion. “Why?” “The blood shows up so much better.

Life is severe and coping is harder for some than others. We can make the journey trickier or easier, smoothing the path with grace or complicating it with more obstacles. This person is here to stay for the foreseeable future or forever, so he is a necessary member of your tribe. You can exercise compassion without enabling misconduct.

What in Hades were you doing, lady? I almost hit you." Remington rose to confront him, but before he could say a word, Madeline came up like an infuriated wasp. "What was I doing? What were you doing? You almost hit this dog." Her cheeks and the tip of her nose glowed scarlet with fury. Her eyes sparked with brilliant blue. She had a smudge on one cheek and her hat was askew, but that didn't matter, for all the passion she had revealed in the morning's kiss she put into the defense of a mutt she had never before seen. Surly with guilt, the youth said, "It was just a flea-ridden stray." Then her loveliness registered. He jerked to attention, back straight, shoulders back. He stared with avid fascination into her face. "I believe we may have met, although I can't quite remember-" She rampaged on, "Is that the way you were taught? To run over defenseless animals?" Stepping back, Remington folded his arms. This youth didn't stand a chance. Her eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. I recognize you. You're Lord Mauger!" "Yes, I... I am. Viscount Mauger, humbly at your service." Whipping his hat from his head, the youth bowed, eager to make a belated good impression on the beauty before him. "And you are...?" She wasn't impressed or interested. "I know your mother, and she would box your ears for this." Dull red rose in Mauger's cheeks. "You won't tell her." "Not if you promise to be more careful in the future. I won't be around to rescue the next dog, and I remember what a fine lad you were. You love animals, and you'd feel guilty if you killed one." "You're... you're right." Mauger's pleading eyes looked much like the dog's. "I just bought the chestnut, and came into town, and I wanted to show him off, but that's no excuse..." As Mauger dug his toe into the dirt, Remington realized he was observing a master at work. She had taken the young man from fury, to infatuation, to guilt in one smooth journey, and Mauger adored her for it.

A rock, a large piece of rock weathers off a cliff and dives deep into a pool of gushing water. Back washed, It journeys roughly and knocks of other rocks, smashing through the waves as it loses itself in scattered pieces except for its core. That core travels far and wide, it coarsely gets ground by gravel pieces smaller than itself and bullied by boulders all of which it bears up as it withstands the pressure of a distant journey off the shore. At some point, it gets dry and it encounters mud, it gets smeared dirty but the mud doesn't stick, the rain washes of the mud and it rolls off into the sand. It dances in the sand and dives into the bottom of the waves. Rising like a phoenix through the ashes, it emerges polished, looking more beautiful than it did when it got edged of the cliff. It rises a pebble, smooth and sleek. Coveted by rocks starting their dive. To be a pebble you have to run the turbulent tidal race.

The road to success is never that smooth. There are obvious portholes you would step in. There are hills you must cross, and you will. Thus, no matter how rough your journey might be, keep up hopes in God so you will not falter. No matter how dark the days might seem, don’t forget to smile, and always have it at the back of your mind that there is light at the end of the tunnel.” It takes a broad smile to make a dark day seem so bright. Psalm 119:105 -Shenita Etwaroo

If you’re both lucky and everything runs smoothly, it will take 27 minutes to reach your destination.   On average, it will only take 41 minutes to get through this journey.   But if you want to always be on time, you need to budget… the whole 55 minutes it could possibly take.   If you do, you’ll be early most of the time. (Bring a book, newspaper, or some work to do.)   What do most people do, though?   They give themselves 30 minutes – and are late pretty much always.   Or they give themselves 40 minutes – and are late consistently.   Or they give themselves 50 minutes – and are still late sometimes!

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Between the past and the future of an event (for example, between the past and the future for you, where you are, and in the precise moment in which you are reading), there exists an “intermediate zone,” an “extended present”; a zone that is neither past nor future. This is the discovery made with special relativity. The duration of this “intermediate zone,”* which is neither in your past nor in your future, is very small and depends on where an event takes place relative to you, as illustrated in figure 3.2: the greater the distance of the event from you, the longer the duration of the extended present. At a distance of a few meters from your nose, the duration of what for you is the “intermediate zone,” neither past nor future, is no more than a few nanoseconds: next to nothing (the number of nanoseconds in a second is the same as the number of seconds in thirty years). This is much less than we could possibly notice. On the other side of the ocean, the duration of this “intermediate zone” is a thousandth of a second, still well below the threshold of our perception of time, the minimum amount of time we perceive with our senses, which is somewhere on the order of a tenth of a second. But on the moon, the duration of the “extended present” is a few seconds, and on Mars it is a quarter of an hour. This means we can say that on Mars there are events that in this precise moment have already happened, events that are yet to happen, but also a quarter-of-an-hour of events during which things occur that are neither in our past nor in our future. They are elsewhere. We had never before been aware of this “elsewhere” because next to us this “elsewhere” is too brief; we are not quick enough to notice it. But it exists, and is real. This is why it is impossible to hold a smooth conversation between here and Mars. Say I am on Mars and you are here; I ask you a question and you reply as soon as you’ve heard what I said; your reply reaches me a quarter of an hour after I had posed the question. This quarter of an hour is time that is neither past nor future to the moment you’ve replied to me. The key fact that Einstein understood is that this quarter of an hour is inevitable: there is no way of reducing it. It is woven into the texture of the events of space and of time: we cannot abbreviate it, any more than we can send a letter to the past. It’s strange, but this is how the world happens to be.

Nowhere in your life were you told that life will be a smooth journey with no obstacles on it, as such don’t expect it to be.

We went as far as we could until finally the canyon ended at a soft, smooth wall of sandstone that shot abruptly skyward. I immediately took my shoes off, gripped my hands and toes like a chameleon into the porous sandstone wall and began scaling the slippery surface. As I climbed, I turned my gaze upward and fixed it where I wanted to go. At that moment, and from that particular vantage point, I could see the hole in the ceiling through which the light entered the canyon. I smiled as I realized that the walls of the shaft curved up into the shape of a heart around me. As the sun glistened down the column, it beamed like a heart made of sunshine. It was God’s heart, and it was enveloping me.

The journey of life is not always smooth. Pray for the courage to continue, even when things get hard.

It struck me, even at the time, that the basic hope of the conference was a very scholarly one. Many of the contributions and lectures were motivated by a touching faith in the collective memory of Christianity. They believed that the writings of the age of the Fathers could be sifted by scholars in such a way as to bring healing to the present. Understanding the Patristic age was like a remedium (to use a late Roman Latin term). A remedium was a homeopathic poultice—like a modern medical patch—which was thought to work slowly, and with almost occult power, to heal: to redress deep-seated imbalances; to fortify good humors; to smooth away the cramps and to soften the hard constrictions that wracked the body. It was hoped that a remedium could be concocted, from our renewed and ever-deeper knowledge of Patristic Christianity, that could be pressed against the fevered body of the church in our own times.

I suppose it's a matter of faith whether or not we choose our starting ground before we're born into this life. Some begin the journey on flat, grassy meadows and others at the base of a very steep mountain. One path, seemingly smooth, can make it nearly impossible for us to see the ditches and gullies along the way. The other, while painfully tough, can deliver what it promises: If you can navigate that path, you've developed the skills to scale Everest. It isn't fair on many accounts; it simply is. And assuredly, both paths include uncertain terrain ahead.

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Change takes years. It’s not a straight road — like, it doesn’t move smoothly forward, little by little. It’s more like circles. To forgive others means I have to be open and empathetic to others; but being open-hearted means being open to the possibility of hurt and pain. I still have my trust issues, a feeling that I need to guard myself. I guard my heart to protect my heart; I guard my heart out of old habits. I wonder about whether my trust issues contradict the forgiveness that I want to find in my heart. So that’s what I mean when I say: the journey is long and the road is not straight. I just try to have compassion, empathy and understanding — for other people, and for myself. I try; sometimes I fail. I ain’t Jesus. I’m only human.

The very concept that dragons can recall their previous lives is so hard for humans to grasp. I should so dearly love to listen to whatever you wished to tell me, and to make a complete record of all you recall. Such conversations alone would make a journey worthwhile! Oh, please, say that you will!” A taut quiet followed her words. “Alise,” Sedric said warningly, “I think you should come away from the railing.” But she clung there, even though she, too, could feel the wave of uneasiness that swept through the ship. The smoothness went out of the sailing; the deck under her feet shifted subtly. Surely it was her imagination that the wind flowed more chill than it had? Paragon spoke into the roaring silence. “I choose not to remember,” he said. Alise felt as if his words broke a spell. Sound and life came suddenly back to the world. It included the sudden thud of feet on the deck behind her. A woman’s voice said, without preamble, “I fear you’re upsetting my ship. I’ll have to ask you to leave the foredeck.” “She’s not upsetting me, Althea,” Paragon interjected as Alise turned to see the captain’s wife advancing on her. Alise had met her when they embarked and had spoken with her several times, but still did not feel at ease with her. She was a small woman who wore her hair in a long black pigtail down her back. She dressed in sailor’s garb; it was well tailored and of quality fabric, but for all that, she was a woman in trousers and a jacket. Less feminine garb Alise could not imagine, and yet the very inappropriateness of it seemed to emphasize her female form. Her eyes were very dark, and right now they sparked with either anger or fear. Alise retreated a step and put her hand on Sedric’s arm. For his part, he turned his body so that he stood almost between them and said, “I’m sure the lady meant no harm. The ship asked us to come up and speak with him.” “That I did,” Paragon confirmed. He twisted to look over his shoulder at all of them. “No harm done, Althea, I assure you. We were speaking of dragons, and quite naturally, she asked me what I recalled of being one. I told her that I chose to recall nothing at all.” “Oh, Ship,” the woman said, and Alise felt as if she had disappeared. Althea Trell did not even glance at her as she moved forward to take Alise’s place at the bow. She leaned on the railing and stared far ahead up the river as if sharing the ship’s thoughts. “Par’gon!” A child’s voice piped up suddenly behind them. Alise turned to watch a small boy of three or four clambering onto the raised foredeck. He was bare armed and bare legged and baked dark by the sun. He scampered forward, dropped to his hands and knees, and thrust his head out under the ship’s railing. Alise gasped, expecting him to pitch overboard at any moment. Instead he demanded the ship’s attention with a strident, “Par’gon? You awright?” His babyish voice was full of concern. The ship swung his head around to stare at the child. His mouth puckered oddly and then suddenly he smiled, an expression that transformed his face. “I’m fine.” “Catch me!” the boy commanded, and before his mother could even turn to him, he launched himself into the figurehead’s waiting hands. “Fly me!” the imp commanded the ship. “Fly me like a dragon!” And without a word, the ship obeyed him. He cupped the child in his two immense hands and lifted him high and forward. The boy leaned fearlessly against the ship’s laced fingers and spread his small arms wide as if they were wings. The figurehead gently wove his hands through the air, swaying the youngster from left to right. A squeal of glee drifted back to them. Abruptly the charge of tension in the air vanished. Alise wondered if Paragon even recalled they were there. “Let’s leave them shall we?” Althea suggested quietly. “Is it safe for the child?” Sedric objected in horror. “It’s the safest place the boy can possibly be,” Althea replied with certainty. “And for the ship, it’s the best place, too.

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the best adventures don’t start smoothly, at a convenient time, or according to plan. They arrive unannounced, at awkward moments, and you have to be ready to dash out your door, fling your pack across the gap, and jump on the ferry as it’s pulling out of the harbor,

Even in 1963, only a year before opening, the director-general of the Construction Department of JNR, stated to new JNR employees: The Tokaido Shinkansen is the height of madness. As the gauge of the Tokaido Shinkansen is different from existing lines, track sharing is not possible. Even if the journey time between Tokyo and Osaka is shortened, passengers have to change trains at Osaka in order to travel further west. A railway system which lacks smooth connections and networks with other lines is meaningless and destined to fail.

My journey to publication was much like anyone’s: Long and hard. I met Tamara just as I received my first “YES,” and by the time that book was released, Tamara and I were discussing doing a collaboration. I was honored to write with her, and we quickly found that our styles meshed in a smooth effective way, making it impossible for us to stop after just one novel together.

I’ve noticed I seem to make you nervous,” he said, staring straight ahead. “Do you think you have cause to be afraid of me?” He glanced over at Emma, but she kept busy smoothing her dress, messing with her bonnet ribbon, and folding the napkin. At least she wasn’t picking at that apron. “No, not at all. Why would you think something like that?” She stood and began to brush her dress but a red blush crept up her neck and made a good effort to reach her hairline. “Okay, if you say so.” Davis

Davis, no!” Emma suddenly shoved him away. Dazed, he looked at her. “What−why?” He shook his head as if clearing it. “Nate.” Emma motioned with her head toward the underside of the wagon. “Nate, what?” Davis asked. “Nate’s up there. He can hear everything we do.” She smoothed her hair back, and straightened her nightgown, like a frightened virginal schoolmarm. “He can’t hear anything. We’re down here, he’s up there, and there’s a wooden floor between us. Now stop being silly and come back here.” He reached for her again. Emma moved backwards, holding the neckline of her nightgown in a bunch. “I can’t. I feel too funny. Please?” Davis groaned and lowered his head into his hands. “Emma, you’re killin’ me here.” He sighed and looked into her face, his expression softening. “Honey, you’re my wife. I won’t force myself on you.” He slanted her a look. “Can I try to change your mind?” She shook her head. He dragged his hand down his face. “All right, I can deal with it.” Pulling her to him, they lay down, Davis on his back, with Emma cuddled in the space between his arm and shoulder. ”But that arrogant soldier better heal himself fast,” Davis said as he got comfortable. “He’s been sticking in my craw since I first set eyes on him in Fort Laramie.

Have you ever considered the humble beginnings of sea glass? All of it starts as glass that has been thrown away, discarded, and broken. Pieces of a former whole no longer serve their intended purpose, so they are cast away—then tossed about, taking some hard knocks, and finally emerging smooth, refined, beautiful. Likewise, there are those days, even seasons, when we feel fragmented and useless. . . . Parts of a former whole, we find ourselves being tossed about, taking hard knocks, unsure of our direction or purpose. The Father knows, and sometimes orchestrates, our seasons of refinement—it is part of a greater plan, His plan, which serves His purposes. Even when we’re on the other side of that season, we may still not understand fully the why behind it, but we can be sure we have a Father who loves us, pursues us, and—once His hand is upon us—does not let go. Trust that during these seasons, we are being refined and transformed into something useful. And ultimately, beautiful. MIRIAM DRENNAN Devotions for the Beach

the foster-to-adopt experience is not one of those times where trying to skate by with a bare minimum of knowledge is going to cut it. There are just too many decisions, too many forks in the road, too many implications to not be on top of your game. And really, this is probably one thing in life where you DO want to be on top of your game. It’s a crazy enough situation when you know what you’re doing! Not having an understanding of the system, the politics, or the twists and turns would be maddening at least and at most, could result in you making a bad decision or a mistake that has long term consequences on your life and the life of your child. So I hate to break it to you if you thought you’d picked up your last textbook back in school, but there are several steps along the way where you’ll need to do some research in order to ensure that things go as smoothly as possible.

Remembering that your goal here is to have a smooth transition into your home for your child, do talk to your adoption caseworker about strategy and what the best transition for you and your child will be. You’ll want to immediately plug into the routine that they’ve been in if possible,

The Church and the World walked far apart on the changing shore of time; The World was singing a giddy song, the Church a hymn sublime. "Come give me your hand," said the merry World, "and walk with me this way," But the good Church hid her snowy hand, and solemnly answered, "Nay; I will not give you my hand at all, and I will not walk with you; Your way is the way of eternal death, and your words are all untrue." "Nay, walk with me a little space," said the World with a kindly air, The road I walk is a pleasant road, and the sun shines always there. Your way is narrow and thorny and rough, while mine is flowery and smooth; Your lot is sad with reproach and toil, but in rounds of joy I move. My way, you can see, is a broad, fair one, and my gate is high and wide; There is room enough for you and me, and we'll travel side by side." Half shyly the Church approached the World, and gave him her hand of snow; And the false World grasped it, and walked along, and whispered in accents low, "Your dress is too simple to please my taste; I have gold and pearls to wear; Rich velvets and silks for your graceful form, and diamonds to deck your hair." The Church looked down at her plain white robes, and then at the dazzling World, And blushed as she saw his handsome lip with a smile contemptuous curled; "I will change my dress for a costlier one," said the Church with a smile of grace; Then her pure white garments drifted away, and the World gave in their place Beautiful satins, and fashionable silks, and roses and gems and pearls; And over her forehead her bright hair fell, and waved in a thousand curls. So they of the Church and they of the World . journeyed closely, hand and heart, And none but the Master, who knows all, could discern the two apart. Then the Church sat down at her ease and said, "I am rich and in goods increased; I have need of nothing, and naught to do, But to laugh and dance and feast.

But of all that he saw, what gripped him the most were the light flashes in the darkened atmosphere that he had seen before—but always high, high above him. Meteors blazing through the atmosphere, shooting stars beneath him, the fireflies of space dashing blindly through cremation. Then came the moment. Deke would never forget it. He became part of a wonder that opened all space to him. Meteors flashed in greater number than he had yet seen, the spattered debris of ancient planetary formation and collisions of rock consumed by the atmosphere of Earth. Something he could not measure in size, but unquestionably large, perhaps even huge, rushed at earth with tremendous velocity. The meteor hurtled in toward his home planet, but at an angle that would send it skimming along the upper reaches of the atmosphere, almost parallel with earth’s surface below. Deke first saw the intruder when it punched deep enough into earth’s air ocean, grazing the edges of the atmosphere with a speed he could not judge, except that it was a rogue body, gravity-whipped to tremendous velocity. It tore into thin air; instantly its outer surface began to burn, its front edges blazing like a giant welding torch gone mad. It skipped along the atmosphere and gained an upward thrusting lift, like a flat rock hurled across smooth water. Deke gazed in wonder at the sight and watched the burning invader continue its journey along the atmosphere and then flash beyond. Away now from the clutches of air, still burning, it left behind an ionized trail of particles and superheated gases. Now away from Earth, it lofted high and far until it raced beyond Earth’s shadow. Sunlight flashed through the ionized trail, and the departing mass created its own record of passage, enduring long enough for Deke to watch until the last flicker, the final gleam, was gone. He felt he should not lower his gaze. His vision moved along the arrowing path of the now invisible wanderer of the solar system, and Deke stared, unblinking, as the mass of stars in his own galaxy shone down on him, an uncountable array of suns, stars he knew were smaller than his own sun, many vastly greater in size and energy, but all members of the great pin-wheeled Milky Way of which Deke and his world were one tiny member. He was

Sometimes the journey to love involves some bumpy detours, as any girl with an - ex-fiance will tell you. But I've learned a smooth trip isn't particularly important. Getting there is what matters.

...the instinct and the body (the felt smoothness of pebbles, the seen grain of light) must know in ways that the conscious mind cannot.

you must quit expecting the world to run smoothly. Life is a bumpy ride, and we’re just all along for the journey. Find your center and core deep inside of you, and hold on tight. As long as you stand in your own power, the world can run like a kaleidoscope and you’ll always have your footing.

Giles’ head is full of blood. In capillaries it chugs busily up and down the hills and valleys of his brain. In his imagination it streams down from the sky and moves in the water. He scratches a scab on his wrist and flakes off layer after layer of skin until the blood pours out. Pieces of metal whine out of the blue sky towards him and smash into his body, scooping out his intestines. His bowels trail along the deck. Yellow globules of shit, their journey through the colon interrupted, huddle together inside the slit open pipes. The eyes of his friends are continually attacked. They appear and disappear. Each part of the ship is a weapon. The clews of his hammock can strangle, the guard rails buckle and toss him overboard; the lifeboats fall and crush him. … Giles, looking up, feels the shafts of his eyes penetrate deep, deep, past the light and into the blackness of space. The sky is the palest, palest blue … Death stalks them. … The horrors of his imagination are real. This is war. This is the purpose of war. To give shape to the menacing blackness of space behind the blue sky, the silver death in the water, the streams of blood behind the smooth forehead. This pale forehead, grey brown hair crusted with salt, frizzing more than ever in the fresh, damp air, these straight eyebrows, delicate veil of lids, jumping eyeballs, hide many patterns and possibilities of death. Those he has been trained for. Those he has seen, heard or imagined. Those he fears. Death lurking in the pure blue sky is not new to him and now he can put a name to it. … Sometimes they happen to other people and you are still alive. Sometimes you make them happen to your enemy and you are still alive. Sometimes they happen to you and you are dead. Or you are still alive, having lost a lump of flesh, a yard of skin, a pint of blood. Picking over what is left a doctor can make something of it. A catalogue at least. If you can know or name what is left, nothing so dreadful has been lost.

don’t need to wait,” my father said, smoothly. “Klein, my master of war, will join Admiral Iajqa in the development of the military. And my daughter, Aefe of the Sidnee Blades, will represent the House of Obsidian on the scouting journey.

Part of the journey into our human weathering is tending to the wounds, connecting through the wounds, and actively loving what remains towards restoration. We need to love because of and not in spite of, which is the work of time, something that geology has plenty of, but we do not. It might be brief, but what else is time for, if not to love. What else is love for if not to smooth the divisive edges of complexity and difference so that all might rub along better, not the same, but together. This is not a love or belonging that demands allegiance or agreement, but one that can tolerate, even embrace, authentic otherness.

She has always had excellent eyebrows, but as fifty-three years have taught her, good eyebrows don’t guarantee one a smooth journey through life.

Presented with the Duc by Prince Starhemberg, Marie Antoinette exclaimed: “I shall never forget that you are responsible for my happiness!” “And that of France,” replied Choiseul smoothly.20

At Esse India, we understand that having a prior DUI offense can complicate your journey towards Canadian permanent residency or obtaining entry visas such as an electronic travel authorization (eTA) or a temporary resident visa (TRV). Canadian authorities evaluate foreign offenses by comparing them to their Canadian equivalents to determine admissibility. This approach is not unique to Canada; those pursuing Australia permanent residency or Germany permanent residency will face similar scrutiny of their criminal records during immigration. However, being inadmissible doesn’t mean your journey ends here. You have options: • Temporary Resident Permit (TRP): If you have a valid reason to enter Canada, you may apply for a TRP. This process has parallels in Australia and Germany, especially if you are using programs like the Global Talent Stream. • Deemed Rehabilitation: In Canada, if over 10 years have passed since your DUI conviction and the offense is deemed non-serious, you may be eligible for deemed rehabilitation. Keep in mind, each country has unique permanent residency requirements. • Criminal Rehabilitation: If you’re not eligible for deemed rehabilitation, you can apply for criminal rehabilitation, which permanently addresses inadmissibility issues. Navigating these complex processes requires expert guidance. Engaging Canada immigration consultants, especially those well-versed in handling cases from India, can make a significant difference. These experts can assist with the PR process for Canada from India, helping with tasks such as securing legal opinion letters to present your case. Similarly, Australia and Germany immigration consultants can help you overcome challenges in these countries. For those aiming for permanent residency, it’s important to be aware of the specific programs in place. In Canada, options like BCPNP (British Columbia Provincial Nominee Program), MPNP (Manitoba Provincial Nominee Program), and NBPNP (New Brunswick Provincial Nominee Program) can be crucial pathways to residency. Whether you're looking to work or study in Canada, Australia, or Germany, partnering with the best immigration consultants or visa consultancy services is vital. They’ll guide you through key processes like the Canada PR process, Australia PR process, or Germany PR procedure, ensuring your application is successful. For students or professionals exploring work-study programs, these countries offer valuable opportunities. With the help of expert consultants, you can smoothly navigate study visas, spouse visas, tourist visas, or your PR application, ensuring your immigration process is legally sound and hassle-free. At Esse India, we are here to guide you every step of the way.

There are two kind of travellers: (1) They relax in their seat and enjoy the journey. Their train reaches the destination smoothly. (2) They remain agitated and desperate to reach the destination. They think they can relax only after reaching. Somehow their train always faces delays and obstacles.

Singapore Why should I book a live band for my wedding? Merry Bees Merry Bees have serenaded dignitaries at the Istana. Merry bees provide services to their customers like Solo Live Music, Virtual live band, Solo Musician, Solo Wedding Singer, Instrumental live band, Corporate Live Band, wedding livestream etc. their all the services are quite good. Merry bees also performed at TV programmes and other high profile events including APEC, F1 Singapore Grand Prix, Young NTUC Celebrates NDP, DBS, Prudential, Maersk, Singapore Sports Awards, etc. Merry Bees have produced and performed to over 2,000 successful events. When COVID-19 hit us in 2020, Merry Bees was one of the first few events companies in Singapore who adapted quickly to virtual. Merry bees have produced and live streamed to over 250 events and performances by Dec 2020. Apart from that merry bees also provide Content creation, Videography, livestream production, Corporate Videography Merry bees are emotionally attached with their each client. ShiLi & Adi TWO IS BETTER THAN ONE It is no surprise that ShiLi & Adi are a highly sought after duo in the wedding live bands and corporate events circuit due to their fresh piano arrangements and smooth vocal harmony. From duets and their ability to medley any songs dedicated by the audience, their chemistry is unmistakable. John Lye Live Looping Singer Guitarist, Bilingual Emcee & Host, Production & Technical Director John Lye is one of the most versatile performers we know with 12 years of performing experience under his belt. As part of our core team and co-founder of Merry Bees, John wears many hats but his biggest hat would be charming audiences with a wide vocal range and solid guitar live looping skills, as he switches effortlessly from heavy old school rock ballads of Journey and Bon Jovi to classics from Sinatra and Nat King Cole in various languages. Merry bees have many live offers you can book merry bees to make your special day wonderful.

I have four pets,’ Bjørnar Nicolaisen tells me at 69.31°N, ‘two cats and two sea eagles. I feed them all together on the shore, there by the throne, with the best fish in the world!’ He gives a huge laugh, and points east through the window of his living room: snow-filled fields sloping away to a rocky beach that borders a fjord several miles in width. Steel-blue water in the fjord, choppy where the currents are running. Far across the fjord, ranks of smooth-snowed peaks gleam in the late sunlight. They are shaped more wildly than any mountains I have ever seen before. Witches’ hats and shark fins and jabbing fingers, all polished white as porcelain. I cannot see a throne on the shore, though. ‘Here, try these.’ He hands me a pair of binoculars. Black leather-clad barrels, weathered in places to brown. Polished eye-pieces – and a Nazi eagle engraved into the left-hand barrel-back. ‘Wehrmacht-issue,’ says Bjørnar. ‘Beautiful lenses. An officer’s. When my father was dying, he asked me what I wanted from his possessions. “One thing only,” I told him, “the binoculars you took from the Germans.”‘ I lift the binoculars and the shoreline leaps to my eyes, close enough to touch. Calibrated cross-hairs float in my vision. I pan right along the beach. Nothing. I switch back left. Yes, there, a chair of some kind – but six or seven feet tall, built from driftwood lashed and nailed together. It looks like something the ironborn of Westeros might have made. ‘I take the eagles a cod or a saithe whenever I come back from a good day’s fishing. I feed them by my chair, there.’ ‘Bjørnar, you are the only person I know who counts sea eagles among his pets.’ ‘I am more of a cat person,’ Bjørnar replies. ‘Than a dog person or than an eagle person?’ ‘Than a people person!’ Bjørnar laughs and laughs – a deep, explosive laugh coming from far inside his chest.

Learn Meditation in Rishikesh by spending your vacation in the foothills of the Himalayas covered by the holy river Ganges. Get a passion to study and we will help you in your further journey. At Meditation School in Rishikesh, Real Happiness Ramjhula Rishikesh; you will learn to control the extreme level of stress. When you are able to deal with it, then you can live your life smoothly.

Your strengths are skills that come naturally. They smooth out your life from the center like a pat of melted butter.

What is David without Goliath? What is Jesus without the Cross? What is destiny without the journey? On the other side of struggle is fortune. To pick and choose which battles one is willing to fight or let go before ultimately traversing the uncertain realm of nonexistence is the ultimate war. We must run through life’s troubles, not from them, because smooth seas do not make great sailors and the strongest steel is forged by the fires of Hell. Carry the Cross toward immortality. Embrace the challenge.

Sixes even experience elevated anxiety when life is going smoothly because they wonder what might come along and ruin it.

Sounds like life to me. We’re bound to get hurt. Life is a journey, and no road worth taking is smooth and bumpless. Life is a borrow, not a gift, Levy. Take advantage as long as you have it.

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