Spas Quotes

What Machine is it that bears us along so relentlessly? We go rattling thro' another Day,- another Year,- as thro' an empty Town without a Name, in the Midnight...we have but Memories of some Pause at the Pleasure-Spas of our younger Day, the Maidens, the Cards, the Claret,- we seek to extend our stay, but now a silent Functionary in dark Livery indicates it is time to re-board the Coach, and resume the Journey. Long before the Destination, moreover, shall this Machine come abruptly to a Stop...gather'd dense with Fear, shall we open the Door to confer with the Driver, to discover that there is no Driver...no Horses,...only the Machine, fading as we stand, and a Prairie of desperate Immensity...

Teško je ploviti bez krivudanja sa tolikim svetom na brodu i za spas svih treba ponekad nešto od tereta i u more baciti.

More je rastavio Gospodar svega stvorenog, da bi spasio one koji kod Njega, i zbog vjere u Njega, traže spas. A šta tebi treba? Treba li ti da se more rastavi? To Allahu nije teško.

U ljubavi sam vidjela spas. Ljubav je bila moja religija. Čovjek valjda ima potrbu izmisliti nešto poput boga. što je drugo moglo slijediti nego još veće razočaranje? Jer spasa nema.

The consumption of food was a sacrament of success. A man who carried a great stomach before him was thought to be in his prime. Women went into hospitals to die of burst bladders, collapsed lungs, overtaxed hearts and meningitis of the spine. There was a heavy traffic to the spas and sulphur springs, where the purgative was valued as an inducement to the appetite. America was a great farting country. All this began to change when Taft moved into the White House. His accession to the one mythic office in the American imagination weighed everyone down. His great figure immediately expressed the apotheosis of that style of man. Thereafter fashion would go the other way and only poor people would be stout.

In a policy shift which the historian Guy de la Bedoyere has compared with Western Imperialism, the Romans converted militant Britons to their way of life with consumer entincements, introducing them to the urbane pleasures of hot spas and fine dining, encouraging them to wear togas and speak Latin.

Only a few short years ago, the average stay-at-home mom spent her relaxation time reading Jackie Collins and staring at the pool boy. Now, half of them are outselling Jackie Collins writing porn about the pool boy. The other half are writing reviews of them." [Surviving in the Amazon Jungle – How authors and reviewers can co-exist in a hostile environment (and run to court if they don’t), Blog post, March 20, 2014]

Konopac koji te spasi od poplave može ti postati omča oko vrata.

It’s another post-EU incongruity. Spas are sissy, indulgent, European. Hamams are authentic and Turkish.

Ja sam vreva, ključanje mjehurića, lepeza,gejzir, simbolična školjka. Žrtva vreve, proizvod vreve i spas od vreve

Ako možeš nekoga voljeti svim srcem, bar jednu osobu, u životu postoji spas. Čak i ako nikad ne budeš s tom osobom." H. Murakami, 1Q85

Celebrities like Gwyneth Paltrow and an ever-growing number of spas market practices like vaginal steaming, which are based on the idea that there are “toxins” or “impurities” to remove.

Yes, but I’m also saving so much money by doing this! This whole development used to be farmland, and now that there are no more farms, I employ all the displaced locals to work on the estate, so it’s really been good for the economy. And think of all the carbon offset points I’m racking up by not having to fly all over the world every weekend trying out new spas,” Colette said earnestly.

A i onima je dobro koji svoja dronjava zaposlenja, pa čak i strasti, krste velelepnim imenima i pripisuju ih ljudskom rodu. Kao pothvate ispolinske, preduzete za spas i blagostanje celokupnog čovečanstva. Blago onome ko može da je takav!

Svi mi svuda sa sobom nosimo neki Wolfsegg i imamo volju da ga sebi na spas izbrišemo, želimo ga uništiti tako da ga napišemo, izbrisati ga. Ali većinom nemamo snage za takvo brisanje. (...) Vjerijemo da s takvim naumom možemo početi, a to ipak nismo u stanju, sve je uvijek protiv nas i protiv takvog nauma i onda to uvijek odgađamo i nikad za to ne nađemo vremena, pa se tako mnogi radovi duha koji bi morali biti napisani ne napišu, ostane toliko zapisa koje cijelo vrijeme, godinama, desetljećima imamo u svojoj glavi, u svojoj glavi. Potežemo sve moguće razloge da s takvim radom ne počnemo, iskopavamo sve moguće igovore, zazivamo sve moguće duhove koji svi odreda mogu biti samo zli duhovi, samo da ne moramo početi, a baš bismo trebali početi. To je tragedija onoga koji hoće nešto napisati, to da uvijek izaziva ometače svoga pisanja.

When scientists had discovered, at the turn of the century, that radium could destroy human tissue, it was quickly put to use to battle cancerous tumors, with remarkable results. Consequently—as a life-saving and thus, it was assumed, health-giving element—other uses had sprung up around it. All of Katherine’s life, radium had been a magnificent cure-all, treating not just cancer, but hay fever, gout, constipation…anything you could think of. Pharmacists sold radioactive dressings and pills; there were also radium clinics and spas for those who could afford them.

Remember, we all make our work available in a commercial transaction, the terms of which we, ourselves, dictate. If we give it away for free, that’s our decision, and there is no refuge in the lame defense, “what do you want for nothing?” The buyer does not waive his right to express his opinion." [Thick Skin and Bad Reviews, Blog post, June 26, 2013]

Čovjek se hvata za svaku granu kada osjeća da pada.

Think springs of water. Think wells and spas and sources. Well-springs in the widest and loveliest sense. Jerusalem, for instance, is a spring of religiosity. One small town in the desert, but the source of the world's three most powerful faiths. It is the capital of Judaism, the scene of Christ's crucifixion and the place from which Mohammed ascended into heaven. Religion seems to bubble from its sands.

*MOJ GROB* U planini mrkoj nek mi bude hum, Nad njim urlik vuka, crnih grana šum, Ljeti vječan vihor, zimi visok snijeg, Mûku moje rake nedostupan bijeg. Visoko nek stoji, ko oblak i tron, Da ne dopre do njeg hiskog tornja zvon, Da ne dopre do njeg pokajnički glas, Strah obraćenika, molitve za spas. Neka šikne travom, uz trnovit grm, Besput da je do njeg, neprobojan, strm. Nitko da ne dođe, do prijatelj drag, - I kad se vrati, nek poravna trag.

Acornology Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, there was a kingdom of acorns, nestled at the foot of a grand old oak tree. Since the citizens of this kingdom were modern, fully Westernized acorns, they went about their life with a purposeful energy; and since they were mid-life baby-boomer acorns, they engaged in a lot of self-help courses. There were seminars called “Getting All You Can out of Your Shell” and “Who Would You Be Without Your Nutty Story?” There were woundedness and recovery groups for acorns who had been bruised in their fall from the tree. There were spas for oiling and polishing those shells and various acornopathic therapies to enhance longevity and well-being. One day in the midst of this kingdom there suddenly appeared a knotty little stranger, apparently dropped out of the blue by a passing bird. He was capless and dirty, making an immediate negative impression on his fellow acorns. And to make things worse, crouched beneath the mighty oak tree, he stammered out a wild tale. Pointing up at the tree, he said, “We … are … that!” Delusional thinking, obviously, the other acorns concluded, but they continued to engage him in conversation: “So tell us, how do we … become that tree?” “Well,” said he, pointing downward, “it has something to do with going into the ground … and cracking open the shell.” “Insane!” they responded. “Totally morbid! Why then we wouldn’t be acorns anymore.

The Chelsea has changed. It’s not like it was.” It had been gentrified, they said, domesticated, tamed like the whole neighborhood, which, since the mid-90s, had turned distinctly upscale. The greasy diners were gone, replaced by uniform Starbucks. The boarded-up storefronts were now upscale spas. The neighborhood dives were now exclusive nightclubs replete with guest lists and doormen who turned the “wrong” people away. Everyone was saying the hotel, the neighborhood, all of Manhattan, had sold out.

astonishment, it made the girls themselves gleam. Katherine, like many before her, was entranced by it. It wasn’t just the glow—it was radium’s all-powerful reputation. Almost from the start, the new element had been championed as “the greatest find of history.”7 When scientists had discovered, at the turn of the century, that radium could destroy human tissue, it was quickly put to use to battle cancerous tumors, with remarkable results. Consequently—as a life-saving and thus, it was assumed, health-giving element—other uses had sprung up around it. All of Katherine’s life, radium had been a magnificent cure-all, treating not just cancer, but hay fever, gout, constipation…anything you could think of. Pharmacists sold radioactive dressings and pills; there were also radium clinics and spas for those who could afford them. People hailed its coming as predicted in the Bible: “The sun of righteousness [shall] arise with healing in his wings, and ye shall go forth and gambol as calves of the stall.”8

Sjedi sama u sobi, odvojena od mase, koja je na nju i zaboravila, jer Erika gotovo da je bestjelesna. Nikome ne smeta svojom prisutnošću. Iz debelog zamotuljka pažljivo razmotava britvicu. Njena joj se oštrica smiješi kao zaručnik zaručnici. ERIKA oprezno isprobava britku oštricu. Zatim britvicom više puta svom snagom pritišće o nadlanicu, ali ne preduboko, tako da ne povrijedi tetive. Uopće ne osjeća bol. Metal s lakoćom prodire u tkivo kao da je maslac. Na površini do maloprije nedirnute nadlanice nekoliko trenutaka zjapi prorez sličan onome na štednoj kašici, iz kojega polako počinje navirati s mukom zadržavana krv. Ukupno je napravila četiri reza. To je dovoljno, jer bi inače iskrvarila. Nakon toga britvicu pažljivo briše i sprema. Cijelo to vrijeme svijetlo crvena krv polako škropi i curi iz rana prljajući pod ispod Erike. Njena topla krv kaplje bešumno i nimalo neugodno. Slijeva se niz nadlanicu u gustim potočićima. I ne prestaje. Erikina je krv sve oko sebe obojila lijepom crvenom bojom. Četiri su to reza, iz kojih neumorno lipti krv. Na podu i plahti četiri se potočića slijevaju u veliki potok. Samo slijedi suzu, ovaj potočić je tebi spas. Već se stvorila lokvica krvi. A krv teče i teče. Teče, i teče, i teče, i teče.

WHENEVER I WOKE UP, night or day, I’d shuffle through the bright marble foyer of my building and go up the block and around the corner where there was a bodega that never closed. I’d get two large coffees with cream and six sugars each, chug the first one in the elevator on the way back up to my apartment, then sip the second one slowly while I watched movies and ate animal crackers and took trazodone and Ambien and Nembutal until I fell asleep again. I lost track of time in this way. Days passed. Weeks. A few months went by. When I thought of it, I ordered delivery from the Thai restaurant across the street, or a tuna salad platter from the diner on First Avenue. I’d wake up to find voice messages on my cell phone from salons or spas confirming appointments I’d booked in my sleep. I always called back to

Stabla po zimi Ta stabla pod snijegom, sva ogoljela, jednom je moja duša voljela, dok se nisu razboljela. A sad, možda, manje im se divi, ali ih više ljubi i grli i poklonički časti. Ta ipak, kako su divni ti kosturi! Mili su nam kao uzvišene starosti mudraca ili prolazne nedaće drugih, mlađih bića. Onaj studeni, ledeni srh što njih zebe steže i muči sve nas, mene, tebe. Prutići tako vješto nacrtani, tankoćutne i točne grane drva bez jednog lista još su urez grada, oslon živaca, zanimljivosti ceste. Kad ih vjetrić dirne, s grane prahati snijeg. Mi tugujesmo s njima. Te gole grane osjećamo kao svoje rane. Samcu prave društvo na ulici, brate se s beskućnikom. Studen ih grči, vjetar pahuljice stresa, studen i vjetar, strpljenje našeg mesa. Žalosna su bez jarkoga sunca i bez bujne prizme dana. Počitanja ih barem bratska prate. Čekati ćemo, da se sunca vrate. Eto mrznu u nadi razvigora. Tako imamo bolnih drugova i braće, što tuguju bez spektra i bez ptica. No imat će opet svojih vedrih dana Uskrska, kad šuma prolista i nadživjeti mnogi crni čas. Ta stabla pod snijegom znak su korota kao katarke na brodu razlupanom. I nepomična duša drva strada kao božanstvom što skriva glatku golgotu u divljoj kori. Pa ipak, svojojm čistoćom linija taj pusti crtež debla, grane, grančica, šiba, kako zatravljuje sjenu! Svejedno, ti crni križevi znak su nada: bolno drvo još pred sobom čeka spas. Kada snijeg kipovima pjesnika i mudraca na šetalištu nače kukuljicu kao mali brijeg vrh glave, hladni kipovi su čudovišno ljepši u perspektivi zime; ali bijelo deblo strada, no duboko pod korom i u žilju svim sokovima i svim vlakancima još se životu nada. Stablo želi, stablo žudi, ono strepi, ono hlepi, ono čezne, ono hoće, ono čeka; pati strasti, želje, čuva volju u patnji, vjeruje u udes tmasti i u vrijeme trajno. Dušo, zavoli ta stabla po zimi, tu neoskvrnjenu sliku sloma, i u vlastitu toplinu kao uz vatru u kutu doma njih primi!

WHENEVER I WOKE UP, night or day, I’d shuffle through the bright marble foyer of my building and go up the block and around the corner where there was a bodega that never closed. I’d get two large coffees with cream and six sugars each, chug the first one in the elevator on the way back up to my apartment, then sip the second one slowly while I watched movies and ate animal crackers and took trazodone and Ambien and Nembutal until I fell asleep again. I lost track of time in this way. Days passed. Weeks. A few months went by. When I thought of it, I ordered delivery from the Thai restaurant across the street, or a tuna salad platter from the diner on First Avenue. I’d wake up to find voice messages on my cell phone from salons or spas confirming appointments I’d booked in my sleep. I always called back to cancel, which I hated doing because I hated talking to people. Early on in this phase, I had my dirty laundry picked up and clean laundry delivered once a week. It was a comfort to me to hear the torn plastic bags rustle in the draft from the living room windows. I liked catching whiffs of the fresh laundry smell while I dozed off on the sofa.

Addicts should not be coerced into treatment, since in the long term coercion creates more problems than it solves. On the other hand, for those addicts who opt for treatment, there must be a system of publicly funded recovery facilities with clean rooms, nutritious food, and access to outdoors and nature. Well-trained professional staff need to provide medical care, counseling, skills training, and emotional support. Our current nonsystem is utterly inadequate, with its patchwork of recovery homes run on private contracts and, here and there, a few upscale addiction treatment spas for the wealthy. No matter how committed their staff and how helpful their services may be, they are a drop in comparison to the ocean of vast need. In the absence of a coordinated rehabilitation system, the efforts of individual recovery homes are limited and occur in a vacuum, with no follow-up. It may be thought that the cost of such a drug rehabilitation and treatment system would be exorbitant. No doubt the financial expenses would be great — but surely less than the funds now freely squandered on the War on Drugs, to say nothing of the savings from the cessation of drug-related criminal activity and the diminished burden on the health care system.

The Purveyor of Delusion confers upon his wife a certain expression or twist of Phiz I daresay as old as Holy Scripture,— a lengthy range of Sentiment, all comprest into a single melancholick swing of the eyes. From some personal stowage he produces another Flask, containing, not the Spruce Beer ubiquitous in these parts, but that favor’d stupefacient of the jump’d-up tradesman, French claret,— and without offering it to anyone else, including his Wife, begins to drink. “It goes back,” he might have begun, “to the second Day of Creation, when ‘G-d made the Firmament, and divided the Waters which were under the Firmament, from the Waters which were above the Firmament,’— thus the first Boundary Line. All else after that, in all History, is but Sub-Division.” “What Machine is it,” young Cherrycoke later bade himself goodnight, “that bears us along so relentlessly? We go rattling thro’ another Day,— another Year,— as thro’ an empty Town without a Name, in the Midnight . . . we have but Memories of some Pause at the Pleasure-Spas of our younger Day, the Maidens, the Cards, the Claret,— we seek to extend our stay, but now a silent Functionary in dark Livery indicates it is time to re-board the Coach, and resume the Journey. Long before the Destination, moreover, shall this Machine come abruptly to a Stop . . . gather’d dense with Fear, shall we open the Door to confer with the Driver, to discover that there is no Driver, . . . no Horses, . . . only the Machine, fading as we stand, and a Prairie of desperate Immensity. . . .

Once upon a time, in a not-so-far-away land, there was a kingdom of acorns, nestled at the foot of a grand old oak tree. Since the citizens of this kingdom were modern, fully Westernized acorns, they went about their business with purposeful energy; and since they were midlife, baby-boomer acorns, they engaged in a lot of self-help courses. There were seminars called “Getting All You Can out of Your Shell.” There were woundedness and recovery groups for acorns who had been bruised in their original fall from the tree. There were spas for oiling and polishing those shells and various acornopathic therapies to enhance longevity and well-being. One day in the midst of this kingdom there suddenly appeared a knotty little stranger, apparently dropped “out of the blue” by a passing bird. He was capless and dirty, making an immediate negative impression on his fellow acorns. And crouched beneath the oak tree, he stammered out a wild tale. Pointing upward at the tree, he said, “We… are… that!” Delusional thinking, obviously, the other acorns concluded, but one of them continued to engage him in conversation: “So tell us, how would we become that tree?” “Well,” he said, pointing downward, “it has something to do with going into the ground …and cracking open the shell.” “Insane,” they responded. “Totally morbid! Why, then we wouldn’t be acorns anymore.” 3

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Činjenica je da, kao što su njegove tri sestre sanjale beg u Moskvu u kojoj su videle spas, tako i mnoge današnje situirane, a ipak usamljene žene sanjaju svoju Moskvu u koju će pobeći makar i bez svih šest najnovijih modela Luj Viton torbi. A ko zna i šta bi ih sačekalo u toj Moskvi i da li bi se razočarale da su mogle da odu? Ipak, uvek treba otići tamo gde želiš, pa i po cenu izneverenih. očekivanja. Najgore je kada je čoveku dosadno. I najopasniji su ljudi kojima je stalno dosadno. Verujte mi na reč.

In general, candles are most popular among female millennials, who use them for aromatherapy and as décor pieces around the house. Additionally, they are popular purchases by commercial establishments like spas and restaurants. These spaces use candles to create a specific atmosphere—for example, spas use them to encourage a sense of calm, while restaurants use them to create an intimate space that draws in diners. Independent brands and fashion and beauty businesses also create product lines with candles to encourage a new customer base.

What Machine is it that bears us along so relentlessly? We go rattling thro’ another Day,— another Year,— as thro’ an empty Town without a Name, in the Midnight…we have but Memories of some Pause at the Pleasure-Spas of our younger Day, the Maidens, the Cards, the Claret,— we seek to extend our stay, but now a silent Functionary in dark Livery indicates it is time to re-board the Coach, and resume the Journey. Long before the Destination, moreover, shall this Machine come abruptly to a Stop . . . gather’d dense with Fear, shall we open the Door to confer with the Driver, to discover that there is no Driver,…no Horses,…only the Machine, fading as we stand, and a Prairie of desperate Immensity….

What Machine is it," young Cherrycoke later bade himself goodnight, "that bears us along so relentlessly? We go rattling thro' another Day,— another Year,— as thro' an empty Town without a Name, in the Midnight. . .we have but Memories of some Pause at the Pleasure-Spas of our younger Day, the Maidens, the Cards, the Claret,— we seek to extend our stay, but now a silent Functionary in dark Livery indicates it is time to re-board the Coach, and resume the Journey. Long before the Destination, moreover, shall this Machine come abruptly to a Stop...gather'd dense with Fear, shall we open the Door to confer with the Driver, to discover that there is no Driver,... no Horses,... only the Machine, fading as we stand, and a Prairie of desperate Immensity

What Machine is it," young Cherrycoke later bade himself goodnight, "that bears us along so relentlessly? We go rattling thro' another Day,— another Year,— as thro' an empty Town without a Name, in the Midnight. . .we have but Memories of some Pause at the Pleasure-Spas of our younger Day, the Maidens, the Cards, the Claret,— we seek to extend our stay, but now a silent Functionary in dark Livery indicates it is time to re-board the Coach, and resume the Journey. Long before the Destination, moreover, shall this Machine come abruptly to a Stop...gather'd dense with Fear, shall we open the Door to confer with the Driver, to discover that there is no Driver,... no Horses,... only the Machine, fading as we stand, and a Prairie of desperate Immensity.

Back home a momentous change was coming over the United States. There was a new President, William Howard Taft, and he took office weighing three hundred and thirty-two pounds. All over the country men began to look at themselves. They were used to drinking great quantities of beer. They customarily devoured loaves of bread and ate prodigiously of the sausage meats of poured offal that lay on the lunch counters of the saloons. The august Pierpont Morgan would routinely consume seven- and eight-course dinners. He ate breakfasts of steaks and chops, eggs, pancakes, broiled fish, rolls and butter, fresh fruit and cream. The consumption of food was a sacrament of success. A man who carried a great stomach before him was thought to be in his prime. Women went into hospitals to die of burst bladders, collapsed lungs, overtaxed hearts and meningitis of the spine. There was a heavy traffic to the spas and sulphur springs, where the purgative was valued as an inducement to appetite. America was a great farting country. All this began to change when Taft moved into the White House. His accession to the one mythic office in the American imagination weighed everyone down. His great figure immediately expressed the apotheosis of that style of man. Thereafter fashion would go the other way and only poor people would be stout.

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Our Showroom Have a question or just want to have a look around, feel free to pop by and take a look. Our friendly and helpful staff are experienced and are happy to help you with your enquiry, or send us a message and we’ll be in touch. Address:- Unit 3, Nottingham road, Alfreton, DE55 7GR

Our Showroom Have a question or just want to have a look around, feel free to pop by and take a look. Our friendly and helpful staff are experienced and are happy to help you with your enquiry, or send us a message and we’ll be in touch. Business Address: 11 Bridge St, Pilsley, Chesterfield, S45 8HE, Uk Phone No: 441773875081

Diamond Spas is a premier design and building company specializing in crafting luxury spas and pools. We provide quality hot tubs, swim spas & pools, water feature designs, repair, renovation services and maintenance for both residential and commercial customers.

When I heard the Prez wanted us to shakedown the trucker spas toward Knoxville, I could've ripped out my nine millimeter and shot it through the ceiling, screaming like an idiot.

She went to the Better Business Bureau, which elicited a response from the spa’s owner stating, “It is our policy to not accept any kinds of abnormal sexual oriented customers to our facility such as homosexuals, or transgender.

Ima pasa koji mogu dugo trpjeti u sebi svoj nemoćni bijes. Trgaju lanac, hropću i povraćaju od gušenja. Ali baš kod svakog dođe čas, kad se slomi. Jer kasno shvati da više neće moći ni milimetar napredovati. Uzalud mu je mučitelj pred nosom, za njega svejedno ostaje nedohvatljiv. I tada se malom šibom naneseni sitni udarci po psećem nosu odjedanput samo zbroje. Uzalud je režanje, uzalud bijes, uzalud i snaga. Jednom će i najhrabriji pas otrčati i potražiti zaklon gdje će se htjeti skriti. Jer traži svoje skrovište i spas. Skvičeći se zavuče i skutri u bočno okrenuti sanduk od jabuka koji mu je dom zajedno s ubačenim komadom krpe. Ili potraži hrpu naslaganog ogrjevnog drva da se podvuče pod nju. Ili cvileći gura glavu bilo kamo. A od uzbuđenja mu usijano tijelo drhturi poput hladetine. Ako pak nema druge onda glavu gurne među šape. Jer se slomio. I nikad više neće biti slobodno biće. Uzalud će ga pustiti s lanca. Lajat će jedino iz straha. I pritom strepiti. Toga se ja bojim. Zato sam radije zamislio da sam ja slobodan pa da mogu letjeti poput roda i lastavica.

Čovjeku je najbliži spas kad mu se srce slama.

Koliko je spasa nakon očaja došlo, koliko se puta lice nakon brige sretno nasmijalo.

fully Westernized acorns, they went about their business with purposeful energy; and since they were midlife, baby-boomer acorns, they engaged in a lot of self-help courses. There were seminars called “Getting All You Can out of Your Shell.” There were woundedness and recovery groups for acorns who had been bruised in their original fall from the tree. There were spas for oiling and polishing those shells and various acornopathic therapies to enhance longevity and well-being. One day in the midst of this kingdom there suddenly appeared a knotty little stranger, apparently dropped “out of the blue” by a passing bird. He was capless and dirty, making an immediate negative impression on his fellow acorns. And crouched beneath the oak tree, he stammered out a wild tale. Pointing upward at the tree, he said, “We…are…that!”  

fully Westernized acorns, they went about their business with purposeful energy; and since they were midlife, baby-boomer acorns, they engaged in a lot of self-help courses. There were seminars called “Getting All You Can out of Your Shell.” There were woundedness and recovery groups for acorns who had been bruised in their original fall from the tree. There were spas for oiling and polishing those shells and various acornopathic therapies to enhance longevity and well-being.

time. A new interdisciplinary community of scientists, environmentalists, health researchers, therapists, and artists is coalescing around an idea: neuroconservation. Embracing the notion that we treasure what we love, those concerned with water and the future of the planet now suggest that, as we understand our emotional well-being and its relationship to water, we are more motivated to repair, restore, and renew waterways and watersheds. Indeed, even as water is threatened, or perhaps because of the threat, public interest in water is very high. We treasure it—or, perhaps more accurately, we spend our treasure to access water for pleasure, recreation, and healing. Wealthy people pay a premium for houses on water, and the not so wealthy pay extra for rentals and hotel rooms sited at the oceanfront, on rivers, or at lakes. Those into outdoor sports, especially fishers and hunters, are fiercely protective of it and have founded numerous environmental organizations designed to protect water habitats for fish, birds, and animals. Over the last two decades, spas have become a sort of modern equivalent to ancient healing wells. As an industry, spas are a global business worth about $60 billion, and they generate another $200 billion in tourism. In 2013, there were 20,000 (up from 4,000 in 1999) spas in the United States producing an annual revenue of over $14 billion (a figure that has grown every year for fifteen years, including those of the recession), and tallying 164 million spa visits by clients.12 Ecotourism provides water adventures and guided trips, often in kayaks, rafts, or canoes. Ocean and river cruises are big business. Cities are creating urban architectures focused on waterscapes, happiness, and sustainability. Museums and public memorials of all sorts often feature water to foster reflection and meditation. And many communities are working to transform industrialized and polluted waterfronts into spaces that are pleasant, environmentally sound, and livable.

Once upon a time, in a not-so-far-away land, there was a kingdom of acorns, nestled at the foot of a grand old oak tree. Since the citizens of this kingdom were modern, fully Westernized acorns, they went about their business with purposeful energy; and since they were midlife, baby-boomer acorns, they engaged in a lot of self-help courses. There were seminars called “Getting All You Can out of Your Shell.” There were woundedness and recovery groups for acorns who had been bruised in their original fall from the tree. There were spas for oiling and polishing those shells and various acornopathic therapies to enhance longevity and well-being. One day in the midst of this kingdom there suddenly appeared a knotty little stranger, apparently dropped “out of the blue” by a passing bird. He was capless and dirty, making an immediate negative impression on his fellow acorns. And crouched beneath the oak tree, he stammered out a wild tale. Pointing upward at the tree, he said, “We…are…that!

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Well, maybe our activity today should be relaxing. Since it sounds like you could use a break.” I heard the laugh in her voice. “Oh, maybe they have a spa here.” She practically sighed the word. “I don’t think they have spas here. And if they did, I’m not sure you’d want to use one. Booth is more of a strip mall nail salon kind of place.” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “I suppose you’re right. Well, short of us oiling each other up and trading massages, I’m all out of ideas.

Eden by Maisie Aletha Smikle In the garden Eden Streams of tranquility glide Flowers magnificently bloom Adam, Eve and animals freely roam Springs sprout Waterfalls emerge Angels smile Earth and Heaven were once in sync Absent was the sting of sin There were no frost To bite the grass Causing trees to freeze There were no fierce heat To kindle a blaze There were no winds That were unkind There were no raindrops That weren't welcome All were in perfect peace All were in harmony so sweet The garden Eden Was the home of the people Handmade by the Father Precious were they Adam and Eve God's first human masterpieces They were loved God gave them a home And grew for them a lovely garden God gave them pets of all species He gave them glorious healing spas and herbs God gave them fruits and food of every kind Everything Adam and Eve had to their hearts desire An envious snake Probably a BOA Saw joy peace love and happiness And hated joy peace love and happiness BOA vowed to destroy love peace joy and happiness BOA wanted to create distrust and enmity instead BOA conspired against love peace joy and happiness And conspired to have Adam and Eve thrown out of their home BOA snatched love joy peace and happiness BOA caused the first family Adam and Eve To be thrown out of their home naked A home that was God's unencumbered gift BOA was happy when happiness left When joy love and peace took flight and went And distrust and enmity remain Where BOA can hiss and strike it's venom of loathe Until people are down Naked and have no home BOA is truly a disgrace Indeed BOA is a scrooge

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Čujte, vi sjene što živite u tami, naučite da svjetlo nije spas. Sretni, sretni ste vi u paklu sami koji ne vidite koliko svijet prezire vas.

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This is not uncommon in our supposedly secular age. Meditation, massage, monasteries, spas--the postmodern stomach, if not its soul, knows it needs purging.

SELAM Selam ima 70 milosti, a onaj ko prvi nazove selam ima 69 milosti, a ko primi samo jednu milost. EZAN U džamiji je spas, ona je naše sklonište, šejtan kad čuje ezan, bježi sve dok se čuje ezan. Ezan je upravo uzbuna da se idu u sklonište koje se zove džamija. To sklonište Allah najviše voli. Blago onom ko bude volio džamiju, biće u hladu Allahovom na Sudnjem danu, kad drugog hlada ne bude bilo.

The Jews refused to call the new capital by its Roman title, referring to it instead by its old name, Rakkath, a village mentioned by Joshua himself in his book. Herod Antipas had rebuilt that ruined village and transformed it into a Greek fantasy, with spas constructed around mineral hot springs, a stadium, and a splendid palace to suit his luxurious tastes. It was said that no good Jew would be willing to live there,

Vjere su kao čavli u tijelu propetoga... Mi umiremo, gospode, ne misleći na spas duše naše nego na spas od muka. Mi, nedužni grešnici.

Već smo davno digli ruke od svake nade u spas kad je do nas stigla vijest: dolazi potres. Spektakl još neviđen na ovim prostorima – sedam po Richteru, deset po Mercalliju – katastrofa čije će slike obići svijet onako kako mi sami nikada nećemo. Posljednjih stotinjak godina uporno nas je zaobilazio; tek bi svako malo poslao izvidnicu po okolnim brdima, da nam na minutu-dvije zaziba zidove i raspleše lustere nad glavama. Ali poruka je bila jasna: tu sam, ne zaboravite, nisam ni ja zaboravio na vas. U zadnje vrijeme poruke su stizale sve češće. Znali smo da je tek pitanje dana kada će nam doći u službeni posjet i okružen plavim rotirkama zatvoriti promet u čitavom gradu. Čekali smo ga sa zastavicama u rukama, uzbuđeni kao mala djeca, taj divan čas u kojem će nestati svi oljušteni betonski monoliti, sve zahrđale limenke, nakaradne staklenke, kartonske konstrukcije s kojih se obrušavaju balkoni; uramljene fotografije, crvljivi ormari, narančasti kredenci, magneti za frižider, zdjele za voće s neplaćenim računima. Bila je to naša borba za slobodu, za novi početak. Slobodu od nas samih, doduše, i novi početak kraja – ali ako je tko zaslužio potres, mi smo ga zaslužili.

When I arrived in the city yesterday, there was a package on my bed with a note from him. He’d had my favorite local treats delivered, as well as a Chanel handbag to mark the occasion, an advance copy of the newest Diane Chamberlain novel—autographed—as well as a list of reservations he’d made for me at various wait-listed restaurants and high-end day spas.

Spas je u rutini. U nemilosrdnoj rutini. Moramo živeti i raditi kao da se ništa ne dešava. Ako padnemo u iskušenje da poverujemo u izuzetnost situacije, uskoro ćemo verovati i u njenu nesavladivost. Propašćemo. Neće samo onaj čovek dole umreti. Pomrećemo svi. Stisnimo zube, recimo sami sebi da je sve u redu i da se ne dešava ništa naročito. I ne dešava se, zapravo. Ovako nešto je u nekim delovima sveta normalno stanje stvari. Samo, naravno, oni za nas ne postoje osim kao crvene kantice za pomoć, u koje s vremena na vreme ubacimo po koji peni.

A kada je bol prejak i kad udarci postanu neizdrživi, onda se zavučemo u sebe i čekamo da oluja prođe. Uvek dođe trenutak kada se neprijatelj umori. Uvek dođe trenutak kada se, najzad, ukaže nada za spas.

Retko se spasemo sasvim sami...

Joakim i Ozija gledahu me kao da od moje riječi ovisi njihov život. Pomislih: u koliki očaj utonuše dva velika glavara kad spas zaiskaše od slabe žene. Bijahu vrijedni žaljenja.

Concierge Medical Vacations provides the ability for people in other countries the ability to access excellent healthcare, at affordable prices while on vacation. We have access to JCAHO (Joint Commission on Accreditation of Healthcare Organizations) certified hospitals, as well as doctors, dentists, clinical laboratories, as well as other medical professionals and Medi spas, all at affordable prices. For example, we can arrange the Medical, Dental, Medi Spa, Clinical Laboratory.

U zimski sumrak Kuda pobeći u ovaj dan? U gusti sneg? U pusti vrt? Pasti u meki bolesni san kao na smet, pod led, u smrt? Kuda pobeći sa ovog dna? Visoko negde? Još dublje? Gde? Evo već teške ruke sna pribijaju te kocem za tle. Kuda pobeći u ovaj čas kristalno prazan, slep i čist? O gde su vrata? Gde je spas? To toneš već u tupi san. srce tek šuška ko suvi list. Zar nikud pobeći u ovaj dan?

And while we’re at it, you may have guessed that I also love Ambien; NyQuil (none of this melatonin shit); wine; tequila; piña coladas; margaritas (vodka is for people who want to punish themselves); CBD gummies (I’m solely there for the gummy); a rogue pill a friend has left over after a surgery; half-and-half with a splash of coffee, two Splenda, and three pumps of peppermint; candy; Cinnabon; Wetzel’s Pretzels; Annie’s Pretzels; furry slippers and fuzzy robes; trashy magazines; garbage television; unconfirmed gossip; spas; lasers; luxury; healers of all stripes; extravagant gifts; surprise parties; choreographed dances with friends at any age; karaoke; musicals; Christmas decorations that include a “table tree;” naps; joining gyms I will never go to; hiring trainers I pay up front and then never go to; starting radical diets I never follow through on . . . I overspend, I overeat, I overdo.

(Places with mineral springs had been called spas in honour of the famous hot springs of Spa, near Liège in Belgium, since the seventeenth century or before.)

In 1858 George Taylor had visited Sweden to investigate techniques of massage or “passive gymnastics,” methods that he understood could relieve the symptoms of chronically ill patients. On his return he had opened his own establishment. Housed in two handsome, adjacent townhouses on Sixth Avenue and West Thirty-Eighth Street, Dr. Taylor’s health sanitarium became one of the most popular and respected institutions of its day, a time when the wealthier middle classes, much like those of today, retreated to spas to benefit from regimens of water cures, exercise, massage, vegetarian diets, and—something that is offered rarely today—vibratory stimulation. Many of the treatments spawned by the craze for health reform were designed to cure neurasthenia and hysteria, along with symptoms such as listlessness and paralysis.

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