Starters Love Quotes

We burned with love for ourselves, all of us, starters of the fire we suffered- our love was the affliction for which only our love was the cure.

The sad fact is that I love Dickens and Donne and Keats and Eliot and Forster and Conrad and Fitzgerald and Kafka and Wilde and Orwell and Waugh and Marvell and Greene and Sterne and Shakespeare and Webster and Swift and Yeats and Joyce and Hardy, really, really love them. It’s just that they don’t love me back.

Her entire body quivered. "What is it about me that you're attracted to?" "For starters, the sexy underwear you put on beneath your clothes." "You've only seen my underwear once." "Twice," he said. "I looked down your top at the pier." "You did not." "Pink-and-white polka-dot bra." "Oh my God." "That's what I was thinking." -Mallory and Ty

As I got older, I got craftier and less obvious, but I’ve always put a lot of energy and effort into people liking me. That’s why I’ve never understood the compliment “effortless.” People love to say: “She just walked into the party, charming people with her effortless beauty.” I don’t understand that at all. What’s so wrong with effort, anyway? It means you care. What about the girl who “walked into the party, her determination to please apparent on her eager face”? Sure, she might seem a little crazy, and, yes, maybe everything she says sounds like conversation starters she found on a website, but at least she’s trying. Let’s give her a shot!

Well, what if..." Scarlet listed her head. "You said the control when your animal instincts will overpower your own thoughts right? But fighting and hunting aren't the only instincts wolves have. Aren't wolves...monogamous, for starters?" Her cheeks started to burn and she had to look away, scratching her fork into a set of initial. "And isn't the alpha male the one who's responsible for protecting everyone? Not only the pack, but his mate too?" Dropping the fork, she threw her hands into the air. "I'm not saying I think you and I are--after just--I know we just met and that's...but it's not out of the questions, is it? That your instincts to protect me could be as strong as your instincts to kill?

Everybody sees the ants?" He looks at me and says, "Well, how many people do you think live perfect lives, son? Aren't we all victims of something at some time or another?" "I don't follow." "Left hand red!" he says. Two ants fall on this turn, and the ant laughter gets louder. "Well, think about it. How many bad things can be done to a person? You got murder and assault, rape and robbery for starters. Just with those you're looking at some big numbers of how many people see the ants." He calls, "Left foot blue!" I say, "Huh," because I'm not sure how many people he means. "There's battery, conspiracy, extortion, slander, defamation and harassment, child abuse, stalking-the list is long, isn't it? Don't forget that every crime has hundreds of victims-everyone who knew and loved the victim and the criminal. That shit can trickle down." "All those people see the ants?" "Yep. Right hand green!" "Wow." "Yeah," he says. "If there are people who don't see 'em, I'd say we outnumber them a million to one.

At some point, I'd like to have an origina l idea. And I'd like to be fancied, or maybe loved even, but I'll wait and see.

If we go to the depths of anything, we will begin to knock upon something substantial, “real,” and with a timeless quality to it. We will move from the starter kit of “belief” to an actual inner knowing. This is most especially true if we have ever (1) loved deeply, (2) accompanied someone through the mystery of dying, (3) or stood in genuine life-changing awe before mystery, time, or beauty.

For starters, I don't even know what my dreams are. All I know is that I feel... restless. And I'd love to do something different, you know? Something new.

I especially loved the Old Testament. Even as a kid I had a sense of it being slightly illicit. As though someone had slipped an R-rated action movie into a pile of Disney DVDs. For starters Adam and Eve were naked on the first page. I was fascinated by Eve's ability to always stand in the Garden of Eden so that a tree branch or leaf was covering her private areas like some kind of organic bakini. But it was the Bible's murder and mayhem that really got my attention. When I started reading the real Bible I spent most of my time in Genesis Exodus 1 and 2 Samuel and 1 and 2 Kings. Talk about violent. Cain killed Abel. The Egyptians fed babies to alligators. Moses killed an Egyptian. God killed thousands of Egyptians in the Red Sea. David killed Goliath and won a girl by bringing a bag of two hundred Philistine foreskins to his future father-in-law. I couldn't believe that Mom was so happy about my spending time each morning reading about gruesome battles prostitutes fratricide murder and adultery. What a way to have a "quiet time." While I grew up with a fairly solid grasp of Bible stories I didn't have a clear idea of how the Bible fit together or what it was all about. I certainly didn't understand how the exciting stories of the Old Testament connected to the rather less-exciting New Testament and the story of Jesus. This concept of the Bible as a bunch of disconnected stories sprinkled with wise advice and capped off with the inspirational life of Jesus seems fairly common among Christians. That is so unfortunate because to see the Bible as one book with one author and all about one main character is to see it in its breathtaking beauty.

Today Means Amen Dear you, whoever you are, however you got here, this is exactly where you are supposed to be. This moment has waited its whole life for you. This moment is your lover and you are a soldier. Come home, baby, it's over. You don't need to suffer anymore. Dear you, this moment is your surprise party. You are both hiding in the dark and walking through the door. This moment is a hallelujah. This moment is your permission slip to finally open that love letter you've been hiding from yourself, the one you wrote when you were little when you still danced like a sparkler at dusk. Do you remember the moment you realized they were watching? When you became ashamed of how much light you were holding? When you first learned how to unlove yourself? Dear you, the word today means amen in every language. Today, we made it. Today, I'm going to love you. Today, I'm going to love myself. Today, the boxcutter will rust in the garbage. The noose will forget how to hold you, today, today-- Dear you, and I have always meant you, nothing would be the same if you did not exist. You, whose voice is someone's favorite voice, someone's favorite face to wake up to. Nothing would be the same if you did not exist. You, the teacher, the starter's gun, the lantern in the night who offers not a way home, but the courage to travel farther into the dark. You, the lover, who worships the taste of her body, who is the largest tree ring in his heart, who does not let fear ration your love. You, the friend, the sacred chorus of how can I help. You, who have felt more numb than holy, more cracked than mosaic. Who have known the tiles of a bathroom by heart, who have forgotten what makes you worth it. You, the forgiven, the forgiver, who belongs right here in this moment. You, this clump of cells, this happy explosion that happened to start breathing, and by the grace of whatever is up there, you got here. You made it this whole way: through the nights that swallowed you whole, the mornings that arrived in pieces. The scabs, the gravel, the doubt, the hurt, the hurt, the hurt is over. Today, you made it. You made it. You made it here.

The dream that we are our fathers. I walked to the Brod, 41 without knowing why, and looked into my reflection in the water. I couldn’t look away. What was the image that pulled me in after it? What was it that I loved? And then I recognized it. So simple. In the water I saw my father’s face, and that face saw the face of its father, and so on, and so on, reflecting backward to the beginning of time, to the face of God, in whose image we were created. We burned with love for ourselves, all of us, starters of the fire we suffered—our love was the affliction for which only our love was the cure . . .

Many freeze types unconsciously believe that people and danger are synonymous, and that safety lies in solitude. Outside of fantasy, many give up entirely on the possibility of love. The freeze response, also known as the camouflage response, often triggers the individual into hiding, isolating and eschewing human contact as much as possible. This type can be so frozen in retreat mode that it seems as if their starter button is stuck in the ‘off’ position. It is usually the most profoundly abandoned child - ‘the lost child’ - who is forced to ‘choose’ and habituate to the freeze response… Unable to successfully employ fight, flight or fawn responses, the freeze type’s defenses develop around classical dissociation.

In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in history; I experienced adolescence by association. My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction. They

You and Nick are good together," Jake said. "Probably in more ways than you know." "Let's not go there." "You keep saying that to yourself, but maybe it's time for a rethink." "Since when are you interested in my love life?" "You don't have one. You're all about the job. With Bob, you can have both." "You don't know anything about Bob." "I know it's got to be Nick, because there isn't anybody else," Jake said. "Who could possibly compete?" "Someone who isn't a criminal on the FBI's Most Wanted list for starters." "How boring would that guy be? He couldn't match the excitement Nick brings to your life.

Jack?" "Mmmm?" The band was playing a softer song, mellow and slow. "Why did you ask me out when you did?" I tried to sound casual. "What do you mean?" "I mean,did something specific happen to make you ask me out?" "Yes," he said. "What was it?" Had I thrown myself at Jack Caputo? Had I done something to get in Lacey's way? "You remember the first game of the season?" "Yeah," I said. It was Jack's first game as starting quarterback, the youngest starter in school history. I remembered sitting in the second row, directly behind the team bench. "After I threw for the first touchdown of the game?" "Yes." I still couldn't figure out where he was going with this.Had I flashed him or something,and blocked it out of my memory? I was pretty sure I wasn't holding up any large signs declaring my love or anything. "Our defense took the field, and I was on the bench.When I turned around to look at the fans..." He paused. Oh,no. "What did I do?" He smiled. "You looked at me.Not the game." He sighed,as if reliving the memory. I felt my face scrunch up in confusion. "That's it?" "That's it." He shrugged. "It was the first time I thought there might be a chance. I asked Jules about it." I bit my lip. "Apparently she doesn't understand that trusty sidekicks aren't supposed to spill secrets." In a flash,I was suspended in air, the back of my head inches from the ground, Jack's face a breath away from mine, his lips in a wicked grin. I gasped,more from surprise at the sudden dip than from fear. "There are no secrets between us,Becks." His smile remained,but his eyes were intense.

You really want to know?” He drags out the suspense. “Yes.” I grow restless. “Spill.” “Well, for starters… most guys our age aren’t looking to date.” He elaborates. “They just want to fuck around. And those who do want to date are only looking for a girl to make them feel good about themselves.” “Meaning?” “Meaning they want her to laugh at their jokes, stroke their egos, give good head and… that’s pretty much it.” He draws a small smile out of me. “So, when guys like that see a girl like you, a girl who doesn’t look easy or desperate, they get intimidated. Label her high-maintenance and run like hell. You’re beauty and brains, Vee. You’re an immature high school boy’s worst nightmare.

Here is a key insight for any startup: You may think yourself a puny midget among giants when you stride out into a marketplace, and suddenly confront such a giant via litigation or direct competition. But the reality is that larger companies often have much more to fear from you than you from them. For starters, their will to fight is less than yours. Their employees are mercenaries who don’t deeply care, and suffer from the diffuse responsibility and weak emotional investment of a larger organization. What’s an existential struggle to you is merely one more set of tasks to a tuned-out engineer bored of his own product, or another legal hassle to an already overworked legal counsel thinking more about her next stock-vesting date than your suit. Also, large companies have valuable public brands they must delicately preserve, and which can be assailed by even small companies such as yours, particularly in a tight-knit, appearances-conscious ecosystem like that of Silicon Valley. America still loves an underdog, and you’ll be surprised at how many allies come out of the woodwork when some obnoxious incumbent is challenged by a scrappy startup with a convincing story. So long as you maintain unit cohesion and a shared sense of purpose, and have the basic rudiments of living, you will outlast, outfight, and out-rage any company that sets out to destroy you. Men with nothing to lose will stop at nothing to win.

Line up some “multidimensional” support. When it’s nose-to-the-grindstone time, we tend to get the grindstone kind of people on board—suppliers, designers, editors, marketers, “work/task” people. But this is precisely the time when you need some spiritually informed intelligence to back you up: a naturopath, a trainer, green smoothies, a prayer group. All that woo-woo love and insight will go a long way in helping you navigate the heavy-duty logistics on a daily basis.

I might have felt unimportant pitted against the awesome might of the mountains. I did not. Rather, on that mountain top I found something important that I had never known before: an awareness of a vital connection between me and the Authority behind all this beauty. I remembered my conversation with Dr. MacNeill that afternoon in my schoolroom. He had said that he believed in some “starter-force” but that he could not credit a loving God with concern for individuals. But the “starter-force” behind the magnificence displayed before my wondering eyes had an authority behind it that could be no abstraction, for it had immediacy—known and felt. Now I knew how to answer the doctor’s question. Call this what you might—“starter-force,” “God,” “Father”—it was personal all right. It thrust deep into me. It pulled. And it insisted that life was precious—all of life—Fairlight and I, and every bird and every squirrel and every tree reaching through its forest cover for the light. It cried that all effort was worthwhile; that doubt and fear and discouragement were a desecration of beauty, that hope was always right. It insisted that small achievement was not enough; that hopes and dreams must be large enough to stand up beside those soaring summits and not once bow their heads in shame.

Brace yourselves, girls: Soda is liquid Satan. It is the devil. It is garbage. There is nothing in soda that should be put into your body. For starters, soda’s high levels of phosphorous can increase calcium loss from the body, as can its sodium and caffeine. [Cousens, Conscious Eating, 475] You know what this means—bone loss, which may lead to osteoporosis. And the last time we checked, sugar, found in soda by the boatload, does not make you skinny! Now don’t go patting yourself on the back if you drink diet soda. That stuff is even worse. Aspartame (an ingredient commonly found in diet sodas and other sugar-free foods) has been blamed for a slew of scary maladies, like arthritis, birth defects, fibromyalgia, Alzheimer’s, lupus, multiple sclerosis, and diabetes.2 When methyl alcohol, a component of aspartame, enters your body, it turns into formaldehyde. Formaldehyde is toxic and carcinogenic (cancer-causing). 3 Laboratory scientists use formaldehyde as a disinfectant or preservative. They don’t fucking drink it. Perhaps you have a lumpy ass because you are preserving your fat cells with diet soda. The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has received more complaints about aspartame than any other ingredient to date.4 Want more bad news? When aspartame is paired with carbs, it causes your brain to slow down its production of serotonin.5 A healthy level of serotonin is needed to be happy and well balanced. So drinking soda can make you fat, sick, and unhappy.

I love your laugh. It’s like the sun breaking through in the middle of an Iskalt ice storm. The world is so cold until I hear that sound.

God, please let this not be our last dance...

A French conversation starter is more subtle. Work is considered boring, money is out of the question, politics comes later (and only in like-minded company). Vacation is a safe bet - it's no exaggeration to say that French people are always going on, returning from, or planning a holiday. But more often than not, social class in France is judged by your relationship to culture.

How would she fill the days? She had no idea. The trick of it, she told herself, is to be courageous and bold and make a difference. Not change the world exactly, just the bit around you. Go out there with your double first, your passion and your new Smith Corona electric typewriter and work hard at....something. Change lives through art maybe. Write beautifully. Cherish your friends, stay true to your principles, live passionately and fully and well. Experience new things. Love and be loved if at all possible. Eat sensibly. Stuff like that.

But germs are the most common snowflake starters and lie at the heart of 85 percent of all flakes.2 So next time you gaze at a lovely snowstorm, inform your favorite germophobe or hypochondriac that living bacteria sit shivering in most of those untold billions of flakes. Then hand him or her a snow cone or organize a catch-a-snowflake-on-your-tongue party. Once the ice-forming process is started, more molecules join the party, and the crystal grows. It can ultimately become either a snowflake or a rough granule of ice called by the odd name graupel. A snowflake contains ten quintillion water molecules. That’s ten million trillion. Ten snowflakes—which can fit on your thumb tip—have the same number of molecules as there are grains of sand on the earth. Or stars in the visible universe. How many flakes, how many molecules fashioned the snowy landscape I was observing as I drove east? It numbed the brain.

So… hypothetically speaking, you’d be okay with me being pregnant?” He stops to think about it. “Hypothetically speaking, I want to marry your ass and have babies with you. How’s that?” I’m smiling so wide I’m sure you can see it from outer-space. I respond the only way I can think of, by gripping his collar into my fists and crashing my lips to his for a long, heated kiss. “Hypothetically speaking, you’re crazy.” I pant. Xavier pouts. “Why?” “For starters, we’re nineteen and you’ll change your mind.” “Okay, but what if—” Xavier pecks the tip of my nose. —hypothetically speaking, I ask you in a year or two once you understand how much I could never change my fucking mind about you even if I wanted to?” My heart is beating so fast you’d think it’s trying to go into cardiac arrest. “Well, then, hypothetically, I’d say yes.” “Cool. So, hypothetically, can we go the fuck home now so I can strip you naked and—” he leans forward to whisper the rest in my ear.

In the water I saw my father’s face, and that face saw the face of its father, and so on, and so on, reflecting backward to the beginning of time, to the face of God, in whose image we were created. We burned with love for ourselves, all of us, starters of the fire we suffered—our love was the affliction for which only our love was the cure . . .

In a quick moment, Cole was in front of her. Simply there. He leaned in, their breath mingling. His warm lips touched hers lightly, and he kissed her. 
 His scent was that of the pine forest, the air and the land around them, and it dazzled her. His strength, his determination to treat her exactly the way she wanted to be treated, ever-changing as it was—dazzled her more.

Everything old people say about time is true. For starters, it flies. As a kid living through semi-eternal summer vacations, this is hard to believe. But as an adult? Get married. Have children. And then sit back, stunned, watching an absolute roar of gorgeous moments and hilarious moments and exhausting moments disappear—quickly and in tragedy or marching off at the traditional pace, but disappear they must. Snap a photo or two. Read verses about futility. Watching one’s small humans age and grow up packs a serious punch. It’s like being stuck in a dream unable to speak, like being a ghost that can see but not touch, like standing on a huge grate while a storm rains oiled diamonds, like collecting feathers in a storm. Parents in love with their kids are all amnesiacs, trying to remember, trying to cherish moments, ghosts trying to hold the world. Being mortals, having a finite mind when surrounded by joy that is perpetually rolling back into the rear view is like always having something important on the tips of our tongues, something on the tips of our fingers, always slipping away, always ducking our embrace. No matter how many pictures we take, no matter how many scrapbooks we make, no matter how many moments we invade with a rolling camera, we will die. We will vanish. We cannot grab and hold.

to either release you from it or be with you in it. God gives us everything we need, but it is up to us to decide what we will believe, what we will trust God for, and what we will choose to focus our lives on. That’s why scripture says we only need a small mustard seed of faith. If we are simply inclined to believe God, he will build on that starter faith and we can become faith giants without limits. He creates it in us. Today I choose to believe God. Will you join me? For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor un-circumcision has any value. The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love (Gal 5:6). Faith is the only thing that counts.

Mingle • Be the connector—introduce people to each other who may not otherwise connect. • Be a conversation fire starter; point out what people have in common as you are introducing them. • Seek out the folks who may appear to be shy, or awkward, or wallflowers. Find ways to build trust and comfort. Engage them with a kind word to pull them out of their shell. • Arrive early and stay late; connect with people before and after your event. • Stretch beyond your comfort zone to speak with, sit with, and start conversations with people whom you do not know. • Offer to refill someone’s drink or clear their plate. • Encourage introductions: “There is someone whom I would love for you to meet . . .

It’s like I always say about the whole Jesus Christ thing. If he loves everyone, no matter what, then why is his love worth anything? I never understood that. If a teacher gives everyone in class an A, then the A loses its value. When a stripper tells every customer her “real” name because it makes each customer feel special, it isn’t special at all but just a manipulation. (Not to mention that “real” name is just a second fake name.) And men fall for this because they desperately need to believe a superhot half-naked chick wants them. Just like people desperately need to feel loved by someone, even if it’s love from a biblical character who inherently loves all creatures. I don’t want to be loved by someone who loves everyone. I want to be loved by someone who loves no one, because that makes the love special.

Sunday brunch is an easy, pleasant way to entertain a largish group, especially in the country. Americans who overslept invented the word brunch, but the ingredients and the casual atmosphere bear a strong resemblance to breakfast in an English country house or to a French midnight supper. The choice of menu can be as wide as the imagination. Practically anything goes — from hearty breakfast dishes such as filled omelettes, kidneys, chicken livers and bacon, sausages, and eggs Benedict. Something pretty in aspic, or a salmon mousse in a fish-shaped mold, makes a lovely centerpiece. Best of all, most of the meal can be prepared way ahead of time and it can be managed without outside help — if, that is, the hostess puts in a lot of work the day before and early that morning. People can wander in when they feel like it, so there’s no need to tint this one. Drinks are no problem. A big punch bowl with chunks of fresh fruit makes a nice starter, and mixings for bloody Marys, screwdrivers, or bullshots can be left on a table for guests to serve themselves. Of course there should be a big pot of very good coffee.

Do you think she was like that?” “I’ve found it is helpful when talking to use actual subjects and context so your listener can understand what, exactly, you are trying to convey.” I rolled my eyes. “Like you’re so big on clear communication.” “Reth, I . . .” I paused, then took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” “Whatever are you sorry for?” I shrugged. “How about threatening to kill you, for starters.” “That is an excellent place to start, although I must tell you those threats were rather more endearing and humorous than frightening.” I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. You really came through for me when no one else could, and I know Lend wouldn’t be here without your help. So thank you.” I leaned my head against his shoulder and it seemed like he almost missed a step, but then he continued on as graceful as before. I lifted my head back up, staring ahead and straining for my first glimpse of the pond. “Why did you do it? Help me, I mean. I know you don’t love Lend.” His golden voice was as deliciously warm as it had always been, wrapping around me in a comforting blanket, insulating me from the bite of the December air. “No, but I do love you, silly creature that you are.

What It’s Like to Be a Nine I’ll do almost anything to avoid conflict. I’m not a self-starter. Sometimes I get lost in doing trivial tasks, while things that really need to get done get put off. I’m happy to go along with what others want to do. I tend to procrastinate. People seem to want me to be more decisive. When I get distracted and go off task I give my attention to whatever is happening right in front of me. I often choose the path of least resistance. I find routines at work and home comforting, and I feel unsettled when something throws them off. Others see me as more peaceful than I really am. I have a hard time getting started, but once I do I really get things done. I’m a “what you see is what you get” person. I don’t think of myself as being very important. People think I’m a good listener even though I find it hard to pay attention in a long conversation. I don’t like to take work home with me. Sometimes I tune out and think about the past. I don’t enjoy big social gatherings as much as a quiet evening at home with the ones I love. Being outdoors is very soothing for me. I am often quietly stubborn when people put demands on me. It would feel selfish to spend a whole day doing whatever I want to do.

> First, move out of that big Manhattan loft and head upstate. You'll find a little place you can afford and start a new life. Maybe get a job teaching at a community college. Maybe meet a girl at Best Buy, start dating. She'll put up with your crazy habits. You'll put up with her musical tastes. > I don't understand. What's going on here? > Time will pass. You'll make it official. You'll settle down, get a starter house. Two boys. Yellow Lab. Minivan. > That. . . That isn't me. > Why not? It could be. You'll make art in the basement for yourself for a while. The boys'll get married. Have kids of their own. Maybe y'get divorced. Meet someone new. And yeah, you'll wonder what could have been. But less, as the years go by. "Just wasn't meant to be," you'll say. And there'll be good times along the way. Sweet memories. Until it starts to wind down. Until your body fails. Until you don't recognize the world around you. Until it's time to go. > That. . . isn't me. It can't be. > Why not? It's a decent life. Food, sex, running water, a roof. Not to mention love and family. Those aren't small things. > But it's not enough. > You kids, you're so spoiled! Y'know billions would kill for a life like that. So what if the art thing didn't work out? Is it really that important? > It's all I have.

SHOUT FOR JOY Shout triumphantly to the Lord, all the earth. Serve the Lord with gladness; come before Him with joyful songs. Psalm 100:1-2 HCSB The 100th Psalm reminds us that the entire earth should “Shout for joy to the Lord.” As God’s children, we are blessed beyond measure, but sometimes, as busy women living in a demanding world, we are slow to count our gifts and even slower to give thanks to the Giver. Our blessings include life and health, family and friends, freedom and possessions—for starters. And, the gifts we receive from God are multiplied when we share them. May we always give thanks to God for His blessings, and may we always demonstrate our gratitude by sharing our gifts with others. The 118th Psalm reminds us that, “This is the day which the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it” (v. 24, NASB). May we celebrate this day and the One who created it. If you can forgive the person you were, accept the person you are, and believe in the person you will become, you are headed for joy. So celebrate your life. Barbara Johnson God knows everything. He can manage everything, and He loves us. Surely this is enough for a fullness of joy that is beyond words. Hannah Whitall Smith A TIMELY TIP Every day should be a cause for celebration. By celebrating the gift of life, you protect your heart from the dangers of pessimism, regret, hopelessness, and bitterness.

In the white bowl, the paper caught fire, burning like a desperate flower, blooming and dying at the same time. Its scents came on tendrils of smoke, wrapping themselves around me. We missed you. I inhaled, and Victoria's kitchen disappeared around me. It was early morning in the cabin, winter; I could smell the woodstove working to keep the frost at bay. My father had fed the sourdough starter, and the tang of it played off the warm scent of coffee grounds. I could smell my own warmth in the air, rising from the blankets I'd tossed aside. I remembered that morning. It was the first time I ever saw the machine. I must have been three, maybe four years old. I'd woken up and seen my father, standing in the middle of the room, a box in his hands, bright and shiny and magical. I remembered racing across the floor, my bare feet tingling from the chill. What is it, Papa? It's wonderful. I want to know. And he'd put the shiny box aside and lifted me up high and said, You are the most wonderful thing in the world, little lark. The last of the paper crumbled to ash. I stood there, trying to remember what had happened next- but I couldn't. Did my father show me the machine, or did we go outside and chop wood? You'd think I'd remember, but I didn't. What I remembered was how it felt to be held in his arms. To be loved that way, before everything else happened. And in that moment, I felt whole. "Oh," I heard Victoria say, and when I turned to her, her eyes were filled with tears.

Kamimura has been whispering all week of a sacred twenty-four-hour ramen spot located on a two-lane highway in Kurume where truckers go for the taste of true ramen. The shop is massive by ramen standards, big enough to fit a few trucks along with those drivers, and in the midafternoon a loose assortment of castaways and road warriors sit slurping their noodles. Near the entrance a thick, sweaty cauldron boils so aggressively that a haze of pork fat hangs over the kitchen like waterfall mist. While few are audacious enough to claim ramen is healthy, tonkotsu enthusiasts love to point out that the collagen in pork bones is great for the skin. "Look at their faces!" says Kamimura. "They're almost seventy years old and not a wrinkle! That's the collagen. Where there is tonkotsu, there is rarely a wrinkle." He's right: the woman wears a faded purple bandana and sad, sunken eyes, but even then she doesn't look a day over fifty. She's stirring a massive cauldron of broth, and I ask her how long it's been simmering for. "Sixty years," she says flatly. This isn't hyperbole, not exactly. Kurume treats tonkotsu like a French country baker treats a sourdough starter- feeding it, regenerating, keeping some small fraction of the original soup alive in perpetuity. Old bones out, new bones in, but the base never changes. The mother of all ramen. Maruboshi Ramen opened in 1958, and you can taste every one of those years in the simple bowl they serve. There is no fancy tare, no double broth, no secret spice or unexpected toppings: just pork bones, noodles, and three generations of constant simmering. The flavor is pig in its purest form, a milky broth with no aromatics or condiments to mitigate the purity of its porcine essence.

Here where vegetables are scarce—or, it seems, scarcely eaten—there are times when ham (gorgeous, fantastic ham!) is the starter, the vegetable, and the main dish, all in one.

Calling me when he was downstairs, I locked the door and slipped into the driver’s seat. The first thing Niko did when I got in the car was look down at my feet. Judging by the frown on his face he didn’t approve of my pick for tonight’s adventure. “What?” “I know you got flyer shit than that in your closet.” “What’s wrong with my boots?” “For starter’s they’re ugly as fuck.” “Uggs are not ugly and they’re comfortable. They make them in men’s too, I can get you a pair.” Niko didn’t seem like the Uggs for men type but the look on his face was hilarious when I said. What wasn’t funny was him slamming on the damn breaks like he was about to hit a dog. “What is wrong with you?” “You and them Uggs about to be getting out of my whip if you ever say some crazy shit like that again.

Fuck’ is a great word,” mused Lina. “You’re going to love it. For starters, you can use it to draw attention to what you’re saying, so if something’s really great, it’s fucking great, or when it really sucks, it fucking sucks. It’s kind of like the Swiss Army knife of English: you can use it in so many ways.

Well, for starters, my name isn’t Martin. It’s Masters, and I’m here for my son.

Once you are debt-free except for your mortgage, bump your starter emergency fund up to three to six months' worth of expenses. That will be your fully funded emergency fund.

People don’t want to believe they’re wrong about anything,” he says, “but particularly not about love. For starters, it’s supposed to be our wisest decision. It’s not; it’s probably the stupidest.

I shut my eyes and let myself drift back to Australia, the warm sun, the tropical nights, and the huge fruit bats flying across star-studded skies. Once again, the jangle of the phone jolted me upright. Not again! Now what did she want? Reluctantly I picked up the receiver. “G’day, mate,” said the voice on the other end of the line. “It’s Stevo calling from Australia. How you going?” Well, for starters, I was going without breathing for a few moments. “Good,” I stammered. Luckily, I didn’t have to talk, because Steve started right in on what was going on with the zoo. “The weather is heating up and the crocs will be laying soon,” he said, and I could barely hear him over the pounding of my heart. “I’ve got a chance to take a little time before summer hits,” he added. I waited for what seemed like a long beat, still breathless. “I’m coming to Oregon in ten days,” he said. “I’d really love to see you.” Yes! I was floored. Ten days. That would be…Thanksgiving. “Steve,” I said, “do you know about the American holiday of Thanksgiving?” “Too right,” he said cheerfully, but it was obvious that he didn’t. “We all get together as a family,” I explained. “We eat our brains out and take walks and watch a lot of football--American football, you know, gridiron, not your rugby league football.” I was babbling. “Do you want to come and share Thanksgiving with my family?” Steve didn’t seem to notice my fumbling tongue. “I’d be happy to,” he answered. “That’d be brilliant.” “Great,” I said. “Great,” he said. “Send me all the details, your flight and everything,” I said. “I will,” he promised. Then he hung up. As suddenly as he was there, he was gone. I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time that night, trying to convince myself that it hadn’t been a dream. Steve had called, and now he was coming to see me. This was going to be fabulous.

her legs and lifted. “Well, for starters, I thought we could take that bath you were talking about.” “And then?” “We’ll see where the night takes us.” “As long as it takes us someplace together, I’m fine with an adventure,” Ivy offered. “We might want to grab the pie first, though. I’ve never eaten pie in a bathtub and that somehow sounds magical to me.” “I love the way your mind works.” “You just want the pie.” “I just want you and the pie. I’m a simple man.” “And yet you complicate everything in my life and make it so much better.” Jack’s heart warmed at her words. “Right back at you, honey. Now grab that pie. It’s time for a Thanksgiving treat. I have a feeling this is going to be one for the record books.” “That makes two of us.

She was like a black hole, an irresistible force. No, that wasn’t right. For starters, black holes were terrifying, and there was no force involved. Melody was more like the sun. She brought light into their lives, showed hidden pitfalls, and filled them all with warmth. She nurtured and loved, despite experiencing so little of that in her own life.

Happy couples strive to be one another’s biggest fans. Hebrews 10:24 says, “Let us take thought of how to spur one another on to love and good works.” While it is possible to overdo appreciation, this rarely happens. As a marriage and family therapist, I have never seen—nor heard of—a partner complaining, “My spouse appreciates me too much.” So, make your praise sincere and voice your appreciation often.

Proverbs 28:20 says, “A faithful person will have an abundance of blessings.” Happy couples fill each other’s love banks by being faithful in the little things. It is during the ordinary days of marriage that extraordinary trust is developed. In short, faithfulness builds trust, and trust is the foundation of a happy marriage!

Yet, as bad as having an overdrawn bank account is, overdrawing from our spouse’s love bank is far worse. According to Stepfamily.org, one out of two marriages ends in divorce, and the average marriage only lasts seven years.4 Prior to divorce come feelings of emptiness, hurt, anger, and despair. Divorce is rarely a sudden act. More often, it is the final destination of couples who have amassed a gaping love debt.

On the other hand, miserable couples put forth great efforts to force change. There is little patience for individual differences. The renowned psychologist William Glasser called these attempts to control our loved ones, external control psychology. Each of the seven habits of miserable couples is an external control psychology tactic.

When others accept our weaknesses, we are better able to move on. Surprisingly, the act of acceptance—and not blaming and shaming—is precisely what opens the door to dynamic change and growth. Acceptance is a principle modeled by Christ Himself. Romans 5:8 says, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” God accepts you as you are, warts and all. Happy couples follow His lead by accepting their spouse where he or she is at and allowing change to occur over time.

Happy couples stay curious. Remember, intimacy is into-me-see. You and your spouse are continually changing. There will always be new things to learn about each other, so keep talking and stay curious. May your marriage overflow with happiness and love in the years ahead!

Western society, pride is more likely to be exalted as a virtue than condemned as vice. But what is it? Just a word, for starters, and words change meaning with time. What did they mean by “pride”? Everything hangs on its definition. That definition is the subject of this book. Because of pride, the image and effectiveness of the Church have been compromised. One direct consequence is conflict: within families, congregations, and communities. Another is that the witness of the Church is tarnished in the eyes of the world. Rather than being known by our love for one another,[2] we are known for our self-righteousness, judgmentalism, dogmatism, and, in certain quarters, fierce anti-intellectualism. God has, and always will resist the proud. To question whether God would resist the Church herself is to miss the point entirely. He will especially resist pride among His followers, for we are the ones to whom much has been given – and forgiven. We, of all people, should know better.

Some things about being human can't be learned from your own kind..

A dog is more than the canine animal. A dog is everywhere you go together, every living creature you meet along the way, and the human you become with your canine

A minute, fully lived, can feel like all the time in the world.

The Financial Priority List Starter emergency fund (three months of living expenses in a high-yield savings account). 1.5.  If your employer matches your contributions to a 401(k) or 403(b) retirement savings account, pay in as much as you can. Pay down high-interest debt (anything with interest over 7 percent). Invest for retirement while also paying off lower-cost debt (again, any debt racking up less than 7 percent in interest, such as most student and car loans, mortgages, and so forth). Save for the Big Life Stuff.

AMERICAN WHEAT OR RYE BEER Refreshing wheat or rye beers can display more hop character and less yeast character than their German cousins. This is a beginner-level style that can be brewed by extract or all-grain methods. Ferments at 65° F (18° C). OG FG IBU Color Alcohol 1.040-1.055 (10-13.6 °P) 1.008-1.013 (2.1-3.3 °P) 15-30 3-6 SRM 6-12 EBC 4-5.5% ABV 3.2-4.3% ABW Keys to Brewing American Wheat or Rye Beer: This easy-drinking beer style usually has a subtly grainy wheat character, slightly reminiscent of crackers. The hop flavor and aroma are more variable, with some versions having no hop character, while others have a fairly noticeable citrus or floral flair. Even when the hops are more prominent, they should not be overwhelming, and the hop bitterness should be balanced. The rye version of this style has a slight spicy, peppery note from the addition of rye in place of some or all of the wheat. The key mistake many brewers make is in assuming that American wheat beer should be similar to German hefeweizen. However, this style should not have the clove and banana character of a hefeweizen. This beer should not be as malty (bready) as a German hefeweizen, either, so all-grain brewers will want to use a less malty American two-row malt. To get the right fermentation profile, it is important to use a fairly neutral yeast strain, one that doesn’t produce a lot of esters like the German wheat yeasts do. While you can substitute yeast like White Labs WLP001 California Ale, Wyeast 1056 American Ale, or Fermentis Safale US-05, a better choice is one that provides some crispness, such as an altbier or Kölsch yeast, and fermentation at a cool temperature. RECIPE: KENT'S HOLLOW LEG It was the dead of winter and I was in Amarillo, Texas, on a business trip with Kent, my co-worker. That evening at dinner I watched as Kent drank a liter of soda, several glasses of water, and three or four liters of American wheat beer. I had a glass of water and one liter of beer, and I went to the bathroom twice. Kent never left the table. When I asked Kent about his superhuman bladder capacity, he thought it was due to years of working as a programmer glued to his computer and to the wonderful, easy-drinking wheat beer. This recipe is named in honor of Kent’s amazing bladder capacity. This recipe has a touch more hop character than many bottled, commercial examples on the market, but a lot less than some examples you might find. If you want less hop character, feel free to drop the late hop additions. If you really love hops and want to make a beer with lots of hop flavor and aroma, increase the late hop amounts as you see fit. However, going past the amounts listed below might knock it out of consideration in many competitions for being “too hoppy for style,” no matter how well it is brewed. OG: 1.052 (12.8 °P) FG: 1.012 (3.0 °P) ADF: 77% IBU: 20 Color: 5 SRM (10 EBC) Alcohol: 5.3% ABV (4.1% ABW) Boil: 60 minutes Pre-Boil Volume: 7 gallons (26.5L) Pre-Boil Gravity: 1.044 (11.0 °P) Extract Weight Percent Wheat LME (4 °L) 8.9 lbs. (4.03kg) 100 Hops   IBU Willamette 5.0% AA, 60 min. 1.0 oz. (28g) 20.3 Willamette 5.0% AA, 0 min. 0.3 oz. (9g) 0 Centennial 9.0% AA, 0 min. 0.3 oz. (9g) 0 Yeast White Labs WLP320 American Hefeweizen, Wyeast 1010 American Wheat, or Fermentis Safale US-05 Fermentation and Conditioning Use 10 grams of properly rehydrated dry yeast, 2 liquid yeast packages, or make a starter. Ferment at 65° F (18° C). When finished, carbonate the beer to approximately 2.5 volumes. All-Grain Option Replace the wheat extract with 6 lbs. (2.72kg) American two-row malt and 6 lbs. (2.72kg) wheat malt. Mash at 152° F (67° C). Rye Option This beer can also be made with a portion of malted rye. The rye gives the beer a slightly spicy note and adds a certain creamy mouthfeel. Replace the wheat extract with 6 lbs. (2.72kg) American two-row malt, 3.75 lbs. (1.70kg) rye malt, and 3 lbs. (1.36kg) wheat malt. Mash at 152° F (67° C).

You see, life is an inherently benevolent process. When you start to view your life with even a smidgen of detachment, the curtains begin to draw back. You see that, for starters, you actually can indeed draw back the curtains, and then you see the old dusty stage set that is ready to go. And you choose just that: you choose for it to go; you choose to purify. You choose to unshackle the gorgeous beast within, to let it out and talk to it, to see what it wants. You choose to run your fingers through its crazy, ratty hair, pulling out whatever little bugs got too cozy in there over the years. You give it a glass of water and a shower, and you show it the sun. You welcome it. All of this to say: Get to know the master within you. Fall at the feet of your Self.

And then there’s Stella. Stella is an interior decorator who’s been in the business for more than a decade. She had a thriving design firm and accolades out the wazoo. And yet, she still felt a niggling need to go to school to get certified. “Why would you want to waste your time doing that?” I asked. “You have a waiting list for your clients.” “Well, I’d feel more legit,” she said. FOR BUSINESS For the love of God and the information highway, please write your bio in first person—we all know you wrote it anyway. One of the most highly trafficked pages on small business websites is the “About” page. People are hiring you, paying attention to you, coming to see you. So they want to hear from… you. “You made more than a hundred grand last year and your clients refer you all the time. Isn’t that legit?” I asked. She was resisting, so I ramped up my persisting. “You know what you should say in your bio?” I said to her. “Say that you’re self-taught, in eighteen-point bold type. Let people know that you never set foot in a design college because you were too busy sewing your own drapes, shopping for textiles with your grandma, and learning how to build cabinets after school with your dad. It’s in your blood. Self-taught says ‘extra amazing.’ Self-taught says ‘natural talent.’ Just come out with it.” She skipped school.

There are a lot of starters in the world. Who doesn’t love to start new and exciting things? Starting is the easy part. The hard part is finishing. It is finishing that separates those with passion from those without it.

These houses were thirty, forty years old. People must have died, had babies, gotten engaged, married, divorced, hurt each other in a thousand ways, reconciled and forgiven, passionately hated and desperately loved; if you abandoned a house whenever something significant happened, people would live in tents. This house had known life.

YOU ARE BLESSED I will make them and the area around My hill a blessing: I will send down showers in their season—showers of blessing. Ezekiel 34:26 HCSB If you sat down and began counting your blessings, how long would it take? A very, very long time! Your blessings include life, freedom, family, friends, talents, and possessions, for starters. But, your greatest blessing—a gift that is yours for the asking—is God’s gift of salvation through Christ Jesus. Today, begin making a list of your blessings. You most certainly will not be able to make a complete list, but take a few moments and jot down as many blessings as you can. Then give thanks to the giver of all good things: God. His love for you is eternal, as are His gifts. And it’s never too soon—or too late—to offer Him thanks. Oh! what a Savior, gracious to all, / Oh! how His blessings round us fall, / Gently to comfort, kindly to cheer, / Sleeping or waking, God is near. Fanny Crosby Count your blessings! Recounts are OK . . . Anonymous A TIMELY TIP If you need a little cheering up, start counting your blessings. In truth, you really have too many blessings to count, but it never hurts to try.

Lent also looks two ways. I look to my mixed past – joys and sorrows, successes and failures, good deeds and sins. But I also look to my future – the great feast of Easter and the assured victory of life over all forms of death. The ashes on my forehead are not a gloomy symbol. They express my belief that through death I find life. Dying to old ways of sin brings the peace I’ve always wanted. No Lenten penance dead ends in pain. Beneath true penance is always the experience of God’s loving presence. Plus the sense that I’m moving in a good direction. I can spend a lot of time on my past, maybe too much. Maybe I should talk to the Lord about my future. For starters, talk about these next 40 days. Don’t drift halfheartedly into Lent. Plunge into it.

Beans become light brown and begin to pop and loud cracking is heard. They are almost double in size, and the gas inside has reached critical level and splits the bean cell walls. Starches are converted to sugar and caramelization begins. The internal temperature of beans has reached around 350 degrees F. Richness of flavor has not developed. At this stage the roast can be stopped before the first crack stage is complete and what is known as a Cinnamon Roast or sometimes American Roast level is achieved.

Place your newly roasted beans (when cooled) in an open glass storage jar -eg the Mason screw-top canning jars or something similar. Leave your beans before grinding, for about 12 to 24 hours after roasting to rest and develop optimum body and flavor. Seal jar tightly after about 12 –24 hours. (Check that the rubber seal is in good condition)

If you prefer darker roasts and you like lots of body then Brazilian or Indonesian will suit you fine. They tend to have great body, take to a dark roast well and have less acidity.

The “relationship escalator” refers to the expected progression of dating to marriage on a standardized timeline. You meet someone. You have sex on the third date. You decide to be monogamous after three months. You say I love you after five. You move in after a year and a half, propose after two years, are married six months later. Then you buy a “starter house” and pump out some rugrats. A few years in, you make some more monies and buy a “finisher house.” Finally, you remain married to your spouse until death do you part. If I sit and think about this for more than a minute, my testicles shoot up into my stomach. This doesn’t sound pleasant or comforting to me. It sounds horrifying, like a slow march toward the electric chair. Some people like having their life planned out. I do not. I like the freedom for life to change on a dime—for me to change on a dime.

these studies focus on alcoholism, but it is not unreasonable to extend the findings to other addictions. For starters, various genetic mutations can either directly increase or decrease the risk for addiction, usually by altering the ways in which a particular substance (like alcohol) is experienced and processed in the body and brain. In one study, scientists found that people who naturally have less reactivity to alcohol (as measured by body sway) are more likely to become alcoholic.1 In other words, people who are genetically less susceptible to the negative side effects of

Well, the paper says to tell each other about ourselves. I'll start. I love pineapple on pizza!" This guy is way too excited about pineapple on pizza. I mean, I can take it or leave it, but it certainly wouldn't be a conversation starter for me.

There is no world,” he continues. “So why not enjoy your life while you believe that there is one? It’s not so serious, you know. There is nothing to do except to accept my love. Your work lies solely in understanding that there is no work for you to do. As long as you think you have work to do, spiritually I mean, you don’t understand me and what I can be to you. I need you to go out there and be happy. I need you to be my ambassador, my agent if you will, my voice, my embodiment. There aren’t that many who can reach me directly. Obviously, those are not the ones who need my help through you. But there are more than enough, more than enough, who search for me and have no way of accessing the part of their mind where I abide. So, you, my old friend, my loving brother, you are the way for me to reach some of them and for some of them to reach me. You always wanted a purpose in life. You asked for it many times. How is this one for starters? It comes with my total care package as well. You take care of whoever I send to you and in return, I’ll take care of you. You can even have a girlfriend. And a house and a car and enough money and whatever it is your heart desires.

Because our old beliefs are dominated by fear, separation, and limitations, and because our brains look for proof of our beliefs, we collapse the wave (a physics term that describes plucking a single superposition from all possible superpositions) that supports our beliefs. Once it’s collapsed, the other superpositions are no longer visible. As we surrender old certainties (the world is flat, the table is solid, what we can’t see with our physical eyes does not exist), a new, kinder, more loving reality comes gushing in. So sure, I may think I understand this pillow, this cat, this hand. But it’s possible I don’t. And I’m willing to surrender my feeble interpretations so the infinite and incomparable, my natural state, can glide effortlessly by that now-superfluous bouncer.

Many people who live with insecure partners cannot even begin to imagine how fundamentally different life with a secure person can be. For starters, they don’t engage in the “relationship dance” that therapists often refer to—whereby one partner gets closer while the other steps back in order to maintain a certain distance in the relationship at all times. Instead there’s a feeling of growing closeness and intimacy. Second, they are able to sensitively and empathically—and most important, coherently—discuss their emotions with you. Last, the secure party engulfs their partner in an emotionally protective shield that makes facing the outside world an easier task. We often fail to realize what a bonus these attributes are unless they’re missing.

You say you love me,” he says. “And I know I love you.” He looks up, meets my eyes. “So why the hell can’t we be together?

I love you,” I whisper. “So much more than you will ever know.

woman of exile and love you. were never afraid of being radical or becoming a full time student of human rights you. sacred. you. not tired. you. destiny driven. you. kathleen cleaver you. evelyn lowery you. juanita abernathy you. elaine brown you. power seekers you. goddess you. sojourner you. you. mariam makeba you. fire starter. you. nina simone you. international you. sister. you. mama africa

If we go to the depths of anything, we will begin to knock upon something substantial, “real,” and with a timeless quality to it. We will move from the starter kit of “belief” to an actual inner knowing. This is most especially true if we have ever (1) loved deeply, (2) accompanied someone through the mystery of dying, (3) or stood in genuine life-changing awe before mystery, time, or beauty. This “something real” is what all the world religions were pointing to when they spoke of heaven, nirvana, bliss, or enlightenment. They were not wrong at all; their only mistake was that they pushed it off into the next world. If heaven is later, it is because it is first of all now.

Nothing in this world bonds people together like collectively hating a thing that everybody else seems to love. The majority of my adult friendships formed over the realization that we dislike the same people or the same scene or the same trend, and the rest have been forged through detesting everything else. So in the celebration of freedom through disdain, here is a starter list of things I hate. Feel free to hate them too.

I am nothing more than his safe way to begin. I am Ruben’s starter kit. A short preface that will soon pale when his real story begins. An overture to the symphony he will discover beyond me, after me, without me. I try to feel honored to perform that public service for the gay community at large.

How do you build self-esteem? You get it by making smart decisions, surviving painful moments, and coming out a stronger woman. For starters, dump anyone who doesn't treat you with respect and avoid such guys in the future...Every time you walk away from the counterfeits of love you get one step closer to the real thing.

Gnocchi à la Romaine (ROMAN GNOCCHI) YIELD: 4 SERVINGS ATHOUGH MOST PEOPLE associate gnocchi with the Italian kitchen, gnocchi à la parisienne (little dumplings made with choux paste) and gnocchi à la romaine, made from semoule des blé dur, called semolina in Italian, were standards on the menu of Le Plaza Athénée. I still love semolina gnocchi and make them a few times a year for family and friends. They make a great starter to a meal and are just as good as an accompaniment with poultry or veal. 2 cups whole milk ¾ teaspoon salt ¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper Dash of grated nutmeg ½ cup semolina (granulated hard durum wheat flour) 2 large eggs 1 teaspoon good olive oil ¾ cup grated Comté or Gruyère cheese (2 ounces) ¼ teaspoon salt ¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper ½ cup heavy cream Bring 1¾ cups of the milk to a boil in a medium saucepan with the salt, pepper, and nutmeg. As soon as the milk boils, pour the semolina into it in a steady stream while mixing it in with a whisk. Reduce the heat to low, and cook for 1 to 2 minutes, stirring occasionally with the whisk. The mixture should be very thick and smooth. Meanwhile, break the eggs into a small bowl, add the remaining ¼ cup milk, and beat with a fork until smooth. Add to the semolina in the pan, and mix in well with a whisk. Cook and stir for about 30 seconds, until very thick. Set aside while you line a 9-×-6-inch baking dish with plastic wrap, so the ends overhang the sides of the dish. Pour the mixture into it, and using the plastic wrap liner, press on the dough so that it is about ¾ inch thick. Let cool. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Cut the cold gnocchi dough into 3-inch squares (you will have 6 squares), oil a gratin dish with the teaspoon of oil, and arrange the gnocchi in the dish, leaving a little space between them. Sprinkle the grated cheese, salt, and pepper on top, and bake for about 15 minutes, until lightly browned and hot. Remove from the oven, and move the oven shelf 6 to 8 inches from the heat source. Pour the cream over the gnocchi, and return the dish to the oven. Immediately switch the oven setting to broil, and broil the gnocchi for about 5 minutes, or until nicely browned on top. Serve.

She finally reached them, and bestowed a careful smile on him. “Up and at ‘em early this morning, Cowboy?” Her statement sounded normal but he caught the double meaning in her eyes.
 After you launched me to the moon and back, more than once, in the early hours of the morning? You actually got the energy?


For starters, they’ve assumed that people who are raised to believe they’re basically competent have no reason to accomplish anything. I once heard someone defend that belief by declaring that “human nature is to do as little as necessary.” This prejudice is refuted not just by a few studies but by the entire branch of psychology dealing with motivation.16 Normally, it’s hard to stop happy, satisfied people from trying to learn more about themselves and the world, or from trying to do a job of which they can feel proud. The desire to do as little as possible is an aberration, a sign that something is wrong. It may suggest that someone feels threatened and therefore has fallen back on a strategy of damage control, or that rewards and punishments have caused that individual to lose interest in what he’s doing, or that he perceives a specific task—perhaps correctly—as pointless and dull.

Back in the day, Marguerite had worked from lists all the time. She had made daily pilgrimages to Dusty's fish shop, and to the Herb Farm for produce; the meat had been delivered. She had prepared stocks, roasted peppers, baked bread, cultivated yogurt, rolled out crusts, whipped up custards, crushed spices. Les Parapluies was unique in that Marguerite had served one four-course menu- starter, salad, entrée, dessert- that changed each day.

If you want a true man, you need to know what one looks like. For starters, a guy cannot be considered a man unless he treats a woman with dignity. When a boy learns how to forget himself for the good of another, he becomes a man. This transition does not occur at puberty; it comes when he learns the meaning of sacrifice.

Our generation lost its way to real love. We’re obsessed with sex for starters, and we want everything to be perfect and easy, and if it’s not, see ya later. We’ve got easy access to porn whenever we want it. Pretty girls and handsome guys I know have booty calls that are just a text away at all times. We’re all about indulging in instant gratification. But are we happy? No. We’re always just on the lookout for the next best thing. Never fulfilled, always hungry. What happened to fighting for a love you believe in, even when it’s not easy?

Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu" is the longest name of a place on Earth. It translates roughly as "The summit where Tamatea, the man with the big knees, the slider, climber of mountains, the land-swallower who travelled about, played his nose flute to his loved one".

The Most Annoying Things People Say –​“I’m not going to have a starter, are you?” –​“I’m more of a boys’ girl