Stu Quotes

Let's pretend for just one moment that could actually happen. You close your eyes and I'll close mine and let's dream the same dream across the Atlantic, lighting up the darkness between us. Can you see it, Stu? Can you see us up there, shining in all the black?

When I bore you, just tell me to shut up, I won't be offended.' 'I like to listen,' Stu said. 'Then you are one of God's chosen. Let's go.

Oh Jesus, Digger on a horse,” Kelly said. “He kept threatening to make his horse into stew.” “He named his horse Stu,” Nick added.

Harold glared sullenly at him again, the eyes those of a piggy little boy who wants the whole cookie jar to himself. Ain’t he going to be surprised, Stu thought, when he finds out a girl isn’t a jar of cookies.

Kevin: 'Hey, Dad. How do you stop people from being stupid?' Dad: 'You don't.' Kevin: 'Really?' Dad: 'I've tried to explain to people when they're being stupid, but then I realized something: Most people like being stupid.' Kevin: 'I don't get it.' Dad: 'Some people just prefer it. It makes their lives easier if they let other people think for them.' Kevin: 'But that doesn't make sense. That's just stu...Oh...

Women are driven by fear or love while men are driven by their dick or ego.

Stu walked Bennie over to Chris in the chair and parted his hair to reveal some tan little creatures the size of poppy seeds moving around on his scalp. Bennie felt himself grow faint.'Lice' the barber whispered.'They get it at school'. 'But he goes to private school' Bernie had blurted.'In Crandale,New York!

Los edificios y los adoquines y las escaleras y los callejones y las iglesias y los parques…, todo, la ciudad entera, nos perteneció por un precioso instante que era largo y ancho y, Stu, lo llenamos hasta el último resquicio. Aquello era vivir. Vivir de verdad

Lau­ren," he began gravely, "I would like four daugh­ters with wob­bly blue eyes and stu­dious horn-rimmed glasses on their lit­tle noses. Also, I've be­come very par­tial to your honey-col­ored hair, so if you could man­age…

I think it's important for each of us to examine the reasons why we have survived our individual challenges, obstacles, and trials. It's not always easy to come to terms with the fact that God always has a greater purpose for us than we can have for ourselves.

Never say let me be honest with you!

Wild Horses" started in a B-minor chord, and Stu didn't play minor chords, "fucking Chinese music.

He's the Stu to my Billy Loomis

Stu looked over his shoulder at the trailer. "She seems like a nice old lady, but jeez, that's a big dog." "Yes," said Liam. "But a small dragon.

What does time have to do with anything? When two people have that kind of connection and you both can relate and help each other, like I know you both do now… who the hell cares about how long you’ve been dating? I say, when you know, you know.

So, Orion Dude, you’re an alien?” Stu said, finding it all very funny now. “Hmm. If you’re coming to my planet, Stu, actually you’re the alien! As for Titan... we’re all aliens,” Orion replied.

What did your mom say?" "She said I better not be pregnant." Janie snorts. "What the hell is wrong with our parents, anyway? Wait -- you're not, are you?" "Of course not! Sheesh, Janers! I may not have gotten the best grades in school, but I'm not stupid. You know I'm on the Pill. And his Jimmy doesn't get near me without a raincoat, yadamean? Ain't nothin' getting through my little fortress!

Can't fail if I don't try." ... "You're absolutely right. You'd regret trying and failing. But I'll do you one better. If you don't try, give it all you've got, you'll regret the hell out of never knowing if you would have succeeded. ... "Because regret haunts you for the rest of your life," Sewanee chimed in from the cheap seats. She hadn't intended to say anything, but as soon as she felt the answer it was out of her mouth. She caught Marilyn's eye. Her mother smiled sadly at her. "It's like a ghost that refuses to leave your house." Stu bugged his eye. "Why's it gotta leave? What, you think you can get through life avoiding regret? Avoiding failure?" He laughed. "Spoiler alert" life is regret, life is failure. But like that ghost, you learn to live with it. Because failure makes success matter.

They had come and got him on the afternoon of the seventeenth, two days ago. Four army men and a doctor. Polite but firm. There was no question of declining; all four of the army men had been wearing sidearms. That was when Stu Redman started being seriously scared.

My doctors asked what was wrong when they found me pale faced and lifeless. I told them I spent an immense amount of time stuDYING.

It's good. I swear. Genesis loves it, and she wouldn't even eat eggs for dinner," Stu explains. As if this is the standard by which all food should be judged.

Kenzo glances up from his chopping. “You look good enough to eat.” “Don’t tell that to Stu’s sleepwalkers,” I say.

I know it’s technically goodwill to all men, but in my mind, I drop the men because that feels segregationist/elitist/sexist/generally bad ist. Goodwill shouldn’t be just for men. It should also apply to women and children, and all animals, even the yucky ones like subway rats. I’d even extend the goodwill not just to living creatures but to the dearly departed, and if we include them, we might as well include the undead, those supposedly mythic beings like vampires, and if they’re in, then so are elves, fairies, and gnomes. Heck, since we’re already being so generous in our big group hug, why not also embrace those supposedly inanimate objects like dolls and stu

...it could take a lifetime to really get to know someone. Do we ever really know everything about the people we love? No, I think that takes time, trust and respect.

Your own shortcomings are the best ground to grow your sense of humor.

Tender Warrior,” Adam replied and showed John the cover. “You can read it; I’m almost done. Check this out,” he said, thumbing backward through the pages. “It was written by Stu Weber, a Vietnam veteran, Special Forces. He became a chaplain.

I never had a gay son." Stu gave an overly dramatic sniff. "But if I did, I'd want him to go to the city for dinner with a boy just like you." Petey slapped his back. "And don't forget all that sex they'll have afterwards." "Oh, yeah." Stu nodded. "If only my fictitious gay son could get as lucky as Lucho is gonna get tonight. That's all a man could ask for.

TOTALLY AMERICAN” personifies the dreams, inspiration, and ambition of the American people at a time we need it most. Reach deep in tribute to our founding Fathers, our Constitution, and our brave military forces. This is the fabric of America!

Bad or good, movies nearly always have a strange diminishing effect on works of fantasy (of course there are exceptions; The Wizard of Oz is an example which springs immediately to mind). In discussions, people are willing to cast various parts endlessly. I've always thought Robert Duvall would make a splendid Randall Flagg, but I've heard people suggest such people as Clint Eastwood, Bruce Dern and Christopher Walken. They all sound good, just as Bruce Springsteen would seem to make an interesting Larry Underwood, if ever he chose to try acting (and, based on his videos, I think he would do very well ... although my personal choice would be Marshall Crenshaw). But in the end, I think it's best for Stu, Larry, Glen, Frannie, Ralph, Tom Cullen, Lloyd, and that dark fellow to belong to the reader, who will visualize them through the lens of the imagination in a vivid and constantly changing way no camera can duplicate. Movies, after all, are only an illusion of motion comprised of thousands of still photographs. The imagination, however, moves with its own tidal flow. Films, even the best of them, freeze fiction - anyone who has ever seen One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest and then reads Ken Kesey's novel will find it hard or impossible not to see Jack Nicholson's face on Randle Patrick McMurphy. That is not necessarily bad ... but it is limiting. The glory of a good tale is that it is limitless and fluid; a good tale belongs to each reader in its own particular way.

Me?" said Bragg. "I'm not alive. Revived, from time to time - maybe. but not alive." Liar." Try me." You forget, Mister Bragg - Stu honey - Stuart darling - Bragg baby. I already have." They had almost reached their destination. Col said: "I don't have burn marks for nothing, my dear. I don't have these scars by chance. I'm covered with your fingerprints. Covered from head to toe and back again on the other side." You sound just like Minna," said Bragg. I know," Col said. "I know I do. I've been practising.

Trying to be happy by accumulating possessions is like trying to satisfy hunger by taping sandwiches all over your body." - George Carlin

The best way to live is to spend each day doing God's will, like what Christ showed us an example.

And they never saw Stu Redman again.

After all, the only practical compensation for having a nightmare is waking up and realizing it was all just a dream.” Stu smiled.

Government is an idea, Stu. That's really all it is, once you strip away the bureaucracy and the bullshit.

Life has a way of fixing things. – Stu Callebrew (the Dugout’s owner and Matt Jacobs good friend/father figure)

Pod sobą samym wykopawszy zdradę, Coś z życia kończę, kończąc mecum-vade, Złożone ze stu perełek nawlekłych Logicznie w siebie -- jak we łzę łza -- wciekłych

Stu, where you at?” “Up here in the library.” “You hurt?

Nie mówiłam o ludziach, tylko o człowieku. Ludzie to potwór o kamiennym sercu i stu gębach złaknionych krwi.

In a way he shared Fran Goldsmith’s and Stu Redman’s urge to regroup. Until that could be done, everything would remain alien and out of joint.

the screams began. Of pain or of rage, Stu could not tell.

Stu asked me to marry him

but her husband, Stu, swept the chips out of her hand before the deal could be struck.

To us, Stu. May we have happy days, satisfied minds, and little or no low back pain.

They pulled their ringtabs and Bateman raised his can. “To us, Stu. May we have happy days, satisfied minds, and little or no low back pain.

Wedle wspólnego raportu organizacji CDP i Climate Accountability Institute 71 procent całej emisji gazów cieplarnianych w ostatnich trzydziestu latach jest dziełem stu wielkich firm

My dad was a shooter, or submission wrestler, and he loved to stretch anyone who dared to show up at his door. I remember him stretching the daylights out of Father Roberts, the Catholic priest who baptized all the Hart kids. Father Roberts got closer to God in my father’s basement dungeon than he felt comfortable with. But Stu was non-denominational; he stretched a rabbi once too.

You know something, Stu?' Reagan said to Stuart Spencer. 'Politics is just like show business... You begin with a hell of an opening, you coast for a while, & you end with a hell of a closing.

Government is an idea, Stu. That’s really all it is, once you strip away the bureaucracy and the bullshit. I’ll go further. It’s an inculcation, nothing but a memory path worn through the brain.

Call me Ozzie, doll,” he called back. He hunched over the keyboard like a starving man hunches over a plate of food. “And there’s no need to conceal my weapons. I figure everyone should see what’s in store for them should they attempt to fuck with me.”“ Oh man.” Dan groaned and rolled his eyes. “Next thing you know he’ll be coming to work shirtless with bandoliers strapped across his chest and a red bandana tied around his head.” “Ah, so you have seen a movie or two.” Ozzie swiveled in his chair, his eyes sparkling with devilish glee. “Rambo, huh? I can give you Rambo.” He lowered his voice. “‘They drew first blood. Not me…’” “What a crock of bullsh—uh, crap.” Dan scoffed. “Are you sitting there dissing Stallone?” Ozzie demanded, making like he was about to stand in defense of the Italian Stallion. “No. I’m sitting here dissing you, you stu—

Did you know you snore in your sleep? You do this little gurgling, whining thing. Scared the shit out of me at first. I couldn’t tell if you were drowning or whistling at me. I started to stick a wad of napkins in your mouth.

The Warrior function is…unmistakable in Scripture…Within the epistles, the mature believing man is often described in militant terms–a warrior equipped to battle mighty enemies and shatter satanic strongholds. The heart of the Warrior is a protective heart. The Warrior shields, defends, stands between, and guards…He invests himself in “the energy of self-disciplined, aggressive action.” By Warrior I do not mean one who loves war or draws sadistic pleasure from fighting or bloodshed. There is a difference between a warrior and a brute. A warrior is a protector…Men stand tallest when they are protecting and defending.

If you’re positive and enthusiastic, people will want to spend time with you. — Jeff Keller And all of these great things happened because I tapped into Stu Kamen’s network … and then the Think & Grow Rich newsletter’s network … and then Jim Donovan’s network.

Great literature, obviously, could not rescue anyone from so grievous a fore-shortening of perspective. It was naïve and false on my part to think that the stu-dents would be rescued by Western classics. I knew perfectly well that great books work on our souls only over time, as they are mixed with experience and transformed by memory and desire and many other books, great and small. At some time later, the perception of a ‘choice between freedom and sex’ would dis-solve into absurdity. But for a while, the idea worked its mischief.

when you finish a barn, he told Nick and Stu and Fran after darkness has put an end to the search for the night, you hang a horseshoe eds up over the door to keep the luck in. But if one of the nails falls out and the horseshoe swings points down, you don't abandon the barn

Co-co… cosa… s-st… stai… fa-face…ndo?” Le catene di Gray non gi permettevano di raggiungere le sbarre della cella, ma avanzò quanto poté, come per unirsi a Bruto. “Sto… studiando le lettere. Ci provo. Non sono molto bravo.” “Pe-pe-perché?” “Perché sono goffo e stupido e…” “No! Pe-per…ché vu-vuoi… stu-stu…diarle?” “Me lo chiedono tutti. L’altro giorno sono andato a fare una passeggiata, e ho visto una libreria. Centinaia… no, migliaia di libri. Era come se ognuno di essi racchiudesse un segreto. Credo di voler vedere qualcuno di quei segreti.

Caroline:   Hey honey this isn’t working out we Should break up sorry ☹ Stu:  What the hell we been dating for 5 yrs And we have 3 kids you break up with Me now. Caroline:  Sorry babe wrong person. Stu:  Good sugarcup I got so freaked out! Caroline:  Wait who was this going too

Kiedy sia­dasz do pi­sa­nia i chcesz cał­ko­wi­cie się temu oddać, mu­sisz wy­łą­czyć swo­je­go wewnętrz­ne­go ko­rek­to­ra. Choć bę­dzie cię kor­cić, by prze­czy­tać któ­reś zda­nie raz jeszcze, coś dodać, coś ująć, coś po­pra­wić – nie ule­gaj teraz tej po­ku­sie i po pro­stu płyń.

Dad, seeing me start to drop back, reached out his hand to me. His eyes said, Grab hold. Let's run together. Still running, my little hand slipped inside his larger one. It was like magic! His power lifted me right off the ground. I took off in his strength. My speed doubled because my dad had hold of me.

Unknown to the sleeping family, three of their cell phones had been covertly switched on, providing the STU with interior audio listening devices paid for and put in position by the Edmonds themselves.  To the STU Team members, what civilians didn’t know about their own cell phones was simply mind boggling.

A woman can so easily crush a man’s spirit. With a look. With a word. With a shrug of indifference. . . . Her cynicism is utterly emasculating, and many times, incredibly subtle. Like a fine, thin blade it slices deep, penetrating to the very core of his masculine soul. Stu Weber, Four Pillars of a Man’s Heart

Doing the right thing when it's convenient tells you nothing about a man's character.

The truth has a certain validity.

Samantha: Listen, you need to get your head around the demographics of this place. So first of all you’ve got your blue collars—tradies, we call them. We’ve got a lot of tradies in Pirriwee. Like my Stu. Salt of the earth. Or salt of the sea, because they all surf, of course. Most of the tradies grew up here and never left. Then you’ve got your alternative types. Your dippy hippies. And in the last ten years or so, all these wealthy execs and banker wankers have moved in and built massive McMansions up on the cliffs. But! There’s only one primary school for all our kids! So at school events you’ve got a plumber, a banker and a crystal healer standing around trying to make conversation. It’s hilarious. No wonder we had a riot.

On November 5, to kick off the final, coordinated assault on Baluch, Stu Mansfield, positioned with Atta at the warlord’s mountaintop compound, ordered the drop of a bomb called a BLU-82, which Mansfield called “the Motherfucker of All Bombs.” A few minutes after dawn, barreling toward earth was the largest non-nuclear explosive device in the United States’ arsenal.

- É, dele. Fran, por que parou de tomar o Venoral? Ela soltou um trêmulo suspiro e imaginou se deveria contar a Stu. Queria contar, mas temia a reação dele. - Ninguém pode prever o que fará uma mulher- respondeu por fim. - Ninguém- concordou ele.- Mas há meio de descobrirmos, talvez, o que estão pensando. - O que...- começou ela, mas Stu tapou-lhe a boca com um beijo.

In Ogunquit,” she said, “he was the most insufferable kid you could imagine. A lot of it was compensation for his family situation, I guess… to them it must have seemed like he had hatched from a cowbird egg or something… but after the flu, he seemed to change. At least to me, he did. He seemed to be trying to be, well… a man. Then he changed again. Like all at once. He started to smile all the time. You couldn’t really talk to him anymore. He was… in himself. The way people get when they convert to religion or read—” She stopped suddenly, and her eyes took on a momentary startled look that seemed very like fear. “Read what?” Stu asked. “Something that changes their lives,” she said. “Das Kapital. Mein Kampf. Or maybe just intercepted love letters.

But in the end, I think it’s perhaps best for Stu, Larry, Glen, Frannie, Ralph, Tom Cullen, Lloyd, and that dark fellow to belong to the reader, who will visualize them through the lens of imagination in a vivid and constantly changing way no camera can duplicate. Movies, after all, are only an illusion of motion comprised of thousands of still photographs. The imagination, however, moves with its own tidal flow.

I was the nicest person you’d ever want to know,” Alex recalls, “but the world wasn’t that way. The problem was that if you were just a nice person, you’d get crushed. I refused to live a life where people could do that stu to me. I was like, OK, what’s the policy prescription here? And there really was only one. I needed to have every person in my pocket. If I wanted to be a nice person, I needed to run the school.

It's very difficult to strike that balance - and I'm not convinced that many Christian filmmakers, writers, ect, are willing to take the risks necessary to even try. It's much safer and more profitable to tell a wholesome, feel good story (not that there's anything wrong with wholesome stories). But doing the opposite could mean offending potentially large swaths of your target audience by forcing them to confront the ugly truth that's present in each of our lives. I hate to say it, but a good number of Christians would rather feel safe, and good about themselves, than truly examine humanity's desperation and our need for the cross.

– Szukam przyjaciół. Co znaczy „oswoić”? – Jest to pojęcie zupełnie zapomniane – powiedział lis. – „Oswoić” znaczy „stworzyć więzy”. – Stworzyć więzy? – Oczywiście – powiedział lis. – Teraz jesteś dla mnie tylko małym chłopcem, podobnym do stu tysięcy małych chłopców. Nie potrzebuję ciebie. I ty mnie nie potrzebujesz. Jestem dla ciebie tylko lisem, podobnym do stu tysięcy innych lisów. Lecz jeżeli mnie oswoisz, będziemy się nawzajem potrzebować.

In 2015 John McDougall, an army chaplain, West Point graduate, and veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan, published Jesus Was an Airborne Ranger: Find Your Purpose Following the Warrior Christ. Stu Weber, a fellow Ranger who first met McDougall at West Point, contributed the book’s foreword. Setting aside the pretty-boy Sunday-school Jesus no real man could relate to, McDougall made clear that his savior was no Mister Rogers. He was a warrior who knew how to channel aggression when he needed to.

The truth is that I want you. I have always wanted you, and you know that.” “I hate that word,” she burst out, trying unsuccessfully to break free of his grasp. “I don’t think you know what it means.” “I know you say it every time you force yourself on me.” “And every time I do, you melt in my arms.” “I will not marry you,” Elizabeth said furiously, mentally circling for some way out. “I don’t know you. I don’t trust you.” “But you do want me,” he told her with a knowing smile. “Stop saying that, damn you! I want an old husband, I told you that,” she cried, mindlessly saying anything she could think of to put him off. “I want my life to be mine. I told you that, too. And you came dashing to England and-and bought me.” That brought her up short, and her eyes began to blaze. “No,” he stated firmly, though it was splitting hairs, “I made a settlement on your uncle.” The tears she’d been fighting valiantly to hide began to spill over her lashes. “I am not a pauper,” she cried. “I am not a p-pauper,” she repeated, her voice choking with tears. “I have-had-a dowry, damn you. And if you were so stu-stupid you let him swindle you out of it, it serves you right!

At Tulliallan Police College DI John Rebus based at St. Leonard’s police station in Edinburgh DI James “Jazz” McCullough based in Dundee DI Francis Gray based in Glasgow DS Stu Sutherland based in Livingston DI Thomas “Tam” Barclay based in Falkirk DC Allan Ward based in Dumfries DCI Archibald Tennant the Resurrection Men’s boss Andrea Thomson career analyst The Rico Lomax Murder Case Eric “Rico” Lomax murder victim Fenella Rico’s widow “Chib” Kelly Fenella’s current lover, Glasgow bar owner and criminal Richard “Dickie” Diamond Rico’s friend Malky Dickie’s nephew, barman in Edinburgh Jenny Bell Dickie’s onetime girlfriend Bernie Johns deceased Glasgow drug baron

A teach­er in Ok­la­homa re­flect­ed on the post-​grad­ua­tion af­ter­math of stu­dent so­cial di­vi­sions. “The in crowd al­ways hangs to­geth­er, even af­ter grad­ua­tion. They are the ones who will be­come debutantes af­ter their fresh­man year in col­lege. The oth­ers tend to drift away. They don’t get in­vit­ed to the par­ties, they are laughed at be­cause they aren’t wear­ing de­sign­er clothes, etc.,” she said. But when it comes down to the pop­ular stu­dents ver­sus the out­casts, the lat­ter “are more sure of them­selves (even with the ridicule), and usu­al­ly turn out to be more suc­cess­ful and well-​adjust­ed. I would take the out­casts in a heart­beat.” So would I.

Nie jesteście podobne do mojej róży, nie macie jeszcze żadnej wartości[...]Nikt was nie oswoił i wy nie oswoiłyście nikogo. Jesteście takie, jaki był dawniej lis. Był zwykłym lisem podobnym do stu tysięcy innych lisów. Lecz zrobiłem go swoim przyjacielem i teraz jest dla mnie jedyny na świecie.[...]Jesteście piękne, lecz próżne[...]Nie można dla was poświęcić życia. Oczywiście moja róża wydawałaby się zwykłemu przechodniowi podobna do was. Lecz dla mnie ona jedyna ma większe znaczenie niż wy wszystkie razem, ponieważ ją właśnie podlewałem. Ponieważ ją przykrywałem kloszem. Ponieważ ją właśnie osłaniałem. Ponieważ właśnie dla jej bezpieczeństwa zabijałem gąsienice[...]. Ponieważ słuchałem jej skarg, jej wychwalań się, a czasem jej milczenia. Ponieważ... jest moją różą.

Athletes, by and large, are people who are happy to let their actions speak for them, happy to be what they do. As a result, when you talk to an athlete, as I do all the time in locker rooms, in hotel coffee shops and hallways, standing beside expensive automobiles—even if he’s paying no attention to you at all, which is very often the case—he’s never likely to feel the least bit divided, or alienated, or one ounce of existential dread. He may be thinking about a case of beer, or a barbecue, or some man-made lake in Oklahoma he wishes he was waterskiing on, or some girl or a new Chevy shortbed, or a discothèque he owns as a tax shelter, or just simply himself. But you can bet he isn’t worried one bit about you and what you’re thinking. His is a rare selfishness that means he isn’t looking around the sides of his emotions to wonder about alternatives for what he’s saying or thinking about. In fact, athletes at the height of their powers make literalness into a mystery all its own simply by becoming absorbed in what they’re doing. Years of athletic training teach this; the necessity of relinquishing doubt and ambiguity and self-inquiry in favor of a pleasant, self-championing one-dimensionality which has instant rewards in sports. You can even ruin everything with athletes simply by speaking to them in your own everyday voice, a voice possibly full of contingency and speculation. It will scare them to death by demonstrating that the world—where they often don’t do too well and sometimes fall into depressions and financial imbroglios and worse once their careers are over—is complexer than what their training has prepared them for. As a result, they much prefer their own voices and questions or the jabber of their teammates (even if it’s in Spanish). And if you are a sportswriter you have to tailor yourself to their voices and answers: “How are you going to beat this team, Stu?” Truth, of course, can still be the result—“We’re just going out and play our kind of game, Frank, since that’s what’s got us this far”—but it will be their simpler truth, not your complex one—unless, of course, you agree with them, which I often do. (Athletes, of course, are not always the dummies they’re sometimes portrayed as being, and will often talk intelligently about whatever interests them until your ears turn to cement.)

Bir gün buraya dönüp sana katılma teklifini tekrarlarsan muhtemelen kabul ederim Stu.İnsan ırkının laneti bu.Sosyallik.Aslında İsa şunu demeliydi. "Evet,hakikaten,iki ya da üçümüz bir araya geldiğinde bir başkasının canına okuyacak." Sana sosyolojinin bize insan ırkı hakkında bilgiler verdiğini söylememe gerek var mı?Bak şöyle anlatayım.Bana tek başına bir kadın ve ya erkek göster,sana bir aziz göstereyim.Sayıları ikiyi bulursa aşık olurlar.Üç olursa, 'topluluk' adını verdiğimiz şirin oluşum meydana gelir.Dört kişi olurlarsa bir piramit inşa ederler.Sayıları beş olursa biri dışlanır.Altı kişi olduklarında önyargıyı tekrar icat ederler.Yedi kişi olursa yedi yılda savaşı tekrar icat ederler.İnsan,Tanrı'nın yeryüzündeki yansıması olabilir,ama insan toplumu,şeytanın yansımasıdır ve daima eve dönmeye çalışır.

Staying power. The bottom line? Stay with it, man. Stick by your commitments. Stand by your promises. Never, never let go, no matter what. When marriage isn’t fun … stay in it. When parenting is over your head … stay at it. When work is crushing your spirit … don’t let it beat you. When the local church is overwhelmed with pettiness … stay by it. When your children let you down … pick them up. When your wife goes through a six-month mood swing … live with it. When it’s fourth and fourteen with no time on the clock … throw another pass.

He was standing on a country road, at the precise place where the black hot top gave up to bone-white dirt. A blazing summer sun shone down. On both sides of the road there was green corn, and it stretched away endlessly. There was a sign, but it was dusty and he couldn’t read it. There was the sound of crows, harsh and far away. Closer by, someone was playing an acoustic guitar, fingerpicking it. Vic Palfrey had been a picker, and it was a fine sound. This is where I ought to get to, Stu thought dimly. Yeah, this is the place, all right. What was that tune? “Beautiful Zion”? “The Fields of My Father’s Home”? “Sweet Bye and Bye”? Some hymn he remembered from his childhood, something he associated with full immersion and picnic lunches. But he couldn’t remember which one. Then the music stopped. A cloud came over the sun. He began to be afraid. He began to feel that there was something terrible, something worse than plague, fire, or earthquake. Something was in the corn and it was watching him. Something dark was in the corn. He looked, and saw two burning red eyes far back in the shadows, far back in the corn. Those eyes filled him with the paralyzed, hopeless horror that the hen feels for the weasel. Him, he thought. The man with no face. Oh dear God. Oh dear God no. Then the dream was fading and he awoke with feelings of disquiet, dislocation, and relief. He went to the bathroom and then to his window. He looked out at the moon. He went back to bed but it was an hour before he got back to sleep. All that corn, he thought sleepily. Must have been Iowa or Nebraska, maybe northern Kansas. But he had never been in any of those places in his life.

it died away, Stu said: “This wasn’t on the agenda, but I wonder if we could start by singing the National Anthem. I guess you folks remember the words and the tune.” There was that ruffling, shuffling sound of people getting to their feet. Another pause as everyone waited for someone else to start. Then a girl’s sweet voice rose in the air, solo for only the first three syllables: “Oh, say can—” It was Frannie’s voice, but for a moment it seemed to Larry to be underlaid by another voice, his own, and the place was not Boulder but upstate Vermont and the day was July 4, the Republic was two hundred and fourteen years old, and Rita lay dead in the tent behind him, her mouth filled with green puke and a bottle of pills in her stiffening hand. A chill of gooseflesh passed over him and suddenly he felt that they were being watched, watched by something that could, in the words of that old song by The Who, see for miles and miles and miles. Something awful and dark and alien. For just a moment he felt an urge to run from this place, just run and never stop. This was no game they were playing here. This was serious business; killing business. Maybe worse. Then other voices joined in. “—can you see, by the dawn’s early light,” and Lucy was singing, holding his hand, crying again, and others were crying, most of them were crying, crying for what was lost and bitter, the runaway American dream, chrome-wheeled, fuel-injected, and stepping out over the line, and suddenly his memory was not of Rita, dead in the tent, but of he and his mother at Yankee Stadium—it was September 29, the Yankees were only a game and a half behind the Red Sox, and all things were still possible. There were fifty-five thousand people in the Stadium, all standing, the players in the field with their caps over their hearts, Guidry on the mound, Rickey Henderson was standing in deep left field (“—by the twilight’s last gleaming—”), and the light-standards were on in the purple gloaming, moths and night-fliers banging softly against them, and New York was around them, teeming, city of night and light. Larry joined the singing too, and when it was done and the applause rolled out once more, he was crying a bit himself. Rita was gone. Alice Underwood was gone. New York was gone. America was gone. Even if they could defeat Randall Flagg, whatever they might make would never be the same as that world of dark streets and bright dreams.

The measure of a man is the spiritual and emotional health of his family. A real provider has a vision for a marriage that bonds deeply, for sons with character as strong as trees, and for daughters with confidence and deep inner beauty. Without that vision and leadership, a family struggles, gropes, and may lose its way. In

The measure of a man is the spiritual and emotional health of his family. A real provider has a vision for a marriage that bonds deeply, for sons with character as strong as trees, and for daughters with confidence and deep inner beauty. Without that vision and leadership, a family struggles, gropes, and may lose its way.

But if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all generously and without reproach, and it will be given to him. (James 1:5)

People, events, evil schemes, disasters, catastrophes can take things away from you. Things on the outside. But no one can ever take away what’s on the inside—heart, soul, character. A man can throw it away; but no one can ever take it away.

Masculinity means initiation. To be masculine is to take initiative. To provide direction, security, stability, and order. To lead. To head. To husband. Masculinity means initiation. (Nowhere does it mean “bossy,” but more on that later.)

Initiation is the bottom line of masculinity. It means taking the lead. The lead in providing, protecting, mentoring, and befriending. It means caring for and developing our mates, our children, and ourselves. It means taking the lead in apologizing. The lead in seeking forgiveness. The lead in vulnerability. Masculinity means initiation. C. S. Lewis, as you might expect, said it brilliantly: “God is so masculine, that all of creation is feminine by comparison.

You never know what’s around the next bend,” he says, “whether you are on a train or a plane or walking down the street. Every day’s a mystery. We make plans but it’ll unfold how it will. What we can each do is give a little love and light into the day. Make it just a little bit brighter.

Our cool factor went off the charts with Stu roaming the halls and performing “Rapper’s Delight” on karaoke nights. He brought a spirit and a style that had never been seen, never been felt before, at ESPN.

Just wanted to introduce myself,” Stuart continued, “and let you know that if you need any help—with anything at all—I’m the man for the job.” Her rich brown eyes were framed by lashes that were long and thick enough to sweep a man off his feet. And when she turned her attention upon Stuart, she seemed to do just that—sweep him off his feet and up into the air. “Well now, that’s mighty nice of you, Mr. Golden—” “Stu.” He regarded her like a puppy its master. Connell wished he were standing next to Stuart and could sock him in the arm. Of course, he couldn’t begrudge Stuart the attention of a woman, not after having lost his wife during the diphtheria epidemic that had ravaged Michigan back in ’80. Stuart had lost his son too, and for all practical purposes had given up on the baby daughter he’d handed to the care of his parents who lived down in Saginaw. If anyone deserved the company of a good woman, it was Stuart. Why, then, did the sight of him going soft over Lily irritate him?

To begin with, your body does not have a lot of sugar to use as energy. Of the approximately 160,000 calories stored in the body, only about 2,500 come from sugar (23,000 are protein; 134,500 are from fat).

Pity is when I’m feeling sorry for someone but I’m looking down on them, I’m patronizing them, feeling like I’m giving them a gift. Compassion and empathy is when I feel bad for them, but I’m on the same level. That I’ve felt what they are feeling too, that I have experienced pain and sorrow like they have. I am with them, not above them. Same goes for self-pity.

now,” Ali said. “I won’t be able to talk to her about any of this until after school is over for the day.” “Don’t,” Stu advised. “Let me get a little better handle on what’s going on before you discuss it with her. In fact, don’t discuss it with her at all. Once we have her thumbprint she’ll have access to all her grandmother’s financial dealings and so will we without anyone crossing over into forbidden territory.” Hacking into unauthorized servers was something Stu Ramey did very well, but there were always risks involved, and hacking into financial accounts when it wasn’t necessary was stupid.

Niebo i ziemia nie przejawiają cnoty ludzkości i traktują miriad istot jak ofiarne psy ze słomy. Mędrzec nie przejawia cnoty humanitarności i traktuje wszystkich ludzi ze stu rodów jak ofiarne psy ze słomy.

My heart was in my throat. What if my boss, author of How To Be A Tyrant Without Even Trying, discovered I was gone? I’d be dead, that’s what. Stu Savitch had never given anyone a break and I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be his first.

about an hour and a half I’m going to have the president call him. The president is going to tell Jack that he wants you to look through all of the logs the Secret Service has on Ross and Alexander going back to this past September. I especially want you to look at the two weeks prior to the attack. I want to know if they had any foreign visitors, and I want you to keep an eye out for any mention of Stu Garret.

She calmly raised the stun gun to her lips as if blowing away imaginary smoke. With a wry smile, she acknowledged the group of women gathered in her living room to witness her in-home presentation. “And that, ladies, is how you keep from becoming a statistic.

Who did your drapes?” “A mail order company called It’s Curtains For You. The owner is one of my clients. Or was. Now she’s doing time for simple assault.

A third of all female murder victims are killed by their spouse or partner. One-quarter of women would be sexually assaulted before they turned fifty. Another third would be molested by a boyfriend, husband, or relative. We don’t need tougher background checks on gun buyers, Kate wanted to say. We need better background checks on our dates.

I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Kate said with a sigh that was not one hundred percent professional. “He’s just a guy writing trashy romance novels. What could he possibly know about love?” “Oh, honey,” Sue said. “It’s obvious you’ve never read any of his books.” “You’re right about that. I only read serious literature. Jane Eyre, Jane Austen, Janet Evanovich.” “Not me.” Red filled her plate with crackers and cheese dip. “The steamier the better.