Sum Inspiring Quotes

The single greatest lesson the garden teaches is that our relationship to the planet need not be zero-sum, and that as long as the sun still shines and people still can plan and plant, think and do, we can, if we bother to try, find ways to provide for ourselves without diminishing the world.

The world is your exercise book, the pages on which you do your sums. It is not reality, though you may express reality there if you wish. You are also free to write lies, or nonsense, or to tear the pages.

Instead, what I was beginning to understand was that however things unfolded from here on, whatever the next chapter was, my life could never be the sum of one circumstance. It would be determined, as it had always been, by my willingness to put one foot in front of the other, moving forward, come what may.

We are a sum total of what we have learned from all who have taught us, both great and small.

It’s been my observation" I said, “that you humans are more than the sum of your history. You can choose how much of your ancestry to embrace. You can overcome the expectations of your family and your society. What you cannot do, and should never do, is try to be someone other than yourself–Piper McLean.

Henry Ford summed it up best. “If I had asked people what they wanted,” he said, “they would have said a faster horse.

Man is not the sum of what he has already, but rather the sum of what he does not yet have, of what he could have.

Every production of an artist should be the expression of an adventure of his soul.

If you service low-impact activities, therefore, you're taking away time you could be spending on higher-impact activities. It's a zero-sum game.

We are mathematical equations where your life is the sum of all choices you've made until now. The good news is you can change the equation so that you start making a difference in your life.

We create our own hell, it is the sum of all our decisions - we are not sentenced, we condemn ourselves.

Walks are never as good during the day. At night, when everyone's apartments are lit up and you can see inside, that's where the action is. Everything about this fascinates me. Windows, lampposts, building facades. Looking into other people's lives. The way it all comes together, this entity greater than the sum of its parts. I feel inspired. I'm excited about my future life.

so here i sit. a sum of the parts. about a third way down this wonderful path, so to speak. and i've been thinking lately about a friendship that fell apart with time, with distance, and with the misunderstanding of youth. i'm trying not to confuse sadness with regret. not the easiest thing at times. i dont regret that certain things happened. i understand that perhaps i had a choice in the matter, or perhaps i believe in fate. probably not, but so far actions as small as the quickest glance to events as monumental as death have pushed me slowly along to right here, right now. there was no other way to get here. the meandering and erratic path was actually the straightest of lines. take away a handful of angry words, things once thought of as mistakes or regrets, and i'm suddenly a different person with a different history, a different future. that, i would regret. so here i sit. thinking about a person i once called my best friends. a man who might be full of sadness and regret, who might not give a damn, or who might, just might, remember the future and realize that's where its at.

In diversity is life and where there's life there's hope, was the general sum of his creed, a modest one to be sure.

Sarai had treasured every stage of Rachel's childhood, enjoying the day-to-day normalcy of things; a normalcy which she quietly accepted as the best of life. She had always felt that the essence of human experience lay not primarily in the peak experiences, the wedding days and triumphs which stood out in the memory like dates circled in red on old calendars, but, rather, in the unself-conscious flow of little things - the weekend afternoon with each member of the family engaged in his or her own pursuit, their crossings and connections casual, dialogues imminently forgettable, but the sum of such hours creating a synergy which was important and eternal.

If someone is being unkind or petty or jealous or distant or weird, you don’t have to take it in. You don’t have to turn it into a big psychodrama about your worth. That behavior so often is not even about you. It’s about the person who’s being unkind or petty or jealous or distant or weird. If this were summed up on a bumper sticker, it would say: Don’t own other people’s crap. The world would be a better place if we all did that.

Your life today is the sum total of your choices. So if you're not happy with it, look back at your choices and start making different ones. Even if you are struck by lighting and injured, you made choices that led you to that spot at a particular time - and you get to choose how you feel about it afterward.

It wasn't that Ed would make it okay--he had his own problems to deal with--but somehow the sum of them added up to something better. They would make it okay.

There are moments in our lives when we summon the courage to make choices that go against reason, against common sense and the wise counsel of people we trust. But we lean forward nonetheless because, despite all risks and rational argument, we believe that the path we are choosing is the right and best thing to do. We refuse to be bystanders, even if we do not know exactly where our actions will lead. This is the kind of passionate conviction that sparks romances, wins battles, and drives people to pursue dreams others wouldn’t dare. Belief in ourselves and in what is right catapults us over hurdles, and our lives unfold. “Life is a sum of all your choices,” wrote Albert Camus. Large or small, our actions forge our futures and hopefully inspire others along the way.

For a long while I have believed – this is perhaps my version of Sir Darius Xerxes Cama’s belief in a fourth function of outsideness – that in every generation there are a few souls, call them lucky or cursed, who are simply born not belonging, who come into the world semi-detached, if you like, without strong affiliation to family or location or nation or race; that there may even be millions, billions of such souls, as many non-belongers as belongers, perhaps; that, in sum, the phenomenon may be as “natural” a manifestation of human nature as its opposite, but one that has been mostly frustrated, throughout human history, by lack of opportunity. And not only by that: for those who value stability, who fear transience, uncertainly, change, have erected a powerful system of stigmas and taboos against rootlessness, that disruptive, anti-social force, so that we mostly conform, we pretend to be motivated by loyalties and solidarities we do not really feel, we hide our secret identities beneath the false skins of those identities which bear the belongers’ seal of approval. But the truth leaks out in our dreams; alone in our beds (because we are all alone at night, even if we do not sleep by ourselves), we soar, we fly, we flee. And in the waking dreams our societies permit, in our myths, our arts, our songs, we celebrate the non-belongers, the different ones, the outlaws, the freaks. What we forbid ourselves we pay good money to watch, in a playhouse or a movie theater, or to read about between the secret covers of a book. Our libraries, our palaces of entertainment tell the truth. The tramp, the assassin, the rebel, the thief, the mutant, the outcast, the delinquent, the devil, the sinner, the traveler, the gangster, the runner, the mask: if we did not recognize in them our least-fulfilled needs, we would not invent them over and over again, in every place, in every language, in every time.

Study, along the lines which the theologies have mapped, will never lead us to discovery of the fundamental facts of our existence. That goal must be attained by means of exact science and can only be achieved by such means. The fact that man, for ages, has superstitiously believed in what he calls a God does not prove at all that his theory has been right. There have been many gods – all makeshifts, born of inability to fathom the deep fundamental truth. There must be something at the bottom of existence, and man, in ignorance, being unable to discover what it is through reason, because his reason has been so imperfect, undeveloped, has used, instead, imagination, and created figments, of one kind or another, which, according to the country he was born in, the suggestions of his environment, satisfied him for the time being. Not one of all the gods of all the various theologies has ever really been proved. We accept no ordinary scientific fact without the final proof; why should we, then, be satisfied in this most mighty of all matters, with a mere theory? Destruction of false theories will not decrease the sum of human happiness in future, any more than it has in the past... The days of miracles have passed. I do not believe, of course, that there was ever any day of actual miracles. I cannot understand that there were ever any miracles at all. My guide must be my reason, and at thought of miracles my reason is rebellious. Personally, I do not believe that Christ laid claim to doing miracles, or asserted that he had miraculous power... Our intelligence is the aggregate intelligence of the cells which make us up. There is no soul, distinct from mind, and what we speak of as the mind is just the aggregate intelligence of cells. It is fallacious to declare that we have souls apart from animal intelligence, apart from brains. It is the brain that keeps us going. There is nothing beyond that. Life goes on endlessly, but no more in human beings than in other animals, or, for that matter, than in vegetables. Life, collectively, must be immortal, human beings, individually, cannot be, as I see it, for they are not the individuals – they are mere aggregates of cells. There is no supernatural. We are continually learning new things. There are powers within us which have not yet been developed and they will develop. We shall learn things of ourselves, which will be full of wonders, but none of them will be beyond the natural. [Columbian Magazine interview]

The first responsibility of a leader is to define reality. The last is to say thank you. In between the two, the leader must become a servant and a debtor. That sums up the progress of an artful leader.

That the sum of a man's life was not where he wound up but in the details that brought him there. That we made mistakes. I closed my eyes, sick of the riddles, and to my surprise all I could see were dandelions-as if they had been painted on the fields of my imagination, a hundred thousand suns. And I remembered something else that makes us human: faith, the only weapon in our arsenal to battle doubt.

At a basic level, your personal mission has to be rooted in the story of you, the sum of your life experiences, and what you want to achieve in the future. It is like a blueprint for your life that is filled with action verbs and themes that you associate with achieving a sense of abundance, and which extends beyond material resources.

We do not measure the value of a person by their outward appearance, rank, or creed, rather by the sum of the agápe in their heart. Your value in the cosmos is greater than precious metals or jewels, humans have to potential to take us all into a period of great enlightenment, or to our ruin. The choice is yours.

The sum of a man isn't the things he's done, it is the world he leaves behind.

Life is a sum of all your choices,” wrote Albert Camus. Large or small, our actions forge our futures, hopefully inspiring others along the way.

The sum of the day was truly greater than its parts.

Relationships aren't two incomplete halves coming together to make a whole. Rather, it's two complete wholes coming together to create something greater than their sum.

You are more than the sum of your traumas

Your behavior is the sum total of your action and reaction to issues and people around you.

The story of my birth that my mother told me went like this: "When you were coming out I wasn't ready yet and neither was the nurse. The nurse tried to push you back in, but I shit on the table and when you came out, you landed in my shit." If there ever was a way to sum things up, the story of my birth was it.

The last thought on your mind before you sleep is like a mirror showing you the reflection of who you are! No matter what you pretend to be all-day long, that one last thought is enough to sum up your entire life.

What we call society is the sum total of human thinking and feeling. It is a reflection of our attitudes. When we change them, we change society. We are only a change of mind away from real freedom, the freedom to express our God-given uniqueness and celebrate the diversity of gifts, perceptions and inspiration that exist within the collective human psyche. The creative force is within us all and desperate to express itself.

If you’re such a shallow person that a goddamn bumper sticker can sum up your beliefs, then Jesus Christ, are you even worth fighting for in the end?

In this walk to freedom, we must, without question obtain hearts of honesty and a tongue of truthfulness.

That everything you want to happen, will happen, if you decide you want it enough. That every time you think a sad thought, you can think a happy one instead. That you control that completely. That the people who make you laugh are more beautiful than beautiful people. That you laugh more than you cry. That crying is good for you. That the people you hate wish you would stop and you do too. That your friends are reflections of the best parts of you. That you are more than the sum total of the things you know and how you react to them. That dancing is sometimes more important than listening to the music. That the most embarrassing, awkward moments of your life are only remembered by you and no one else

The purpose of life is undoubtedly to know oneself. We cannot do it unless we learn to identify ourselves with all that lives. The sum-total of that life is God.

The sum of the whole is this: Walk and be happy; Walk and be healthy.

An employee's motivation is a direct result of the sum of interactions with his or her manager.

So in the end, what is a moment? One action? A single deed? Or is it more? Is a moment like a school of silver fish? The sum of many singular parts forming one cohesive unit? I tend to think so. Because the moment I met Ryan, that was just one of the sum parts.

Writers are the most pathetic souls when it comes to expressing their personal feelings. Their personalities are as complex as the characters they have weaved. And in a curious way, without them really knowing it, writers are the sum total of the characters they created in their heads or in their writings. Yes, My Dear Tania; writers are capable of reflecting their characters, even though most of them are determined to be just like your ordinary guy next door.

In three words I can sum up the purpose of life: living, loving, and giving.

I used to hate looking at my markings. But the captain taught me they don't mean anything. Because I'm more than the sum of my mistakes.

You are not the sum of your accomplishment or failures.

We are more than the sum total of our actions.

Success is the sum of small efforts, repeated day in day out Success is the not the thing we will find in a day.It takes continuous efforts and sacrifices to gain success in life. Your little efforts in a day create great differences in life.

If a single misleading sentence is to sum up the relations of artist and society in this era, we might say that the French Revolution inspired him by its example, the Industrial Revolution by its horror, and the bourgeois society, which emerged from both, transformed his very existence and modes of creation.

When the sum of our faith and humility is sufficient, it reaches a type of spiritual critical mass and hope is fostered and grows. A willing heart emerges which generates the ability for us to submit to the process of recovery.

I am the sum of my past experience. Some people have got a lot to answer for.

We may not be able to grasp all that is His being,” Eunice went on, “all that is His essence and His heart, but when we sum Him up, we call Him love.

A man is the sum of his actions.

Cogito, ergo sum

It must be remembered that while sympathy with joy intensifies the sum of joy in the world, sympathy with pain does not really diminish the amount of pain. It may make man better able to endure evil, but the evil remains.

Our fragile, perishable bodies are not who we are. We are the sum of fleeting moments that belong to us for eternity. It is our choice and responsibility to create moments of beauty and grace, instead of despair and suffering.

It didn't take inspiration to dredge up a list of plot points, but to find that moment — the perfect moment that defined a book, that made it come alive as something greater then the sum of its words — that required an alchemy you couldn't fake.

Oranges and unicorns say the bells of St. . . .” She looked to Harriet for inspiration. “Clunicorns?” “Somehow I don’t think so.” “Moonicorns.” Sarah cocked her head to the side. “Better,” she judged. “Spoonicorns? Zoomicorns.” And . . . that was enough. Sarah turned back to her book. “We’re done now, Harriet.” “Parunicorns.” Sarah couldn’t even imagine where that one had come from. But still, she found herself humming as she read. Oranges and lemons say the bells of St. Clements. Meanwhile, Harriet was muttering to herself at the desk. “Pontoonicorns xyloonicorns . . .” You owe me five farthings say the bells of St. Martins. “Oh, oh, oh, I have it! Hughnicorns!” Sarah froze. This she could not ignore. With great deliberation, she placed her index finger in her book to mark her place and looked up. “What did you just say?” “Hughnicorns,” Harriet replied, as if nothing could have been more ordinary. She gave Sarah a sly look. “Named for Lord Hugh, of course. He does seem to be a frequent topic of conversation.

The only expectations you must live up to are your own...You are not the sum of other's judgments or thoughts. Nor will you ever be. You are the sum of what you believe yourself to be. Let others limit themselves with judgment and negativity if they choose. But you must take another path if you want to make a difference.

[Robert's eulogy at his brother, Ebon C. Ingersoll's grave. Even the great orator Robert Ingersoll was choked up with tears at the memory of his beloved brother] The record of a generous life runs like a vine around the memory of our dead, and every sweet, unselfish act is now a perfumed flower. Dear Friends: I am going to do that which the dead oft promised he would do for me. The loved and loving brother, husband, father, friend, died where manhood's morning almost touches noon, and while the shadows still were falling toward the west. He had not passed on life's highway the stone that marks the highest point; but, being weary for a moment, he lay down by the wayside, and, using his burden for a pillow, fell into that dreamless sleep that kisses down his eyelids still. While yet in love with life and raptured with the world, he passed to silence and pathetic dust. Yet, after all, it may be best, just in the happiest, sunniest hour of all the voyage, while eager winds are kissing every sail, to dash against the unseen rock, and in an instant hear the billows roar above a sunken ship. For whether in mid sea or 'mong the breakers of the farther shore, a wreck at last must mark the end of each and all. And every life, no matter if its every hour is rich with love and every moment jeweled with a joy, will, at its close, become a tragedy as sad and deep and dark as can be woven of the warp and woof of mystery and death. This brave and tender man in every storm of life was oak and rock; but in the sunshine he was vine and flower. He was the friend of all heroic souls. He climbed the heights, and left all superstitions far below, while on his forehead fell the golden dawning, of the grander day. He loved the beautiful, and was with color, form, and music touched to tears. He sided with the weak, the poor, and wronged, and lovingly gave alms. With loyal heart and with the purest hands he faithfully discharged all public trusts. He was a worshipper of liberty, a friend of the oppressed. A thousand times I have heard him quote these words: 'For Justice all place a temple, and all season, summer!' He believed that happiness was the only good, reason the only torch, justice the only worship, humanity the only religion, and love the only priest. He added to the sum of human joy; and were every one to whom he did some loving service to bring a blossom to his grave, he would sleep to-night beneath a wilderness of flowers. Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry aloud, and the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry. From the voiceless lips of the unreplying dead there comes no word; but in the night of death hope sees a star and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing. He who sleeps here, when dying, mistaking the approach of death for the return of health, whispered with his latest breath, 'I am better now.' Let us believe, in spite of doubts and dogmas, of fears and tears, that these dear words are true of all the countless dead. And now, to you, who have been chosen, from among the many men he loved, to do the last sad office for the dead, we give his sacred dust. Speech cannot contain our love. There was, there is, no gentler, stronger, manlier man.

My son, you are just an infant now, but on that day when the world disrobes of its alluring cloak, it is then that I pray this letter is in your hands. Listen closely, my dear child, for I am more than that old man in the dusty portrait beside your bed. I was once a little boy in my mother’s arms and a babbling toddler on my father's lap. I played till the sun would set and climbed trees with ease and skill. Then I grew into a fine young man with shoulders broad and strong. My bones were firm and my limbs were straight; my hair was blacker than a raven's beak. I had a spring in my step and a lion's roar. I travelled the world, found love and married. Then off to war I bled in battle and danced with death. But today, vigor and grace have forsaken me and left me crippled. Listen closely, then, as I have lived not only all the years you have existed, but another forty more of my own. My son, We take this world for a permanent place; we assume our gains and triumphs will always be; that all that is dear to us will last forever. But my child, time is a patient hunter and a treacherous thief: it robs us of our loved ones and snatches up our glory. It crumbles mountains and turns stone to sand. So who are we to impede its path? No, everything and everyone we love will vanish, one day. So take time to appreciate the wee hours and seconds you have in this world. Your life is nothing but a sum of days so why take any day for granted? Don't despise evil people, they are here for a reason, too, for just as the gift salt offers to food, so do the worst of men allow us to savor the sweet, hidden flavor of true friendship. Dear boy, treat your elders with respect and shower them with gratitude; they are the keepers of hidden treasures and bridges to our past. Give meaning to your every goodbye and hold on to that parting embrace just a moment longer--you never know if it will be your last. Beware the temptation of riches and fame for both will abandon you faster than our own shadow deserts us at the approach of the setting sun. Cultivate seeds of knowledge in your soul and reap the harvest of good character. Above all, know why you have been placed on this floating blue sphere, swimming through space, for there is nothing more worthy of regret than a life lived void of this knowing. My son, dark days are upon you. This world will not leave you with tears unshed. It will squeeze you in its talons and lift you high, then drop you to plummet and shatter to bits . But when you lay there in pieces scattered and broken, gather yourself together and be whole once more. That is the secret of those who know. So let not my graying hairs and wrinkled skin deceive you that I do not understand this modern world. My life was filled with a thousand sacrifices that only I will ever know and a hundred gulps of poison I drank to be the father I wanted you to have. But, alas, such is the nature of this life that we will never truly know the struggles of our parents--not until that time arrives when a little hand--resembling our own--gently clutches our finger from its crib. My dear child, I fear that day when you will call hopelessly upon my lifeless corpse and no response shall come from me. I will be of no use to you then but I hope these words I leave behind will echo in your ears that day when I am no more. This life is but a blink in the eye of time, so cherish each moment dearly, my son.

Excellence is sum total of three E’s - Education, Experience, and Exposure

the sum total of your incredible choices in life is the destiny you aspire for... make wise choices to sum up a desirable destiny you yern for

There is no way to clearly capture or sum up life...when fully lived.

I am more than the sum of my fear.

The sum of our relationship with God enables us to take the next step, climb the next mountain, and do the next part of our assignment.

Charles Dickens captured the ecstasy of near-madness and insomnia in the essay “Night Walks” and once said, “The sum of the whole is this: Walk and be happy; Walk and be healthy.

Don't let anyone tell you, ever, that this is a zero-sum game. Your genius does not threaten me. It delights and inspires me.

If I had to sum up homeschooling in one word, it would be freedom.

Henry Ford summed it up best. "If I had asked people what they wanted," he said, "they would have said a faster horse.

Sum of life; Birth, childhood, youth, adulthood, parenthood, old age and death.

Don't let your 'future success' dim the beauty and light that's in front of you right now.

Even a small amount of nectar is a greater sum than none.

Spread a little kindness and your blessings will be greater than the sum of its parts.

God is the sum of all that is

Truth is, man is a sum of his experiences and the whole is greater than the parts.

One action does not define a man, but rather the sum of all his actions.

A team is more than the sum of the individuals.

I have often wondered, Sir, [. . .] to observe so few Instances of Charity among Mankind; for tho' the Goodness of a Man's Heart did not incline him to relieve the Distresses of his Fellow-Creatures, methinks the Desire of Honour should move him to it. What inspires a Man to build fine Houses, to purchase fine Furniture, Pictures, Clothes, and other things at a great Expence, but an Ambition to be respected more than other People? Now would not one great Act of Charity, one Instance of redeeming a poor Family from all the Miseries of Poverty, restoring an unfortunate Tradesman by a Sum of Money to the means of procuring a Livelihood by his Industry, discharging an undone Debtor from his Debts or a Goal, or any such Example of Goodness, create a Man more Honour and Respect than he could acquire by the finest House, Furniture, Pictures or Clothes that were ever beheld? For not only the Object himself who was thus relieved, but all who heard the Name of such a Person must, I imagine, reverence him infinitely more than the Possessor of all those other things: which when we so admire, we rather praise the Builder, the Workman, the Painter, the Laceman, the Taylor, and the rest, by whose Ingenuity they are produced, than the Person who by his Money makes them his own.

William Wordsworth was said to have walked 180,000 miles in his lifetime. Charles Dickens captured the ecstasy of near-madness and insomnia in the essay “Night Walks” and once said, “The sum of the whole is this: Walk and be happy; Walk and be healthy.” Robert Louis Stevenson wrote of “the great fellowship of the Open Road” and the “brief but priceless meetings which only trampers know.” Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche said, “Only those thoughts that come by walking have any value.” More recently, writers who knew the benefits of striking out excoriated the apathetic public, over and over again, for its laziness. “Of course, people still walk,” wrote a journalist in Saturday Night magazine in 1912. “That is, they shuffle along on their own pins from the door to the street car or taxi-cab…. But real walking … is as extinct as the dodo.” “They say they haven’t time to walk—and wait fifteen minutes for a bus to carry them an eighth of a mile,” wrote Edmund Lester Pearson in 1925. “They pretend that they are rushed, very busy, very energetic; the fact is, they are lazy. A few quaint persons—boys chiefly—ride bicycles.

Life's a lot like poker. You bet on some hands, you fold some. You win some hands, you lose some. But unlike poker, life is not a zero sum game. There's enough chips in the pot for everyone.

Real life doesn't give anyone a 'get out of jail free' card. SHIT HAPPENS! No one is exempt. Some struggles don't give us an option for a second try. There are no 'do-overs'. We learn by living!

Life is a good teacher and a good friend. Things are always in transition, if we could only realize it. Nothing ever sums itself up in the way that we like to dream about. The off-center, in-between state is an ideal situation, a situation in which we don’t get caught and we can open our hearts and minds beyond limit. It’s a very tender, nonaggressive, open-ended state of affairs. To stay with that shakiness — to stay with a broken heart, with a rumbling stomach, with the feeling of hopelessness and wanting to get revenge — that is the path of true awakening. Sticking with that uncertainty, getting the knack of relaxing in the midst of chaos, learning not to panic — this is the spiritual path. Getting the knack of catching ourselves, of gently and compassionately catching ourselves, is the path of the warrior. We catch ourselves one zillion times as once again, whether we like it or not, we harden into resentment, bitterness, righteous indignation — harden in any way, even into a sense of relief, a sense of inspiration.

I've been thinking about all the things I might have done differently. All the choices I didn't make. All the decisions that made and unmade me, all the actions and inactions I did or didn't take. With the shades drawn and the garbage overflowing, I've been thinking about all the bold steps I never took, all the gut instincts I didn't listen to, all the people I let down. I've been thinking about the cruel mathematics of my life, looking at my sums and wishing I'd shown my work.

When you say to me that you can’t do this or that, I don’t believe it. Whatever you make up your mind to do, you can do. God is the sum total of everything, and His image is within you. He can do anything, and so can you, if you learn to identify yourself with His inexhaustible nature.

Legacies are not just for legends. Whether a million people know your name, or only one person does, you still have the right to leave your mark on the world, even if it’s only in your tiny corner of it, in the tiniest of ways. Not all of us will achieve great heights and feats. Most of us will never leave our hometown or country, let alone conquer Everest. And you know what? That’s okay. Because real life is what happens in between moments of greatness. It’s the little things that at the end of it all, you realize were greater than the sum of their parts. It’s the amount of times you laughed, or cried, danced, sang, created, inspired, and made someone smile. The best kind of legacies are the ones that are unseen. You’ll never fully be able to measure the effect of a smile or a kind word, but I promise you, the most whispered phrase can send a shockwave around the world that lasts for centuries, or even an eternity.

..now, seated hunched over paper in a pool of Anglepoised light, I no longer want to be anything except what who I am. Who what am I? My answer: I am the sum total of everything that went before me, of all I have seen done, of everything done-to-me. I am everyone everything whose being-in-the-world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I've gone which would not have happened if I had not come. Nor am I particularly exceptional in this matter; each 'I', every one of the now-six-hundred-million-plus of us, contains a similar multitude. I repeat for the last time: to understand me, you'll have to swallow a world.

We're nothing but human. The way of life can be free and beautiful. But we have lost the way. Greed has poisoned men’s souls – has barricaded the world with hate; has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost. Don’t fight for slavery, fight for liberty. You are not machines. You are not cattle. You have the love of humanity in your hearts. In this world there is room for everyone and the earth is rich and can provide for everyone. We all want to live by each other’s happiness, not by each other's misery. We don’t want to hate and despise one another. We all want to help one another, human beings are like that. You the people have the power.. the power to create machines.. the power to create happiness. You the people have the power to make life free and beautiful.. To make this life a wonderful adventure. We are all faced throughout our lives with agonizing decisions, moral choices. Some are on a grand scale.. Most of these choices are on lesser points. But we define ourselves by the choices we have made. We are, in fact, the sum total of our choices. Events unfold so unpredictably, so unfairly. Human happiness does not seem to have been included in the design of creation. It is only we, with our capacity to love that give meaning to the indifferent universe.

Science uses the Red Shift to measure deep cosmic distances. But how to measure deep historic time? How about—the Saffron Shift. If history itself had a color, it is . . . like wood or bark, or living forest floor. Assigning hues to time periods, the sum total of history is saffron-brown—but the chromatic arc starts from blinding white (prehistory) to sun-yellow (Ancient Greece), then deepening to pale wood tones (Dark Ages) and finally exploding like an infinite chord into a full brown palette that includes mahoganies, siennas (Middle Ages), oak, sandalwood (the Renaissance), cherry, maple (Age of Reason), and near-black old woods (Industrial Revolution) for which there may not be names. As time approaches our own, the wood-brown palette fades to a weird glassy colorlessness, goes black-and-white for a brief span as you think of photographs of your grandparents, and then again fades until we get a clear medium that is the color of the world. And the present moment is perfectly transparent. It's only as you start looking into the future, that the colors start returning. The glass is turning silvery with a murky haze, and there is blue somewhere in the distance . . .

Entitlement is simply the belief that you deserve something. Which is great. The hard part is, you'd better make sure you deserve it. So, how did I make sure that I deserved it? To answer that, I would like to quote from the Twitter bio of one of my favorite people, Kevin Hart. It reads: My name is Kevin Hart and I WORK HARD!!! That pretty much sums me up!!! Everybody Wants To Be Famous But Nobody Wants To Do The Work!

A prisoner named Denis Martinez, for example, explained what getting an education and learning to read deeply into subjects gave him in terms of perspective: “It’s given me a new set of glasses. Before I wasn’t able to see the things I see now. I was a nineteen-year old knucklehead going around and thinking I knew it all. The more I learned the more I could sense how wrong I was and how many things I didn’t know.” Inspired by his reading of René Descartes, Martinez reflected, “There are two ways to be in prison—physically and/or mentally. Being in prison mentally is to live in ignorance, closed-mindedness, and pessimism. You can confine me for as long as you want, but my mind will always be free.” The title of a painting this prisoner made is revealing: Cogito Ergo Sum Liber—I Think Therefore I Am Free. (Now, there’s a bumper sticker/T-shirt slogan for the modern Enlightenment thinker.)

When he was in college, a famous poet made a useful distinction for him. He had drunk enough in the poet's company to be compelled to describe to him a poem he was thinking of. It would be a monologue of sorts, the self-contemplation of a student on a summer afternoon who is reading Euphues. The poem itself would be a subtle series of euphuisms, translating the heat, the day, the student's concerns, into symmetrical posies; translating even his contempt and boredom with that famously foolish book into a euphuism. The poet nodded his big head in a sympathetic, rhythmic way as this was explained to him, then told him that there are two kinds of poems. There is the kind you write; there is the kind you talk about in bars. Both kinds have value and both are poems; but it's fatal to confuse them. In the Seventh Saint, many years later, it had struck him that the difference between himself and Shakespeare wasn't talent - not especially - but nerve. The capacity not to be frightened by his largest and most potent conceptions, to simply (simply!) sit down and execute them. The dreadful lassitude he felt when something really large and multifarious came suddenly clear to him, something Lear-sized yet sonnet-precise. If only they didn't rush on him whole, all at once, massive and perfect, leaving him frightened and nerveless at the prospect of articulating them word by scene by page. He would try to believe they were of the kind told in bars, not the kind to be written, though there was no way to be sure of this except to attempt the writing; he would raise a finger (the novelist in the bar mirror raising the obverse finger) and push forward his change. Wailing like a neglected ghost, the vast notion would beat its wings into the void. Sometimes it would pursue him for days and years as he fled desperately. Sometimes he would turn to face it, and do battle. Once, twice, he had been victorious, objectively at least. Out of an immense concatenation of feeling, thought, word, transcendent meaning had come his first novel, a slim, pageant of a book, tombstone for his slain conception. A publisher had taken it, gingerly; had slipped it quietly into the deep pool of spring releases, where it sank without a ripple, and where he supposes it lies still, its calm Bodoni gone long since green. A second, just as slim but more lurid, nightmarish even, about imaginary murders in an imaginary exotic locale, had been sold for a movie, though the movie had never been made. He felt guilt for the producer's failure (which perhaps the producer didn't feel), having known the book could not be filmed; he had made a large sum, enough to finance years of this kind of thing, on a book whose first printing was largely returned.

These people so entranced by dictionaries were outside the bounds of Nishioka’s understanding. He couldn’t even be sure they thought of their work as work. They spent huge sums of their own money on materials, ignoring the limitations of their salaries. Sometimes they stayed in the office looking up things and never even realized they had missed the last train home. They seemed filled with a mad fever. And yet you couldn’t really say they loved dictionaries, either—not given the way they studied and analyzed them with such stunning concentration. There was something almost vindictive in their obsession, as if they were going after an enemy, getting the goods on him. How could they be so wrapped up in making dictionaries? He found their obsession mysterious, with even a whiff of bad taste. And yet—if only Nishioka had something that meant as much to him as dictionaries did to Majime and the rest. Then surely he would see everything differently. He would see a world of such dazzling brightness it would hurt.

The squaw on the hippo? In his mind's eye, Darbishire pictured the wife of a red indian chief, resplendent in feathered head-dress, riding proudly on the tribal hippopotamus. But how could she be equal to the squaws on the other two sides of the animal? equal in weight? . . . In height? . . . in importance? He stared at the diagram wondering whether it was meant to represent a three sided hippopotamus, but it wasn't easy to imagine what such an animal would look like in real life, Determined to please Mr Wilkins, he tried again. perhaps the theorem meant she was equal in weight. Supposing you had a very fat squaw, weighing, say, fifteen stone; and two thinner squaws weighing, say, eight stone and seven stone respectively . . . What then? the scholar's eyes shone with inspiration. He'd got it! seven and eight made fifteen! So the squaw on one side of the hipppotamus would be equal in weight to the sum of the squaws on the other two sides. That meant that the animal would be properly balanced and wouldn't topple over.

To sum up: Figure out what you're good at, and get better at it. Along the way, don't waste your time on people whose decency isn't apparent when you first meet for a cup of coffee. Be an astute judge of character, and learn to judge quickly. Read the news. Pay attention. Always aspire to act in a way that cancels out someone else's cruel or stupid behavior. Never stop worrying. Live each day as if your rent is due tomorrow. And always, always be the one who sleeps near the campfire - the one who would make Darwin proud.

The Beatles were particularly prominent examples, and Dylan’s central position in rock history is rooted in that brief period when he and the Beatles were running neck and neck. He released Bringing It All Back Home in the spring of 1965, Highway 61 Revisited that summer, and Blonde on Blonde a year later. Rubber Soul, the first Beatles album conceived as a cohesive artistic statement, was released in December 1965, followed by Revolver seven months later. In commercial terms the Beatles were in a different league: on the American market, they released four LPs of new material in 1965 and two in 1966, and each spent more than five weeks at number one on Billboard’s album chart, while Dylan would not have a number one album until the mid-1970s. But they were evolving from teen-pop hit-makers into mature, thoughtful artists, with Dylan as their acknowledged model. McCartney recalled playing him a tape of their new songs when he came through London in the spring of 1966: “He said, ‘O I get it, you don’t want to be cute anymore!’ That summed it up. . . . The cute period had ended. It started to be art.

A lot of her songs were to do with Blake, which did not escape Mark’s attention. She told Mark that writing songs about him was cathartic and that ‘Back to Black’ summed up what had happened when their relationship had ended: Blake had gone back to his ex and Amy to black, or drinking and hard times. It was some of her most inspired writing because, for better or worse, she’d lived it. Mark and Amy inspired each other musically, each bringing out fresh ideas in the other. One day they decided to take a quick stroll around the neighbourhood because Amy wanted to buy Alex Clare a present. On the way back Amy began telling Mark about being with Blake, then not being with Blake and being with Alex instead. She told him about the time at my house after she’d been in hospital when everyone had been going on at her about her drinking. ‘You know they tried to make me go to rehab, and I told them, no, no, no.’ ‘That’s quite gimmicky,’ Mark replied. ‘It sounds hooky. You should go back to the studio and we should turn that into a song.’ Of course, Amy had written that line in one of her books ages ago. She’d told me before she was planning to write a song about what had happened that day, but that was the moment ‘Rehab’ came to life. Amy had also been working on a tune for the ‘hook’, but when she played it to Mark later that day it started out as a slow blues shuffle – it was like a twelve-bar blues progression. Mark suggested that she should think about doing a sixties girl-group sound, as she liked them so much. He also thought it would be fun to put in the Beatles-style E minor and A minor chords, which would give it a jangly feel. Amy was unaccustomed to this style – most of the songs she was writing were based around jazz chords – but it worked and that day she wrote ‘Rehab’ in just three hours. If you had sat Amy down with a pen and paper every day, she wouldn’t have written a song. But every now and then, something or someone turned the light on in her head and she wrote something brilliant. During that time it happened over and over again. The sessions in the studio became very intense and tiring, especially for Mark, who would sometimes work a double shift and then fall asleep. He would wake up with his head in Amy’s lap and she would be stroking his hair, as if he was a four-year-old. Mark was a few years older than Amy, but he told me he found her very motherly and kind.

I want to give credit to Bill Mollison and David Holmgren for creating the 12 Permaculture Design Principles, and to Adam Smith for being the father of Capitalism. The foundations they laid has benefitted billions of people across generations. Respectfully, I have gone beyond the work of these men – far beyond. And I have done that by standing on their shoulders, so to speak. What I have done that’s new and novel is pair permaculture design principles with capitalism as opposed to viewing the two as mutually exclusive. I have also infused my own observations and insights about natural phenomena into the Permaculture Economics framework. Furthermore, I’ve created a definite framework – a set of well thought out principles for policymakers, based on all of this. What I have created is not simply the economics of permaculture, or economics viewed through a permaculture lens, or permaculture plus capitalism. No, I have created an entirely new principles-based system that was inspired by but not exclusively dependent on Permaculture and Capitalism. It is new and novel, and it has a life of its own, and it will one day be the standard of a one global society. Permaculture Economics is unique- greater than the sum of its parts. The implementation of this system, globally, is essential to bringing about a new order of the world.

a simple, inspiring mission for Wikipedia: “Imagine a world in which every single person on the planet is given free access to the sum of all human knowledge. That’s what we’re doing.” It was a huge, audacious, and worthy goal. But it badly understated what Wikipedia did. It was about more than people being “given” free access to knowledge; it was also about empowering them, in a way not seen before in history, to be part of the process of creating and distributing knowledge. Wales came to realize that. “Wikipedia allows people not merely to access other people’s knowledge but to share their own,” he said. “When you help build something, you own it, you’re vested in it. That’s far more rewarding than having it handed down to you.”111 Wikipedia took the world another step closer to the vision propounded by Vannevar Bush in his 1945 essay, “As We May Think,” which predicted, “Wholly new forms of encyclopedias will appear, ready made with a mesh of associative trails running through them, ready to be dropped into the memex and there amplified.” It also harkened back to Ada Lovelace, who asserted that machines would be able to do almost anything, except think on their own. Wikipedia was not about building a machine that could think on its own. It was instead a dazzling example of human-machine symbiosis, the wisdom of humans and the processing power of computers being woven together like a tapestry.

Dogs asleep in the sun often whined and barked, but they were unable to tell what they saw that made them whine and bark. He had often wondered what it was. And that was all he was, a dog asleep in the sun. He would stand up, with open eyes, and he would struggle and toil and learn until, with eyes unblinded and tongue untied, he could share with her his visioned wealth. Other men had discovered the trick of expression, of making words obedient servitors, and making combinations of words mean more than the sum of their separate meanings. He was stirred profoundly by the passing glimpse at the secret, and he was again caught up in the vision of sunlit spaces and starry voids - until it came to him taht it was very quiet, and he saw Ruth regarding him with an amused expression and a smile in her eyes.

It is almost inconceivable that so many filmmakers could think of nothing -- be inspired by nothing -- nothing, nothing, nothing -- but the politics of representation, 'performitivity', gender, race, queer theory etc. There must be other subjects, in the world outside or in their inner lives, which belong on the silver (or digital) screen. This degree of conformity is unsettling. It should alarm cultural elites rather than comfort them. Yet the art world's ideological atmosphere is so thick and pervasive that those inside of it don't even realise it as the air they breathe." "Forgive me, I forgot to mention the other permissible topic: 'consumptive capitalism', that oppressive economic system which creates vast sums of taxable wealth, which in turn allows the UK government to fund even this nonsense.

He attempted to distract his thoughts from the events that were overwhelming him by going over his papers. These were the sum total of his literary output over the last fifteen years. In the early days he had harbored an inflated idea as to the merit of his work and had even enjoyed publication in magazines that nobody read. It was only later that he discovered he preferred to write for himself alone and not for the dubious pleasure of seeing his strange works in print. He liked to dream over them, writing only when inspiration came to him, which was infrequently, and the half-formed pieces and the false starts were either destroyed or subsumed into longer writings—of which there were few. He enjoyed destroying the work that did not satisfy him. Sometimes he even wondered if he actually wrote just so he could obliterate the results.

Stillness pooled like blood and Devon sat, stunned and terrified to move in case her universe tilted again. The aunts were already cleaning up: wiping blood off her legs, changing the sheets around her as best they could. Someone carried the placenta away. “Your milk will be black, when it comes in,” Gailey said. “Don’t be alarmed by that. All perfectly normal.” Devon just nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Perfectly normal? How could anything be normal ever again? Her life had been a series of twisted fairy tales in which she had imagined herself the princess, but this, here, living and breathing and snuffling in her arms, had more truth than all of her swallowed stories combined. She was her daughter’s whole world, a realization both humbling and empowering. Devon had never been anybody’s world before—had never been anything at all, in fact, except the sum of paper flesh she’d consumed without thought.

A piece of foolish piety with a concealed purpose . What! the inventors of the earliest cultures, the most ancient devisers of tools and measuring-rods, of carts and ships and houses, the first observers of the celestial order and the rules of the twice-times-table: are they something incomparably different from and higher than the inventors and observers of our own day? Do these first steps possess a value with which all our voyages and world-circumnavigations in the realm of discoveries cannot compare? That is the prejudice, that is the argument for the deprecation of the modern spirit. And yet it is palpably obvious that chance was formerly the greatest of all discoverers and observers and the benevolent inspirer of those inventive ancients, and that more spirit, discipline and scientific imagination is employed in the most insignificant invention nowadays than the sum total available in whole eras of the past.

The classics, and their position of prerogative in the scheme of education to which the higher seminaries of learning cling with such a fond predilection, serve to shape the intellectual attitude and lower the economic efficiency of the new learned generation. They do this not only by holding up an archaic ideal of manhood, but also by the discrimination which they inculcate with respect to the reputable and the disreputable in knowledge. This result is accomplished in two ways: (1) by inspiring an habitual aversion to what is merely useful, as contrasted with what is merely honorific in learning, and so shaping the tastes of the novice that he comes in good faith to find gratification of his tastes solely, or almost solely, in such exercise of the intellect as normally results in no industrial or social gain; and (2) by consuming the learner's time and effort in acquiring knowledge which is of no use, except in so far as this learning has by convention become incorporated into the sum of learning required of the scholar, and has thereby affected the terminology and diction employed in the useful branches of knowledge.

In November 1914, the British government issued the first war bond, aiming to raise £350 million from private investors at an interest rate of 4.1% and a maturity of ten years. Surprisingly, the bond issue was undersubscribed, and the British public purchased less than a third of the targeted sum. To avoid publicizing this failure, the Bank of England granted funds to its chief cashier and his deputy to purchase the bonds under their own names. The Financial Times, ever the bank’s faithful mouthpiece, published an article proclaiming the loan was oversubscribed. John Maynard Keynes worked at the Treasury at the time, and in a secret memo to the bank, he praised them for what he called their “masterly manipulation.” Keynes’s fondness for surreptitious monetary arrangements would go on to inspire thousands of economic textbooks published worldwide. The Bank of England had set the tone for a century of central bank and government collusion behind the public’s back. The Financial Times would only issue a correction 103 years later,7 when this matter was finally uncovered after some sleuthing in the bank’s archives by some enterprising staff members and published on the bank’s blog.8

If I were to list all the positive attributes about Ryan Lilly, I’d run out of superior adjectives to use. I mean seriously, how big do you think my vocabulary is? I only know about a hundred million words, and with that small of a sample size, how could I accurately describe someone as great as Ryan? Ryan is the most amazing guy I’ve ever met. Seriously, I’m insanely jealous and I just want to stab him. But I won’t, because everybody loves Ryan, including me. Ryan is a big inspiration in my life. Not only is Ryan fiercely intelligent—on the level of Newton, da Vinci, and Nietzsche’s mustache—but he is the most open, honest, and understanding guy I’ve ever met. He’s the kind of guy who’d give you the shirt off his back if you asked. I know, because I’m wearing his shirt now. If you don’t know who Ryan Lilly is, you soon will. He’ll probably be one of the most talked about people in history, and just the other day I came across this quote from Pliny (I don’t know how old Pliny is, so I don’t know if it was Pliny the Older or Pliny the Younger) which said, “Everything good I have written about can be summed up in two words: Ryan Lilly.” That’s a real quote I read in a real book. Trust me, I’m a writer.

...[E]xcept the flying fish, there was no race existing on the earth, in the air, or the waters, who were the object of such an intermitting, general, and relentless persecution as the Jews of this period. Upon the slightest and most unreasonable pretences, as well as upon accusations the most absurd and groundless, their persons and property were exposed to every turn of popular fury... Yet the passive courage inspired by the love of gain induced the Jews to dare the various evils to which they were subjected, in consideration of the immense profits which they were enabled to realise in a country naturally so wealthy as England. In spite of every kind of discouragement, and even of the special court of taxations already mentioned, called the Jews' Exchequer, erected for the very purpose of despoiling and distressing them, the Jews increased, multiplied, and accumulated huge sums, which they transferred from one hand to another by means of bills of exchange-an invention for which commerce is said to be indebted to them, and which enabled them to transfer their wealth from land to land, that, when threatened with oppression in one country, their treasure might be secured in another. The obstinacy and avarice of the Jews being thus in a measure placed in opposition to the fanaticism and tyranny of those under whom they lived, seemed to increase in proportion to the persecution with which they were visited...

This is the part of the book where the author usually sums it all up in a conclusion chapter and announces, “I did it!” I suppose I could have titled it “The Finale,” but that’s just not me. I don’t think you ever reach a point in life (or in writing!) where you get to say that. It ain’t over till it’s over. I want to be an eternal student, always pushing myself to learn more, fear less, fight harder. What lies in the future? Truthfully, I don’t know. For some people, that’s a scary thought. They like their life mapped out and scheduled down to the second. Not me. Not anymore. I take comfort in knowing not everything is definite. There’s where you find the excitement, in the unknown, uncharted, spaces. If I take the lead in my life, I expect that things will keep changing, progressing, moving. That’s the joy for me. Where will I go next? What doors will open? What doors will close? All I can tell you is that I will be performing and connecting with people--be it through dance, movies, music, or speaking. I want to inspire and create. I love the phrase “I’m created to create.” That’s what I feel like, and that’s what makes me the happiest. I’m building a house right now--my own extreme home makeover. I love the process of tearing something down and rebuilding it, creating something from nothing and bringing my artistic vision to it. I will always be someone who likes getting his hands dirty. But the blueprint of my life has completely changed from the time I was a little boy dreaming about fame. It’s broadened and widened. I want variety in my life; I like my days filled with new and different things. I love exploring the world, meeting new people, learning new crafts and art. It’s why you might often read what I’m up to and scratch your head: “I didn’t know Derek did that.” I probably didn’t before, but I do now.

Is power like the vis viva and the quantite d’avancement? That is, is it conserved by the universe, or is it like shares of a stock, which may have great value one day, and be worthless the next? If power is like stock shares, then it follows that the immense sum thereof lately lost by B[olingbroke] has vanished like shadows in sunlight. For no matter how much wealth is lost in stock crashes, it never seems to turn up, but if power is conserved, then B’s must have gone somewhere. Where is it? Some say ‘twas scooped up by my Lord R, who hid it under a rock, lest my Lord M come from across the sea and snatch it away. My friends among the Whigs say that any power lost by a Tory is infallibly and insensibly distributed among all the people, but no matter how assiduously I search the lower rooms of the clink for B’s lost power, I cannot seem to find any there, which explodes that argument, for there are assuredly very many people in those dark salons. I propose a novel theory of power, which is inspired by . . . the engine for raising water by fire. As a mill makes flour, a loom makes cloth and a forge makes steel, so we are assured this engine shall make power. If the backers of this device speak truly, and I have no reason to deprecate their honesty, it proves that power is not a conserved quantity, for of such quantities, it is never possible to make more. The amount of power in the world, it follows, is ever increasing, and the rate of increase grows ever faster as more of these engines are built. A man who hordes power is therefore like a miser who sits on a heap of coins in a realm where the currency is being continually debased by the production of more coins than the market can bear. So that what was a great fortune, when first he raked it together, insensibly becomes a slag heap, and is found to be devoid of value. When at last he takes it to the marketplace to be spent. Thus my Lord B and his vaunted power hoard what is true of him is likely to be true of his lackeys, particularly his most base and slavish followers such as Mr. Charles White. This varmint has asserted that he owns me. He fancies that to own a man is to have power, yet he has got nothing by claiming to own me, while I who was supposed to be rendered powerless, am now writing for a Grub Street newspaper that is being perused by you, esteemed reader.

Unfortunately, there is more evidence that sales don’t significantly increase and bonds of loyalty are not formed simply when companies say or do everything their customers want. Henry Ford summed it up best. “If I had asked people what they wanted,” he said, “they would have said a faster horse.” This is the genius of great leadership.

The church is still a sinful institution,” a Benedictine monk wrote to me when I was struggling over whether or not to join a church. “How could it be otherwise?” he asked, and I was startled into a recognition of simple truth. The church is like the Incarnation itself, a shaky proposition. It is a human institution, full of ordinary people, sinners like me, who say and do cruel, stupid things. But it is also a divinely inspired institution, full of good purpose, which partakes of a unity far greater than the sum of its parts. That is why it is called the body of Christ.

Whatever a person writes comes from them. Whether consciously or unconsciously, it is the sum of their experience being shared. One need not poke at old wounds. Write honestly; the truth will emerge.

Success is the sum of small efforts repeated day in and day out.

Success isn't a zero-sum game. It's not about choosing between your dreams, your health, or your relationships. You can have it all by staying true to yourself.

Your thoughts and words overtime sum your personality.

The totality of our sameness is greater than the sum of our differences.

Dear Friend, Your letter of 5th June…Now for your questions. 1.      Life for me is real as I believe it to be a spark of the Divine. 2.      Religion not in the conventional but in the broadest sense helps me to have a glimpse of the Divine essence. This glimpse is impossible without full development of the moral sense. Hence religion and morality are, for me, synonymous terms. 3. Striving for full realization keeps me going. 4.      This strife is the source of whatever inspiration and energy I possess. 5. The goal is already stated. 6.      My consolation and my happiness are to be found in service of all that lives, because the Divine essence is the sum total of all life. 7.      My treasure lies in battling against darkness and all forces of evil. You have asked me to write at leisure and at length if I can. Unfortunately I have no leisure and therefore writing at length is an impossibility. Yours sincerely, M.K. Gandhi

What is the sum of not recognizing the tremendous need for self reflection of all entities in our times. History repeats itself, easily predicted by the primitive parts of psychology. There's only one excuse for inaction, fear, or the lack of foresight. Furthermore, if democracy is the way - a thousand astronomers may be more effective in dealing with issues regarding the stars - and so on. Though perhaps there may be universal issues directly related to the human experience. There's also significant cause for concern with regards to larger variations or differences in lifestyle, preferences/ideologies, merits, psychology and various corruptions which may arise. Favouring the political directions who are able to produce, raise or educate the most babies and then gets to decide the fate of all the rest. There is difficulty in adressing issues when there is a great need for balance between short-term and long-term good. Whatever system of governance, with ways of bringing those carrying the merits, discipline and good hearts to surface like buoyancy, necessary to secure a good future for all. The paradox of calling for the good to rise up - is how those truly good may often fail to recognize their part of the intended audience, being too humble in accepting their own worth. And, to recognize those primitive tendencies of an elevated ego. Let's be thankful, for nature inspire many solutions.

If you had to sum it up in one sentence, the classical definition of the pursuit of happiness meant being a lifelong learner, with a commitment to practicing the daily habits that lead to character improvement, self-mastery, flourishing, and growth.

We come up wrapped around each other, water rushing off our bodies, gasping for air. I feel exorcised and electrified. Not fixed, but better. Like maybe I'm not the sum of my mistakes, my failures, my fears. Like maybe it's not too late to fight for what I want, if I can admit it to myself. That it's okay to have hope, to try, even if it doesn't turn out the way I expect. - Noelle, page 191

Summed up, Inspiring Accountability methodology asserts that leaders are accountable for contributing toward an employee being engaged in their work, receptive to feedback, improvement and accountability, and resourceful toward results.

Whether this courage was innate or whether their parents conditioned them to have resolve, knowing that there were other women in the world also pursing science and math perhaps inspired them with perseverance. This sisterly inspiration, though minimal and new to the world, was a powerful movement. Even though their diligence may have wavered for thousands of years, like the women who persisted, they never gave up.

She had self-respect that was infectious and intelligence that inspired.

The way to inspire change was summed up by Benjamin Franklin: 'The best sermon is a good example.

To sum up - i f you want to be more creat ive, star t loving yoursel f enough to give yoursel f permission to fai l . In fact , bet ter yet , don' t even wor ry about winning or losing. Just DO.

Drown with sums; You'll be number one.

Nesting like Russian dolls. Each larger creation becomes more than the sum of its parts yet remains entirely dependent on them.

Success is not about deals , its about making them happen. Success is what you inspire others to do. Success that comes with positive attitude is ACHIEVEMENT. Successful is the one who has ability as well as right attitude. Sum of small efforts - repeated day in & day out is success.

I’d like them to appreciate the power of the individual—and I don’t mean me; I mean the power each person has to make choices and be accountable for himself or herself. I’ve noticed that people are quick to put you in a category—if you come from this place then you are that thing. But I’ve never placed much value in statistics and trends, bar graphs and socioeconomic data that sum people up. I stop listening when somebody asks me if I know what my chances are. I don’t know that I believe in probability. People are inexplicable and incomprehensible, and nobody really knows what’s possible until they try. I prefer the exceptions to the rules. I like people who try, even when their chances are zero.

Many of the one-liners teach volumes. Some summarize excellence in an entire field in one sentence. As Josh Waitzkin (page 577), chess prodigy and the inspiration behind Searching for Bobby Fischer, might put it, these bite-sized learnings are a way to “learn the macro from the micro.” The process of piecing them together was revelatory. If I thought I saw “the Matrix” before, I was mistaken, or I was only seeing 10% of it. Still, even that 10%—“ islands” of notes on individual mentors—had already changed my life and helped me 10x my results. But after revisiting more than a hundred minds as part of the same fabric, things got very interesting very quickly. For the movie nerds among you, it was like the end of The Sixth Sense or The Usual Suspects: “The red door knob! The fucking Kobayashi coffee cup! How did I not notice that?! It was right in front of me the whole time!” To help you see the same, I’ve done my best to weave patterns together throughout the book, noting where guests have complementary habits, beliefs, and recommendations. The completed jigsaw puzzle is much greater than the sum of its parts.

The proverb, "Where there's a will.." sums it up for a writer who had just started in his writing life; for himself, the fictional characters and the audience of his works. It's a trinity of perspectives; one of his struggle, another of the story character which he writes about and the last one of the reader's expectation of his protagonists.

Love can indeed exist in such a place as Carnassus, if only for a brief time, and only after the exchangeb of an agreed sum.

Lego, ergo sum

Me legit, ergo sum.

Me legit, ergo sum.

If winning really was a zero sum game, then no one would enjoy being a winner. Being the only one would make you feel empty.

there is more evidence that sales don’t significantly increase and bonds of loyalty are not formed simply when companies say or do everything their customers want. Henry Ford summed it up best. “If I had asked people what they wanted,” he said, “they would have said a faster horse.

To sum it up, succuss is merely a small act of courageousness.

To sum it up, success is nothing more than a small act of courageousness.

For who are we if not the sum of our experiences, the things that we gather and collect in life? Once you strip those away we become just a mass of flesh, bone and blood vessels.

Disruption causes vast sums of money to flow from existing businesses and business models to new entrants.

You have it easily in your power to increase the sum total of this world's happiness now. How? By giving a few words of sincere appreciation to someone who is lonely or discouraged. Perhaps you will forget tomorrow the kind words you say today, but the recipient may cherish them over a lifetime.  Dale Carnegie

To sum up what is most crucial in Japanese political culture: the Japanese have never been encouraged to think that the force of an idea could measure up to the physical forces of a government. The key to understanding Japanese power relations is that they are unregulated by transcendental concepts. The public has no intellectual means to a consistent judgement of the political aspects of life. The weaker, ideologically inspired political groups or individuals have no leverage of any kind over the status quo other than the little material pressure they are sometimes able to muster. In short, Japanese political practice is a matter of ‘might is right’ disguised by assurances and tokens of ‘benevolence’.

Every great idea has a spark of inspiration. Divine…if the shoe fits. Every great spark of inspiration comes from a remarkably intense passion, love, or desire. It can be out of love for God, a family member, a lover, child, friend, or just out of a desire to be compassionate and help others. It can be an intense passion for music, art, physical comforts, or beauty. It can be from the desire to prove those who hurt, wrong, or doubt them wrong because they themselves are not yet capable of asking questions and chasing dreams which seem so far away. The paradox of any genius or creative virtuoso is that they see one plus one does not equal two and they do not consult the mathematicians to hear what they have to say about this. When the idea or project they desire to create is fueled from a combination of these previously mentioned factors and then ignited by a pure intention of their heart and soul it is more than the sum of its’ parts. It is no longer a song composed of a melody and words or a picture brushed with paint upon an easel. It is a masterpiece with an explanation which can only be hinted or pointed at. Just like the moon can only reflect the light passed on to it by the sun. Personally, a master watch maker is a person I look up to. They lovingly and thoughtfully put immense energy and concentration on putting seemingly small pieces into place that once put into place learn to work on their own in perfect synchronization and harmony. However, this working together of gears and pieces does not happen by itself; It happens because the master had a vision of what he wanted and put in the time, energy, love, and effort to make it happen. The designer didn’t have it materialize right in front of their face instantly. Rather, they had faith it would come together a piece at a time. It’s my mission to find as many of these Masters who don’t run away from their ability to love, be loved, and create. The more we present beauty to those around us, the quicker others will find light within themselves. The more assistance we give to those we know struggling with poverty both inside and externally, the quicker we change this world into what it’s meant to be.

You are the sum of what you believe. Your capabilities are limitless when you allow yourself to be so.

Ah, Toulouse, you have travelled too much. You know the gods of a hundred lands, those of the trees and mountains, the sky and sea, the stars and planets, of demons and angels, and even the Master of the Cosmos. But I am speaking of God. There are others, I’m sure, but only one God who created even great Zeus and Rama. Yet travel is like philosophy: a few years of it will perk the eye to differences, which you shall be able to notice with ease. Yet living as I have, travelling to lonely lands and through a thousand metropolises and hidden woods, you rather see the similarities. All becomes one, and God too becomes one. Not the sum of all those gods here, but beyond them, a being few philosophers have truly grasped. He has always been one, but he is severed in our minds. So it is up to us to piece him back together. If our souls possess a clarity beyond what our mortal nature can bestow, we shall see him.

From an Evolutionary-Teal perspective, the right question is not: how can everyone have equal power? It is rather: how can everyone be powerful? Power is not viewed as a zero-sum game, where the power I have is necessarily power taken away from you. Instead, if we acknowledge that we are all interconnected, the more powerful you are, the more powerful I can become. The more powerfully you advance the organization’s purpose, the more opportunities will open up for me to make contributions of my own.

You are the sum of my infatuation and infinite devotion.

Sum of life's reflections projected by nature and through some forms of intimacy, conceived and appreciated by the soul-beigns - ...art!

And isn't that the sum of all love? The whole story of love? Something that takes you by surprise, something that is seen from a distance, and yet recognized instantly and clearly? Something you are scared of your whole life long, and yet, when faced by it, reach for with open arms? And isn't that the story of folly, the sum of it?

Mindfulness can be summed up in seven words: Deliberate Focused Attention In The Present Moment. - Denis J

For the whole law can be summed up in this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” —Galatians 5:14

(courtesy Travel Africa magazine) sums up the feeling rather well –: “Surely everyone who has had the honour of setting foot on African soil understands how difficult it is to answer the question: “Why Africa?” I’ve often found it impossible to do Africa justice in words. In the past I’ve felt that my answers never conveyed the joy I feel when I hear the word Africa, see a glimpse of her on television, or hear African people talking in the street. My answers are most often unsatisfying and frequently leave my audience unconvinced. But of late I’ve found a much simpler way to explain it. Africa is a feeling. Africa is an emotion. Of course it is much more detailed than that, but also just as simple. Africa is the awe-inspiring landscapes, the beauty in the people, the wild creatures that inhabit the land and the seas, and it’s the speed in which the sun leaves in the evening and comes again in the morning. The feeling of Africa waking up is indescribable, dramatic and incomparable. Africa seems to breathe life, into itself and into all things. And death. And the cycles in between. Africa is the longed-for lover, the oft-missed friend, and the trusted elder. Africa is all of these things but maybe none of them. Africa affects us in a deep, personal, individual way. It comes to us in an instant, inhabits our being, and never leaves. I long for Africa. I miss it every day. It embodies all that I believe about life, space and freedom, even though such things are often scarce commodities on the ground. Africa is a memory, a constant presence and is all future possibilities. Africa is old and wise, new and dynamic, and I will be there again.” Enough said...

The specific sufferings of Jesus do not amount to redemption: rather, redemption is wrought through the uniqueness of the person who suffered and the perfect charity for which, in which and by which he suffered. The uniqueness of the suffering of Christ, then, lies in the pro knobs, which is bound to the freedom through which the Son endures “every human suffering” on account of love. To say that Jesus endured “every human suffering” does not mean that he specifically suffered every thing that every person ever did or could suffer, but the he “sums up” in this Passion the suffering so fate world, mystically including them in his own suffering and recapitulating them in the form of perfect love. The whole weight of this psychological and physical dereliction of humanity is, in Christ, suffered and sorrowed now within God himself, in the sense that the human sufferings of Christ are “one” with the divine filial relation that constitutes his unity with the Father.

Sweep away the dirt, Let's get a little messy. Underneath is love.

What we are at this very moment, is determined by the sum total of all our experiences till this moment.

Labeling the biological and/or emotional urges of a human baby as Narcissistic is despicable and flawed reasoning -yet expected- coming from Dennis Prager, the Jew. The child as being 'preoccupied with her-/himself' and being a factor in 'ruining life' are the kind of signals this rotten soul perceives taking into consideration that it also asserts -based on conviction and pedagogical endeavors which it preaches to its audience- that [money is not worshipable, while nature is]. This Jew even concluded with its demonic inspiration that the human baby is intrinsically 'not good' based on its wicked and disturbed observation that babies cannot even articulate gratitude in return! It (this Jew Rotten Soul) summed up the seminar by linking man (based on this so-called evidence) to evil and by pointing out the necessity for taking action and controlling such behavior. No wonder The Lord ever cursed the Jews and banished them to the fringes of all other nations; to punish them on Earth for their persistent Polytheism and civilized Child Sacrifice using such a theological mischief.

Everything you know about art is wrong, and everything that you think about art is also true. All that you know is you know nothing, and all that you can say about anything is because you are thinking; therefore, you are.

Who are we if not for the sum of what inspires us?

Do you find it hard to stay mindful of eternity, of God’s greater plan for you and your life? Take a moment today to realign your eyes to His purpose and priorities, to remember that someday our earthly life will be summed up in a few words on a tombstone, to thank God that through all the everyday business of life He is still fitting it all together in the grandest scheme of all.

All our good parts need to weigh more than the sum of the shadows in us.

All our good parts need to weigh more than the sum of the shadows in us.

of the church in the distance, for which Millet used the church of Chailly-en-Bière in the Île-de-France as a model. Moments before, they had been busy at work harvesting their modest potato field, as shown by the pathetically small basket at their feet. Though it fetched only a small sum at the Salon of 1860, the work became wildly popular in the 1870s and eventually would be one of the most widely replicated images of the nineteenth century. Originally purchased for one thousand francs, it fetched as much as half a million francs just thirty years later, as a result of a bidding war between the Louvre and the American Art Association. Fig. 47. Jean-François Millet, The Angelus, 1859 While some interpreted The Angelus as a religious work, as an expression of simple and humble piety, others saw it as a socialist statement, in which Millet was supposed to have paid homage to the growing worker movement in France. It is unlikely that Millet intended either; as he later said, the picture was inspired by a childhood memory in which “my grandmother, hearing the church bell ringing while we were working in the fields, always made us stop work to say the Angelus prayer for the poor departed.” Dalí was fascinated by the picture. Like Vincent van Gogh, he used it as inspiration for his own work, including a series of paintings in the early 1930s entitled The Architectural Angelus of Millet and Gala and the Angelus of Millet Preceding the Imminent Arrival of the Conical Anamorphoses. He explained his fascination with the Angelus in an essay entitled “The Tragic Myth of Millet’s Angelus,” in which he revealed that “In June 1932 appears in my mind all of a sudden, without any recent recollection nor any conscious association that lends itself to an immediate explanation, the image of Millet’s L’Angelus.” It made a strong impression on him, he continues, because for him it is “the most enigmatic, the most dense, and the richest in unconscious thoughts ever to have existed.” Fig. 48. Salvador Dalí, Archaeological Reminiscence of Millet’s Angelus, c. 1934 In fact, the painting did not strike Dalí as a rural image of devotion at all but as a source of great inner disquiet and a perfect example of what the paranoiac-critical process could discern that others didn’t. What he saw was a man “who stands hypnotized—and destroyed—by the mother. He seems to me to take on the attitude of the

The matter might be summed up as follows: creativity calls for a disorderly and passionate element that is capable of breathing life into the imaginative process, yet it also demands a measure of discipline, for without discipline the disorderly and passionate element—however powerfully enlivening it might be—might not amount to anything concrete. Nietzsche in fact maintains that what we ordinarily conceive of as creative “freedom” is always in the final analysis a function of “unfreedom,” for it is only when the artist subjects herself to a strict regimen of rules and regulations that inspiration in any tangible form can take place. From such restraint, Nietzsche proposes, “there always emerges and has always emerged in the long run something for the sake of which it is worthwhile to live on earth, for example virtue, art, music, dance, reason, spirituality—something transfiguring, refined, mad and divine.” According to this account, it is the artist’s self-discipline that establishes the confines within which the asocial and disordered elements of the creative process can be transformed into something spectacularly appealing. At the same time, too ruthless a repression of these elements would result in insipid and purely derivative art. This is to contend that discipline alone is not enough to engender sublime art, for even though it often manages to give rise to highly cultured and graceful forms of beauty, it lacks the raw energy and vitality to generate something truly inspired. Likewise, the asocial aspects of our subjectivity alone are not enough to produce transcendent art, for though they possess raw energy and vitality, they lack the element of restraint that is indispensable to transform this energy and vitality into a stirring work of art. In this sense, it is the delicate balance between the tamed and the untamed aspects of existence that ignites the embers of awe-inducing creativity. Art that does not welcome the asocial, like rationality that does not contain a dose of irrationality, will shrivel up and die of its own indolence.

Tom Durrie (b. 1931) is a school critic, a nonagenarian giant, and a poster boy for longevity and vitality of a happy brain. His biography is rich beyond description, and reflects Durrie's infinite passion for life. His CV would suffice to fill in a few lifetimes, and is the best testimony that a rich and productive life is a self-sustaining process. Inspired by A.S. Neill (Summerhill 1960), Durrie found his own formula for free learning. Durrie has tried teaching in traditional and in alternative schools (for a sum total of over a decade). He was also a headmaster of a free school for a while. In 1966, the analysis of his teaching experience provides a unique insight into the impact of freedom on behavior and mental health of students. His text, published 54 years late (2020), can be found here: "Free learning in a public school". Durrie's three successful children received minimal schooling. None attended high school. Over decades of his analysis and interests, Durrie noticed cyclical processes, in which the school system tightens its grip on children and then enters a period of rebellion, and seeking new solutions only to fall back again into its hungry propensity for limiting child freedoms.

He is my knight. Trying his best to protect my soul, even though being with me has more than its share of both beauty and sadness. I’m not an easy person to understand. My eternity, and the future that I want us both to have, is surrounded by flowers and the sun. The infinity of forever can be summed up within the magic of a kiss for that is love’s goal.

Learn to recognize your value and never undervalue yourself, because the sum total of precious stones in this world cannot compare to your value as a person.

The blueprint of life is your character and this in turn is the sum total of your habits - make them serve you.

Success isn't a zero-sum game. It's not about choosing between your dreams, your health, or your relationships. You can have it all by staying true to yourself and working hard.

Al-Khwarizmi fell into the taboo that humans refused to fall into throughout their history, not because of their stupidity, nor their lack of attention to the presence of a number here that has an impact, but because they preferred not to deal with it at all unless they fully understood it, they ignored it rather than building the world around them on a wrong frame of reference. So, you have to ask now what if we decided to change the zero and give it its value that we know for sure, which is the unknown. We do not know it, we do not understand it, and not knowing is better than building everything on the wrong frame of reference Any number multiplied by zero equals an unknown The sum of any number with zero equals an unknown The result of any number divided by zero equals an unknown The result of subtracting any number with zero equals an unknown Are you starting to feel the problem and see the size of the unknown that is inside our calculations and our whole life! Infiltrating it without knowing anything about it! The clear is clear, that zero is not only divisible, but also summation, subtraction, and multiplication, because it is unknown, and no matter how much we try to patch the tables to fit the calculations, the division keeps breaking our back and telling us, you are wrong. Despite all this, our strongest strength remains, our winning ball, which has never failed us, is the power of creative adaptation. We are not like viruses, we settle in an environment that we drain and then move to others, nor like animals, we go into an environment and adapt to it and adapt ourselves according to its capabilities. That is why when we hit zero, we got creative and innovated, and decided to change the law of the entire universe, made it a hypothetical effect inspired by our imagination, and built the world on this basis. And the crazy thing is that everything around us is working perfectly. And what is even crazier, is that if we decide to change the effect of zero, so that one multiplied by zero equals twenty, then everything around us will reset, and it will work perfectly as well. Even if we decide to change all the math tables, this universe will mutate to suit our thinking.

In preparation for our journey in which we shall nose around among the myths that a collaboration of ignorance and deep concern have jointly inspired, I would like to establish in broad terms my vision of the nature and limitations, if any, of the scientific method. I suspect that few would disagree that science is competent when it comes to the fabrication of novel stuff and novel applications of stuff in general. That, I believe, is not an issue to delay us. Nor shall I linger on the argument about whether these novel stuffs, including better medicines, better and more abundant foods, better fabrics, better modes of communication and transport, better modes of entertainment, and so on, weighed against the social costs, including better ways of killing, injuring our environment, and accidentally or intentionally maiming, add overall to the sum of human happiness. I focus instead on the ability of the scientific method to illuminate matters of great human concern and drive out ignorance while retaining wonder.

You are a sum product of every thought you've ever had, every belief you've ever held, and every decision you have ever taken. Don't be fooled; whatever's going on in your mind at this very moment is either hindering you or advancing your progress. Take care of your thoughts.

A line from the Joe Walsh song reverberated in my head. ‘ “Nature loves her little surprises,” ’ I said. Piper snorted. ‘She sure does.’ I stared at the rows of Caligula’s outfits – everything from wedding gowns to Armani suits to gladiator armour. ‘It’s been my observation,’ I said, ‘that you humans are more than the sum of your history. You can choose how much of your ancestry to embrace. You can overcome the expectations of your family and your society . What you cannot do, and should never do, is try to be someone other than yourself – Piper McLean.’ She gave me a wry smile. ‘That’s nice. I like that. You’re sure you’re not the god of wisdom?’ ‘I applied for the job,’ I said, ‘but they gave it to someone else. Something about inventing olives.’ I rolled my eyes.

Life summed up, it's all up to you, treat with kindness in all that you do

An adult spectator has greater command over his facial expressions, and it is perhaps for that very reason that fictitiously, that is, without a real cause or real action, he even more intensely lives through the entire gamut of noble and heroic feelings presented by the drama, or gives free rein in his imagination to the base and even criminal inclinations of his nature, the feelings he experiences being real, though his complicity in the crimes committed on the stage is fictitious. What interested me most in this argumentation was the element of “fictitiousness.” Thus art (so far in the form of theatre) enables man through co-experience fictitiously to perform heroic actions, fictitiously to experience great emotions, fictitiously to feel himself a hero like Franz Moor, to rid himself of base instincts with the assistance of Karl Moor, to regard himself as a sage like Faust, to feel inspired by God like Joan of Arc, to be an ardent lover like Romeo, to be a patriot like Count de Rizoor, to see his doubts dissipated by Kareno, Brand, Rosmer or Hamlet. More. The best thing about it was that these fictitious actions brought the spectator real satisfaction. Thus after seeing Verhaeren's Les aubes he feels he is a hero. After seeing Calderon's El principe constante he feels he is a martyr. After seeing Schiller's Kabale und Liebe he is overwhelmed by righteousness and self-pity. “But this is horrible!” I shuddered as I was crossing Trubnaya Square (or was it Sretenskiye Gates?). What infernal mechanics governed this sacred art whose votary I had become? That was mere than a lie! That was more than deceit! That was downright dangerous. Horribly, unspeakably dangerous. Only think: why strive for reality, if for a small sum of money you can satisfy yourself in your imagination without moving from your comfortable theatre seat?

I love the quote: “No one else is you, and that is your superpower.” It’s what I sign in my books for readers because it completely sums up what I believe about myself and how I relate to others: We are all unique, worthy, and bring something to the table. So there is room for everyone to eat. No one should ever be turned away.

Success is the sum of small efforts, repeated day-in and day-out. Robert Collier

The essence of human experience lay not primarily in the peak experiences, the wedding days and triumphs which stood out in the memory like dates circled in red on old calendars, but, rather, in the unself-conscious flow of little things--the weekend afternoon with each member of the family engaged in his or her own pursuit, their crossings and connections casual, dialogues imminently forgettable, but the sum of such hours creating a synergy which was important and eternal. Dan Simmons

It is not easy to sum up the content of Nietzsche's thinking. He is not, in the ordinary sense, a philosopher, and has not left a systematic account of his views. One might perhaps describe him as an aristocratic humanist in the literal sense. What he tried above all to promote was the supremacy of the man who was best, that is healthiest and strongest in character. This brings with it a certain emphasis on toughness in the face of misery, which is somewhat at variance with received ethical standards, though not necessarily with actual practice. By concentrating on these features out of context, many have seen in Nietzsche the prophet of the political tyrannies of our own times. It may well be that today's tyrants have drawn some inspiration from Nietzsche, but it would be inappropriate to make him responsible for the misdeeds of men who have understood him at best superficially. For Nietzsche would have been bitterly opposed to the recent political developments in his own country, had he lived long enough to witness them.

One world is marked by a bland forgetfulness, where we do not permit ourselves an openness to the simple, graced beauty that is always with us. The other is marked by attentiveness, aliveness, love. This is the state of wonder, which is commonly treated as a passive phenomenon—a kind of visitation or feeling that overcomes us in the face of something wondrous. But the ground of the word, the Old English wundrian, is very active, meaning “to be affected by one’s own astonishment.” We decide, moment to moment, if we will allow ourselves to be affected by the presence of this brighter world in our everyday lives. Certainly we get no encouragement from what Clarissa Pinkola Estés calls the “overculture.” It cannot be assessed by the standardized cultural criteria of worth—measures that can be labeled with a sum or a statistic or even, perhaps, a word. Receptivity to wonder is not economically productive, marketable, quantifiable. The rewards, also, stand beyond such calculation. But it is in such receptivity that we discover what draws us, and along with it our originality, our creativity, our soulfulness, our gladness, our art. Mozart found inspiration in the presence of a common bird. For us, too, the song of the world so often rises in places we had not thought to look.

First she would smoke a pipe, then she would Google “Amazons.” Maybe inspiration would come from a good old Wikipedia article. Who knew? The Muse did move in mysterious ways

Dear reader, I wrote this book for a boy I knew who died too young. I wrote this book for "our three winners" whose lives were ended by bigotry. I wrote this book for an inventive kid whose world was turned upside down because he built a clock. In America, we tend to ignore an uncomfortable history- our history. We want our wrongs to stay in the past to bury the truth and see history through rose-colored glasses, but the thing about buried truths? They come back to haunt you. For years, the ghosts of all those this nation has wronged have been rising up clamoring for their stories to be recognized. It's up to us to give voice to those whose voices have been forcibly oppressed or forgotten. We might not be able to give them Justice- because what is Justice to the victims of racism bigotry misogyny- but we can speak truth to power and insist on accountability. When I started writing Hollow Fires in 2019, it was against the backdrop of years of toxic damaging lies from our elected official, from the highest offices of this country. It was in the midst of a societal upheaval of people taking to the streets demanding change, so we could strive for that more perfect union politicians constantly laud. I wrote this book to ask uncomfortable questions and confront hard truths because inside us there's a small voice that says we can do better. We must. These voices need to be a chorus. A song we belt out together. And now as Hollow Fires goes to print, I'm watching heartbreaking images on the news of Afghans trying to flee their country fearful that the Taliban will retaliate against them, journalists, human rights workers and interpreters just like Jawad's father. Unfortunately, the United States has a terrible history of occupying other nations, asking those country's citizens for help, and then all too often ignoring the pleas of local allies and leaving them behind to potentially face imprisonment or torture for aiding the United States. We've witnessed Afghans desperately handing their babies to American soldiers over airport barricades, we've seen images of people trying to jump onto departing US. Military planes, reviving painful memories of Saigon in 1975, yet we hear a cacophony of hate from comfortably situated xenophobic American pundits decrying the potential influx of Afghan refugees. Mind you, these refugees have been forcibly displaced in part because of the actions of the United States and the few who are lucky enough to make it to the United States and get visas, permanent residency and citizenship (make no mistake these are huge hurdles) are sometimes cruelly subjected to bigotry and hate in the communities they land in as Americans. Shouldn't we ask more of ourselves? Isn't that what it means to call on the better angels of our nature? The commentators who scream against allowing in refugees, the same talking heads who think the horrifyingly inhumane treatment of migrants at our border with Mexico is justified buy into a deeply ingrained American myth- that they are always only "winners" and "losers". That war is a zero sum game. That extending a helping hand to a displaced individual somehow means that somewhere some American is getting less, but that binary is a lie. Here's the truth. Giving aid and comfort to a displaced person doesn't mean we can't also help Americans in need. We can and must do both. We have choices to make. Important ones. About our future, about who we are as a nation, as a people and as human beings. One of these choices is to live in a world where we call alternative facts what they really truly are- lies that obfuscate, deceits that give cover to Injustice, tools of cynical politicians. I'm asking us to speak tough truths out loud. To know we can do better and be better. I'm asking us to step forward, to face the truth of all we are, lanterns held high, eliminating the dark. Warmly, Samira Ahmed

Understanding is the sum of misunderstandings. —Haruki Murakami

My mind is often clouded like the sky, but every now and then the sky clears, and sum shines down.

Life is the sum of your choices.                  Albert Camus

And my dream is to recapture the art of loving and of being seduced; the habit of the stroll and of reading in cafes; the practice, endorsed by Dante and Baudelaire, of building, repairing, and living in cities; the exhilaration of a speech (at their purest depths, the languages of Europe have never been anything other than this) that no sooner encounters the desert than it discovers the delight of filling it with song; the taste for a beautiful "now" that, when it offers itself for the taking, is an almost perfect treasure, as the grasshopper might have replied to the ant in the fable; in sum, the art and the inclination that were the voice, the flavour, and the colour of Europe.

The entire sum of existence is the magic of being needed by just one person

The meaning of your work can’t be summed up by an engagement button on social media.

Felke realized that prescribing herbal teas, homeopathic remedies, diet and water applications was not sufficient. Inspired by the examples of Rikli and Just, he envisioned a therapeutic setting close to nature where patients could escape their accustomed environments and enjoy the benefits of light, air, sun and healthful food. Surprisingly, the residents of the small rural town of Repelen immediately warmed to their new pastor's idea. A delegation undertook the arduous and costly journey to the Hartz mountains to inspect Just's Jungborn. This visit resulted in the formation of the Repelen Jungborn Society, Ltd., with eighty-one associates, mostly members of a local homeopathic lay society. With a capital of 50,000 goldmark, quite a high sum, the group purchased sixty acres of land, which included a forested area and a dead channel of the Rhine abounding in fish. Two large light and air parks, one for women and the other for men, were created and surrounded with high wooden fences. Naked patients took light, air, water and loam baths and engaged in gymnastics twice a day. Felke himself often directed the male patients. Inside the two parks approximately 50 air huts with two or four rooms each were erected. To guarantee maximum access to fresh air they had no doors or windows, only curtains for privacy. An open wooden hall in the center of the park was used for walking during the day, for gymnastics during bad weather and for sleeping on straw mats at night. In the beginning the spa offered friction sitz baths in flat zinc tubs as the only cold water application. Felke also took up Just's earth-and-sand bath, but it was not until he introduced the loam bath in 1912 that he gained fame as the "loam pastor.

CHARACTER-BUILDING TAKES TIME For this very reason, make every effort to supplement your faith with goodness, goodness with knowledge, knowledge with self-control, self-control with endurance, endurance with godliness. 2 Peter 1:5-6 HCSB Character is built slowly over a lifetime. It is the sum of every right decision, every honest word, every noble thought, and every heartfelt prayer. It is forged on the anvil of honorable work and polished by the twin virtues of generosity and humility. Character is a precious thing—difficult to build but easy to tear down. As believers in Christ, we must seek to live each day with discipline, honesty, and faith. When we do, integrity becomes a habit. And God smiles. There is something about having endured great loss that brings purity of purpose and strength of character. Barbara Johnson Each one of us is God’s special work of art. Through us, He teaches and inspires, delights and encourages, informs and uplifts all those who view our lives. God, the master artist, is most concerned about expressing Himself—His thoughts and His intentions—through what He paints in our characters. Joni Eareckson Tada A TIMELY TIP When your words are honest and your intentions are pure, you have nothing to fear.

Christians are always to preach the Gospel, but to use words only when necessary. This saying sums up rather well his attitude toward preaching: one’s way of life, rather than words, was to be one’s primary testimony of Christ.

It is always a difficult task to hold the scales of justice at even balance when weighing the deeds of men. It becomes doubly more so when dealing with men engaged in a movement that one believes had its origin with God, and that its leaders on occasion act under the inspiration of God. Under such conditions to state events as to be historically exact, and yet, on the other hand, so treat the course of events as not to destroy faith in these men, nor in their work, becomes a task of supreme delicacy; and one that tries the soul and the skill of the historian. The only way such a task can be accomplished, in the judgement of the writer, is to frankly state events as they occurred, in full consideration of all related circumstances, allowing the line of condemnation or of justification to fall where it may; being confident that in the sum of things justice will follow truth; and God will be glorified in his work, no matter what may befall individuals, or groups of individuals.

Henry Ford summed it up best. “If I had asked people what they wanted,” he said, “they would have said a faster horse.” This is the genius of great leadership. Great leaders and great organizations are good at seeing what most of us can’t see.

Midrash, with its imaginative engagement of the Bible’s stories, reminds us that biblical interpretation need not be reduced to a zero-sum game, but rather inspires endless insights and challenges, the way a good story does each time it is told and retold. Our relational God has given us a relational sacred text, one that, should we surrender to it, reminds us that being people of faith isn’t as much about being right as it is about being part of a community in restored and restorative relationship with God.

Light and shadow perfectly sum up this crazy thing we call life.

We are the sum of the people we met, the books we have read and the places where we found ourselves.

You are the sum of the 5 closest people you are spending most of the time with.

In his 1961 story about the Sneetches, Dr. Seuss introduced us to two groups of Sneetches, one with stars on their bellies and the other with none. The ones without stars wanted desperately to get stars so they could feel like they fit in. They were willing to go to extreme lengths and pay larger and larger sums of money simply to feel like they were part of a group. But only Sylvester McMonkey McBean, the man whose machine puts "stars upon thars," profited from the Sneetches' desire to fit in.

As he learned more math, Brodt made the wonder-inspiring observation that mathematical laws seemed to be Someone's intention rather than just accidents in many concepts: infinity, unity being totality, irrational numbers in general and pi in particular as it illustrates such disparate occurrences as the relationship of height to base perimeter in the Great Pyramid of Giza and the course of any meandering river (over a surface smoothed for consistency). There was also the Fibonacci Sequence, that looping string of addends which, with their sums, describes the spirals on a nautilus shell, the distribution of leaves around a tree branch, and the genealogy of ants and bees. It all seemed too orderly, too regular and consistent to have occurred by chance. So many things in the world appeared as blotches, smears, or random spikes that these mathematically explained phenomena were extraordinary--he wanted to say mystical, but he wouldn't want to be caught using that word.

Unexpected intrusions of beauty in the timeline of your life sums up the mathematically operated Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle.