Tac Quotes

Love is a game of tic-tac-toe, constantly waiting for the next x or o.

You own a Tic Tac. Gum is just borrowed. - Esther

Xs and Os Love is a game of tic-tac-toe, constantly waiting, for the next x or o.

This is the Modern Man, who cannot save himself but wants to save the world. He is the Wise who knows not. And his footsteps on the road click tic-tac, tic-tac

Cada (tic-tac) es un segundo de la vida que pasa, huye, y no se repite. Y hay en ella tanta intensidad, tanto interés, que el problema es sólo saberla vivir. Que cada quien lo resuelva como pueda.

After the dress rehearsal that afternoon, someone had misplaced the vial of poison, and for lack of better, Romeo would have to commit suicide by eating Tic Tacs.

When my trust was suspended from the fragile thread of justice and in the whole city they were chopping up my heart's lanterns when they would blindfold me with the dark handkerchief of Law and from my anxious temples of desire fountains of blood would squirt out when my life had become nothing nothing but the tic-tac of a clock, I discovered I must must must love, insanely.

What I really needed wasn't a dose of school spirit; it was a glass of water, an aspirin the size of my fist, and the answers to the history exam that I hadn't studied for the night before. "As long as I'm dreaming," I muttered, my words lost to the cacophony of the gym, "I'd also like a pony, a convertible, and a couple of friends." "That's a tall order." I'd known that there were people sitting next to me, but I couldn't begin to imagine how one of them had heard me. I hadn't even heard me. "Would you settle for a piece of gum, an orange Tic Tac, and an introduction the the school slut?

Sitting at his desk Remy filled out two forms and then played a few games of Tic-Tac-Toe against himself. Playing the “X’s”, he lost a seven game tournament four games to one.

Mort drove one of those little hybrid cars that, when not running on gasoline, was fueled by idealism. It was made out of crepe paper and duct tape and boasted a computer system that looked like it could have run the NYSE and NORAD, with enough attention left over to play tic-tac-toe. Or possibly Global Thermonuclear War.

It was nothing. We played tic-tac-toe for a while. You know we do that sometimes." "Oh, I know," Teagan says. "Okay, how did you make that sound like we were rolling around ripping off each other's clothes?

That's when Poppy kissed me. I didn't have time to get ready. She just kissed me there and then, right on the lips. It felt lovely. I wasn't even scared this time. It was warm and not too wet. I didn't get any tongue. Her breath smelled like Orange Tic Tacs.

Perfume counters in department stores, Holly Deblin smells of, the middle of July, and cinnamon Tic Tacs.

Trentaine : Les hommes sont en position de pouvoir. Je pense sincèrement que la trentaine est l’âge le pire pour une femme côté rencontres : le tic-tac de l’horloge biologique très injuste se fait entendre de plus en plus fort.

I have a problem with a fuck like you messing with my girl!” He raised his voice. “Please get a tic-tac.

You wake up at SeaTac, SFO, LAX. You wake up at O'Hare, Dallas-Fort Worth, BWI. Pacific, mountain, central. Lose an hour, gain an hour. This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.

Il bastardo la umiliò ancor di più con un mezzo sorriso che non raggiunse gli occhi gelidi. Indietreggiò e fece per lasciare la stanza, per poi lanciarmi un ultimo sguardo provocatorio. «Tic tac, Ale».

Uite, daca-mi strang sufletul, nu se prinde nimic in el. Oricum, am ajuns departe, foarte departe. O mai fi ceva? Arborii cresc, le dau mugurii, le pica frunzele si se intreaba: o mai fi ceva? Oamenii iubesc, stau de vorba si mor. O mai fi ceva? Mortii tac. Scruteaza vesnicia si tac. Lasa iarba sa-i faca optimisti pana in toamna. Atunci mor din nou peste moartea lor veche, gramada. Si tac, si tac, si tac.

You wake up at SeaTac. I study the people on the laminated airline seat card. A woman floats in the ocean, her brown hair spread out behind her, her seat cushion clutched to her chest. The eyes are wide open, but the woman doesn’t smile or frown. In another picture, people calm as Hindu cows reach up from their seats toward oxygen masks sprung out of the ceiling. This must be an emergency. Oh.

The baby hadn’t cried or wanted food, which was good because all I had were a few Tic Tacs and a can of Red Bull.

There, I saw Adam messing around with a container of tic tacs. I had found the source of the cinnamon taste of his kisses. He looked up. "Want one?" he offered. "Sure, thanks," I replied. He proceeded to knock exactly one tic tac into his palm and hand it to me. "Are you sure you can spare this?" I asked solemnly. "How many did you want?" "Well, more than one. Who gives somebody one tic tac? Would it kill to be a little more generous? some psychologist somewhere probably has some theory about one tic tac givers and fear of commitment." "Fear of commitment, my ass. You should be committed, you loon. If you were intended to have more than one tic tac, they would have just made tic tacs bigger. This is regulation sized tic tac, and it should be more than enough to satisfy your breath freshening needs," he said, sounding affronted. "A tic tac is not merely a breath freshener, it is a candy," I pointed out, voice rising in anger. Who was he calling a loon? "And they make them small on purpose, so you'll think you're getting more, and so you'll run out faster when someone asks for one, and you will give them a few!" "Why would someone ask for A tic tac when they really wanted several tic tacs? What does that say about their psychology?! Why not be honest from the get-go about what you want?!" he shouted back at me. " I didn't ask for one! You offered me one, God damn it!" "And as for your other points, it is primarily a breath freshener, and maybe you should alert the media about your great tic tac size conspiracy!" "I can't believe we're fighting about motherfucking tic tacs!" I screamed and the two of us glowered each other across my desk for several seconds before smiles slowly appeared on both of our faces. "Want to have make-up sex?" he asked. "Yeah, let's go," I said, getting up and heading for the bedroom.

Mort drove one of those little hybrid cars that, when not running on gasoline, was fueled by idealism. It was made out of crepe paper and duct tape and boasted a computer system that looked like it could have run the NYSE and NORAD, with enough attention left over to play tic-tac-toe. Or possibly Global Thermonuclear War.

Rea­sons Why I Loved Be­ing With Jen I love what a good friend you are. You’re re­ally en­gaged with the lives of the peo­ple you love. You or­ga­nize lovely ex­pe­ri­ences for them. You make an ef­fort with them, you’re pa­tient with them, even when they’re side­tracked by their chil­dren and can’t pri­or­i­tize you in the way you pri­or­i­tize them. You’ve got a gen­er­ous heart and it ex­tends to peo­ple you’ve never even met, whereas I think that ev­ery­one is out to get me. I used to say you were naive, but re­ally I was jeal­ous that you al­ways thought the best of peo­ple. You are a bit too anx­ious about be­ing seen to be a good per­son and you def­i­nitely go a bit over­board with your left-wing pol­i­tics to prove a point to ev­ery­one. But I know you re­ally do care. I know you’d sign pe­ti­tions and help peo­ple in need and vol­un­teer at the home­less shel­ter at Christ­mas even if no one knew about it. And that’s more than can be said for a lot of us. I love how quickly you read books and how ab­sorbed you get in a good story. I love watch­ing you lie on the sofa read­ing one from cover-to-cover. It’s like I’m in the room with you but you’re in a whole other gal­axy. I love that you’re al­ways try­ing to im­prove your­self. Whether it’s running marathons or set­ting your­self chal­lenges on an app to learn French or the fact you go to ther­apy ev­ery week. You work hard to be­come a bet­ter ver­sion of your­self. I think I prob­a­bly didn’t make my ad­mi­ra­tion for this known and in­stead it came off as ir­ri­ta­tion, which I don’t re­ally feel at all. I love how ded­i­cated you are to your fam­ily, even when they’re an­noy­ing you. Your loy­alty to them wound me up some­times, but it’s only be­cause I wish I came from a big fam­ily. I love that you al­ways know what to say in con­ver­sa­tion. You ask the right ques­tions and you know ex­actly when to talk and when to lis­ten. Ev­ery­one loves talk­ing to you be­cause you make ev­ery­one feel im­por­tant. I love your style. I know you think I prob­a­bly never no­ticed what you were wear­ing or how you did your hair, but I loved see­ing how you get ready, sit­ting in front of the full-length mir­ror in our bed­room while you did your make-up, even though there was a mir­ror on the dress­ing ta­ble. I love that you’re mad enough to swim in the English sea in No­vem­ber and that you’d pick up spi­ders in the bath with your bare hands. You’re brave in a way that I’m not. I love how free you are. You’re a very free per­son, and I never gave you the sat­is­fac­tion of say­ing it, which I should have done. No one knows it about you be­cause of your bor­ing, high-pres­sure job and your stuffy up­bring­ing, but I know what an ad­ven­turer you are un­der­neath all that. I love that you got drunk at Jack­son’s chris­ten­ing and you al­ways wanted to have one more drink at the pub and you never com­plained about get­ting up early to go to work with a hang­over. Other than Avi, you are the per­son I’ve had the most fun with in my life. And even though I gave you a hard time for al­ways try­ing to for al­ways try­ing to im­press your dad, I ac­tu­ally found it very adorable be­cause it made me see the child in you and the teenager in you, and if I could time-travel to any­where in his­tory, I swear, Jen, the only place I’d want to go is to the house where you grew up and hug you and tell you how beau­ti­ful and clever and funny you are. That you are spec­tac­u­lar even with­out all your sports trophies and mu­sic cer­tifi­cates and in­cred­i­ble grades and Ox­ford ac­cep­tance. I’m sorry that I loved you so much more than I liked my­self, that must have been a lot to carry. I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you the way you took care of me. And I’m sorry I didn’t take care of my­self, ei­ther. I need to work on it. I’m pleased that our break-up taught me that. I’m sorry I went so mental. I love you. I always will. I'm glad we met.

Countless doctors have drawn little tic-tac-toe grids for my parents over the years to try to explain the genetic lottery to them. Geneticists

Yo momma's breath smells so bad I don't know if I should give her a Tic Tac or a piece of toilet paper. Yo

Love is a game of tic-tac-toe, constantly waiting, for the next x or o.

Tic Tacs you actually swallow, though,” Esther pointed out. “You own a Tic Tac. Gum is just borrowed.

Eu înţeleg,dar neputând da explicaţii fără a folosi cuvinte păgâne,aş prefera să tac.

Once she got a grip on it, it was a death grip, and I would sooner go into her purse looking for Tic Tacs than try to get it away from her.

Who knows why we tic tac? ...there's more to it than a desire to irritate.

The drawer also contains an eighteen-inch-long Tac Light. She retrieves that as well as the pistol.

The powerful Tac Light exposes a moving swarm, mechanical and strange. Wheels. Struts.

Having gotten ahead of the phalanx, Katie drops the Tac Light

Flamers play chess, trolls poop on tic-tac-toe boards.

Man with Brain the Size of Tic Tac Mates with Amoeba Couple gives birth to giant adjusto; names him Dale

Un mundo que funciona como un reloj puesto en hora: un mundo de metal y marchas, y de gente que avanza, tic, tac, tic, hacia la muerte

Thanks. The women folk are downstairs. I would like to have your fiancé here join the other guys up in my man cave, where we can drink some good scotch and smoke a celebratory cigar in his honor," cam said patting Adam on the back. "Great," I said rolling my eyes at Adam. "I hope you brought your Tic Tacs." "As a matter of fact I did." He smirked. "Would you like one?" "No thanks. I know how precious they are to you." I smiled back.

With apologies to the folks in Redmond, I’ll end on another Microsoft joke because it makes the point well (a point that applies everywhere, not just at Microsoft): A helicopter was flying around above Seattle when a malfunction disabled all of its electronic navigation and communications equipment. The clouds were so thick that the pilot couldn’t tell where he was. Finally, the pilot saw a tall building, flew toward it, circled, and held up a handwritten sign that said WHERE AM I? in large letters. People in the tall building quickly responded to the aircraft, drawing their own large sign: YOU ARE IN A HELICOPTER. The pilot smiled, looked at his map, determined the route to Sea-Tac Airport, and landed safely. After they were on the ground, the copilot asked the pilot how he had done it. “I knew it had to be the Microsoft building,” he said, “because they gave me a technically correct but completely useless answer.

From the smoking section came a trio of wise men dressed as wise guys in Adidas tracksuits. They carried gifts of Goldschläger, Tic Tacs, and Skoal, and they stood there stupidly, staring at my wife writhing on the floor by the foosball table.

All around me, attractive young people are hunched over their StarTacs and Nokias with preoccupied expressions, as if probing a sore tooth, or adjusting a hearing aid, or squeezing a pulled muscle; personal technology has begun to look like a personal handicap.

MAGDA: După ce o cunoști? ANA: Ei! După multe. Pe toate le cunosc. M-am învățat cu ele. Numai s-o iau în mână și spun care cum e. Sunt unele de scârțâie, când le deschizi, ca o ușă neunsă. Altele nici nu le auzi. Sunt și cărțile ca oamenii: unele tac, altele țipă.

Le temps passe. Y compris quand cela semble impossible. Y compris quand chaque tic-tac de la grande aiguille est aussi douloureux que les pulsations du sang sous un hématome. Il s’écoule de manière inégale, rythmé par des embardées étranges et des répits soporifiques, mais il passe. Même pour moi.

I’ve seen the war criminal reformed because he gave the wife, of the person, who didn’t prosecute him, a mint at a funeral. I think if only Heinrich Himmler had carried Tic Tacs in his pocket all would have been forgiven. Bad paintings help humanize you even when you’re legacy rests on a pyre of bones.

Nine balls of julienned vegetables sit above a dense chicken vinaigrette. The plate looks like a game of noughts and crosses (tic-tac-toe). The table is bathed in a cloud of chicken vapour with a few sprays of eau-de-cologne of roasted chicken. In this way the chicken is everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Quand un bon vin meuble mon estomac Je suis plus savant que Balzac —Plus sage que Pibrac; Mon brass seul faisant l’attaque De la nation Coseaque, La mettroit au sac; De Charon je passerois le lac En dormant dans son bac, J’irois au fier Eac, Sans que mon coeur fit tic ni tac, Premmer du tabac. —French Vaudeville

Eu nu aștept, îmi place doar să privesc linia orizontului. Parcă e o gură tăcută ce refuză să se deschidă. Buza de sus e cerul, cea de jos e pământul, poate că tac pentru că nu vor să-și întrerupă sărutul. Poate că dacă m-ai fi iubit, am fi devenit și noi o linie a orizontului, două buze ce nu vor să se despartă. Eu nu aștept, îmi risipesc doar gândurile. Le urmăresc cum aleargă spre linia orizontului și se întorc în grabă chicotind ca niște copii care au făcut o poznă. Eu nu aștept, las doar timpul să treacă pe lângă mine, îi dau un avans, vreau să creadă că m-a depășit dar se înșeală. Când va fi deja obosit de ticăitul ceasului, am să sar înaintea lui. Eu nu aștept!

An analogy to natural language illustrates the point. The letters A,C, and T convey very little meaning by themselves, but can be combined in ways to produce substantially different messages. It is, once again, the sequence that carries the message: the words act, tac, and cat, for instance, arise from the same letters, yet signal vastly different meanings.

Attendez!... Je choisis mes rimes... Là, j'y suis. (Il fait ce qu'il dit, à mesure.) Je jette avec grâce mon feutre, Je fais lentement l'abandon Du grand manteau qui me calfeutre, Et je tire mon espadon; Élégant comme Céladon, Agile comme Scaramouche, Je vous préviens, cher Mirmidon, Qu'à la fin de l'envoi, je touche! (Premier engagement de fer.) Vous auriez bien dû rester neutre; Où vais-je vous larder, dindon ?... Dans le flanc, sous votre maheutre ?... Au coeur, sous votre bleu cordon ?... - Les coquilles tintent, ding-don ! Ma pointe voltige: une mouche ! Décidément... c'est au bedon, Qu'à la fin de l'envoi, je touche. Il me manque une rime en eutre... Vous rompez, plus blanc qu'amidon ? C'est pour me fournir le mot pleutre ! - Tac! je pare la pointe dont Vous espériez me faire don: - J'ouvre la ligne, - je la bouche... Tiens bien ta broche, Laridon ! A la fin de l'envoi, je touche. (Il annonce solennellement:) Envoi Prince, demande à Dieu pardon ! Je quarte du pied, j'escarmouche, Je coupe, je feinte... (Se fendant.) Hé! Là donc! (Le vicomte chancelle, Cyrano salue.) A la fin de l'envoi, je touche.

Do you remember when we popped tic-tacs and altoids when we were sixteen like they were prescriptions for broken hearts and pulled muscles? Do you remember the time we filled whole notebooks with poetry about all the ones we knew would leave? Do you remember the candle in your outdoor shed and the whispers we shared when everything felt empty and everyone felt distant? Do you remember me?

Pero si un día no vienes después del desayuno, si un día te veo a través de cualquier espejo buscando, quizá, a otro, si el teléfono suena y suena en tu habitación vacía, entonces, después de indecibles angustias, entonces porque la locura del corazón humano no tiene límites- buscaré y encontraré un tú como el tuyo. Entretanto, borremos de un golpe el tic-tac del reloj del tiempo. Acércate más

Toată viața am încercat- și mi-a reușit, de cele mai multe ori să fiu discretă. Poate de la mama e chestia asta, și acum țin minte cum zicea mereu ca să nu mai vorbesc tare că ne aud vecinii (...) mai încet, că ne știe toată lumea, totul trebuia să se petreacă ușor și pe muțenie. Oricum, am încercat întodeauna să trec neobservată. Nu am vorbit niciodată în public despre evenimente care mă priveau personal(...) Sunt femeia de pe margine, le-am spus mereu și celor pe care i-am iubit , ca un fel de avertisment, sunt în afară mai mereu, acolo e zona mea de confort. O vreme mi-a și plăcut așa, eram un fel de observator neutru, nu mă implicam prea mult, nu doream prea mult, era mai sigur. În timp, însă, am trecut în cealată extremă. Am ajuns să urăsc cumințenia asta idioată care mă caracterizează, incapacitatea de a mă exterioriza, de a-mi savura plăcerile. Timiditatea, frustrările, orgoliul stupid. La mine totul se consumă încet, parcă în reluare. Între gesturi și emoțiile sau gândurile care le-au provocat există o distanță suficent de mare, încât să se ducă dracului orice urmă de spontaneitate. Calmul meu nu este calm, liniștea mea nu este o liniște, sub aparențele astea există o viermuială de gânduri, presupuneri, temeri. Tac mai mereu, dar e o tăcere care mă sufocă.

Unele au auzit spunandu-se ca este un lagar de munca si ca nu are nimic de-a face cu Auschwitz sau cu Mauthausen, unde singura industrie este aceea de a omori oameni. Deci, nu sunt duse la un abator. Par vesti linistitoare, dar cele mai multe tac, pentru ca speranta a devenitla fel de subtire ca o lama de ras. Si de fiecare data cand pui mana pe ea, te tai. - Eu vin de la Auschwitz, afirma una. Deja nimic nu poate sa fie mai rau.

- On m'appelle dans ce canton l'ermite de Copmanshurt. Et on y ajoute l'épithète de saint, mais je me trouve indigne d'une telle addition à mon nom. Et vous, sire chevalier, m'apprendrez-vous comment se nomme mon hôte ? - On m'appelle dans ce canton le Chevalier Noir, répondit le chevalier du tac au tac ; et on y ajoute l'épithète de « fainéant », mais je me trouve indigne d'une telle addition à mon nom. L'ermite ne put s'empêcher de sourire à cette réponse.

Bilbil û Gul Bilbilê dilkul dinalî, Her li ser dêmên gulê, Gul çi zanî ku li ser kê, Wer dinalî bilbil e? Pertewa dêmên sipî Carek li dil ku ew nedî Çend bikî qêrîn û zarî Kî dizanî dil kul e? Dilgirê wek bilbilê Herdem bi nalîn û girî Girtiyê benda evînê Dil li benda sunbil e. Dilbijê bê çare çibkî Bil ji qêrîn û girî Ê di benda dil revînê Kî dizanî bê dil e? Ev xem û derd û elem Ku min di dil de pir civîn Tev ji pêt û pertewa Şaha bi tac û sunbil e Ew kesê sewdan li ser Naçî rêza dilgiran Her çiqasî ew bi gazî Rengê dengê zengil e Ger ji dêmên sorgulî Pertew nedî nêv can û dil Nakevî nêv bend û dava Zulfê mest û fulfil e Ez di benda dilrevayê Tîr ji birhan têne dil Lêw me dil herdem bi destê Nazika reş-kakile Ew kesê carek diye Derdê evînê wî bi dil Jar û sergerdan û meste Xweş dizanî 'moşkil e' Pertewa dîdariyê Ku mêxolî ez kirim Laleş a min ser li ber Danî li sîng û paşilê Bûye çil sal ku cigerxwîn Bû ji tîrên ebriwan Lew me dermanê birînê Lêv û sêvên paxile

I can always win in Tic Tac toe for example one strategy can be used serveral times and one moment he will find that I'm using this strategy and in the other day he will forgot aobut this and I just repeat the same - But from this point of view it's kind a useless and taking time. I want to find new path ways, the same is with chess I can win always the same way but one moment it come the rule or the thought - hey I want this to return and I will give you to return. I hate this moment it's kind a noobish or kind a bot way!

He’s gay, he’s single, he owns his own business. He lives in a cute-as-hell cabin-type house. He’s sweet and funny, and Liv, I don’t think you understand. He even named his dog Chutney from Legally Blonde. And he has little shoes for her so she can walk in the snow.

A good assistant is someone with good time management skills, good communication skills, and the ability to balance a lot of very different tasks at the same time,’ I replied with well-earned confidence. ‘But the difference between a good assistant and a brilliant assistant is the ability to anticipate potential problems before they arise. You’ve got to be prepared for whatever comes at you when the job turns out to be equal parts assistant, therapist, and best friend, but still know your boundaries. And you should always have mints. I’ve basically got stock in Tic Tacs.

CES only recently evolved to become a carefully controlled form of brain stimulation called transcranial alternating current stimulation (tACS), where a computer shapes the exact electrical waves that can change your brain activity the most, with more precision than ever before. We use it for brain upgrades at the 40 Years of Zen neurofeedback facility because it can help new neurons grow more quickly and insulate themselves to carry more electrical current. Another less evolved but similar technique is transcranial direct current stimulation (tDCS). You can buy tDCS machines online for $100.

Les graines de tournesol Krispy Kernel, c'est un peu de la marde, tu trouves pas? Ces gens-là sont en business depuis soixante ans (j'ai vérifié) et ils n'ont pas encore trouvé le moyen de produire des graines de tournesol convenables. J'appelle ça rire du monde. Premièrement, le taux d'écales vides par sac est scandaleusement élevé. Et puis, rien qu'à voir on voit bien qu'ils utilisent des graines de mauvaise qualité, toutes petites dont les écales ont tendance à se désagréger, tandis que les Lalumière éclatent sous la dent en produisant un tac! sonore avant de libérer de belles grosses graines. [...]

Most young children can’t read, and if they can, it’s mostly words like “dog” and “go.” But Madeline had been reading since age three and, now, at age five, was already through most of Dickens. Madeline was that kind of child—the kind who could hum a Bach concerto but couldn’t tie her own shoes; who could explain the earth’s rotation but stumbled at tic-tac-toe. And that was the problem. Because while musical prodigies are always celebrated, early readers aren’t. And that’s because early readers are only good at something others will eventually be good at, too. So being first isn’t special—it’s just annoying.

Zvonul este cel mai grăbit dintre toate relele pământului. Trăiește din iuțeală, iar pasul îi sporește vigoarea. Mai întâi mărunt și sfios, el dobândește curând o făptură uriașă. El este un gicant căruia i-a dat naștere Pământul mâniat împotriva zeilor. Piciorul acestei păsări stranii e tot atât de vioi pe cât îi este de iute zborul. Sub fiecare din penele sale se află ochi, urechi și limbi care nu tac niciodată. Ziua, stă de veghe pe acoperișurile caselor înalte, sau pe turnurile care străpung cerul. De acolo împrăștie bârfeala cu aceeași hotărâre cu care vestește adevărul. Noapte plutește între cer și pământ, văzând pe întuneric ca și pe lumina zilei.

Ce simt? Nimic, cred, doar o șoaptă călduță a buzelor, ultima rază e criptată. Fragilă mitomanie a oricărei vieți care se îngroapă. Cuvintele tac, răsturnate. Ar trebui să mă întorc în punctul în care a început viața mea, a căzut zăvorul și s-a deschis ușa. În vara frumuseții. Văd un buchet de mimoze, asta văd în cameră, unde ultimele lucruri se plimbă-ncoace și-ncolo isterice ca niște femei care trebuie să plece. Știi cum sunt numite mimozele, băiete? Floarea care se rușinează. Sunt de bun augur pentru cine pornește într-o călătorie. Acum coboară în apă, botează albastrul. Dar tu să nu te rușinezi de călătorie. Viața, crede-mă, nu e un mănunchi de speranțe pierdute, o mirositoare broderie de mimoze, viața urlă și călărește în neîncetata ei splendoare".

This is for women whose purses are a morass of loose Tic Tacs, solitary Advils, lipsticks without tops, ChapSticks of unknown vintage, little bits of tobacco even though there has been no smoking going on for at least ten years, tampons that have come loose from their wrappings, English coins from a trip to London last October, boarding passes from long-forgotten airplane trips, hotel keys from God-knows-what hotel, leaky ballpoint pens, Kleenexes that either have or have not been used but there’s no way to be sure one way or another, scratched eyeglasses, an old tea bag, several crumpled personal checks that have come loose from the checkbook and are covered with smudge marks, and an unprotected toothbrush that looks as if it has been used to polish silver.

And at the risk of sounding like Andy Rooney on Sixty Minutes, have you ever wondered why we say fiddle-faddle and not faddle- fiddle? Why is it ping-pong and pitter-patter rather than pong-ping and patter-pitter? Why dribs and drabs, rather than vice versa? Why can't a kitchen be span and spic? Whence riff-raff, mish-mash, flim-flam, chit-chat, tit for tat, knick-knack, zig-zag, sing-song, ding-dong, King Kong, criss-cross, shilly-shally, see-saw, hee-haw, flip-flop, hippity-hop, tick-tock, tic-tac-toe, eeny-meeny-miney-moe, bric-a-brac, clickety-clack, hickory-dickory-dock, kit and kaboodle, and bibbity-bobbity-boo? The answer is that the vowels for which the tongue is high and in the front always come before the vowels for which the tongue is low and in the back.

The crowds had been unbearable. First at Northgate, where she did most of her shopping and then at the airport. Sea-Tac had been filled with activity and noise, everyone in a hurry to get someplace else. There seemed to be little peace or good cheer and a whole lot of selfish concern and rudeness. Then, in the tranquility of church on Christmas Eve, everything had come into perspective for Cait. There had been crowds and rudeness that first Christmas, too, she reasoned. Yet in the midst of that confusion had come joy and peace and love. For most people, it was still the same. Christmas gifts and decorations and dinners were, after all, expressions of the love you felt for your family and friends. And if the preparations sometimes got a bit chaotic, well, that no longer bothered Cait.

Primer of Love [Lesson 40] Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else. ~ Margaret Mead Lesson 40) Lovingly celebrate your partner's peculiarities. You were brought up by two totally different dysfunctional families. No two sets of alcoholic parents are alike. You each come with your own tics, tacs and oddities. Lovingly accept these differences as aspects of your lover's uniqueness. An aspect is just the other side of the coin of some quality you already love about them. For instance is he barks whenever he urinates, this is simply an aspect of his need to guard over you and protect you from own worst enemy * yourself. If she yells out the name of a previous lover during an orgasm, this is just another aspect ofah, fuck it! * put the down pillow on her sorry face and suffocate the bitch.

Near the Mexican border, rocky canyons cleave the mountains, laying them aside like broken wedges of gray cheese furred with a dark mold of pinon and juniper that sheds hard shadows on moon glazed stone, etched lithographs in gray and black, taupe and silver. Beneath feathery chamisa a rattlesnake flicks his tongue, following a scent. Along a precarious rock ledge a ring-tailed cat strolls, nose snuffling the cracks. At the base of the stone a peccary trots along familiar foot trails, toward the toes of a higher cliff where a seeping spring gathers in a rocky goblet. In the desert, sounds are dry and rattling: pebbles toed into cracks, hoofs tac-tacking on stone, the serpent rattle warning the wild pig to veer away, which she does with a grunt to the tribe behind her. From the rocky scarp the ring-tailed cat hears the whole population of the desert pass about its business in the canyon below.

NOAPTEA IADULUI Am dat pe gât o straşnică înghiţitură de otravă.De trei ori binecuvântat să fie sfatul ce ni s-a dat! Mi-au luat foc măruntaiele.Veninul e atât de violent încât îmi răsuceşte mădularele,mă schilodeşte,mă doboară.Mor de sete,mă înnăbuş,nu pot nici măcar să strig.E iadul,osânda veşnică.Uite cum se-nalţă flăcările!Ard,cum se şi cuvine.Hai,demone! Întrezărisem convertirea la Bine şi Fericire,la mânturie adică.Chiar de-aş putea descrie priveliştea,aerul iadului nu rabdă imnurile!Erau acolo milioane de făpturi fermecătoare,un suav concert spiritual,forţa şi pacea,ambiţiie nobile,şi mai ştiu eu ce? Ambiţiile nobile! Şi din nou viaţa!Dacă osânda veşnică.. Un om care vrea să se mutileze e osândit,nu-i aşa?Mă cred în infern,înseamnă că şi sunt.Se împlineşte catechismul.Sunt sclav al botezului meu.Părinţi,voi m-aţi nenorocit,nenorocindu-vă şi pe voi.Sărman nevinovat!Infernul nu-i poate vătăma pe păgâni.Şi iarăşi viaţa! Ceva mai târziu,deliciile damnaţiunii vor fi mai profunde.Repede,o crimă,ca să mă prăbuşesc în neant,potrivit legilor omeneşti! Taci,taci odată!..Aici vezi ruşinea,reproşul:Satan care zice că focul nu-i nobil,că furia mea e îngrozitor de stupidă.Destul!..Mi se şoptesc erori,vorbe magice,miresme înşelătoare,muzici puerile.Şi când mă gândesc că deţin adevărul,că văd calea cea dreaptă:am o judecată sănătoasă şi hotărâtă,sunt copt pentru perfecţine...Ce orgoliu! Pielea capului mi se usucă.Îndurare!Doamne,mi-e frică!Mi-e sete,o sete grozavă.O,copilărie,iarba,ploaia,lacul,podit cu pietre,clarul de lună când clopotul din turn bătea de douăsprezece ori..la ora asta diavolul e-n clopotiniţă.O,Mario!Sfântă-Fecioară!..Mi-e silă de prostia mea. Nu-s oare acolo şi suflete cinstite,care-mi vor binele?Veniţi!..Am însă gura astupată cu o pernă,căci ele nu mă aud,sunt doar nişte fantome.Şi apoi,nimeni nu se gândeşte vreodată la altcineva.Nu vă apropiaţi!Miros a ars,asta e sigur. Halucinaţiile sunt fără număr.Tocmai de ele am avut parte,mereu:pierderea credinţei în istorie,uitarea principiilor.O să tac:poeţii şi vizionarii ar putea,altfel,să mă pizmuiască. Dar ia te uită!Orologiul vieţii s-a oprit adineaori.Nu mă mai aflu în lume.Teologia e serioasă,iadul e cu siguranţă jos,pe când cerul e sus.Extazul,coşmarul,somnul într-un cuib de flăcări. [..]Să ne gândim la mine,asta mă face să nu-mi pară prea rău după lume.Am norocul c-am încetat să sufăr.Viaţa mea n-a fost decât un şir de dulci nebunii,regret,dar aşa e. Pfui!Să ne schmonosim în fel şi chip! E clar că suntem în afara lumii.Nu se mai aude nici un sunet.Mi-am pierdut simţul pipăitului.[..]Tare obosit mai sunt! Ar trebui să dispun de un iad pentru mânie,de un iad pentru trufie şi de un iad al dezmierdărilor:un adevărat concert de iaduri. Mor de oboseală.Iată mormântul,mă duc la viermi,oroare supremă!Satan,farsorule,ai vrea să mă spulberi cu vrăjile tale!Protestez!Protestez!cer o izbitură de furcă,o fărâmă de foc! Ah,să revii la viaţă!Să-ţi arunci privirea asupra hidoşeniilor noastre!Şi otrava asta,sărutul acesta de-o mie de ori blestemat!Slăbiciunea mea,cruzimea acestei lumi!Fie-ţi milă,Doamne şi ascunde-mă,prea mă simt rău!Iată,stau ascuns şi totuşi nu sunt ascuns. E focul,care se înalţă o dată cu cel osândit.

verligen-Szene Êrec was biderbe unde guot, ritterlîche stuont sîn muot ê er wîp genaeme und hin heim kaeme: nû sô er heim komen ist, dô kêrte er allen sînen list an vrouwen Ênîten minne. sich vlizzen sîne sinne wie er alle sîne sache wante zuo gemache. sîn site er wandeln began. als er nie würde der man, alsô vertreip er den tac. des morgens er nider lac, daz er sîn wîp trûte unz daz man messe lûte. sô stuonden si ûf gelîche vil unmüezeclîche. ze handen si sich viengen, zer kappeln si giengen: dâ was ir tweln alsô lanc unz daz man messe gesanc. diz was sîn meistiu arbeit: sô was der imbîz bereit. swie schiere man die tische ûf zôch, mit sînem wîbe er dô vlôch ze bette von den liuten. dâ huop sich aber triuten. von danne enkam er aber nie unz er ze naht ze tische gie. (Erec war rechtschaffen und gut, sein Geist war ritterlich gewesen, bevor er eine Frau genommen hatte und nach Hause zurückgekehrt war. Nachdem er jetzt zu Hause ist, wendete er alle seine Gedanken an die Liebe Enites. Sein Verstand richtete sich nur darauf, wie er alles zu seiner Bequemlichkeit einrichten könne. Er änderte seine Gewohnheiten. Als sei er nie ein Mann geworden, so vertrieb er den Tag. Morgens legte er sich nieder, um seine Frau zu lieben, bis man zur Messe läutete. Dann standen sie beide eilig auf. Sie nahmen sich bei der Hand und gingen zur Kapelle; dort blieben sie gerade so lange wie man die Messe sang. Das war seine größte Mühe; dann war schon das Essen fertig. Sobald man die Tische hochgezogen hatte, eilte er mit seiner Frau von den Leuten weg ins Bett. Da ging die Liebe von neuem an. Von dort kam er nicht mehr weg, bis er zum Abendessen ging.)

Recorría sin descanso la inmensidad del sur con su pequeño ejército, adentrándose en los bosques húmedos y sombríos, bajo la alta cúpula verde tejida por los árboles más nobles y coronada por la soberbia araucaria, que se perfilaba contra el cielo con su dura geometría. Las patas de los caballos pisaban un colchón fragante de humus, mientras los jinetes se abrían camino con las espadas en la espesura, a ratos impenetrable, de los helechos. Cruzaban arroyos de aguas frías, donde los pájaros solían quedar congelados en las orillas, las mismas aguas donde las madres mapuche sumergían a los recién nacidos. Los lagos eran prístinos espejos del azul intenso del cielo, tan quietos, podían contarse las piedrecillas en el fondo. Las arañas tejían sus encajes, perlados de rocío, entre las ramas de robles, arrayanes y avellanos. Las aves del bosque cantaban reunidas, diuca, chincol, jilguero, torcaza, tordo, zorzal, y hasta el pájaro carpintero, marcando el ritmo con su infatigable tac-tac-tac. Al paso de los caballeros se levantaban nubes de mariposas y los venados, curiosos, se acercaban a saludar. La luz se filtraba entre las hojas y dibujaba sombras en el paisaje; la niebla subía del suelo tibio y envolvía el mundo en un hálito de misterio. Lluvia y más lluvia, ríos, lagos, cascadas de aguas blancas y espumosas, un universo líquido. Y al fondo, siempre, las montañas nevadas, los volcanes humeantes, las nubes viajeras. En otoño el paisaje era de oro y sangre, enjoyado, magnífico. A Pedro de Valdivia se le escapaba el alma y se le quedaba enredada entre los esbeltos troncos vestidos de musgo, fino terciopelo. El Jardín del Edén, la tierra prometida, el paraíso. Mudo, mojado de lágrimas, el conquistador conquistado iba descubriendo el lugar donde acaba la tierra, Chile.

Marlboro Man opened the passenger door of the semi and allowed me to climb out in front of him, while Tim exited the driver-side door to see us off. That wasn’t so bad, I thought as I made my way down the steps. Aside from the manicure remark and my sweating problem, meeting Marlboro Man’s brother had gone remarkably well. I looked okay that evening, had managed a couple of witty remarks, and had worn just the right clothing to conceal my nervousness. Life was good. Then, because the Gods of Embarrassment seemed hell-bent on making me look bad, I lost my balance on the last step, hooking the heel of my stupid black boots on the grate of the step and awkwardly grabbing the handlebar to save myself from falling to my death onto the gravel driveway below. But though I stopped myself from wiping out, my purse flew off my arm and landed, facedown, on Tim’s driveway, violently spilling its contents all over the gravel. Only a woman can know the dreaded feeling of spilling her purse in the company of men. Suddenly my soul was everywhere, laid bare for Marlboro Man and his brother to see: year-old lip gloss, a leaky pen, wadded gum wrappers, and a hairbrush loaded up with hundreds, if not thousands, of my stringy auburn hairs. And men don’t understand wads of long hair--for all they knew, I had some kind of follicular disorder and was going bald. There were no feminine products, but there was a package of dental floss, with a messy, eight-inch piece dangling from the opening and blowing in the wind. And there were Tic Tacs. Lots and lots of Tic Tacs. Orange ones. Then there was the money. Loose ones and fives and tens and twenties that had been neatly folded together and tucked into a pocket inside my purse were now blowing wildly around Tim’s driveway, swept away by the strengthening wind from an approaching storm. Nothing in my life could have prepared me for the horror of watching Marlboro Man, my new love, and his brother, Tim, whom I’d just met, chivalrously dart around Tim’s driveway, trying valiantly to save my wayward dollars, all because I couldn’t keep my balance on the steps of their shiny new semi. I left my car at Tim’s for the evening, and when we pulled away in Marlboro Man’s pickup, I stared out the window, shaking my head and apologizing for being such a colossal dork. When we got to the highway, Marlboro Man glanced at me as he made a right-hand turn. “Yeah,” he said, consoling me. “But you’re my dork.

him. “This is the team. Nicholas Lawrence and Isabella Martinez of the FBI.” “Agents,” Alex said, shaking hands. “Just Nick and Izzy. No formalities here.” Nick spoke as Izzy sized up Alex. His bronzed skin and thick muscles were clearly visible under the white linen button-up. Nick shot a glance at Izzy. She stood star struck. He understood how this guy had earned the nickname of Don Juan. Girls must throw themselves at him. He suddenly felt insecure. He was angry at himself for caring that Izzy had noticed him. They were partners. Nothing more. He was aware that this was becoming something that he had to convince himself of more and more lately. Declan continued, “You remember Hags? He’s our chauffeur.” He thumbed in the direction of Haggerty. “He’s now with the Bureau’s HRT. He’ll run tac ops for this thing.” “Well, we’re in good hands then. Come in and meet my sister, Cassidy. She’s pretty upset by all

So I don't need to eat my vegetables anymore. I know it looks like a Tic-Tac and taste like a Tic-Tac, but I assure you, it is not a Tic-Tac.

El tiempo seguía su paso, implacable, respirando en todos los corazones, como una bomba con su tic tac.

Tea for Two (A Tactful Texas-sized Twister of a Tale) Afternoon tic-tac toe. Tête a tête quiet head to toe. To and fro toe-to-toe. –′Tisk for task, tit for tat– (Teeter-totter tack and back)– Tat-a-tat-tat! —S.w.a.k. ///

YOU WILL LOSE.

The purpose of this experiment as George Kelly put it is “…to realize here and now that our innermost personality is something we create as we go along rather than something we discover lurking in our insides or imposed upon [us] from without.” (George Kelly, Fixed-Role Therapy) As we attempt this experiment we will slip out of character from time to time, but the important thing is to return to acting as our second self as quickly as possible. To help us at these crucial moments we may find it useful to devise a ritual which symbolizes and facilitates our transformation into our second self. Todd Herman, author of the Alter Ego Effect and a peak performance coach, cautions that this technique will only work if the ritualized actions we select are performed exclusively when we need to activate the transition into our second self. One example of a ritual that Herman recommends is to carry around a box of Tic Tacs and to pop one each time we need to get back into character.

Los humanos sois defectuosos...Vivís a caballo entre la nostalgia del pasado y el miedo al futuro. Y, al mismo tiempo, obsesionados con eso que llamáis felicidad.

little hybrid cars that, when not running on gasoline, was fueled by idealism. It was made out of crepe paper and duct tape and boasted a computer system that looked like it could have run the NYSE and NORAD, with enough attention left over to play tic-tac-toe. Or possibly Global Thermonuclear War.

În fața ei, poeții tac, iar dansatorul își amuțește cu palma clopoțeii tamburinei. Îndrăgostitul devine nebun, nebunul ajunge profet, iar profetul se-ndumnezeiește.

sum times the craws they drifs off the hafoc but sum times the hafoc it tacs down sum craw and this then is the greatest thing to see. to see this hafoc and this craw to see them rise and fall to the ground to see this hafoc tear at this craw this is to see the lif of all of us and it is to asc thy self if thu is hafoc or thu is craw. or if thu is ael for sum men writhes without efen feohtan thu moste see the hafoc tac down the craw he saes and thu will see that all of the world is blud and thy worc is not to lose thine before thy time. be the hafoc not the craw nor the ael for this is how we cum to this land and it is what we is

So when you’re dealing in markets, it’s not enough to have your own view, you have to consider what other people think. Neoclassical economics likes to treat humans as deductive processing machines; we can go from general premises to specific conclusions. The trouble is, in all but the simplest situations (think tic-tac-toe), we simply don’t have the computational ability to operate deductively. Indeed, humans tend to be superb pattern recognizers—so good, in fact, that we see patterns where none exist. Toss out rational decision making, and things start to get complicated.

In ogni paese, a ogni torneo, individui di qualsiasi nazionalità ed etnia uniti dalla medesima ossessione. Gens una sumus: cosi il motto della Federazione internazionale degli scacchi. Siamo una sola famiglia di persone inebriate dal rumore dei pezzi sul legno -- tac! toc! e pronte a ritrovarci qui nonostante le barriere, i muri, l'atomica, tutto quel che fino a un attimo fa sembrava separarci per sempre, e tutto quel che un domani inventeremo per separaci ancora.

I got behind the wheel and looked over at Lula. “Are you okay?” “I didn’t have any antihistamine, but I found some Tic Tacs. I think they’re helping.” “Do you want to go to the ER?” “No. I’m starting to feel better. I’m just gonna roll my window down and get some air.” “Maybe you had a panic attack.” “No way. People of my persuasion don’t get panic attacks,” Lula said. “What’s your persuasion?” “I’m big and bold. I used to be Presbyterian, but I decided to change over when I was in high school.” “So big and bold is like a religion?” “You bet your ass,” Lula said. “It’s a belief, you see what I’m saying?” “What about God?” “I’m pretty sure he’s big and bold,” Lula said. “He’d have to be in order to take care of the universe, not to mention everything else that’s going on.

#30 “I didn’t have any antihistamine, but I found some Tic Tacs. I think they’re helping.” —Lula

I feel like I landed in a Hallmark movie or something. Scenic mountains, small town, snowstorm, rescued by the handsome stranger who also happens to have the local hardware store.

lines

si no es ahora, ahora que la justicia tiene menos, infinitamente menos categoría que el estiércol; si no es ahora… ¿cuándo se pierde el juicio? Respondedme, loqueros, ¿cuándo se quiebra y salta roto en mil pedazos el mecanismo del cerebro? Ya no hay locos, amigos, ya no hay locos. Se murió aquel manchego, aquel estrafalario fantasma del desierto y… ¡Ni en España hay locos! ¡Todo el mundo está cuerdo, terrible, monstruosamente cuerdo!… ¡Qué bien marcha el reloj! ¡Qué bien marcha el cerebro! Este reloj…, este cerebro, tic-tac, tic-tac, tic-tac, es un reloj perfecto…, perfecto, ¡perfecto!

No tic-tac: passado e futuro Grades da realidade vigente... Onde sombras lentas, se movem. Prisões do corpo, ilusões da mente!

Stau in linistea bucatariei si nu-mi tine companie decat ticaitul monoton al ceasului. E un sunet ciudat de linistitor. Ma gandesc uneori la asta, la numarul tot mai mare de ceasuri zgomotoase din lume, fiecare dintre ele marcand necontenit lipsa noastra de timp. Ar trebui sa fim ingroziti de ele, si totusi tic-tac-ul lor repetitiv ne alina sufletul.

Frazzled and trying not to cry— Yes, cry. A thirty-one-year-old man can cry; shove your toxic masculinity in your cakehole and stop judging me.

Are you a serial killer? I really hope you’re not a serial killer, though to be honest, I’d probably just roll with it at this point.

Quote Schitt’s Creek? Yes, he did. It’s how we communicate. It’s prettier than interpretive dance.

Hamish, just go with it. If it lasts a week or a year or if it’s forever, don’t waste happiness. Life’s too fucking short.

Computation is about performing tasks that seem to be complex (like winning a game of tic-tac-toe) by breaking them down into simple operations (like closing a switch).

see my pinky see my thumb see my fist u better run hold on wait come back u need a tic tac im sorry to be mean but u need some listerine

Dear Russell, Please don’t fall in love with Mrs. Smith’s niece. I— Caleb’s dash crossed the entire page. Then he filled up the rest of the sheet with doodles, drawing stars and spirals and little tic-tac-toe boards. I love you, he wrote at the bottom, in tiny letters. I want to be with you. I want you to wait for me till I’m ready, and I can’t ask because for all I know you’d be waiting till doomsday, because I don’t know how to accept He wrote a series of dashes. He scribbled some more stars. He flipped over the page, and wrote on the back: that you might leave me. That it might not last. And also that it might last, it might be real, it might be something I have to tell my parents about one day, I might have to choose you over the entire rest of the world. That I might choose you over the entire rest of the world, and you might change your mind. He could not look at it anymore. He flipped the paper back over, and wrote one more sentence among the scattered stars. But I am going to try.

Restée seule, Kazu contempla la femme en blanc qui lisait son livre en silence. - Pardonne-moi, maman, je ne suis pas encore..., chuchota-t-elle soudain. Tout autour d'elle, le tic-tac des pendules continuait, assourdissant. Encore... Et encore...

Restée seule, Kazu contempla la femme en blanc qui lisait son livre en silence. -Pardonne-moi, maman, je ne suis pas encore..., chuchota-t-elle soudain. Tout autour d'elle, le tic-tac des pendules continuait de retentir, assourdissant. Encore... Et encore...

In the meantime Greene was offered a job by the British American Tobacco Company in China. Days before he was to sail, a fellow employee told him that they would be able to play noughts and crosses (tic-tac-toe) all the way to China. He promptly resigned rather than face this prospect.