Testosterone Sayings And Quotes

Looking mighty fine, if I do say so myself: red v-neck, dark denim, designer combat boots, and enough testosterone rolling off me to satisfy Nicki Minaj. Pow!

Say thank you to her, Dolophonos. She just kept you from getting your ass handed to you. (Jericho) Stop it! One more round of Grand Testosterone and I swear I’ll geld you both where you stand. (Delphine)

Because what we associate with the idea of love is purely chemical. It can be broken down into scientifically proven phases: it starts with a dose of testosterone and estrogen, what we would think of as ‘lust,’ followed by the goofy ‘lovesick’ phase, which is a combination of adrenaline, dopamine, and a drop in serotonin levels—which, by the way, makes our brains behave exactly like the brains of crack addicts—and ends up, if we make it through phases one and two, with ‘attachment,’ where the body produces oxytocin and vasopressin, which basically make us want to cuddle excessively. It’s science. That’s all.

They stare at each other, one of those high-testosterone stares. “Amazing,” Tucker says. There’s a challenge in his voice. “Best summer of my life.” I wonder if it’s too late to get out of this class. “Well, that’s the thing about summers, isn’t it?” says Christian after a minute. “They have to end sometime.

I wish men weren’t so fucking weak. You make me look bad. I have to answer for all the bullshit you get up to. I have to endure women saying shit like, “Ok, there’s so much testosterone in the air,” when she sees some men fixing a car. I hate it when men go to strip bars. It lowers the rest of us that know if a man has to pay to see a woman naked, he is a loser and probably should get weeded out. I hate having to be put in the same category as with these pieces of shit that wouldn’t make it in the jungle. Little boys in men’s bodies. No wonder women hate them. I do too. Fuck it. I hate all of you. People are disgusting.

What were you saying about the way I smell?" "It's like hot testosterone on a fuckin' cracker, sprinkled with cinnamon." ~Mariss

The lions of hard rock, guys like Robert Plant, Roger Daltrey, Brian Johnson, Rob Halford, these monsters feel completely timeless, iconic, eternal. They simply shall not, will not, do not die. It's almost impossible to imagine a musical world without Robert Plant. No metal fan of any stripe can imagine a day when, say, Iron Maiden shuts it all down because Bruce Dickinson turned 85 and suddenly can't remember the lyrics to "Hallowed Be Thy Name." Metal revels in the raw energy and unchecked phantasmagorical ridiculousness of youth. It is all fire and testosterone and rebellious fantasy. It doesn't go well with reality. So it is for hard rock and a guy like Dio, an elfin titan with an undying love for lasers and sorcery, dragons and kings. The man wrote some terribly corny metal songs, but he sang every one with a ferocity and love and total honesty. He also wrote some of the finest hard rock melodies of all time, sang them with a precision and love unmatched by any hard rock singer since. It's a rare thing to give metal some heartfelt props. It is time. Raise your devil horns and salute.

The basis of my own addiction, I know, is my simple human need for Darcy to get off with Elizabeth. Tom says football guru Nick Hornby says in his book that men's obsession with football is not vicarious. The testosterone-crazed fans do not wish themselves on the pitch, claims Hornby, instead seeing their team as their chosen representatives, rather like parliament. That is precisely my feeling about Darcy and Elizabeth. They are my chosen representatives in the field of shagging, or, rather, courtship. I do not, however, wish to see any actual goals. I would hate to see Darcy and Elizabeth in bed, smoking a cigarette afterwards. That would be unnatural and wrong and I would quickly lose interest.

It's all just hormones, my friend. You might as well just say you're in testosterone with somebody. And if you're really lucky, she might be in estrogen with you.

The more we think we need, the less we get. The less we say we need, the more we have.

These tribal wars, like the practice of circumcision, are brought about by the ego, selfishness, and aggression of men. I hate to say that, but it’s true. Both acts stem from their obsession with their territory—their possessions—and women fall into that category both culturally and legally. Perhaps if we cut their balls off, my country would become paradise. The men would calm down and be more sensitive to the world. Without that constant surge of testosterone, there’d be no war, no killing, no thieving, no rape. And if we chopped off their private parts, and turned them loose to run around and either bleed to death or survive, maybe they could understand for the first time what they’re doing to their women.

Totally.” Lisha beamed at Mercy. “I heard that you were, you know, a sentinel but I never thought I’d see you in action. The boys sometimes say that, like—” “You’re probably not as tough as the men,” Jen completed. “I’m so going to make them eat their words.” Mercy laughed. “You have to excuse them—boys suffer from an incurable disability.” “What?” “Testosterone.” Both girls cracked up.

One Saturday morning walking to the farmers' market with my lover she tells me she needs to look like a man on the street. She hates binding her breasts. Hates having breasts, hates not passing. I press her. I ask her, but what do you feel like when you're naked in bed with me? Do you like your body then? She is quiet. Later she tells me she had a dream. Her mother brought home a bottle of medicine from the hospital for her. The doctor says she has to take it. The medicine is testosterone. On Shabbat I remember to pray for enough space inside of me to hold all the darkness of the night and all the sunlight of the day. I pray for enough space for transformations as miraculous as the shift from day to night. Later when that lover has changed his name and an ex-boyfriend has come out to me as a lesbian I go to visit my best friend's sister-turned-brother-turned-sister-again and she tells me about the blessing of having many names and using them all at once.

Another: I don’t believe in anger anymore. Anger was good when I was young and full of testosterone, but now I like the Buddhist saying, “Anger is a hot coal you hold in your hand while waiting to throw it at somebody.” I don’t want to be angry, and

While some male "admirers" of trans women tend to fetishize us for our femininity or our imagined sexual submissiveness, I find trans women hot because we are anything but docile or demure. In order to survive as a trans woman, you must be, by definition, impervious, unflinching, and tenacious. In a culture in which femaleness and femininity are on the receiving end of a seemingly endless smear campaign, there is no act more brave - especially for someone assigned a male sex at birth - than embracing one's femme self. And unlike those male tranny-chasers who say that they like "T-girls" because we are supposedly "the best of both worlds", I am attracted to trans women because we are all woman! My femaleness is so intense that it has overpowered the trillions of lameass Y chromosomes that sheepishly hide inside the cells of my body. And my femininity is so relentless that it has survived over thirty years of male socialisation and twenty years of testosterone poisoning. Some kinky-identified thrill-seekers may envision trans women as androgyne fuck fantasies, but that's only because they are too self-absorbed to appreciate how completely fucking female we are.

Forming an Adam’s apple requires testosterone, and that usually means functioning testicles. When we look up at a billboard in Times Square featuring a man with a large Adam’s apple, we are essentially being shown a demonstration of testicular aptitude. “Buy this product,” the ad is saying, “and you’ll have good testicles.

Think testosterone,’ says Matthew, ‘multiply it by πr2 and double it. Forget boys locked in boarding schools. They’ve spent ten months as a caterpillar waiting for this. They’ve pupated, they’re mature and they’re desperate. They’re squaddies in the disco on a Saturday night. They’re sailors in port after a nine-month voyage.

In 2022, more than three years after stopping puberty blockers, Jacob is 19 and still trans. He uses a male name and male pronouns, and dresses in a way that he says is typically male. His passport and driving license say male. But he’s not on any medication. He hasn’t chosen to take testosterone and has no plans to. ‘I’m quite content with just being me at the moment.

You should have never let him in the house.” Noah stopped in front of the counter. “For God’s sake, Sabella, I thought you would know better than to confront that son of a bitch while you’re carrying my mark.” She kept her head down. How many times had she laughed at Nathan when he had said something similar? When he had been irritated with her, or was just being a man. She should have known better than to go four-wheeling with Sienna that first year they were married, without him, because when she wrecked, she wrenched her ankle and he hadn’t been tere to make sure she was okay. She should have known better than to try to fix a busted pipe in the basement on her own, because she’d ended up drenched and the basement had gotten wet. So many instances. And she should have always known better. She lifted her head. “Now you can leave. You should know better than to piss off an already angry woman.” She should have known better than to give Rory a say in the hiring. “Sabella, sweetheart, look at me.” His voice roughened. “If he had hurt you, I would have had to kill him. I would have enjoyed killing him.” “And it would have been my fault.” She nodded with a bitter smile. “Sure, I understand.” “No, it would have been his fault for being stupid enough to touch you. But haven’t you figured out that yet that men aren’t always smart enough to keep their hands off things that don’t belong to them?” Her head jerked up in surprise. “So you think I belong to you now?” She didn’t flinch when he reached out to touch her. Over the years, she had always had to suppress a flinch when another man tried to stroke her, kiss her. “You don’t belong to him,” he told her, his fingertip stroking over the rasp of his beard that he had left on her jaw. “Testosterone is a dangerous thing sometimes.

Testosterone blends easily with your own hormones.… You have no fear of what any woman may think of your bed conduct. You know you are a master. You know they will be thrilled. You can come many times without weariness.… Many women are not capable of pleasure in sex and anything adverse they say or do has no effect whatever upon your pleasure. You have no fear if they conceive. What if they do? You do not care. Pour it into them and let fate decide.

The girl had a special way of saying “anything”. The gods had blessed her voice with a special monopoly. It delivered an acoustic chocolate that was laced with all flavours of euphoria. The substance led to surges in testosterone in all types of men, including the average botanist. “Anything.” The way she handled the word endowed it with so many possibilities. Professor Khupe decided to investigate how many of these Ketiwe would let him explore. To his delight the parameters of the word had proven to be quite elastic.

Fisher outlines the different hormones and personalities for me. Those with lots of dopamine, she says, are likely to be "Explorers," optimistic risk takers. Serotonin breeds "Builders," who tend to be calm and organized and work well in groups. Those brimming with testosterone she calls "Directors." Two thirds of them are men. They're analytical, logical, and often musical. (They sound suspiciously like Numerati to me.) In the fourth group, their brains coursing with estrogen, are the negotiators. They're verbal and intuitive, and have good people skills. You'd think they'd be built for relationships. But sometimes, Fisher says, "they're so pliable that they turn into placaters. You don't know who they are.

If one more person tells me that “all gender is performance,” I think I am going to strangle them. Perhaps most annoying about that sound-bite is the somewhat snooty “I-took-a-gender-studies-class-and-youdidn’t” sort of way in which it is most often recited, a magnificent irony given the way that phrase dumbs down gender. It is a crass oversimplification, as ridiculous as saying all gender is genitals, all gender is chromosomes, or all gender is socialization. In reality, gender is all of these things and more. In fact, if there’s one thing that all of us should be able to agree on, it’s that gender is a confusing and complicated mess. It’s like a junior high school mixer, where our bodies and our internal desires awkwardly dance with one another, and with all the external expectations that other people place on us. Sure, I can perform gender: I can curtsy, or throw like a girl, or bat my eyelashes. But performance doesn’t explain why certain behaviors and ways of being come to me more naturally than others. It offers no insight into the countless restless nights I spent as a pre-teen wrestling with the inexplicable feeling that I should be female. It doesn’t capture the very real physical and emotional changes that I experienced when I hormonally transitioned from testosterone to estrogen. Performance doesn’t even begin to address the fact that, during my transition, I acted the same, wore the same T-shirts, jeans, and sneakers that I always had, yet once other people started reading me as female, they began treating me very differently. When we talk about my gender as though it were a performance, we let the audience—with all their expectations, prejudices, and presumptions—completely off the hook.

Or are they? Maybe her eyes aren’t wide because of innocence. Maybe it’s fear. He has a split instant of seeing Prospero through the gaze of Miranda—a petrified Miranda who’s suddenly realized that her adored father is a full-blown maniac, and paranoid into the bargain. He thinks she’s asleep when he’s talking out loud to someone who isn’t there, but she’s heard him doing it, and it scares her. He says he can command spirits, raise storms, uproot trees, open tombs, and cause the dead to walk, but what’s that in real life? It’s sheer craziness. The poor girl is trapped in the middle of the ocean with a testosterone-sodden thug who wants to rape her and an ancient dad who’s totally off his gourd. No wonder she throws herself into the arms of the first sane-looking youth who bumbles her way. Get me out of here! is what she’s really saying to Ferdinand. Isn’t it?

Fisher says that in the late 1990s she began looking into the biology of personality, the genes, neurotransmitters, and specifically, the hormones. She did this in part by studying brain scans of "romantically obsessed" people. Her theory is that four different hormones-estrogen, testosterone, dopamine, and serotonin-mold our personalities and that we look for people who complement us, who provide what we're missing. Her questionnaire is designed to divide us into four different types, each one with a dominant hormone. Some of the questions focus on the moods and personalities she associates with each hormone. Others, such as the question about the length of our fingers, zero in on the chemical itself. Research shows, she says, that those with an index finger shorter than the ring finger have often been exposed to more testosterone while in the womb, while those with longer index fingers will have more estrogen.

Southern violence was explored in one of the all-time coolest psychology studies, involving the use of a word rare in science journals, conducted by Nisbett and Cohen. Undergraduate male subjects had a blood sample taken. They then filled out a questionnaire about something and were then supposed to drop it off down the hall. It was in the narrow hallway, filled with file cabinets, that the experiment happened. Half the subjects traversed the corridor uneventfully. But with half, a confederate (get it? ha-ha) of the psychologists, a big beefy guy, approached from the opposite direction. As the subject and the plant squeezed by each other, the latter would jostle the subject and, in an irritated voice, say the magic word—“asshole”—and march on. Subject would continue down the hall to drop off the questionnaire. What was the response to this insult? It depended. Subjects from the South, but not from elsewhere, showed massive increases in levels of testosterone and glucocorticoids—anger, rage, stress. Subjects were then told a scenario where a guy observes a male acquaintance making a pass at his fiancée—what happens next in the story? In control subjects, Southerners were a bit more likely than Northerners to imagine a violent outcome. And after being insulted? No change in Northerners and a massive boost in imagined violence among Southerners.

I pull into the driveway outside of my father's house and shut off the engine. I sit behind the wheel for a moment, studying the house. He'd called me last night and demanded that I come over for dinner tonight. Didn't request. He demanded. What struck me though, was that he sounded a lot more stressed out and harried than he did when he interrupted my brunch with Gabby to demand my presence at a “family”dinner. Yeah, that had been a fun night filled with my father and Ian badgering me about my job. For whatever reason, they'd felt compelled to make a concerted effort to belittle what I do –more so than they usually do anyway -- try to undermine my confidence in my ability to teach, and all but demand that I quit and come to work for my father's company. That had been annoying, and although they were more insistent than normal, it's pretty par for the course with those two. They always think they know what's best for me and have no qualms about telling me how to live my life. When he'd called me last night though, and told me to come to dinner tonight, there was something in my father's voice that had rattled me. It took me a while to put a finger on what it was I heard in his voice, but when I figured it out, it really shook me. I heard fear. Outright fear. My father isn't a man who fears much or is easily intimidated. In fact, he's usually the one doing the intimidating. But, something has him really spooked and even though we don't always see eye-to-eye or get along, hearing that fear in his voice scared me. In all my years, I've never known him to sound so downright terrified. With a sigh and a deep sense of foreboding, I climb out of my car and head to the door, trying to steel myself more with each step. Call me psychic, but I have a feeling that this is going to be a long, miserable night. “Good evening, Miss Holly,”Gloria says as she opens the door before I even have a chance to knock. “Nice to see you again.”“It's nice to see you too, Gloria,”I say and smile with genuine affection. Gloria has been with our family for as far back as I can remember. Honestly, after my mother passed away from ovarian cancer, Gloria took a large role in raising me. My father had plunged himself into his work –and had taken Ian under his wing to help groom him to take over the empire one day –leaving me to more or less fend for myself. It was like I was a secondary consideration to them. Because I'm a girl and not part of the testosterone-rich world of construction, neither my father nor Ian took much interest in me or my life. Unless they needed something from me, of course. The only time they really paid any attention to me was when they needed me to pose for family pictures for company literature.

Mark swings his own door open and meets us by the tailgate. "Why don't we ask Emma who she's coming with? I mean, it's her choice, right?" The look Galen gives me is clear: Take care of this, or I will. Or maybe it's more like, It would be my pleasure to take care of this. Either way, I don't want Mark taken care of. Standing between them, the testosterone-to-air ratio is almost suffocating. If I pick Galen, the chances of Mark ever calling me again are as good as Galen eating a whole cheesecake by himself. If I choose Mark, the changes of Galen not wielding his built-in brass knuckles are as good as Rayna giving someone a compliment. My desire to salvage this date with Mark is almost as strong as my desire to salvage his face from certain disfigurement. But salvaging the date as opposed to his face would be selfish in the long run. I sigh in defeat. "I'm sorry, Mark." Mark lets out a gust of air. "Ouch." Scratching the back of his neck, he chuckles. "I guess I should be more superstitious, huh?" He's right. I screwed this up. I should have salvaged the date, his pride. And I should have broken Galen's Royal nose with my own Syrena fist. I turn to His Highness. "Galen, could you give me a minute please? You'll have the next hour to talk to me since you're taking me straight home." Without a word, Galen nods and walks away. I can't quite meet Mark's eyes when I say, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what his deal is. He never acts like this." Except that time he beat Toraf like a stepchild on the beach when he kissed me. But only because Toraf betrayed Rayna. Right? Mark smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Can't say I blame him. I can already tell you're worth it. I just never had the guts to ask you out. Chloe threatened my life. You know that chick could hit like a man, right? She said you were too good for me. I think she was right." "Wh...what? Chloe knew you liked me?" "Yeah. She never told you? Course not. She thought I was a player." I not, still too stunned that my best friend also acted as my bodyguard without me knowing. "She did think you were a player. And she couldn't definitely hit like a man." "That's what my friend Jax says anyway." Then a little lower, "Geez, Galen's watching me like a hawk right now. He has serial-killer eyes, you know that?" I giggle. "What do you think he'd do if I kissed you good-bye on the cheek?" he whispers conspiratorially. "Don't worry, I'll protect you." He has no idea how serious I am. As he leans in, I brace myself. At the slightest spark of electricity, I'm prepared to turn around with my fists up. But the lightning doesn't strike. Galen is behaving for now. As Mark pulls away from his barely there peck, he sighs. "Do me a favor," he whispers. "Mmm?" "Keep my number. Give me a call if he screws up again." I smile. "I will, I promise. I had a good time tonight." Did the date and Mark's face get salvaged? Do I have a chance to redeem myself with him? He chuckles. "Yeah, glad we got to drive here from Middle Point together. next time, we'll make it a real adventure and take the bus. See you at school, Emma." "Bye.

Dr. Sherman VanMeter has made a career of unpacking the densest areas of scientific endeavor in accessible—if not polite—terms. You’ve written books on everything from astrophysics to zoology. How are you able to achieve expertise in so many disparate fields? There’s a perception that scientific disciplines are separate countries, when in fact science is a universal passport. It’s about exploring and thinking critically, not memorization. A question mark, not a period. Can you give me an example? Sure. Kids learn about the solar system by memorizing the names of planets. That’s a period. It’s also scientifically useless, because names have no value. The question mark would be to say instead, “There are hundreds of thousands of sizable bodies orbiting the sun. Which ones are exceptional? What makes them so? Are there similarities? What do they reveal?” But how do you teach a child to grasp that complexity? You teach them to grasp the style of thinking. There are no answers, only questions that shape your understanding, and which in turn reveal more questions. Sounds more like mysticism than science. How do you draw the line? That’s where the critical thinking comes in. I can see how that applies to the categorization of solar objects. But what about more abstract questions? It works there too. Take love, for example. Artists would tell you that love is a mysterious force. Priests claim it’s a manifestation of the divine. Biochemists, on the other hand, will tell you that love is a feedback loop of dopamine, testosterone, phenylethylamine, norepinephrine, and feel-my-pee-pee. The difference is, we can show our work. So you’re not a romantic, then? We’re who we are as a species because of evolution. And at the essence, evolution is the steady production of increasingly efficient killing machines. Isn’t it more accurate to say “surviving machines”? The two go hand in hand. But the killing is the prime mover; without that, the surviving doesn’t come into play. Kind of a cold way to look at the world, isn’t it? No, it’s actually an optimistic one. There’s a quote I love from the anthropologist Robert Ardrey: “We were born of risen apes, not fallen angels, and the apes were armed killers besides. And so what shall we wonder at? Our murders and massacres and missiles, and our irreconcilable regiments? Or our treaties whatever they may be worth; our symphonies however seldom they may be played; our peaceful acres, however frequently they may be converted to battlefields; our dreams however rarely they may be accomplished. The miracle of man is not how far he has sunk but how magnificently he has risen.” You used that as the epigraph to your new book, God Is an Abnorm. But I noticed you left out the last line, “We are known among the stars by our poems, not our corpses.” Why? That’s where Ardrey’s poetic license gets the better of his science, which is a perilous mistake. We aren’t “known among the stars” at all. The sun isn’t pondering human nature, the galaxy isn’t sitting in judgment. The universe doesn’t care about us. We’ve evolved into what we are because humanity’s current model survived and previous iterations didn’t. Simple as that. Why is a little artistic enthusiasm a perilous mistake? Because artists are more dangerous than murderers. The most prolific serial killer might have dozens of victims, but poets can lay low entire generations.

There it is, forming behind us: The Fat Blue Phalanx. All the smug self-satisfied maleness you can drink, and free refills at the station house. It's all I can see in cops, that patriarchal bullshit that will never yield to a contract of mutual respect. That grunting fuck-obsessed inability to deobjectify you and treat you as a person, it’s a subclass of male that will never, ever change, no matter what. There they are with their uniforms and their discipline, an abstract and codified representation of all the construction workers who ever whistled at you and there you were, too polite to pee in their toolboxes in retaliation, too polite to challenge them, walking away red-faced because the worst part of it is that you were wondering whether they were really whistling like they’d whistle at Caprice or if they were just being sarcastic and were even now laughing at you with your short skinny legs and flat ass. Besides you’re not supposed to let it get to you. You’re supposed to have a sense of humour: they do. See them waving their cocks at each other and farting? You aren’t allowed to break the rules of their society which say that you are a cold uptight lesbian bitch if you don’t like their hohoho aggressive male ways so just hold your head high from your position of moral superiority and go home and tell your boyfriend (if you have one, which I don’t) who if you’re lucky will offer to go beat them up knowing you won’t take him up on it because you know perfectly well he’d probably get his ass kicked, most of the boys you know are highly ass-kickable because they’ve been brought up nicely. They were brought up in the luxury of knowing the money power of the military-industrial complex would protect them from the dirt and the grime of uneducated testosterone. its thanx to our weak boyfriends that we have cops at all, surrogate cock and balls to maintain ‘order’, whatever that is. Or was. And where does it really leave you as a prisoner of the suburbs? Fuming over some tiny incident that the aggressors have already forgotten about, but you have the sinking feeling you've just sniffed the true underbelly and the aroma was not what you get in Calvin Klein ads. Scratch 'n' sniff, scratch 'n' sniff, peel the onion... will you ever get down to the reality of what this place is about? And I know I shouldn't brand individual cops with the big blue brush but in my mind these guys are a symbol of the whole iron-cage Boy system that makes me always a victim, no matter what I do, it's a cage I can't escape. I'm the little princess. They dominate, they aggress, they protect.

Really though, I have no regrets. I always knew I wanted to have my balls removed and I'm very satisfied with my life now. I know I couldn't have been happy without the procedure. If we're really going to get into hypotheticals, I would say I regret that I hadn't gotten castrated earlier, preferably before I went through puberty and my body developed under the influence of testosterone. If I could make the choice for myself today before I was born, I would have definitely preferred to be born as a girl. My personality is more feminine, and I genuinely like pretending to be a girl when I can by cross-dressing. It kind of sucks that I had to go through all this just so that I can feel like myself. I feel like I would have always felt normal as a girl.

Seriously, you’re swimming in an ocean of testosterone over there, darling, dip your vadge in that beautiful sea!” I say drily, “I think the saying is ‘Dip your toe.’” He scoffs. “Toe, vadge, whatever. Get it

Stop thinking about her ass.” Beck growls, taking my hopes that we can just forget about this away in a flash. “Seriously, just forget it!” I snap. Beck breaks his heated staring contest with Maddox to look over at me. “He saw you nak*d, Dee! You want me to just forget about it?” His tone is low and lethal. I know he’s seconds away from going all alpha-man crazy. “Oh, really… you know, I’m aware that he saw me nak*d, but it was also an accident. When you were running through the house with your dick flopping all over the place for everyone to see, you didn’t see me going all crazy. Oh no, I was laughing, because, hello! It’s funny!” His nostrils flare and his eyes are still narrowed, but he doesn’t say anything. AH! I swear that these overgrown apes are going to be the death of me. “Stop your shit, John Beckett. So what? Coop got a quick look at my girls and Maddox saw my nak*d ass. THEY aren’t the ones that get the benefits of possessing this body. It’s all yours! I didn’t flip out when everyone in this house saw you, and I would appreciate it if you could tone that testosterone down a little. So, would you please stop?” “Those two bastards didn’t enjoy looking at my junk, but I know they enjoyed the hell out of yours!” For the love of God! It takes me a second to tone down my frustration, and if I’m honest with myself, it’s hot as hell to watch him get all jealous and possessive. “Are you forgetting about the very feminine set of eyes that got to take in all that is little Beck?” Coop chokes on his drink when I finish talking. Maddox booms out a laugh that shocks me enough to look his way. If I weren’t so frustrated with Beck right now, I might drool over how handsome he looks. How has no one noticed, besides Em, just how good-looking he is? Even Chelcie seems to be zoned in on all that is Maddox Locke smiling and laughing.

The fewer carbohydrates we consume, the leaner we will be. This is clear. But there’s no guarantee that the leanest we can be will ever be as lean as we’d like. This is a reality to be faced. As I discussed, there are genetic variations in fatness and leanness that are independent of diet. Multiple hormones and enzymes affect our fat accumulation, and insulin happens to be the one hormone that we can consciously control through our dietary choices. Minimizing the carbohydrates we consume and eliminating the sugars will lower our insulin levels as low as is safe, but it won’t necessarily undo the effects of other hormones—the restraining effect of estrogen that’s lost as women pass through menopause, for instance, or of testosterone as men age—and it might not ultimately reverse all the damage done by a lifetime of eating carbohydrate- and sugar-rich foods. This means that there’s no one-size-fits-all prescription for the quantity of carbohydrates we can eat and still lose fat or remain lean. For some, staying lean or getting back to being lean might be a matter of merely avoiding sugars and eating the other carbohydrates in the diet, even the fattening ones, in moderation: pasta dinners once a week, say, instead of every other day. For others, moderation in carbohydrate consumption might not be sufficient, and far stricter adherence is necessary. And for some, weight will be lost only on a diet of virtually zero carbohydrates, and even this may not be sufficient to eliminate all our accumulated fat, or even most of it.

So let’s say you’re an AIS baby and your little undescended baby balls start making testosterone, right? A person with AIS would be, like, Nah, I’m good. Their body would not respond to the testosterone. Instead, it would say, Abracadabra, and—poof!—it would convert the testosterone into estrogen. And since an AIS person’s genitalia started in a sex-neutral state, like all embryos, and their body isn’t responding to androgens, instead converting them to estrogens, which it can respond to, an XY AIS infant is often born looking virtually indistinguishable from XX female infants. To make matters a bit more complicated, AIS is an umbrella category for two subdiagnoses: complete androgen insensitivity (CAIS) and partial androgen insensitivity (PAIS). PAIS is just like CAIS, except there is only a partial insensitivity to androgens, and thus, PAIS babies usually come out of the womb with genitalia that has more ambiguity than their CAIS counterparts. The PAIS embryo almost masculinizes but doesn’t quite do so completely, so the infant is often born with genitalia that is visibly neither completely feminine nor completely masculine in appearance. Genital sex traits like swollen labia, partially fused labia, bifurcated scrotums, enlarged clitorises, and/or different degrees of hypospadias—a term that describes when the urethra doesn’t open at the tip of a penis/phallus—can all be apparent in PAIS individuals. Because PAIS traits aren’t hidden from plain view like those of CAIS, which often goes undiagnosed for years, an individual with PAIS is usually diagnosed at birth or very soon after.

Chemistry From the middle Dutch boele, which means lover, bully was a term of endearment in the sixteenth century, which meant that a feudal lord could take the hand of his love under the apple trees in spring and exclaim: my bully, feeling adrenaline flood his body as his heart rate tripled and his palms began to release water mixed with urea, ammonia, salt. Essentially, he could feel what I felt over four centuries later when Ian Starkey called me a fag. I was fourteen, and the next day he kicked me twice, spat in my face, took my glasses and wouldn't give them back. And the whole time sweat glands were developing in our armpits and genitals, and our adrenals were releasing corticosteroids, and something about testosterone was why, though I hated him, I kept imagining him with his shirt off. True, Ian Starkey knew how to hurt me, but I doubt he knew why he was doing it or that we feel pain when neurons in the brain convert an electrical signal to a chemical signal and back again, which is also what allows us to feel a kiss or my brain to take strange comfort imagining all the boys of the world leaning into the strong arms of their tormentors in spring under the apple blossoms, saying I forgive you, saying: I can never forgive you, saying, my enemy, my bully, my love.

Let’s take my truck,” he suggested. “Mine’s better. Yours screams male testosterone and we wouldn’t want the neighbors to get the wrong idea and say something to her husband.” He stopped in the parking lot to stare at me. “Well, that’s a sexist thing to say.” “What?” “That only men drive trucks like mine.” “It’s usually men who need to overcompensate with big trucks to make up for their small—” “I can assure you that’s not the case.” I wanted to give him a snarky reply, but my eyes instinctively dropped to the bulge in his pants and I immediately drew them back up.

Typically, one of the arguments against the ethicalness of chemical castration is that it affects the very core of personhood, part of which is sexual drive and sexual fantasizing, by indirectly acting on the CNS (…) But, I think, an equally good argument could be that it interferes with basic homeostatic processes of the organism, regulated by the autonomic PNS and the endocrine system. Maybe the public tends to agree with chemical castration of sexual offenders, especially of pedophiles, not only because of the terrible acts they have committed, but also because there is a hidden prejudice that the “real or genuine person” of such offenders is a mind that has been captured by hormones, and that there is nothing wrong in “killing off these hormones and liberate the person from their vicious influence” (…) I say it is a prejudice because part of what it means to be a mentally healthy and well adapted individual involves a huge influence of the hormonal component, not only testosterone, but all other hormones, and, as a matter of fact, sexual offenders do not have abnormally high levels of free testosterone.

I understand. I’ll call my brother and he’ll come get me.” Gracie’s hand flew up and her eyes went wide. “Wait, what?” “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” After thirteen years, she was used to giving up her desires to do the right thing; she only wished it wasn’t so hard. “You’re right, it’s best if I go home.” “No!” Gracie shouted. She straightened and stepped closer to Maddie. “No! That’s not what I meant. I was only trying to say, ‘be careful.’” The men chose that moment to burst in the door like a bunch of rambunctious puppies, filling the room with chaos and testosterone. Gracie placed her hand over her forehead. “Oh, shit, he’s going to kill me.” Mitch stopped on a dime, his attention going first to Maddie and then to Gracie. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “What did you do?” All three men turned to Gracie. They advanced on her, gleaming with sweat. Alarm stirred. Maddie didn’t need to see their faces. The aggression was clear in their stance. The sheriff crossed his arms over his broad chest, and the muscles in his back rippled with the movement. Like Mitch, he also had a tribal-looking tattoo, although it was on his left shoulder instead of wrapping around his bicep. “You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, huh?” Gracie seemed to regain some of her composure, and her chin tilted. “I was only . . .” She cleared her throat. “Being friendly. And helpful.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Didn’t I tell you to leave it alone?” “Yes, but . . .” Gracie glanced at Maddie. “I was worried, and—” Mitch sliced a hand through the air. “What happened?” The men reminded Maddie so much of her brothers and their tactics lit her temper. “That’s enough!” They all swung around. The men’s eyes were sharp, hard with leftover adrenaline. It gave her a moment of pause, before she brushed their daunting presence aside and vaulted off her position by the sink. They tracked her as she stomped around them to stand in front of Gracie. “Stop intimidating her.” Charlie laughed, a wry, amused sound. “Honey, we couldn’t intimidate her if we tried.” His gaze slid over Gracie in a familiar, intimate way. “Although I do think she’s angling for a spanking.” “Ha! You wish.” Gracie placed a hand on Maddie’s shoulder. “Thanks for trying to rescue me. You’re a doll.” She sniffed. “It’s nice to have another female here. I never have anyone on my side.” Sam shook his head. “What did I tell you?” Maddie planted her hands on her hips. “She didn’t do anything, so stop it.” Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “What did she say, Maddie?” “I was just—” Gracie said. “Nothing.” Maddie cut her off as a sudden loyalty toward the woman behind her swelled in her chest. “It has nothing to do with any of you. Now back off.” Charlie’s lips curled into a smile. “Aren’t you a feisty little thing?” “I might be little,” Maddie said, in a righteous tone. “But I’m used to dealing with my brothers, who are all bigger and scarier than you.” Charlie laughed and elbowed Mitch in the ribs. “That sounds like a challenge.” Maddie risked a glance at Mitch to find his expression still hard, not amused at all. He crossed his arms. “I want to talk to Maddie. Alone.” Sam jutted his chin toward the door. “Let’s go.” Gracie squeezed Maddie’s shoulders. “Thanks for sticking up for me. And remember, I’m right next door if you need anything.” “She won’t,” Mitch said, his tone matching the dark expression he wore. Strangely,

I seriously don’t give a crap how I get the pants; just that I get ‘em before my next class. A wet crotch is not the way to show Brittany I’m a stud. I wait at the tree while other kids throw away their lunches and head back inside. Before I know it, music starts playing through the loudspeakers and Paco is nowhere in sight. Great. Now I have five minutes to get to Peterson’s class. Gritting my teeth, I walk to chemistry with my books strategically placed in front of my crotch, with two minutes to spare. I slide onto the stool and push it as close to the lab table as possible, hiding the stain. Brittany walks into the room, her sunshine hair falling down the front of her chest, ending in perfect little curls that bounce when she walks. Instead of that perfection turning me on, it makes me want to mess it all up. I wink at her when she glances at me. She huffs and pulls her stool as far away from me as possible. Remembering Mrs. Peterson’s zero-tolerance rule, I pull my bandana off and place it in my lap directly over the stain. Then I turn to the pom-pom chick sitting next to me. “You’re gonna have to talk to me at some point.” “So your girlfriend can have a reason to beat me up? No thanks, Alex. I’d rather keep my face the way it is.” “I don’t have a girlfriend. You want to interview for the position?” I scan her from top to bottom, focusing on the parts she relies on so heavily. She curls her pink-frosted top lip and sneers at me. “Not on your life.” “Mujer, you wouldn’t know what to do with all this testosterone if you had it in your hands.” That’s it, Alex. Tease her into wanting you. She’ll take the bait. She turns away from me. “You’re disgusting.” “What if I said we’d make a great couple?” “I’d say you were an idiot.

Tony looked me up and down appraisingly. I have to say he didn’t look disappointed or anything. He actually looked a little intrigued. “You gotta be Mason, the guy who called from the library.” “How can you tell?” He shrugged his shoulders. “We don’t get many Mr. Rogers sweaters in here.” “Oh,” I held up my brand spanking new gym bag to prove I belonged there in that temple of testosterone, “I brought shorts and a T-shirt.

Logan points to each of his brothers in turn e smiles. stumble a little as he sets me upright, when all the blood rushes back to and motions for them to talk. “Paul,” the biggest one says as he extends his hand. “I remember you,” I say. “I’ll never forget you,” he says, with a laugh as he smacks Logan on the shoulder. “And neither will his nose.” He feints as Logan makes like he’s going to punch him. But he doesn’t. He stops right before he gets to his face. The second to largest guy—and they’re all big boys—sticks out his hand and says, “Matthew.” Matthew looks tired and a little green. I look at Logan, and he nods subtly. This is the one who has cancer and is going through chemo. Paul slaps Matthew’s hand away and says, “You’re not supposed to be sharing any germs right now.” “Fuck you,” Matthew says, and then he walks toward the hallway and goes into what I guess is his bedroom and closes the door. He doesn’t look back at me, but I don’t mind. The last two brothers have to be twins. They’re younger than Logan, but not by much, and they look identical. “Sam and Pete,” Paul says. They huddle around me, and I end up sandwiched between them, which they think is hilarious. They jiggle me around for a minute until Paul barks at them. “Let her go,” he says. He pops them both on the backs of their heads and says, “They don’t know how to act when company comes over.” Company? That’s what I am? “Nice to meet you,” I say. I’m a bit overwhelmed. This is a lot of testosterone in one room.

You’re gonna have to talk to me at some point.” “So your girlfriend can have a reason to beat me up? No thanks, Alex. I’d rather keep my face the way it is.” “I don’t have a girlfriend. You want to interview for the position?” I scan her from top to bottom, focusing on the parts she relies on so heavily. She curls her pink-frosted top lip and sneers at me. “Not on your life.” “Mujer, you wouldn’t know what to do with all this testosterone if you had it in your hands.” That’s it, Alex. Tease her into wanting you. She’ll take the bait. She turns away from me. “You’re disgusting.” “What if I said we’d make a great couple?” “I’d say you were an idiot.

Adopting a “power pose” for one minute increases testosterone, decreases cortisol, and increases feelings of power and tolerance for risk—important biological determinants of confidence.A power pose is simply body language that is open and expansive, with chest out, shoulders back, and eyes looking straight ahead. Think Superman stance or William Wallace stepping out from the front line as if to say, “Come at me, bro.

The most powerful predictor of self-efficacy is “mastery experience,” a posh way of saying “actually being successful.” Successfully doing something, even if just once, has a tremendous effect on your self-efficacy. The reason that success boosts confidence is that it changes your brain’s production and receptiveness to testosterone and dopamine—two chemicals that increase the impulse to try it again.

I have heard my girlfriends say that making love with their husbands had become as ritualistic and as ordinary as brushing their teeth. Some were clever enough to realize that their husbands made love out of fear. With all the talk about erectile dysfunction, the commercials about the loss of testosterone, men were haunted by the images of limp penises. Every successful act of sexual intercourse reaffirmed their manhood. For many, it could have been with any vagina. The important thing was to reach that climax and, oh, by the way, trigger at least one climax in his wife, if possible. But hey, if she didn’t have it, that was her fault. Maybe she was the one who needed hormones and not me.

simply by doing one of three poses related to power for only two minutes a day, you can create a 20 per cent increase in the confidence hormone, testosterone, and a 25 per cent decrease in the stress hormone, cortisol.7 The so-called ‘power poses’ are a quick and easy way to feel more powerful, says the report.

Another: I don’t believe in anger anymore. Anger was good when I was young and full of testosterone, but now I like the Buddhist saying, “Anger is a hot coal you hold in your hand while waiting to throw it at somebody.” I don’t want to be angry, and I don’t want to be around angry people. I just cut them out of my life. I’m not judging them. I went through a lot of anger too. They have to work through it on their own. Go be angry at someone else, somewhere else.

Some research suggests that testosterone can simultaneously enhance agency and weaken communality, which might help to explain the difference in relative importance placed by men vs. women on agency vs. communion.41

What is love" was the most searched phrase on Google in 2012, according to the company. In an attempt to get to the bottom of the question once and for all, the Guardian has gathered writers from the fields of science, literature, religion and philosophy to give their definition of the much-pondered word. 카톡☎ppt33☎ 〓 라인☎pxp32☎ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 파워이렉트판매,파워이렉트파는곳,파워이렉트가격,파워이렉트구입사이트,파워이렉트구매사이트,파워이렉트판매사이트,파워이렉트지속시간,파워이렉트복용법 천연정력제구입,남성정력제구입,정력제구입,발기제구입,남성발기제구입,강력발기제구입 The physicist: 'Love is chemistry' Biologically, love is a powerful neurological condition like hunger or thirst, only more permanent. We talk about love being blind or unconditional, in the sense that we have no control over it. But then, that is not so surprising since love is basically chemistry. While lust is a temporary passionate sexual desire involving the increased release of chemicals such as testosterone and oestrogen, in true love, or attachment and bonding, the brain can release a whole set of chemicals: pheromones, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin. However, from an evolutionary perspective, love can be viewed as a survival tool – a mechanism we have evolved to promote long-term relationships, mutual defense and parental support of children and to promote feelings of safety and security. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Design is not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works. We're here to put a dent in the universe. Otherwise why else even be here? The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me.

What is love" was the most searched phrase on Google in 2012, according to the company. In an attempt to get to the bottom of the question once and for all, the Guardian has gathered writers from the fields of science, literature, religion and philosophy to give their definition of the much-pondered word. 카톡 ☎ ppt33 ☎ 〓 라인 ☎ pxp32 ☎ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 The physicist: 'Love is chemistry' Biologically, love is a powerful neurological condition like hunger or thirst, only more permanent. We talk about love being blind or unconditional, in the sense that we have no control over it. But then, that is not so surprising since love is basically chemistry. While lust is a temporary passionate sexual desire involving the increased release of chemicals such as testosterone and oestrogen, in true love, or attachment and bonding, the brain can release a whole set of chemicals: pheromones, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin. However, from an evolutionary perspective, love can be viewed as a survival tool – a mechanism we have evolved to promote long-term relationships, mutual defense and parental support of children and to promote feelings of safety and security. 요힘빈구입,요힘빈구매,요힘빈판매,요힘빈가격,요힘빈파는곳,요힘빈구입방법,요힘빈구매방법,요힘빈복용법,요힘빈부작용,요힘빈정품구입,요힘빈정품구매,요힘빈정품판매 Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. 아무런 말없이 한번만 찾아주신다면 뒤로는 계속 단골될 그런 자신 있습니다.저희쪽 서비스가 아니라 제품에대해서 자신있다는겁니다 팔팔정,구구정,네노마정,프릴리지,비맥스,비그알엑스,엠빅스,비닉스,센트립 등 많은 제품 취급합니다 확실한 제품만 취급하는곳이라 언제든 연락주세요 Design is not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works. We're here to put a dent in the universe. Otherwise why else even be here? The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me. I want to put a ding in the universe. Quality is more important than quantity. One home run is better than two doubles. Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. The philosopher: 'Love is a passionate commitment' The answer remains elusive in part because love is not one thing. Love for parents, partners, children, country, neighbor, God and so on all have different qualities. Each has its variants – blind, one-sided, tragic, steadfast, fickle, reciprocated, misguided, and unconditional. At its best, however, all love is a kind a passionate commitment that we nurture and develop, even though it usually arrives in our lives unbidden. That's why it is more than just a powerful feeling. Without the commitment, it is mere infatuation. Without the passion, it is mere dedication. Without nurturing, even the best can wither and die. The romantic novelist: 'Love drives all great stories' What love is depends on where you are in relation to it. Secure in it, it can feel as mundane and necessary as air – you exist within it, almost unnoticing. Deprived of it, it can feel like an obsession; all consuming, a physical pain. Love is the driver for all great stories: not just romantic love, but the love of parent for child, for family, for country. It is the point before consummation of it that fascinates: what separates you from love, the obstacles that stand in its way. It is usually at those points that love is everything.

What is love" was the most searched phrase on Google in 2012, according to the company. In an attempt to get to the bottom of the question once and for all, the Guardian has gathered writers from the fields of science, literature, religion and philosophy to give their definition of the much-pondered word. 카톡►ppt33◄ 〓 라인►pxp32◄ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 네노마정파는곳,네노마정구입방법,네노마정복용법,네노마정처방 The physicist: 'Love is chemistry' Biologically, love is a powerful neurological condition like hunger or thirst, only more permanent. We talk about love being blind or unconditional, in the sense that we have no control over it. But then, that is not so surprising since love is basically chemistry. While lust is a temporary passionate sexual desire involving the increased release of chemicals such as testosterone and oestrogen, in true love, or attachment and bonding, the brain can release a whole set of chemicals: pheromones, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin. However, from an evolutionary perspective, love can be viewed as a survival tool – a mechanism we have evolved to promote long-term relationships, mutual defense and parental support of children and to promote feelings of safety and security. The philosopher: 'Love is a passionate commitment' The answer remains elusive in part because love is not one thing. Love for parents, partners, children, country, neighbor, God and so on all have different qualities. Each has its variants – blind, one-sided, tragic, steadfast, fickle, reciprocated, misguided, and unconditional. At its best, however, all love is a kind a passionate commitment that we nurture and develop, even though it usually arrives in our lives unbidden. That's why it is more than just a powerful feeling. Without the commitment, it is mere infatuation. Without the passion, it is mere dedication. Without nurturing, even the best can wither and die. The romantic novelist: 'Love drives all great stories' What love is depends on where you are in relation to it. Secure in it, it can feel as mundane and necessary as air – you exist within it, almost unnoticing. Deprived of it, it can feel like an obsession; all consuming, a physical pain. Love is the driver for all great stories: not just romantic love, but the love of parent for child, for family, for country. It is the point before consummation of it that fascinates: what separates you from love, the obstacles that stand in its way. It is usually at those points that love is everything. The nun: 'Love is free yet binds us' Love is more easily experienced than defined. As a theological virtue, by which we love God above all things, it seems remote until we encounter it enfleshed, so to say, in the life of another – in acts of kindness, generosity and self-sacrifice. Love's the one thing that can never hurt anyone, although it may cost dearly. The paradox of love is that it is supremely free yet attaches us with bonds stronger than death. It cannot be bought or sold; there is nothing it cannot face; love is life's greatest blessing.

The physicist: 'Love is chemistry' 카톡►ppt33◄ 〓 라인►pxp32◄ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 Biologically, love is a powerful neurological condition like hunger or thirst, only more permanent. We talk about love being blind or unconditional, in the sense that we have no control over it. But then, that is not so surprising since love is basically chemistry. While lust is a temporary passionate sexual desire involving the increased release of chemicals such as testosterone and oestrogen, in true love, or attachment and bonding, the brain can release a whole set of chemicals: pheromones, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin. However, from an evolutionary perspective, love can be viewed as a survival tool – a mechanism we have evolved to promote long-term relationships, mutual defense and parental support of children and to promote feelings of safety and security. 팔팔정파는곳,팔팔정팝니다,팔팔정구입방법,팔팔정구매방법,팔팔정판매,구구정파는곳,구구정팝니다,구구정구입방법,구구정구매방법,구구정지속시간 The philosopher: 'Love is a passionate commitment' The answer remains elusive in part because love is not one thing. Love for parents, partners, children, country, neighbor, God and so on all have different qualities. Each has its variants – blind, one-sided, tragic, steadfast, fickle, reciprocated, misguided, and unconditional. At its best, however, all love is a kind a passionate commitment that we nurture and develop, even though it usually arrives in our lives unbidden. That's why it is more than just a powerful feeling. Without the commitment, it is mere infatuation. Without the passion, it is mere dedication. Without nurturing, even the best can wither and die. love everyone who walks into our life.It must be fate to get acquainted in a huge crowd of people... I feel, the love that Osho talks about, maybe is a kind of pure love beyond the mundane world, which is full of divinity and caritas, and overflows with Buddhist allegorical words and gestures, but, it seems that I cannot see through its true meaning forever... The romantic novelist: 'Love drives all great stories' What love is depends on where you are in relation to it. Secure in it, it can feel as mundane and necessary as air – you exist within it, almost unnoticing. Deprived of it, it can feel like an obsession; all consuming, a physical pain. Love is the driver for all great stories: not just romantic love, but the love of parent for child, for family, for country. It is the point before consummation of it that fascinates: what separates you from love, the obstacles that stand in its way. It is usually at those points that love is everything. The nun: 'Love is free yet binds us' Love is more easily experienced than defined. As a theological virtue, by which we love God above all things, it seems remote until we encounter it enfleshed, so to say, in the life of another – in acts of kindness, generosity and self-sacrifice. Love's the one thing that can never hurt anyone, although it may cost dearly. The paradox of love is that it is supremely free yet attaches us with bonds stronger than death. It cannot be bought or sold; there is nothing it cannot face; love is life's greatest blessing.

The physicist: 'Love is chemistry' 카톡☛ppt33☚ 〓 라인☛pxp32☚ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 Biologically, love is a powerful neurological condition like hunger or thirst, only more permanent. We talk about love being blind or unconditional, in the sense that we have no control over it. But then, that is not so surprising since love is basically chemistry. While lust is a temporary passionate sexual desire involving the increased release of chemicals such as testosterone and oestrogen, in true love, or attachment and bonding, the brain can release a whole set of chemicals: pheromones, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin. However, from an evolutionary perspective, love can be viewed as a survival tool – a mechanism we have evolved to promote long-term relationships, mutual defense and parental support of children and to promote feelings of safety and security. 비맥스판매,비맥스가격,비맥스파는곳,비맥스구입방법,비맥스구매방법,비맥스복용법,비맥스부작용,비맥스지속시간,비맥스구매 The philosopher: 'Love is a passionate commitment' 아무런 말없이 한번만 찾아주신다면 뒤로는 계속 단골될 그런 자신 있습니다.저희쪽 서비스가 아니라 제품에대해서 자신있다는겁니다 팔팔정,구구정,네노마정,프릴리지,비맥스,비그알엑스,엠빅스,비닉스,센트립 등 많은 제품 취급합니다 확실한 제품만 취급하는곳이라 언제든 연락주세요 The answer remains elusive in part because love is not one thing. Love for parents, partners, children, country, neighbor, God and so on all have different qualities. Each has its variants – blind, one-sided, tragic, steadfast, fickle, reciprocated, misguided, and unconditional. At its best, however, all love is a kind a passionate commitment that we nurture and develop, even though it usually arrives in our lives unbidden. That's why it is more than just a powerful feeling. Without the commitment, it is mere infatuation. Without the passion, it is mere dedication. Without nurturing, even the best can wither and die. 팔팔정구매방법,구구정구매방법,비아그라구매방법,시알리스구매방법,레비트라구매방법,비닉스구매방법,센트립구매방법,엠빅스구매방법,센돔구매방법,네노마정구매방법 Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Design is not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works. We're here to put a dent in the universe. Otherwise why else even be here? The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me.

The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. 카톡☛ppt33☚ 〓 라인☛pxp32☚ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me. 엠빅스판매,엠빅스파는곳,엠빅스가격,엠빅스구입방법,엠빅스구매방법,엠빅스지속시간,엠빅스효과,엠빅스판매사이트,엠빅스가격 I want to put a ding in the universe. 아무런 말없이 한번만 찾아주신다면 뒤로는 계속 단골될 그런 자신 있습니다.저희쪽 서비스가 아니라 제품에대해서 자신있다는겁니다 팔팔정,구구정,네노마정,프릴리지,비맥스,비그알엑스,엠빅스,비닉스,센트립 등 많은 제품 취급합니다 확실한 제품만 취급하는곳이라 언제든 연락주세요 비아그라지속시간,시알리스지속시간,비닉스지속시간,센트립지속시간,비아그라지속시간,시알리스지속시간,레비트라지속시간 Quality is more important than quantity. One home run is better than two doubles. Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. When I do well in the exam, I will show my paper to my parents, they are so happy to see me do well in the exam. I want to be happy all the time. But I have put so much pressure on myself. One day, my parents tell me that they don’t care how I do well in the exam, they just want me to be happy. I know I should relax myself and be happy. The physicist: 'Love is chemistry' Biologically, love is a powerful neurological condition like hunger or thirst, only more permanent. We talk about love being blind or unconditional, in the sense that we have no control over it. But then, that is not so surprising since love is basically chemistry. While lust is a temporary passionate sexual desire involving the increased release of chemicals such as testosterone and oestrogen, in true love, or attachment and bonding, the brain can release a whole set of chemicals: pheromones, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin. However, from an evolutionary perspective, love can be viewed as a survival tool – a mechanism we have evolved to promote long-term relationships, mutual defense and parental support of children and to promote feelings of safety and security.

카톡☛ppt33☚ 〓 라인☛pxp32☚ 홈피는 친추로 연락주세요 #팔팔정구입방법 #팔팔정구매방법 #팔팔정구입 #팔팔정구매 #팔팔정판매 #팔팔정처방 #팔팔정가격 #팔팔정후기 #팔팔정정품구입 #팔팔정정품구매 #팔팔정정품판매 #팔팔정구입하는곳 #팔팔정구매하는곳 #팔팔정판매하는곳 #팔팔정약효 #팔팔정효과 #팔팔정효능 #팔팔정지속시간 What is love" was the most searched phrase on Google in 2012, according to the company. In an attempt to get to the bottom of the question once and for all, the Guardian has gathered writers from the fields of science, literature, religion and philosophy to give their definition of the much-pondered word. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Design is not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works. We're here to put a dent in the universe. Otherwise why else even be here? The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me ... Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful... that's what matters to me. The physicist: 'Love is chemistry' Biologically, love is a powerful neurological condition like hunger or thirst, only more permanent. We talk about love being blind or unconditional, in the sense that we have no control over it. But then, that is not so surprising since love is basically chemistry. While lust is a temporary passionate sexual desire involving the increased release of chemicals such as testosterone and oestrogen, in true love, or attachment and bonding, the brain can release a whole set of chemicals: pheromones, dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin and vasopressin. However, from an evolutionary perspective, love can be viewed as a survival tool – a mechanism we have evolved to promote long-term relationships, mutual defense and parental support of children and to promote feelings of safety and security. The philosopher: 'Love is a passionate commitment

Middle-class man scores low on Plato’s thymos meter. Some would say low on the testosterone meter as well. He is no Martin Luther. Still, he is probably a more congenial neighbor, and he was to be the essential building block for what the eighteenth century treasured most after two centuries of religious war and upheaval: a little peace and quiet.

When Jonathan makes me angriest, I always say he is bringing out the testosterone in me. What I mean is that he is representing some piece of myself as a woman that I am reluctant to acknowledge or explore. For instance, what does "acting like a man" mean? For me, what I reject? For Jonathan, what he is trying to redefine?

Some may feel super woke to say that transgender women athletes belong in female sports, but let me tell you as a biologist, in terms of muscle mass, transgender women have similar advantages over females as male athletes do, even with testosterone suppression therapy, therefore, it is not enough to simply acknowledge transgender as a distinct gender, we must also make necessary alterations to our preexisting societal fields, such as setting up transgender category in sports, where performance is predicated on physiological attributes, so that in an attempt to vest upon the transgender population their long-overdue fundamental rights, we do not start treating other genders unfairly without even being aware of it. Remember, replacing one wrong with another is not rightness. Our purpose is to preserve the rights of everyone, not to change the shape of the violation of those rights.