The Hand You're Dealt Quotes

It's not about the cards you're dealt, but how you play the hand.

When a child dies, a parent loses a part of themselves,” he said. “Your whole world ceases to exist and you’re nothing but a shell of the person you once were. Your mom has dealt with it in her way, me in mine, and you in yours.” He lifted his hand off John’s gravestone and rose. “Your mom hates the world, I avoid it, and you try to save it.

Well, yes, ma'am, I do... I mean, I got everything I need right here with me. I got air in my lungs, a few blank sheets of paper. I mean, I love waking up in the morning not knowing what's gonna happen or, who I'm gonna meet, where I'm gonna wind up. Just the other night I was sleeping under a bridge and now here I am on the grandest ship in the world having champagne with you fine people. I figure life's a gift and I don't intend on wasting it. You don't know what hand you're gonna get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you... to make each day count.

Of course it’s not simple. Who said it was simple? But you know what? Lots of loose ends don’t ever get tied up. Play the hand you’re dealt. Move on.

You gotta face the hand you're dealt with and deal with it, and make your problems be the smallest part of who you are.

You’re not responsible for the hand of cards you were dealt. You’re responsible for maxing out what you were given.

As far as I can see, in this world, you’re a fool for not using whatever gifts you’re given. It’s not as though you lied or cheated or stole to get Howard Marlowe as your father. That’s who he is; that’s who you are. You got dealt a bad card when you were bitten—so use one of the better cards you have in your hand to make up for it.

It’s not the hand you’re dealt that matters. It’s how you play the cards.

You play the hand you're dealt just like everyone else in this bloody world. You have gifts people would kill for, no matter that you scorn them. You have a mum who loves you and a nice house to go home to. Sod your backwoods neighbors who look down their ignorant noses at you for your lack of a father. This world is a big place and you've got an important role to play in it. Think everyone goes around whistling about the life they lead? Think everyone is given the power to choose the way their fate goes? Sorry, luv, it doesn't work that way. You hold the ones you love close and fight the battles you can win, and that, Kitten, is how it is.

It's not about the cards you're dealt, but how you play the hand. - Randy Pausch “The Last Lecture

The moon is always jealous of the heat of the day, just as the sun always longs for something dark and deep. They could see how love might control you, from your head to your toes, not to mention every single part of you in between. A woman could want a man so much she might vomit in the kitchen sink or cry so fiercly blood would form in the corners of her eyes. She put her hand to her throat as though someone were strangling her, but really she was choking on all that love she thought she’d needed so badly. What had she thought, that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, just to play with? Real love was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn’t let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for it’s sake. She refused to believe in superstition, she wouldn’t; yet it was claiming her. Some fates are guaranteed, no matter who tries to intervene. After all I’ve done for you is lodged somewhere in her brain, and far worse, it’s in her heart as well. She was bad luck, ill-fated and unfortunate as the plague. She is not worth his devotion. She wishes he would evaporate into thin air. Maybe then she wouldn’t have this feeling deep inside, a feeling she can deny all she wants, but that won’t stop it from being desire. Love is worth the sum of itself and nothing more. But that’s what happens when you’re a liar, especially when you’re telling the worst of these lies to yourself. He has stumbled into love, and now he’s stuck there. He’s fairly used to not getting what he wants, and he’s dealt with it, yet he can’t help but wonder if that’s only because he didn’t want anything so badly. It’s music, it’s a sound that is absurdly beautiful in his mouth, but she won’t pay attention. She knows from the time she spent on the back stairs of the aunts’ house that most things men say are lies. Don’t listen, she tells herself. None if it’s true and none of it matters, because he’s whispering that he’s been looking for her forever. She can’t believe it. She can’t listen to anything he tells her and she certainly can’t think, because if she did she might just think she’d better stop. What good would it do her to get involved with someone like him? She’d have to feel so much, and she’s not that kind. The greatest portion of grief is the one you dish out for yourself. She preferred cats to human beings and turned down every offer from the men who fell in love with her. They told her how sticks and stones could break bones, but taunting and name-calling were only for fools. — & now here she is, all used up. Although she’d never believe it, those lines in *’s face are the most beautiful part about her. They reveal what she’s gone through and what she’s survived and who exactly she is, deep inside. She’s gotten back some of what she’s lost. Attraction, she now understands, is a state of mind. If there’s one thing * is now certain of, it’s house you can amaze yourself by the things you’re willing to do. You really don’t know? That heart-attack thing you’ve been having? It’s love, that’s what it feels like. She knows now that when you don’t lose yourself in the bargain, you find you have double the love you started with, and that’s one recipe that can’t be tampered with. Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Plant roses and lavender, for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

Lots of loose ends don’t ever get tied up. Play the hand you’re dealt. Move on.” Kiowa

I think you’re doing the best you can with the shit hand life dealt you. Just like the rest of us.

Brother—” “I thought we’d already decided we weren’t that, either.” Grabbing his shoulder, I stopped him before he could reach the door. “Look, I’m sorry! I’m sorry I did this to you.” He turned to look at me, his brow raised high. “You’re sorry. So, what . . . we go back to being cool again?” “I don’t know, man. But we can’t do this.” “And why can’t we? You couldn’t stand to let me have one normal day with her. Have I done anything to you since she and I broke up?” He paused, but I didn’t respond. “No. I haven’t. You dealt with it by being an ass, so let me deal with this my way. And my way doesn’t include acting like you didn’t steal my girl from me.” “I didn’t steal Harper!” He opened the door and took a step outside, his shaking hand gripping the outer knob. When he looked back at me, his eyes were flat and lifeless. “You stole my entire world.

.....youth dies when you stop believing that you can affect the hand you're dealt at birth. The reality is, sometimes you just draw shitty cards, and no matter how much you plan, and no matter how hard you work to be good and to go to church and to think the right thoughts, there's nothing in the world you can do to get a reshuffle.

Some folk are dealt a bad hand. But you can’t rely on another person’s conscience to live the life you want to live. You make do with what you’re given; you struggle on.

Here's the thing, We don't get to choose how we start in this life. Real 'greatness' is what you do with the hand you're dealt. — Victor Sullivan (Uncharted 3)

You don’t have a right to the cards you believe you should have been dealt. You have an obligation to play the hell out of the ones you’re holding. And, dear one, you and I both were granted a mighty generous hand.

Release my horse!" I ordered, infuriated with him and wary of both the large, energetic beast and its rider. "No," Steldor snapped. "You're coming back with me." Gripping my reins, he permitted his stallion to move forward in the direction of the city, my mount obediently following. Unwilling to give in to him, I slid from my horse's back. "I don't think I will return just yet, Your Majesty." With an exasperated sigh, he dismounted and strode toward me.As he did, he took in my preposterous appearance. "What are you doing?" he demanded, stopping in his tracks. "You're out in the middle of nowhere, by yourself, dressed like a man and riding your father's horse! Have you gone mad, woman?" He continued to scrutinize me, and his incredulity transformed itself into a frown. "And just where did you get the belt and breeches?" As realizatin struck, he sarcastically added, "Just my luck that you would decide to get into my trousers when I wasn't there yo enjoy it." My cheeks burned at his crude comment, and had I been a little closer, I would likely have dealt him a second slap. At the same time, I knew his assessment was accurate. "I was just going for a ride.I have the right to some fresh air," I asserted, hands upon my hips. Steldor gave a short, scathing laugh. "Not like this you don't.Now get on your horse.

There is no why. You don’t have a right to the cards you believe you should have been dealt. You have an obligation to play the hell out of the ones you’re holding. And, dear one, you and I both were granted a mighty generous hand.

The Neimoidian gave a long, gurgling sigh. “You’re right, Des. The decision is made. Grim fate and ill fortune have conspired against you. It’s not like sabacc; you can’t fold a bad hand. In life you just play the cards you’re dealt.

They stood there for a while, with no sound but the flapping of the flag. “It’s not that simple, Kiowa.” “Of course it’s not simple. Who said it was simple? But you know what? Lots of loose ends don’t ever get tied up. Play the hand you’re dealt. Move on.” Kiowa

Take the hand you’re dealt and then finesse it,

Of course it’s not simple. Who said it was simple? But you know what? Lots of loose ends don’t ever get tied up. Play the hand you’re dealt. Move on.” Kiowa

I turned around and there he was, Edward Curtis Baldwin. My best friend's father. My Sweet Pea's Papa. And my heart's true desire. I had loved this man for the better part of my adult life.

I mean, I love waking up in the morning not knowing what’s gonna happen or, who I’m gonna meet, where I’m gonna wind up. Just the other night I was sleeping under a bridge and now here I am on the grandest ship in the world having champagne with you fine people. I figure life’s a gift and I don’t intend on wasting it. You don’t know what hand you’re gonna get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you… to make each day count.

Daddy had never been able to understand how I, a college student, could consider myself "oppressed." He didn't think of himself that way and didn't see why I should. My job, he insisted time and again, was to "play the hand you're dealt," the way he'd done his whole life. Besides, I had a better hand than he'd ever held - and we both knew it. My life was full of opportunities of which he had never dared to dream. All I had to do was reach out and take them. What right, then, did I have to whine about "the man" ?... I'd been drunk on revolutionary rhetoric, but now I knew it was nothing more than talk.

I have been vehemently accused by people who didn’t understand me of not believing in anything. I don’t believe in anything. This is not a statement of existential hopelessness for which you should light a candle for me at night. It’s a strategy for not getting bogged down in some weird trip. After all, what is the basis for believing anything? I mean, you have to understand: You’re a monkey. In some kind of a biological situation where everything has been evolved to serve the economy of survival—this is not a philosophy course. So belief is a curious reaction to the present at hand. It isn’t to be believed, it’s to be dealt with—experienced and modeled.

Collins, echoing Ed Catmull, “What separates people is the return on luck, what you do with it when you get it. What matters is how you play the hand you’re dealt.” He continues, “You don’t leave the game, until it’s not your choice. Steve Jobs had great luck at arriving at the birth of an industry. Then he had bad luck in getting booted out. But Steve played whatever hand he was dealt to the best of his ability. Sometimes you create the hand, by giving yourself challenges that will make you stronger, where you don’t even know what’s next. That’s the beauty of the story. Steve’s almost like the Tom Hanks character in Castaway—just keep breathing because you don’t know what the tide will bring in tomorrow.

There’s another mindset in which these traits are not simply a hand you’re dealt and have to live with, always trying to convince yourself and others that you have a royal flush when you’re secretly worried it’s a pair of tens. In this mindset, the hand you’re dealt is just the starting point for development. This growth mindset is based on the belief that your basic qualities are things you can cultivate through your efforts.

Why do we bury our dead?” His nose was dented in at the bridge like a sphinx; the cause of which I could only imagine had been a freak archaeological accident. I thought about my parents. They had requested in their will that they be buried side by side in a tiny cemetery a few miles from our house. “Because it’s respectful?” He shook his head. “That’s true, but that’s not the reason we do it.” But that was the reason we buried people, wasn’t it? After gazing at him in confusion, I raised my hand, determined to get the right answer. “Because leaving people out in the open is unsanitary.” Mr. B. shook his head and scratched the stubble on his neck. I glared at him, annoyed at his ignorance and certain that my responses were correct. “Because it’s the best way to dispose of a body?” Mr. B. laughed. “Oh, but that’s not true. Think of all the creative ways mass murderers have dealt with body disposal. Surely eating someone would be more practical than the coffin, the ceremony, the tombstone.” Eleanor grimaced at the morbid image, and the mention of mass murderers seemed to wake the rest of the class up. Still, no one had an answer. I’d heard Mr. B. was a quack, but this was just insulting. How dare he presume that I didn’t know what burials meant? I’d watched them bury my parents, hadn’t I? “Because that’s just what we do,” I blurted out. “We bury people when they die. Why does there have to be a reason for everything?” “Exactly!” Mr. B. grabbed the pencil from behind his ear and began gesticulating with it. “We’ve forgotten why we bury people. “Imagine you’re living in ancient times. Your father dies. Would you randomly decide to put him inside a six-sided wooden box, nail it shut, then bury it six feet below the earth? These decisions aren’t arbitrary, people. Why a six-sided box? And why six feet below the earth? And why a box in the first place? And why did every society throughout history create a specific, ritualistic way of disposing of their dead?” No one answered. But just as Mr. B. was about to continue, there was a knock on the door. Everyone turned to see Mrs. Lynch poke her head in. “Professor Bliss, the headmistress would like to see Brett Steyers in her office. As a matter of urgency.” Professor Bliss nodded, and Brett grabbed his bag and stood up, his chair scraping against the floor as he left. After the door closed, Mr. B. drew a terrible picture of a mummy on the board, which looked more like a hairy stick figure. “The Egyptians used to remove the brains of their dead before mummification. Now, why on earth would they do that?” There was a vacant silence. “Think, people! There must be a reason. Why the brain? What were they trying to preserve?” When no one answered, he answered his own question. “The mind!” he said, exasperated. “The soul!” As much as I had planned on paying attention and participating in class, I spent the majority of the period passing notes with Eleanor. For all of his enthusiasm, Professor Bliss was repetitive and obsessed with death and immortality. When he faced the board to draw the hieroglyphic symbol for Ra, I read the note Eleanor had written me. Who is cuter? A. Professor Bliss B. Brett Steyers C. Dante Berlin D. The mummy I laughed. My hand wavered between B and C for the briefest moment. I wasn’t sure if you could really call Dante cute. Devastatingly handsome and mysterious would be the more appropriate description. Instead I circled option D. Next to it I wrote Obviously! and tossed it onto her desk when no one was looking.

After my shower, I found him shuffling cards he bought at the convenience store we stopped at before the hotel. Grinning, I sat across from him. “You told me that you’re good at cards,” Judd said, recalling my reaction to passing a casino on the drive. “I said I liked cards. I never claimed to be good.” “The only people who like cards are gambling addicts and those who are good at it. You’re not an addict.” “Do you like cards?” I asked while he dealt. “Sure.” “Do you like me?” I asked softly, looking over my cards. Judd never looked up from his hand. “I’m playing cards, ain’t I?

Well, imagine you are alone in a room. The lights are down low, you’ve got some scented candles going. Soothing New Age tunes, nothing too druid-chanty, seep out of the hi-fi to gently massage your cerebral cortex. Feel good? Are you the best, most special person in the room right now? Yes. That’s the gift of being alone. Then a bozo in a CAT Diesel Power cap barges in. What’s the chance that you are the best, most special person in the room now? Fifty-fifty. If you both were dealt two cards, those would be your odds of holding the winning hand. Now imagine ten people are in the room. It’s cramped. You’re elbow to elbow, aerosolized dandruff floats in the air, and the candle’s lavender scent is complicated by BO tones, with a tuna sandwich finish. What are the chances you’re the best, most special person in the room? If you were handed cards, you might expect to be crowned one time out of ten. People, as ever, are the problem. The more people there are, the tougher you have it. Just by sitting next to you, they fuck you up, as if life were nothing more than a bus ride to hell (which it is). But what if you moved to another seat? Changed position? Your seat is everything. It can give you room to relax, to contemplate your next move. Or it might instigate your unraveling.

Here we’ll describe four signs that you have to disengage from your autonomous efforts and seek connection. Each of these emotions is a different form of hunger for connection—that is, they’re all different ways of feeling lonely: When you have been gaslit. When you’re asking yourself, “Am I crazy, or is there something completely unacceptable happening right now?” turn to someone who can relate; let them give you the reality check that yes, the gaslights are flickering. When you feel “not enough.” No individual can meet all the needs of the world. Humans are not built to do big things alone. We are built to do them together. When you experience the empty-handed feeling that you are just one person, unable to meet all the demands the world makes on you, helpless in the face of the endless, yawning need you see around you, recognize that emotion for what it is: a form of loneliness. ... When you’re sad. In the animated film Inside Out, the emotions in the head of a tween girl, Riley, struggle to cope with the exigencies of growing up.... When you are boiling with rage. Rage has a special place in women’s lives and a special role in the Bubble of Love. More, even, than sadness, many of us have been taught to swallow our rage, hide it even from ourselves. We have been taught to fear rage—our own, as well as others’—because its power can be used as a weapon. Can be. A chef’s knife can be used as a weapon. And it can help you prepare a feast. It’s all in how you use it. We don’t want to hurt anyone, and rage is indeed very, very powerful. Bring your rage into the Bubble with your loved ones’ permission, and complete the stress response cycle with them. If your Bubble is a rugby team, you can leverage your rage in a match or practice. If your Bubble is a knitting circle, you might need to get creative. Use your body. Jump up and down, get noisy, release all that energy, share it with others. “Yes!” say the people in your Bubble. “That was some bullshit you dealt with!” Rage gives you strength and energy and the urge to fight, and sharing that energy in the Bubble changes it from something potentially dangerous to something safe and potentially transformative.

This might baffle you, but despite not being a physician, I do have some pride. Although most certainly not enough to withstand the kind of beating you're capable of dealing it. The kind of beating you've repeatedly dealt it from the first time we've met. You're right, I value honesty, so I'll tell you that I make it a practice not to find women who insult me at every opportunity attractive." Color flooded her cheeks and traveled down her neck. Finally, she stepped away from him, too, and found the back of a chair to clutch. She looked entirely devastated. Had no one ever denied her anything? He hated the hurt in her eyes. But it was done now. "How is telling you I'm attracted to you an insult?" He pressed the back of his hand into his forehead. It made him feel like a drama queen in some sort of musical farce. Which this had to be. "Telling me how unworthy I am of your attraction, that's the insulting part. And, no, that's not all it is. Even if you hadn't told me at every opportunity how inferior to you I am... all I do is cook... every assumption you've made about me is insulting. Culinary school is definitely college. And Le Cordon Bleu is one of the most competitive institutions in the world. The fact that that's so wholly incomprehensible to you... that's the insulting part. And it wasn't thrown in my overly privileged lap either. I had to work my bottom off to make it in." Ammaji had sold her dowry jewels to pay for his application, something her family would have thrown her out on the street for had they found out. Trisha squared her shoulders, the devastation draining fast from her face, leaving behind the self-possession he was so much more used to. And the speed with which she gathered herself shook something inside him. "I might not do what you see as important work, but I work hard at being a decent human being, and I would need anyone I'm with to be that first and foremost. Even if I didn't find snobbery in general incredibly unattractive, I would never go anywhere near a person as self-absorbed and arrogant as you, Dr. Raje. I would have to be insane to subject myself to your view of me and the world." "Wow." She was panting, or maybe it was him. He couldn't be sure. "You wanted honesty. I'm sorry if I hurt you." She cleared her throat. "I'm surprised you think someone as... as... self-absorbed and arrogant as me is even capable of being hurt.

Your grandmother thought--no, she believed, it was like a faith for her. She believed it the way some people believe in God or science. She believed that it was the rules that made her life so easy. She thought life was about the rules people make for it, as if life was some kind of a board game and if you had a little luck, and you kept to the rules, you'd end up winning. Or maybe she thought it was like a game of solitaire and once the cards had been shuffled and laid out, if you had a good draw you were safe, as if it was arranged for you to win. Or to lose, although Grandmother considered herself someone who had won, since all she had to do once she was born was follow the rules. But really, life's like a game of bridge: You're dealt a hand and it can be a winning hand or a losing one, but that doesn't necessarily mean that you'll win or lose because there are other people at the table, your partner for one, and the other ream for another, that's three people...playing too, and people make mistakes, multiply that times three too, or you can just be smarter than they are. And luckier too, because anybody who sits down to play bridge or life without figuring out how much luck is involved is making a Big Mistake. I don't want you girls doing that.

He won't give up. He'll cause trouble for both of us, in every way possible." "I've dealt with worse characters than Radnor," he said evenly. "You don't know him as well as you think you do." His lips parted as he prepared to argue. But as he saw the trembling in her chin, the aggressive gleam faded from his eyes. "Don't be afraid." He startled her by settling his palm on her chest, on the smooth reach between her throat and her breasts. She inhaled deeply, her chest rising beneath the soothing weight of his hand. "I meant it when I told you that I would take care of you and your family," he said. "You're giving Radnor more importance than he merits." "You couldn't possibly understand the way he has overshadowed my entire life. He-" "I do understand." His fingers drifted to her throat, stroking the tender place where he could feel her swallowing. Such a powerful hand- he could crush her so easily, and yet he touched her with incredible gentleness. "And I know that you've never had anyone to defend you from him. But from now on I will. So stop turning pale every time his name is mentioned. No one is ever going to dominate you again, least of all Radnor." "No one except you, you mean." He smiled at the pert accusation, toying with a lock of her hair. "I have no desire to dominate you." Leaning over her, he kissed the tiny pulse in her throat and touched it with his tongue.

Ignore the unfairness—there is no fair. Play the hand that you’re dealt to the best of your ability. People are highly consistent, so you will eventually get what you deserve and so will they. In the end, everyone gets the same judgment: death.

Orpheus literally had his hands full, holding on to her while she struggled to break away from him and plunge into the water, time after time. How the other Argonauts laughed! Jason was exasperated. He needed Orpheus to keep the rowers working together and he was short by three men since the battle. He couldn’t spare anyone else from the crew to keep the girl from killing herself. When he ordered Herakles to grab her and tie her to the mast, our “dove” showed us that she spoke our language well enough to spew blistering curses and threats. “Listen to that!” Herakles exclaimed with an exaggerated shudder. “She’s a witch’s daughter, sure enough. She’ll put a spell on me if I offend her.” “Stop that nonsense and control the brat,” Jason snapped. “Alas, beloved prince, I can’t.” Herakles sighed and hung his head with such a pathetic air that Milo, Hylas, and I stuffed our knuckles into our mouths to stifle snickers. “I made a vow to Hera not to touch a woman until we come to Colchis.” That was too much for Hylas. He burst into hoots of laughter, and Milo and I joined in, until we had to clutch one another to keep from falling over. I was still trying to catch my breath when Jason’s foot shot out and dealt me an undeniable kick in the behind. “You think this is funny? You watch her!” he barked at me. “If anything happens to the scrawny little bitch, we’ll stick you in a dress, hand you over to her flea-bitten relatives, and be halfway to Colchis before they figure out they’ve been duped. If you’re lucky, they’ll kill you quickly. If not, they might decide to use their knives to turn you into the daughter they lost. See if you can laugh your way out of that, boy!” He showed his teeth in a satisfied smirk and didn’t understand why I kept on laughing at his threat, even while I walked off to assume my new job as the girl’s keeper.

Then she turned and walked right to Jonathon. He smiled in surprise at her and swung his arm out for her to pass him in line for breakfast. I peeked at Bish, wondering if he saw. He did. Great. I swiftly bolted to him in as ladylike a way as I could and stopped him from pounding Jonathon into dust. "Bish," I said and put a hand on his chest to stop him. "Think about it. You're just overly upset because your body is mad that she's with him." "You're daggum right it is!" "It's just the imprint. It makes you feel over protective. Jen is just hurting and trying to figure it out. If you make a scene right now, you're going to be moving backward, not forward." He sighed in a grumble. "So I'm supposed to just sit around and watch her do things to piss me off on purpose and pretend it doesn't bother me?" "For now? Yes. Please. I will figure this out for you, but right now we have some seriously messed up stuff going down and that has to be dealt with first." He lifted his hands to the back of his head and closed his eyes. "Fine. I won't touch pretty boy." "Thank you." "I'm going to…uh…" His eyes fastened on Maria. He smiled. I looked over to see, too. Maria was throwing grapes into the air and catching them in her mouth. Then giggling to herself as no one else was at the table with her. Bish left without another word and walked right to her. I watched and could hear their conversation in their mind. "Hey, Maria. You're pretty good at that, kid," he said. "I know," she spouted. "This boy at school taught me. But then he pulled my ponytail on the playground the next day, so I'm not really friends with him anymore." "Why did he pull your ponytail?" "Momma says boys are mean when they like you," she whispered in a disgusted voice. "But I think Momma's been misinformed.

Americans,” Kuzis spat. “You have it so easy, and then you come to us and preach that we should act as you act. But we’re not holding aces.” “Like I said, Kuzis, you haven’t seen my hand.” “I don’t need to.” “Let me tell you something,” Lance said, “not that it will do you much good now, but the difference between you and me isn’t that I was dealt four aces, and you weren’t.” “What is it then?” “It’s that I play like I was dealt four aces.” Kuzis let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, I see. You’re just bluffing your way to victory then.” “I’m saying, it isn’t the same as a card game, Kuzis. You’re only dealt one hand in life. One hand. And that’s the hand you play.

I’m not ready for any of these choices. But I’ve known for a long time that you only get to play the hand you’re dealt, and these are my cards today.

Furthermore, genes can’t make you successful if you’re not doing the work. Yes, it’s possible that the ripped trainer at the gym has better genes, but if you haven’t put in the same reps, it’s impossible to say if you have been dealt a better or worse genetic hand. Until you work as hard as those you admire, don’t explain away their success as luck.

You play the hand you’re dealt. You play it without false hope or despair, without comparing other people’s hand, or questioning why you’ve got this hand, you just play it, as best you can, today, and the next day, and the day after that.

We’re taught to believe that some people are simply born lucky, when in reality, that’s just a convenient excuse to lean back and take it easy, rather than try to apply some control over our destiny. After all, if you aren’t one of the “chosen” ones, what can you possibly do about it? Quite a lot, actually. The fact is, more and more psychologists are finding out that it isn’t the hand you’re dealt that’s important in life but how you play your cards. Let me put it in another way: We’re all capable of making our own luck. What appears to be luck is really the result of perceptions, personality traits, choices and actions. All of that is within your control. People who consider themselves lucky actually tend to be - it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. That’s because positive thinkers are always keeping their eyes peeled for fortunate situations and they’re more likely to grab on them when they arise. So instead of telling yourself: “There’s not a chance in hell that’s going to happen”. Tell yourself: “That looks kind of cool, maybe I should check it out.” Amanda Oosthuizen

What separates people is the return on luck, what you do with it when you get it. What matters is how you play the hand you’re dealt.

Rubbish. Poppycock. Lies, all of it lies.” Brooke strode to the lead, then halted and turned to face the group. Everyone tripped to a standstill. “Legends,” he continued, “always have a logical explanation. This is clearly a cautionary tale, concocted by old, toothless grandmothers. Everyone knows the old earl was rabid about hunting, and he had these woods stocked with exotic game— peacock, boar, and yes, even stag. Everyone knows his lands were a magnet for poachers, and that he dealt with trespassers harshly. Of course the locals created this man-deer nonsense. They wanted to scare young people, discourage them from wandering off into the woods.” “Well, if that was their intent”— Cecily looked around the group—“ it doesn’t seem to have worked.” “That’s right.” Portia released Denny’s arm and continued on the path. “Here we are, plunging ever deeper into these cursed woods, unarmed and intrigued. Fearless.” Brooke grabbed her elbow. “A thin line separates boldness from stupidity.” “Yes.” Smiling sweetly, Portia looked at his hand on her arm. “You’re treading it.

It’s been said that inside every life is a fascinating book, or at least a chapter. Wrong. Some people don’t have a freakin’ semicolon, like that woman in Delray who blogs everything her cat does, and her cat even has a blog and every word is meow. But you have to play the hand you’re dealt, and I can’t exactly stand on street corners with a megaphone sharing Big Answers on Everything. That was my first choice, but a monkey wrench hit the works: a few itsy-bitsy little incidents.

They were quiet for a long time and Day felt like he could fall asleep again until God’s rough voice broke into his haze. “You want to talk about it?” Day took a deep breath and thought carefully about his answer. God massaged his shoulders with his strong hands and Day almost said “he didn’t want to talk, he just wanted keep being massaged.” But there was something really important he needed to say. “Cash. Thank you for yesterday.” Day spun around in God’s arms and faced him. “I’ve never been that scared in my life. At first I felt that if I died now, then it’s okay, because I died while I was in love and I died staring into your eyes. But when you said what you said.” Day placed his palm over God’s heart and felt the rapid beat there and he closed his eyes. “You said you’d have no soul, no conscience, and you’d take your revenge. That’s when I got scared.” God cast his eyes down. “You have to promise me. If anything ever happens to me that you’d go on. That’s the only way I’d die in peace. You’d live for me. That you’d mourn me and then go on and love again. You’ve come so far in your life. The things you’ve endured and been through made you strong. Some men have gone through less and it drove them to do unthinkable things because they couldn’t handle the hand life dealt them. But you lived through it and now you’re a highly respected detective.” Day gripped God’s chin and lifted his head. He kissed him passionately. “And you’re the man I love.” Day didn’t need God to answer him in words, his eyes and his kiss said it all. He told Day that he’d live for him.

McKinley.  I don’t know what to do here. I’m completely out of my element since I haven’t really dealt with kids before. I rub my hand on the back of my neck then stick out my other hand for a handshake. “Hi there.  I’m Hunter,” I introduce myself in a quiet voice as if she’s some sort of skittish animal.  McKinley smiles and bypassing my outstretched arm she jumps into my arms, hugging me.  I’m startled but I react quickly enough to catch her before she falls, and hug her back. “Hi Hunter, I’m McKinley.  My Momma told me that you’re Uncle Trevor’s friend and you’re staying with us.  I think we’re going to be friends.  Do you want to be my friend?  I want to be your friend.  You sure are pretty.” She says all this in a

But when you’re dealt a shit hand, then you play that fucker for all you’re worth.

You did what?” Ellen shot to her feet, dropping Val’s hand as if it were diseased. “You struck Freddy? You confronted him?” “I did. His mischief was deadly, Ellen. And his only motivation was to regain possession of the estate. He thought he could scare me off by creating accidents and setbacks, then buy the place back for a pittance, probably to sell for considerably more.” Ellen shook her head. “He wants the rents. It’s about the money, and with him it will always be about the money.” “What aren’t you telling me?” Val rose to stand behind her where she stood looking out over her gardens. “Ellen?” But she shook her head and remained unyielding when Val slipped his arms around her waist. That, more than any words, alarmed him. “Ellen,” Val spoke quietly, “Freddy won’t be bothering you anymore. I’ve seen to it.” “No.” She huffed out a breath. “No, you have not, Valentine. You have merely waved a red flag before a very angry and powerful little bull. Freddy will go off, tend his wounds, and plot his moves. He sulks and fumes and skulks about, but he does not learn his lesson.” “You’re keeping secrets.” Val rested his forehead against her nape. “Why in God’s name won’t you trust me, Ellen?” “If I tell you, will you leave?” It was Val’s turn to be silent, to consider, to weigh what was in the balance, and where, if anywhere, lay the path of hope. “I’m not going anywhere until the house and farms are completely functional,” he said. “That will take a few more weeks.” “Weeks.” Ellen stood very straight in his arms. “And then you’ll go?” “If that’s still what you want and you’ve told me the reasons why by then,” Val said, tossing his entire future into the hands of a fate that hadn’t dealt with him very kindly of late. “And until I go?” “I will be your mistress,” Ellen said, her posturing relaxing. “No.” Val turned her in his arms and tucked his chin against her temple. “You will be my love.” ***

Life: You either play the hand you're dealt, or fold.....I choose to play. ~Rick Ferreira

The moment he stepped outside, Macon materialized out of the darkness, as quickly as if he’d been a part of it. “Just making sure you don’t decide to take to your heels again,” Steven’s half-brother remarked as they walked along the wooden sidewalk. “I’m not going to do that and you know it,” Steven responded, never looking at Macon. “You just want to make me as miserable as you possibly can.” “You don’t know the meaning of the word misery,” Macon answered blithely. “But you will when you’re behind bars and I’m bedding that luscious little wife of yours. She’ll claim not to like it at first, probably, but I’ve dealt with her kind before. They tell you they’re not interested, but when you throw them down on a mattress, they’re breathing hard and spreading their thighs for you in a minute. And how they carry on when they come.” Steven lost the battle to control his rage and gripped Macon by the lapels of his coat, flinging him hard against the outside wall of the newspaper office. He followed that with a solid punch to Macon’s solar plexus. Macon made a sound that was half gasp and half laughter, clutching his middle and struggling to catch his breath. “Your mother was just like her,” he choked out. “She was a hot little whore who liked playing games with rich men.” Steven’s hand knotted into a fist again, but this time he held himself in check, realizing that Macon wanted to be struck. He got some kind of perverse pleasure out of it. Filled with contempt, Steven turned to walk away. “You’ll be swinging at the end of a rope by this time next month,” Macon called after him. “And nine months after that Emma will be sweating in childbirth, bearing the first of my bastards!” Steven’s hand flexed over the butt of his pistol, but he didn’t draw. He just kept walking, pretending he hadn’t heard. But

What advice would you give to a smart, driven college student about to enter the “real world”? What advice should they ignore? Advice: Follow your intellectual curiosity over whatever is “hot” right now. If your curiosity ever leads you to a place where society eventually wants to go, you’ll get paid extremely well. Do everything you were going to do, but with less angst, less suffering, less emotion. Everything takes time. Ignore: The news. Complainers, angry people, high-conflict people. Anyone trying to scare you about a danger that isn’t clear and present. Don’t do things that you know are morally wrong. Not because someone is watching, but because you are. Self-esteem is just the reputation that you have with yourself. You’ll always know. Ignore the unfairness—there is no fair. Play the hand that you’re dealt to the best of your ability. People are highly consistent, so you will eventually get what you deserve and so will they. In the end, everyone gets the same judgment: death.

You broke my heart, Zed. Is that what you want to hear from me? You're the only person to ever break my heart. But I sucked it up and dealt with it. You offered me friendship and I took it. You're my best friend and nothing more." "Jesus, Dare, that was six years ago, and you were engaged to my best friend! What the fuck was I supposed to do? I didn't know. I had no idea what he was—" He broke off scrubbing a hand over his face. "I thought I was doing the right thing.

I would have been a great veterinarian, but I got the idea to open Barkingham Palace after boarding Duchess at another facility. My biological dad left a small trust that was turned over to me when I turned twenty-five. I used that money to start the daycare, and I don't regret it. I learned that sometimes the hand you're dealt is better than the one you'd originally planned to play." Her optimism in the face of such tragic circumstances floored him. If anyone had the right to whine, it was her.

De-escalation De-escalation tactics are an important self-defense strategy used to defuse a potentially dangerous situation. The first and only objective in de-escalation is to reduce the level of anger/agitation so that a calmer discussion becomes possible. Reasoning with an enraged person is not possible. De-escalation skills are an important tool when dealing with people who are highly agitated, frustrated, angry, fearful, or intoxicated. These may ordinarily be peaceful individuals who are responding to an unusual or extreme circumstance; or, they may in fact be individuals with disruptive or potentially violent personalities. By controlling yourself and using tactical communication, you can reduce the increasing threat in a situation. The goal of de-escalation is to reduce the likelihood of the situation transitioning from a verbal altercation to physical violence. De-escalation can be achieved by developing a rapid rapport and a sense of connection with an agitated person. De-escalation, although a verbal tactic, consists not only of verbal techniques, but also psychological (emotions) and nonverbal (body language) techniques. De-escalation is a tactic of altering your demeanor to fit the circumstances. To use de-escalation as a self-defense tactic, you need to adapt your demeanor to the situation at hand and overcome or control your personal emotions. Here are some additional tactics to put into your toolbox: 1. Body Language: Have a confident body posture, but don’t look too aggressive. Pay close attention to your emotions, and be cautious to avoid tensing up your shoulders, neck, hands, or face. If you’re unable to compose your emotions, they can (and likely will) be felt by the aggravated person and may cause your de-escalation efforts to fail, despite using an appropriate tone and words. Stand relatively still, avoiding sudden jerky or excessive movements. Make sure to keep your hand gestures to a minimum. Basically, think similarly to how you would deal with an angry dog. 2. Voice: You generally want to keep your voice calm, firm, and low while speaking slowly and evenly. The tone, inflection, and volume of your voice can increase or decrease the other person’s anxiety and agitation. However, if the person is yelling, you may need to initially speak in a louder tone in order to be heard, and then guide them to a softer and slower pace. • Listen actively. Gather information by asking questions to develop a rapport, if possible under the circumstances, and gather information in order to begin to guide the communication in a less volatile direction. • Acknowledge their feelings. Some agitated people are unable to problem solve until their feelings are dealt with. By acknowledging their feelings, it often lets them know that they’re being heard. • Communicate clearly by explaining your intentions and conveying your expectations. Repeat yourself as much as necessary until you’re heard.

1. Body Language: Have a confident body posture, but don’t look too aggressive. Pay close attention to your emotions, and be cautious to avoid tensing up your shoulders, neck, hands, or face. If you’re unable to compose your emotions, they can (and likely will) be felt by the aggravated person and may cause your de-escalation efforts to fail, despite using an appropriate tone and words. Stand relatively still, avoiding sudden jerky or excessive movements. Make sure to keep your hand gestures to a minimum. Basically, think similarly to how you would deal with an angry dog. 2. Voice: You generally want to keep your voice calm, firm, and low while speaking slowly and evenly. The tone, inflection, and volume of your voice can increase or decrease the other person’s anxiety and agitation. However, if the person is yelling, you may need to initially speak in a louder tone in order to be heard, and then guide them to a softer and slower pace. • Listen actively. Gather information by asking questions to develop a rapport, if possible under the circumstances, and gather information in order to begin to guide the communication in a less volatile direction. • Acknowledge their feelings. Some agitated people are unable to problem solve until their feelings are dealt with. By acknowledging their feelings, it often lets them know that they’re being heard. • Communicate clearly by explaining your intentions and conveying your expectations. Repeat yourself as much as necessary until you’re heard. Certain behaviors have been found to escalate agitated people: • Ignoring the person • Making threats • Hurtful remarks and/or name calling • Arguing • Commanding or shouting • Invading personal space • Threatening gestures with your arms or hands, such as finger wagging or pointing Keep in mind that our natural instincts when in an aggressive or potentially violent encounter are to fight, flight, or freeze. However, in using de-escalation, we can’t do any of these. We must appear centered and calm even when we’re terrified. Therefore, these techniques must be practiced before they’re needed, so that they can become second nature. But keep in mind: It’s always important that you trust your instincts. If you feel that de-escalation is not working, STOP! You’ll know within as little as a few minutes to sometimes only a few seconds if it’s beginning to work. If not, tell the person to leave, escort him/her to the door, call for help, walk away, and/or call the police.

Some people have more positive experiences than others. That’s life but it doesn’t mean you’re owed anything if you were dealt a bad hand.

I said, “You know, Pat, you're more like my mother than my mother is.” She said, “Well, it works like that sometimes. Blood family, that's something we get dealt. Sometimes we get a bad hand. Not much way around it. You just have to grow up and get more family. The kind you get to pick out yourself.

I’ve wept before, and probably even enough, but it…I feel raw. I’m not sure if I’m more her or more me.” Pain’s knees began to give way for sheer exhaustion, and she sank down into the chair that Charm had vacated. “You are you,” she assured Charm. “But I’m not,” said Charm, her voice veering back toward hysteria. “I’m not one me. I’m two? Four? Six? How many? Who am I? I’m not who I was and I don’t know who I am or who is me.” Pride snatched Charm’s arm. She spun Charm around and gave her a swift shake, her bloodily bandaged hand clutching Charm’s arms. “You are the mother of Evlaina. You’re Charm, enthraller of princes and emperors, feared by bestial men who abuse you in order to expiate their own weakness.” Pride’s teeth bared in a fierce hiss—“You were clever enough to grow into someone who could take her shocks in pieces that could be dealt with instead of dying of them. You were strong enough not to die when anyone else would have. You are Charm.” She shook Charm again, viciously, heedless of her own injuries. “Stand up and act like it!

On the long drive, I didn’t listen to music. All I heard were the competing voices in my head. The first voice accepted me as I was. It’s not your fault, David. None of this is your fault. You’re doing the best you can with what you’ve been given. That was the voice I’d been listening to my entire life. It’s not my fault was my favorite refrain. It explained and justified my lot in life and the dead-end path in front of me, and it played 24/7. However, for the first time, another voice chimed in. Or maybe it was the first time I stopped listening only to what I wanted to hear. Roger that. It ain’t your fucking fault that you were dealt a bad hand, but…it is your responsibility. How long will you allow your past to hold you back before you finally take control of your future?

Life isn't about getting the perfect hand of cards - it's about taking the cards you're dealt and making the most of them!

The most common ways we get probability wrong are: We overestimate certainty. When we do this, it doesn’t even occur to us that a decision has any risk associated with it. We assume if we’re buying a house, prices will only go up. Or people move to Hollywood because they believe they are better looking or more talented than most others. The Antars never thought they’d get caught. They believed Sam would always outsmart the SEC and IRS. The other criminals I interviewed didn’t consider getting caught a possibility either. We overestimate the risk of unlikely events. We assume a remote and terrible event is more likely than it is. This is why many people are more afraid of flying than driving, even if they know the odds of dying in a car accident are higher. A plane crash is especially horrific, which is why we put higher odds on its happening. We assume correlations that don’t exist. After being dealt a few good hands in poker, you could think you’re on a roll and that the next hand is bound to be good too. In fact, each hand you are dealt has nothing to do with the last. When it comes to crime, getting away with something once, or many times, creates an illusion you’ll get away with it the next time. The Antars assumed that because they pulled off tax evasion, they could also get away with securities fraud. Wrong again, and their earlier success led them to take bigger risks to continue the fraud. We put a big weight on very likely or unlikely events and put almost no weight on anything that happens in between. The difference between a 0 percent and 5 percent probability feels huge because it creates possibility. The difference between 100 percent and 95 percent also feels meaningful because it creates or eliminates risk. But the difference between 50 percent and 55 percent barely factors into our decisions. The closer we get to certainty, the more we weight a probability, but mathematically, a 5 percent increase should be given equal weight no matter what.

As we’ve seen earlier, the hallmark of an admirable poker player is that he plays the best regardless of his hands. In the end, not the one with the objectively best cards, but the one who plays his cards the best, wins. You don’t get to choose the hands you’re dealt, only how you want to play them. Your hands in poker as in life are indifferent, learn to accept them equally, without judging. If you can do that, if you can accept rather than resist what happens, then you will no longer be dependent upon things being in a certain way.

As for Amber, “I looked heavily into it,” she told me during our first meeting. “I could tell you everything under the sun about being transgender. I’d go through these lists I’d find online. They would ask questions like, ‘Do you cry when you think about having a vagina?’ And I’d think, ‘No, not really.’ Maybe if somebody told me I could choose one sex or the other I would have picked the other, but I don’t feel upset about it. I had all these conflicting feelings. Like, I don’t really care about my boobs. That’s weird, right? So then I dealt with ‘Am I a biological mistake?’” Ultimately, Amber realized she did not want to give up who she was, did not want to be someone completely new: “I mean, say your name is Cheryl,” she explained, “and you’re becoming Sean. You have to not want to be Cheryl anymore and never talk about Cheryl again. “Well,” she added, sitting forward in her chair, “I love being Amber. I could never in a million years imagine not being Amber. I am Amber. And I don’t know if I fit being a lesbian perfectly, but I’m definitely not a transgender person. I can live my life in this body, confident and happy, and in a healthy relationship.” She leaned back again, letting her hands drop to her lap. “And it took me a year, an entire year, to be able to sit here and tell you that.

I’m a freak.” “No, you’re not. You’ve been dealt a shit hand in life so far, but you’re not a freak. You’re smart. You’re pretty. You’re a hard worker and you’re nice to shitty customers when they absolutely don’t deserve it. you put up with my sister which means you’re one step away from sainthood, and you have the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. You’re not a freak. You’re awesome. And it kills me that you don’t know that.” Tears trickle down my cheeks. His words are sweet, but I can’t believe them. Because I know they’re not true. “I have a junkie mother and an uncle who can’t stand me.” Wyatt gently places his finger on my chin and lifts my face to his. “Screw them. You have me.

Those scars say that your people failed you. They say that you got dealt a shitty hand by the very people you nearly lost your life to save. They say you're a survivor and you're tough." No one's ever said anything so nice to me. I don't know what to say back. "I think you're blinded by my charm." She smacks me on the back of the head with the comb and then giggles. "You're an asshole. And I like you anyhow.

Somehow you grew up, maintained a crazy amount of self-discipline... and managed to stay sane. I don't know how you're so constantly upbeat and cheery considering the hand life dealt you. You must be a truly amazing person.

Do your best with the things you can change, and when it comes to everything else you’ve just got to accept the hand you’re dealt and find a way to deal with it. That’s what we’ll do now: we’ll just find a way to deal with it.

You’re not a bad person, you just got dealt a bad hand. Sometimes, you just need someone else to shuffle the deck.

Why…why did you do that?” “Why not?” His grip slides from my arm to my waist, tightening on my hip. “You want to spend the fucking night with Robert, Ava?” I shake my head frantically. He sounds and looks more terrifying than when he actually stabbed the man’s hand. “Good, because there’s no option for you with another man.” “Because you’d stab them?” “Stab them, sabotage them, smash their goddamn lives to smithereens, force them to vanish without a trace. Take your pick. There’s no peaceful future for any other man in your life, wife.” I swallow, the sound ringing in my ears. I knew Eli was behind the disappearance of my exes and any possible love interest, but I thought it was along the lines of my petty attempts to ward off the girls around him. I never thought it’d be exponentially frightening until now. “What…what have you done, Eli?” “The question is, what haven’t I done?” “You’re sick.” “You made me sick. Next time you parade yourself around, begging for attention, I want you to think about Robert’s blood and multiply it tenfold, because they’ll be swimming in theirs once I’m done with them. You’re my wife and those who don’t respect that fact will be dealt with accordingly.” “Including me?” “Including you.” And then his lips devour mine. It’s a violent kiss I can’t pull away from and a part of me doesn’t want to. My reality flashes before me in bright red as he nips on my lip and I taste metal. I bite his back, drawing his blood, cementing our marriage with an irreversible vow. My husband is a full-blown sociopath, and I’m his insane, completely illogical obsession.