Ticker Quotes

The majority of us lead quiet, unheralded lives as we pass through this world. There will most likely be no ticker-tape parades for us, no monuments created in our honor. But that does not lessen our possible impact, for there are scores of people waiting for someone just like us to come along; people who will appreciate our compassion, our unique talents. Someone who will live a happier life merely because we took the time to share what we had to give. Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have a potential to turn a life around. It’s overwhelming to consider the continuous opportunities there are to make our love felt.

A stock is not just a ticker symbol or an electronic blip; it is an ownership interest in an actual business, with an underlying value that does not depend on its share price.

The greatest book is not the one whose message engraves itself on the brain, as a telegraphic message engraves itself on the ticker-tape, but the one whose vital impact opens up other viewpoints, and from writer to reader spreads the fire that is fed by the various essences, until it becomes a vast conflagration leaping from forest to forest.

bullshit job into five categories. I will call these: flunkies, goons, duct tapers, box tickers, and taskmasters.

Proving nothing," said Ford. "I wouldn't trust that computer to speak my weight." "I can do that for you, sure," enthused the computer, punching out more ticker tape. "I can even work out your personality problems to ten decimal places if it will help.

He dreamed in ticker tape and calliope colors.

Much more. We're joined at the heart." "Bad luck for you, I'm afraid. My ticker's pretty wonky." "Too much boozing." His eyes twinkled, and he drew me close. "Not enough kissling.

Investing isn’t a game - It has a substantive impact on the living of life and the development of civilization. It’s not just about stock tickers and opening bells and timing buys and sells to get a quick profit in the gap…. It effects when and where houses are built, the quality of schools, the accessibility of organic food, the price of solar relative to gasoline…. Investments direct the development of civilization.

People have come to the erroneous conclusion that if they’re not willing to start something separate, world-changing, and risky, they have no business starting anything. Somehow, we’ve fooled ourselves into believing that the project has to have a name, a building, and a stock ticker symbol to matter.

I am using the term “box tickers” to refer to employees who exist only or primarily to allow an organization to be able to claim it is doing something that, in fact, it is not doing.

Why a unicorn? Maybe the unicorn, too, is one of the Men Without Women. I mean, I've never seen a unicorn couple. He -- it has to be a he, right? -- is always alone, sharp horn thrust toward the sky. Maybe we should adopt him as the symbol of Men Without Women, of the loneliness we carry as our burden. Perhaps we should sew unicorn badges on our breast pockets and hats, and quietly parade down streets all over the world. No music, no flags, no ticker tape. Probably.

He said one of the reasons the stock market tanked so bad back in 1929 was because the more people traded, the farther behind the tickers got.

Paralytic It happens. Will it go on? ---- My mind a rock, No fingers to grip, no tongue, My god the iron lung That loves me, pumps My two Dust bags in and out, Will not Let me relapse While the day outside glides by like ticker tape. The night brings violets, Tapestries of eyes, Lights, The soft anonymous Talkers: 'You all right?' The starched, inaccessible breast. Dead egg, I lie Whole On a whole world I cannot touch, At the white, tight Drum of my sleeping couch Photographs visit me ---- My wife, dead and flat, in 1920 furs, Mouth full of pearls, Two girls As flat as she, who whisper 'We're your daughters.' The still waters Wrap my lips, Eyes, nose and ears, A clear Cellophane I cannot crack. On my bare back I smile, a buddha, all Wants, desire Falling from me like rings Hugging their lights. The claw Of the magnolia, Drunk on its own scents, Asks nothing of life.

Sometimes a decade arrives when nations have the chance to turn away from bigotry and selfishness and turn to their countrymen and women and embrace them as loved members of the human family. But do we have the ticker for it?

while the teletypes chugged and rang and the Wall Street tickers ticked and everybody around me argued baseball, until it was mercifully time to go home.

I failed. I fucking failed. For fifteen years, Timothy Lane handed out A’s like mints. The year I take the class? Lane’s ticker quits ticking, and I get stuck with Pamela Tolbert. It’s official. The woman is my archenemy. Just the sight of her flowery handwriting—which fills up every inch of available space in the margins of my midterm—makes me want to go Incredible Hulk on the booklet and rip it to shreds.

Death wears a ball gown.

Anyone could see the ticker tape. It was more frightening than the that never stopped calculating the national debt. This one said '27 SHOPPING DAYS TO CHRISTMAS'. It might as well have said '27 DAYS TO ARMAGEDDON'.

I can’t see where I’m going if I only look where I’ve been, my good man!

Life is short, so I’m going to have dessert whenever possible.

I attended a breakfast meeting with Fielding...half way through...the cork of nausea abruptly popped in my throat. I only just made it to the adjacent can, which was large and acoustical; my imitation of an exploding hippopotamus came through the closed door in full quadraphonic. I got one or two funny glances on my return ..and if I were them, I'd enjoy the spectacle. It does my poor ticker good to see someone really totalled.

Goldman Sachs preaching about diversity so it can be at the front of the line for the next government bailout. It’s AstraZeneca waxing eloquent about climate change so it can secure multibillion-dollar government contracts for vaccine production. It’s State Street building feminist statues to detract attention from wage discrimination lawsuits from female employees, all the while marketing its exchange-traded fund with the ticker “SHE.” It’s Chamath Palihapitiya founding a social impact investment fund and criticizing Silicon Valley, even though he and his wealth are products of Silicon Valley, all to cover up for his prior tenure as an executive at Facebook who dreamed out loud about a private corporate military. Those companies and people use their market power to prop up woke causes as a way to accumulate greater political capital—only to later come back and cash in that political capital for more dollars.

Basically, we view a portfolio in the same way that a gardener views a garden. Every business or asset in our portfolio is like a plant in a gardeners garden and is subject to similar expectations; growth, purpose, and productivity.

The greatest book is not the one whose message engraves itself on the brain as a telegraphic message engraves itself on the ticker-tape but the one whose vital impact opens up other viewpoints and from writer to reader spreads the fire that is fed by the various essences until it becomes a vast conflagration leaping from forest to forest. Romain Rolland

Penny, my darling,” he mumbled, “I hoped that someday I would wake to find you by my side. I just didn’t think it would be because you tried to kill me.

Fall in love with me, not the idea of rescuing me.

Don’t look at me like that. Don’t see me as some frail, useless creature. Fall in love with me, not the idea of rescuing me.

I long to be musical in body and mind. I want style, consort. Not the little mental squirts as if through the ticker-tape of the mind.

Successful gamblers, instead, think of the future as speckles of probability, flickering upward and downward like a stock market ticker to every new jolt of information.

The Farthing women tend to leave the party without notice.

Stocks are not market tickers represented by daily quotes but proportionate ownership of businesses and should be viewed accordingly.

It’s a thing, to write about something that sticks to your insides like that, isn’t it? It’s the only way any of us should ever write, with a sharp shard lodged between our tickers and our spines.

She had spent so much time thinking about what it would be like to finally come home and how much she missed everybody - she thought they'd throw her a ticker tape parade. She thought it would be a big hugfest.

What if the paramedics don’t notice your DO NOT RESUSCITATE bracelet until they’ve got your ticker going again with a powerful electric shock? What then? Would they have to desuscitate you? What would people think?

Most people aren't appreciated enough, and the bravest things we do in our lives are usually known only to ourselves. No one throws ticker tape on the man who chose to be faithful to his wife, on the lawyer who didn't take the drug money...

Hey, the ubiquitous Leak-Cam is to 2010 as the bottom-of-the-screen news ticker was to late 2001: What you're seeing beneath the news anchor or talking head may not actually include any new information, but you feel like you're watching something dramatic.

Much of what bureaucrats do, after all, is evaluate things. They are continually assessing, auditing, measuring, weighing the relative merits of different plans, proposals, applications, courses of action, or candidates for promotion. Market reforms only reinforce this tendency. This happens on every level. It is felt most cruelly by the poor, who are constantly monitored by an intrusive army of moralistic box-tickers assessing their child-rearing skills, inspecting their food cabinets to see if they are really cohabiting with their partners, determining whether they have been trying hard enough to find a job, or whether their medical conditions are really sufficiently sever to disqualify them from physical labor. All rich countries now employ legions of functionaries whose primary function is to make poor people feel bad about themselves. (p. 41)

The less transparent the market and the more complicated the securities, the more money the trading desks at big Wall Street firms can make from the argument. The constant argument over the value of the shares of some major publicly traded company has very little value, as both buyer and seller can see the fair price of the stock on the ticker, and the broker’s commission has been driven down by competition. The argument over the value of credit default swaps on subprime mortgage bonds—a complex security whose value was derived from that of another complex security—could be a gold mine.

Intuitively, we think that rational decision-making means exhaustively enumerating our options, weighting each one carefully, and then selecting the best. But in practice, when the clock - or the ticker - is ticking, few aspects of decision-making (or of thinking more generally) are as important as this one: when to stop.

the value of the flower would increase the moment I handed it over to its buyer—and as we held each other’s gaze, I could feel the value rising, like an emotional stock ticker. The value of the gift rises in transit, as it is passed from hand to hand, from heart to heart. It gains its value in the giving, and in the taking. In the passage.

question wasn’t why people died, he liked to say, but why they lived.

It might well kill me one of these days, but so might other less pleasant things.

Attention, please, you demitasse of feminine frippery!

Then it was as though someone had uncorked a bottle of effervescent hatred and directed the resulting spray at me.

I can't see where I'm going if I only look where I've been, my good man!

I am more than a pretty little windup doll.

We’ve all had terrible things happen to us,” Marcus said without looking up. “Only the weak use it as an excuse to prey upon others.

The greatest of things have yet to be seen.

The Earthlings did very well on paper. That was part of the rigging, of course. And religion got mixed up in it, too. The news ticker reminded them that the President of the United States had declared National Prayer Week, and that everybody should pray. The Earthlings had had a bad week on the market before that. They had lost a small fortune in olive oil futures. So they gave praying a whirl.

Everywhere I went during those days, the streets were filled with talk of the Mets. It was one of those rare moments of unanimity when everyone was thinking about the same thing. People walked around with transistor radios tuned to the game, large crowds gathered in front of appliance store windows to watch the action on silent televisions, sudden cheers would erupt from corner bars, from apartment windows, from invisible rooftops. First it was Atlanta in the playoffs, and then it was Baltimore in the Series. Out of eight October games, the Mets lost only once, and when the adventure was over, New York held another ticker-tape parade, this one even surpassing the extravaganza that had been thrown for the astronauts two months earlier. More than five hundred tons of paper fell into the streets that day, a record that has not been match sense.

One presenter was reporting on the fatal shooting of a suspected organized crime figure behind a downtown strip club, which involved much breathless speculation laid over meaningless pictures, mostly of the closed gate in the pink fence, above a ticker that said Moscow Comes to Phoenix, which Reacher figured would annoy Ukrainians everywhere, the two countries being entirely separate now, and proud of it, at least in one direction.

Because there’s absolutely no reason everyone needs to attempt to know everything that’s going on at our company. And especially not in real time! If it’s important, you’ll find out. And most of it isn’t. Most of the day-to-day work inside a company’s walls is mundane. And that’s a beautiful thing. It’s work, it’s not news. We must all stop treating every little fucking thing that happens at work like it’s on a breaking-news ticker.

My dearest Miss Farthing, will you do me the unutterable honor of wearing this cheap bit of metal that will most likely turn your finger green, pretending to love and honor me as your husband for the purposes of subterfuge and stratagem?

She was watching morning television on a local Phoenix affiliate, which had shoved recipes and fashion aside in favor of crime. One presenter was reporting on the fatal shooting of a suspected organized crime figure behind a downtown strip club, which involved much breathless speculation laid over meaningless pictures, mostly of the closed gate in the pink fence, above a ticker that said Moscow Comes to Phoenix, which Reacher figured would annoy Ukrainians everywhere, the two countries being entirely separate now, and proud of it, at least in one direction.

I hope when this is done I'll be able to get back into my happy gardening vibe that was so healthy for me. I want to go back to my routine and my morning ritual with the compost, but it will probably be that my life will split in two. New Leaf Gardening in Wood Green will be happening in parallel to a fantasy that runs along the bottom of that screen like a ticker. Alice will be fine. Rabbit will stay up tonight, and every night. Resending and resending, reopening the page to see if she has responded, if anyone has. The spinning wheel will make my eyes hurt and everything else will go dark.

He would forever be known as Jesse Owens, not by his given name. He would go on to win four gold medals at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin, becoming the first American in the history of track and field to do so in a single Olympics and disproving the Aryan notions of his Nazi hosts. It made headlines throughout the United States that Adolf Hitler, who had watched the races, had refused to shake hands with Owens, as he had with white medalists. But Owens found that in Nazi Germany, he had been able to stay in the same quarters and eat with his white teammates, something he could not do in his home country. Upon his return, there was a ticker-tape parade in New York. Afterward, he was forced to ride the freight elevator to his own reception at the Waldorf-Astoria. “I wasn’t invited to shake hands with Hitler,” he wrote in his autobiography. “But I wasn’t invited to the White House to shake hands with the President either. I came back to my native country, and I could not ride in the front of the bus. I had to go to the back door. I couldn’t live where I wanted. Now, what’s the difference?” It would take the arrival of millions of more migrants and many more decades of perseverance on their part and on the part of protesters for human rights before they would truly become accepted.

Beneath the data strips, or tickers, there were fixed digits marking the time in the major cities of the world. He knew what she was thinking. Never mind the speed that makes it hard to follow what passes before the eye. The speed is the point. Never mind the urgent and endless replenishment, the way data dissolves at one end of the series just as it takes shape at the other. This is the point, the thrust, the future. We are not witnessing the flow of information so much as pure spectacle, or information made sacred, ritually unreadable. The small monitors of the office, home and car become a kind of idolatry here, where crowds might gather in astonishment.

On April 12, 1955, a team of scientists announced that Jonas Salk’s vaccine against polio—the disease that had killed thousands a year, paralyzed Franklin Roosevelt, and sent many children into iron lungs—was proven safe. According to Richard Carter’s history of the discovery, on that day “people observed moments of silence, rang bells, honked horns, blew factory whistles, fired salutes, . . . took the rest of the day off, closed their schools or convoked fervid assemblies therein, drank toasts, hugged children, attended church, smiled at strangers, and forgave enemies.”4 The city of New York offered to honor Salk with a ticker-tape parade, which he politely declined.

It appears to be a feature of System 1 that cognitive ease is associated with good feelings. As expected, easily pronounced words evoke a favorable attitude. Companies with pronounceable names do better than others for the first week after the stock is issued, though the effect disappears over time. Stocks with pronounceable trading symbols (like KAR or LUNMOO) outperform those with tongue-twisting tickers like PXG or RDO—and they appear to retain a small advantage over some time. A study conducted in Switzerland found that investors believe that stocks with fluent names like Emmi, Swissfirst, and Comet will earn higher returns than those with clunky labels like Geberit and Ypsomed.

But the truth is, there’s little even the most organized people can do to prepare themselves for having children. They can buy all the books, observe friends and relations, review their own memories of childhood. But the distance between those proxy experiences and the real thing, ultimately, can be measured in light-years. Prospective parents have no clue what their children will be like; no clue what it will mean to have their hearts permanently annexed; no clue what it will feel like to second-guess so many seemingly simple decisions, or to be multitasking even while they’re brushing their teeth, or to have a ticker tape of concerns forever whipping through their heads. Becoming a parent is one of the most sudden and dramatic changes in adult life.

She had been maimed by an illness that was so far out of fashion it might have been a wartime recipe for pink blancmange made from cornflour when everyone these days ate real chocolate mouse and tiramisu. TB was Spam fritters and two-bar electric fires and mangles and string bags and French knitting and a Bakelite phone in a freezing hall and loose tea and margarine and the black of the newspaper coming off on your fingers and milk in glass bottles and books from Boots Lending library with a hole in the spine where they put the ticker, and doilies and antimacassars and the wireless tuned to the Light Programme. It was outside lavatories and condensation and slum dwellings and no supermarkets. It was tuberculosis, which had died with the end of people drinking nerve tonics and Horlicks.

I listed some of these in chapter 2, when I described the five basic types of bullshit jobs and how they came about. Flunky positions are created because those in powerful positions in an organization see underlings as badges of prestige; goons are hired due to a dynamic of one-upmanship (if our rivals employ a top law firm, then so, too, must we); duct-taper positions are created because sometimes organizations find it more difficult to fix a problem than to deal with its consequences; box-ticker positions exist because, within large organizations, paperwork attesting to the fact that certain actions have been taken often comes to be seen as more important than the actions themselves; taskmasters exist largely as side effects of various forms of impersonal authority. If large organizations are conceived as a complex play of gravitational forces, pulling in many contradictory directions, one could say there will always be a certain pull in any of these five.

From millions of sources all over the globe, through every possible channel and medium—light waves, airwaves, ticker tapes, computer banks, telephone wires, television cables, satellites, printing presses—information pours in. Behind it, in every imaginable form of storage—on paper, on video and audio tape, on discs, film, and silicon chips—is an ever greater volume of information waiting to be retrieved. Like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, we are awash in information. And all the sorcerer has left us is a broom. Information has become a form of garbage, not only incapable of answering the most fundamental human questions but barely useful in providing coherent direction to the solution of even mundane problems. To say it still another way: The milieu in which Technopoly flourishes is one in which the tie between information and human purpose has been severed, i.e., information appears indiscriminately, directed at no one in particular, in enormous volume and at high speeds, and disconnected from theory, meaning, or purpose.

Every day, the markets were driven less directly by human beings and more directly by machines. The machines were overseen by people, of course, but few of them knew how the machines worked. He knew that RBC’s machines—not the computers themselves, but the instructions to run them—were third-rate, but he had assumed it was because the company’s new electronic trading unit was bumbling and inept. As he interviewed people from the major banks on Wall Street, he came to realize that they had more in common with RBC than he had supposed. “I’d always been a trader,” he said. “And as a trader you’re kind of inside a bubble. You’re just watching your screens all day. Now I stepped back and for the first time started to watch other traders.” He had a good friend who traded stocks at a big-time hedge fund in Stamford, Connecticut, called SAC Capital. SAC Capital was famous (and soon to be infamous) for being one step ahead of the U.S. stock market. If anyone was going to know something about the market that Brad didn’t know, he figured, it would be them. One spring morning he took the train up to Stamford and spent the day watching his friend trade. Right away he saw that, even though his friend was using technology given to him by Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley and the other big firms, he was experiencing exactly the same problem as RBC: The market on his screens was no longer the market. His friend would hit a button to buy or sell a stock and the market would move away from him. “When I see this guy trading and he was getting screwed—I now see that it isn’t just me. My frustration is the market’s frustration. And I was like, Whoa, this is serious.” Brad’s problem wasn’t just Brad’s problem. What people saw when they looked at the U.S. stock market—the numbers on the screens of the professional traders, the ticker tape running across the bottom of the CNBC screen—was an illusion. “That’s when I realized the markets are rigged. And I knew it had to do with the technology. That the answer lay beneath the surface of the technology. I had absolutely no idea where. But that’s when the lightbulb went off that the only way I’m going to find out what’s going on is if I go beneath the surface.

She was so plain. Would it kill you to wear skirts more, he had said to her. Would it really hurt you? He was thinking of how he would like to see her when she was alone with him. He knew she could dress when she had to, but this was what he was saying. He was saying something about their private life. He was saying something about his needs as a man. He imagines America’s anger at this. It would be the women, mainly. Their eager faces had watched: Amelia boarding the plane for her first transatlantic flight; Amelia waving to the crowd in the ticker tape parade; Amelia leaving luncheons and concert halls. Some had been housewives and some, girls with dreams of loops and spins and dives, of hugging the curvature of the earth through a thin sheet of aluminum. -- After Amelia

Reach—Facebook breaks down reach into organic, paid, and viral. Organic reach is the number of people who have seen a post in the news feed, in the ticker, or on the page itself. Paid reach is the number of unique people who have seen an advertisement or a sponsored story. Viral reach is the number of unique people who have seen a story about a page published by a friend.

Taxi drivers told you what to buy. The shoeshine boy could give you a summary of the day's financial news as he worked with rag and polish. An old beggar who regularly patrolled the street in front of my office now gave me tips and, I suppose, spent the money I and others gave him in the market. My cook had a brokerage account and followed the ticker closely.

I think everyone, once in his life, should be given a ticker-tape parade. The

for those organizations that provided a stock ticker symbol, we found that high performers had 50% higher market capitalization growth over three years. They also had higher employee job satisfaction, lower rates of employee burnout, and their employees were 2.2 times more likely to recommend their organization to friends as a great place to work.

Morningstar Exponential Technologies Index. BlackRock promptly licensed the index and in March 2015 launched the iShares Exponential Technologies ETF (ticker symbol: XT) based on it.

Even the older Wall Street workers were pushing the younger ones away from the windows to hurl the tape. That made the Liberty pageant the city’s first ticker-tape parade.

Ticker tape fever. During the run-up to the 1929 crash on Wall Street, many people had become addicted to playing the stock market, and this addiction had a physical component—the sound of the ticker tape that electronically registered each change in a stock’s price. Hearing that clicking noise indicated something was happening, somebody was trading and making a fortune. Many felt drawn to the sound itself, which felt like the heartbeat of Wall Street. We no longer have the ticker tape. Instead many of us have become addicted to the minute-by-minute news cycle, to “what’s trending,” to the Twitter feed, which is often accompanied by a ping that has its own narcotic effects. We feel like we are connected to the very flow of life itself, to events as they change in real time, and to other people who are following the same instant reports. This need to know instantly has a built-in momentum. Once we expect to have some bit of news quickly, we can never go back to the slower pace of just a year ago. In fact, we feel the need for more information more quickly. Such impatience tends to spill over into other aspects of life—driving, reading a book, following a film. Our attention span decreases, as well as our tolerance for any obstacles in our path.

The first step in a bull movement in a stock is to advertise the fact that there is a bull movement on. Sounds silly, doesn’t it? Well, think a moment. It isn’t as silly as it sounded, is it? The most effective way to advertise what, in effect, are your honourable intentions is to make the stock active and strong. After all is said and done, the greatest publicity agent in the wide world is the ticker, and by far the best advertising medium is the tape. I do not need to put out any literature for my clients. I do not have to inform the daily press as to the value of the stock or to work the financial reviews for notices about the company’s prospects. Neither do I have to get a following. I accomplish all these highly desirable things by merely making the stock active. When there is activity there is a synchronous demand for explanations; and that means, of course, that the necessary reasons—for publication—supply themselves without the slightest aid from me.

You see, intuition has served me well throughout my career, and I owe a great part of my reputation to it. Adding science and the objective interpretation of great volumes of data to my intuition is the source of my edge. This unique combination is what has always allowed me to stay ahead of the ticker.

Operando con cifras enormes y provocando estallidos de frenesí generalizado, empecé a crear demoras. El ticker no podía seguirme el ritmo y durante unos minutos era dueña del futuro. Andrew se volvió una leyenda. Todo el mundo lo tenía por clarividente, por un místico.

In the general desolation, amidst the rubble, Rask was the only man standing. And he stood taller than ever, since most of the other speculators’ losses had been his gain. He had always benefited from chaos and turmoil, as his masterful operations during the ticker delays repeatedly had proven, but what happened over the last months of 1929 had no precedent. Once this picture became clear enough, the public was quick to react. It had been Rask who engineered the whole crash to begin with, people said. Slyly, he had whetted a reckless appetite for debts he knew all along could never be honored. Subtly, he had been dumping his stocks and driving the market down. Artfully, he had leaked rumors and stoked paranoia. Mercilessly, he had overthrown Wall Street and kept it under his thumb with his selling spree the day right before Black Thursday. Everything—the breaks in the market, the uncertainty, the bearishness leading to panic selling, and eventually the crash that would ruin multitudes—had been orchestrated by Rask. His was the hand behind the invisible hand.

A stock is not just a ticker symbol or an electronic blip; it is an ownership interest in an actual business, with an underlying value that does not depend on its share price. The market is a pendulum that forever swings between unsustainable optimism (which makes stocks too expensive) and unjustified pessimism (which makes them too cheap). The intelligent investor is a realist who sells to optimists and buys from pessimists. The future value of every investment is a function of its present price. The higher the price you pay, the lower your return will be.

It made headlines throughout the United States that Adolf Hitler, who had watched the races, had refused to shake hands with Owens, as he had with white medalists. But Owens found that in Nazi Germany, he had been able to stay in the same quarters and eat with his white teammates, something he could not do in his home country. Upon his return, there was a ticker-tape parade in New York. Afterward, he was forced to ride the freight elevator to his own reception at the Waldorf-Astoria. “I wasn’t invited to shake hands with Hitler,” he wrote in his autobiography. “But I wasn’t invited to the White House to shake hands with the President either. I came back to my native country, and I could not ride in the front of the bus. I had to go to the back door. I couldn’t live where I wanted. Now, what’s the difference?

For reference, here are a few ETFs that invest in the preferred share indexes: Name Country Ticker iShares S & P/TSX North American Preferred Stock Index Canada XPF iShares US Preferred Stock USA PFF PowerShares Preferred Portfolio USA PGX

Here are some ETFs that track this segment of the market: Name Country Ticker Vanguard Total Corporate Bond USA VTC iShares Canadian Corporate Bond Canada XCB Full disclosure: The fund I owned was XCB.

Greaves looked up at the television and almost had a heart attack. The TV was showing ATN—aerial footage of a horrific terrorist attack. A news ticker scrolled across the

Minute by minute, over the course of the day, Nike’s stock price was updated. Minute by minute, over the course of the day, thousands of children died from starvation. There was no ticker for them. No news of them.

Ticker-Tape [10w] The decline of ticker-tape heralded the death of the hero.

Ding! Ding! Ding! I tapped the brass bell in rapid succession until Violet bustled in from the back room, wearing the blue-and-white pinafore that was the SugarWerks’s uniform and a frown that was not. The same age as Nic and I, Violet wore her amethyst hair spiked and a brass gearring stud on the left side of her nose. On one set of knuckles, BAKE was tattooed in elaborate black calligraphy; CAKE was on the other. Today she had an aquamarine bow pinned to the top of her head, a silver cupcake and crossbones marking the spot between the two loops of ribbon.

To the steampunk community, including artisans like Richard “Doc” Nagy (sadly lost to us) and musicians like Professor Elemental, Steam Powered Giraffe, Vagabond Opera, and Abney Park. You are an endless source of joy and inspiration,

Attention, please, you demitasse of feminine frippery!" he barked.

I pushed away from the sturdy tree and stumbled forward. A hand caught my elbow. I cried out and looked up. Concern wrinkled Frank’s face, clear as the ticker tape on my telegram. “What’s wrong?” His forehead creased as his eyebrows drew together. “It’s Mama.” I croaked the words like an old bullfrog. His face crunched into deeper solicitude. I sucked in a deep breath of thick, cold air and blew it out again, long and slow. “She and Daddy arrive tomorrow.” “Your parents are coming?” “That’s what it says.” I read the telegram again. “Mama misses me, I guess.” “Did you ask them to come?” He said it like an accusation. “No.” And yet, why shouldn’t I have? We’d just lost my brother. Would it have been so terrible of me to ask them to visit? Frank paced in front of me, murmuring, raking his hands through his hair. “It’s just . . . It feels a bit . . . awkward. I mean, the two of us, here, and . . . ” He shrugged. I shoved my fists on my hips. “That hasn’t seemed to bother you until now. Besides, it isn’t as if either of us have any intentions toward the other.” Even if his touch did ignite a lightning bolt inside me. “No, no intentions.” He stood still now, not even a twitch of movement. “I just didn’t want them to misconstrue our current arrangement.” “Are you suggesting they’re coming to pressure you into marrying me?” I snorted out a laugh. “Don’t worry. I have very different plans for my life.” “Yes. You’ve made that very clear.” He towered over me, our eyes locked in silent battle. If only we were fighting on the same side.

There is nothing like the ticker tape except a woman – nothing that promises, hour after hour, day after day, such sudden developments; nothing that disappoints so often or that occasionally fulfills with such unbelievable, passionate magnificence.

The U.S. stock market now trades inside black boxes, in heavily guarded buildings in New Jersey and Chicago. What goes on inside those black boxes is hard to say—the ticker tape that runs across the bottom of cable TV screens captures only the tiniest fraction of what occurs in the stock markets. The public reports of what happens inside the black boxes are fuzzy and unreliable—even an expert cannot say what exactly happens inside them, or when it happens, or why.

The things that tempt us do not come from external persuasions…they originate from our very own hearts. They’re conceived there, entertained by our thoughts and then acted upon. Our hearts need daily scrubbings and consistent discipline to battle against its baleful wishes. Knowing and shedding light upon our heart’s darkness with honest accountability is a good first step towards an untainted ticker! ~Jason Versey

Most people aren't appreciated enough, and the bravest things we do in our lives are usually known only to ourselves. No one throws ticker tape on the man who chose to be faithful to his wife, on the lawyer who didn't take the drug money

I chose the former, but not by a

I think everyone, once in his life, should be given a ticker-tape parade.

Violet had approximately four hundred and seventy-three frowns in her repertoire, which ranged from “The Biscuits Went Flat” to “You’re Being Dreadfully Annoying.” Just now, still peeved with my brother, she wore “Don’t You Use That Tone of Voice on Me.

No glory found and no guilt ever apportioned For those guiding young men to wars uncautioned, The chosen so often of colour, unlearned or the piss poor. But true heroes you’ll be if you win by force majeure. No glory found and no guilt ever apportioned For those guiding young men to wars uncautioned, Ticker tape parades and medals for those making it home, For the rest, your name on a glorious memorial dome. No glory found and no guilt ever apportioned For those guiding young men to wars uncautioned, But see those with the wealth they do not give a toss Knowing their greedy interests will not turn a loss. No glory found and no guilt ever apportioned For those guiding young men to wars uncautioned, Not their sons to die in some foreign land But here they come marching so strike up the band. No glory found, and no guilt ever apportioned For those guiding young men to wars uncautioned.

Graham developed his core principles, which are at least as valid today as they were during his lifetime: A stock is not just a ticker symbol or an electronic blip; it is an ownership interest in an actual business, with an underlying value that does not depend on its share price. The market is a pendulum that forever swings between unsustainable optimism (which makes stocks too expensive) and unjustified pessimism (which makes them too cheap). The intelligent investor is a realist who sells to optimists and buys from pessimists. The future value of every investment is a function of its present price. The higher the price you pay, the lower your return will be. No matter how careful you are, the one risk no investor can ever eliminate is the risk of being wrong. Only by insisting on what Graham called the “margin of safety”—never overpaying, no matter how exciting an investment seems to be—can you minimize your odds of error. The secret to your financial success is inside yourself. If you become a critical thinker who takes no Wall Street “fact” on faith, and you invest with patient confidence, you can take steady advantage of even the worst bear markets. By developing your discipline and courage, you can refuse to let other people’s mood swings govern your financial destiny. In the end, how your investments behave is much less important than how you behave.

Los patrones ABCD empiezan con un fuerte movimiento alcista. Los compradores están adquiriendo agresivamente una acción en el punto A y logrando nuevos máximos del día constantemente (punto B). Tú deseas entrar a la operación, pero no debes mientras el precio está subiendo, porque en el punto B está demasiado extendido y ha llegado ya a un precio muy alto. Así mismo, no puedes determinar dónde debe estar tu nivel de pérdida. Nunca debes entrar a una operación sin saber cuál es tu nivel de pérdida. En el punto B, los traders que compraron la emisora antes empiezan a venderla para obtener una ganancia y su precio baja. Todavía no debes entrar en esta operación porque aún no sabes dónde estará el fondo de este retroceso. Sin embargo, si ves que el precio no baja de cierto nivel, como ilustra el punto C, significa que el precio ha encontrado un soporte potencial. Por lo tanto, ahora sí puedes planificar tu operación y determinar tu nivel de pérdida y tu punto de ganancia. La captura de pantalla identificada como Ilustración 7.1 muestra a Ocean Power Technologies Inc. (ticker: OPTT) el 22 de julio de 2016, tras anunciar una oferta pública de acciones y warrants (los warrants son una herramienta utilizada para comprar títulos en el futuro a un precio determinado) esperando atraer un ingreso bruto cercano a los $4 millones de dólares. (He allí un catalizador fundamental. ¿Recuerdas el Capítulo 2?) El precio subió de $7.70 dólares (A) a $9.40 (B) por ahí de las 9:40 a.m. Yo, junto con muchos otros traders que se perdieron el primer empujón alcista, esperamos a que se llegara al punto B y a recibir una confirmación indicando que la acción no fuera a bajar más allá de cierto precio (punto C). Cuando advertí que el punto C se mantenía como soporte y que los compradores no dejaban que el precio bajara más allá de $8.10 dólares (C), compré 1,000 acciones de OPTT a un precio cercano a C, colocando mi nivel de pérdida por debajo del punto C. Sabía que cuando el precio subiera a un nivel cercano a B, los compradores aprovecharían esta oportunidad de manera masiva. Como mencioné antes, el patrón ABCD es una estrategia clásica y muchos traders independientes la buscan. Al acercarse al punto D, el volumen repentinamente aumentó, lo cual quería decir que muchos otros traders se estaban sumando a la operación. Mi objetivo de ganancia era el momento en que la emisora llegara a un nuevo mínimo en la gráfica de 5 minutos, lo cual señalaría debilidad. Como puedes ver en la Ilustración 7.1, OPTT gozó de una buena racha alcista hasta llegar cerca de los $12 dólares y luego mostró debilidad llegando a un nuevo mínimo en la gráfica de 5 minutos, cercano a los $11.60 dólares. Ahí fue cuando vendí toda mi posición.

The boy’s first day of school in the North, he was assigned to a grade lower than the one he’d been in where he had come from, and the teacher couldn’t understand his southern accent. When she asked him his name, he said he was called J.C. The teacher misheard him and, from that day forward, called him Jesse instead. So did everyone else in this new world he was in. He would forever be known as Jesse Owens, not by his given name. He would go on to win four gold medals at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin, becoming the first American in the history of track and field to do so in a single Olympics and disproving the Aryan notions of his Nazi hosts. It made headlines throughout the United States that Adolf Hitler, who had watched the races, had refused to shake hands with Owens, as he had with white medalists. But Owens found that in Nazi Germany, he had been able to stay in the same quarters and eat with his white teammates, something he could not do in his home country. Upon his return, there was a ticker-tape parade in New York. Afterward, he was forced to ride the freight elevator to his own reception at the Waldorf-Astoria. “I wasn’t invited to shake hands with Hitler,” he wrote in his autobiography. “But I wasn’t invited to the White House to shake hands with the President either. I came back to my native country, and I could not ride in the front of the bus. I had to go to the back door. I couldn’t live where I wanted. Now, what’s the difference?

A stock is not just a ticker symbol or an electronic blip; it is an ownership interest in an actual business, with an underlying value that does not depend on its share price. The market is a pendulum that forever swings between unsustainable optimism (which makes stocks too expensive) and unjustified pessimism (which makes them too cheap). The intelligent investor is a realist who sells to optimists and buys from pessimists. The future value of every investment is a function of its present price. The higher the price you pay, the lower your return will be. No matter how careful you are, the one risk no investor can ever eliminate is the risk of being wrong. Only by insisting on what Graham called the “margin of safety”—never overpaying, no matter how exciting an investment seems to be—can you minimize your odds of error. The secret to your financial success is inside yourself. If you become a critical thinker who takes no Wall Street “fact” on faith, and you invest with patient confidence, you can take steady advantage of even the worst bear markets. By developing your discipline and courage, you can refuse to let other people’s mood swings govern your financial destiny. In the end, how your investments behave is much less important than how you behave.

You can just buy the ProShares S&P 500 Dividend Aristocrats ETF. The ticker is NOBL, and this ETF (exchange-traded fund) trades just like a stock. You can purchase it using any brokerage account. Today NOBL trades at $62.65 per share. So if you have $1,000, you can buy 15.96 shares of NOBL (1000 divided by 62.65). You’ll pay an expense ratio of 0.35% to own this ETF. What this means is that if you invest $1,000 in this ETF, you will pay them $3.50 every year for the privilege of owning their ETF.