Tweak Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Tweak. Here they are! All 200 of them:

Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (Harry Potter, #1))
Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (Harry Potter, #1))
You know what they say," Dad said. "If you love something set it free." "What if he doesn't come back?" "Something do, somethings don't," he said, reaching to tweak her nose. "I'll always come back to you anyway." "You don't light up," Hadley said, but Dad only smiled. "I do when I'm with you.
Jennifer E. Smith (The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight)
Most lives are not distinguished by great achievements. They are measured by an infinite number of small ones. Each time you do a kindness for someone or bring a smile to his face, it gives your life meaning. Never doubt your value, little friend. The world would be a dismal place without you in it. (tweaked version of a passage from Scandal in Spring)
Lisa Kleypas (Scandal in Spring (Wallflowers, #4))
It's like if the music is loud enough I won't be able to listen to my own thoughts.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Once upon a time they was two girls," I say. "one girl had black skin, one girl had white." Mae Mobley look up at me. She listening. "Little colored girl say to little white girl, 'How come your skin be so pale?' White girl say, 'I don't know. How come your skin be so black? What you think that mean?' "But neither one a them little girls knew. So little white girl say, 'Well, let's see. You got hair, I got hair.'"I gives Mae Mobley a little tousle on her head. "Little colored girl say 'I got a nose, you got a nose.'"I gives her little snout a tweak. She got to reach up and do the same to me. "Little white girl say, 'I got toes, you got toes.' And I do the little thing with her toes, but she can't get to mine cause I got my white work shoes on. "'So we's the same. Just a different color', say that little colored girl. The little white girl she agreed and they was friends. The End." Baby Girl just look at me. Law, that was a sorry story if I ever heard one. Wasn't even no plot to it. But Mae Mobley, she smile and say, "Tell it again.
Kathryn Stockett (The Help)
It’s never something huge that changes the everything, but instead the tiniest of details, irrevocably tweaking the balance of the universe while you’re busy focusing on the big picture.
Sarah Dessen (Lock and Key)
To make my meal in a box taste better, I decided to tweak the logo, rather than the ingredients.
Jarod Kintz (This Book is Not for Sale)
All the stories I would like to write persecute me. When I am in my chamber, it seems as if they are all around me, like little devils, and while one tugs at my ear, another tweaks my nose, and each says to me, 'Sir, write me, I am beautiful.
Umberto Eco (The Island of the Day Before)
they say suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. the problem with being human isn't really so temporary.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Isn't that the greatest gift in the world-just not to care?
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
I feel so completely crazy sometimes. I don't know which way I'm facing. All I can do is just shove all this shit to the side and try to move forward.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
And though I have done many shameful things, I am not ashamed of who I am. I am not ashamed of who I am because I know who I am. I have tried to rip myself open and expose everything inside - accepting my weaknesses and strengths - not trying to be anyone else. 'Cause that never works, does it? So my challenge is to be authentic. An I believe I am today. I believe I am.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. "Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" "Thank you!" He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not. “Is he — a bit mad?” he asked Percy uncertainly. "Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (Harry Potter, #1))
Sometimes I look a the Moon, and I imagine that those darker spots are caverns, cities, islands, and the places that shine are those where the sea catches the light of the sun like the glass of a mirror...I would like to tell of war and friendship among the various parts of the body, the arms that do battle with the feet, and the veins that make love with the arteries or the bones with the marrow. All the stories I would like to write persecute me when I am in my chamber, it seems as if they are all around me, the little devils, and while one tugs at my ear, another tweaks my nose, and each says to me, 'Sir, write me, I am beautiful'.
Umberto Eco
I feel just, you know, defeated.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Eric appeared to be counting my eyelashes. I tried to keep my gaze on my hands, to indicate modesty. I felt power tweaks kind of flow over me and had an uneasy feeling Eric was trying to influence me. I risked a quick peek, and sure enough he was looking at me expectantly. Was I supposed to pull off my dress? Bark like a dog? Kick Bill in the shins? Shit.
Charlaine Harris (Dead Until Dark (Sookie Stackhouse, #1))
I always get so overwhelmed trying to do everything perfectly. I can't do a job and not put everything I have into it. I need to be the best employee, the best co-worker, the best whatever. I need everyone to like me and I just burn out bending over backward to make that happen. Having people be mad at me is my worst fear. I can't stand it. There is this crazy fear I have of being rejected by anyone - even people I don't really care about. It's always better to leave them first, cut all ties, and disappear. They can't hurt me that way - no one can.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
But wasn't that always the way. It's never something huge that changes everything, but instead the tiniest of details, irrevocably tweaking the balance of the universe while you're busy focusing on the big picture.
Sarah Dessen (Lock and Key)
Don’t talk to your horse, dear. People are watching,” Pauline said quietly. Halt turned a perplexed look toward her. “How do you know when I’m doing that?” She smiled at him. “Your nose twitches.” … On the way, Kane [stableboy] kept glancing surreptitiously at the famous Ranger, fascinated by the fact that he kept staring down his nose and tweaking its tip between his forefinger and thumb.
John Flanagan (The Royal Ranger (Ranger's Apprentice #12 Ranger's Apprentice: The Royal Ranger #1))
After more of his sweet torture, I called, “Tate, honey?” “Yeah, baby,” he answered. “Am I under your skin?” I whispered as my hips moved with his hand. He replied instantly, “Oh yeah.” His thumb tweaked my clit harder, my hips jerked and a low mew slid out of my throat as the fingers of one of my hands slid into his hair and the other arm held on tighter. “Fuck yeah,” he growled and his lips left my ear, his mouth found mine and he kissed me, wet and deep.
Kristen Ashley (Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain, #2))
There are certain bad habits we've groomed our whole life -- from personality flaws to fashion faux pas. And it has been the role of parents and friends, outside of some minor tweaking, to reinforce the belief that we're okay just as we are. But it's not enough to just be yourself. You have to be your best self. And that's a tall order if you haven't found your best self yet.
Neil Strauss (The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists)
But it was pointless, it was stupid; he thought about thoughtless things. If I were a seabird . . . but how could you be a seabird? If you were a seabird your brain would be tiny and stupid and you would love half-rotted fish guts and tweaking the eyes out of little grazing animals; you would know no poetry and you could never appreciate flying as fully as the human on the ground yearning to be you. If you wanted to be a seabird you deserved to be one.
Iain M. Banks (Use of Weapons (Culture, #3))
Lithium tweaks many mood-altering chemicals in the brain, and its effects are complicated. Most interesting, lithium seems to reset the body’s circadian rhythm, its inner clock. In normal people, ambient conditions, especially the sun, dictate their humors and determine when they are tuckered out for the day. They’re on a twenty-four-hour cycle. Bipolar people run on cycles independent of the sun. And run and run.
Sam Kean (The Disappearing Spoon: And Other True Tales of Madness, Love, and the History of the World from the Periodic Table of the Elements)
We only have this one moment: NOW.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
There's something about outward appearances that has always been important to me. I always thought I was so ugly. I mean, I really did. I remember being in L.A. at my mom's house as a little kid and just staring into the mirror for hours. It was like, if I looked long enough, maybe I'd finally be handsome. It never worked. I just got uglier and uglier. Nothing about me ever seemed good enough. And there was this sadness inside me - this hopelessness. Focusing on my physical appearance was at least easier than trying to address the internal shit.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Did you just tweak my nipple?” “Is that rhetorical?” “Beware, chatty girl, I can retaliate.” “Promise? Ooh, I like that smolder, it’s very Flynn Ryder.” “You’re comparing me to cartoon characters now?” “Animated characters. Huge difference. And it’s cute that you know who he is.
Kristen Callihan (Managed (VIP, #2))
None of them seem as crazy obsessive about everything as I am. It's strange 'cause I had the same feeling in high school that I have here. It's like, well, it just seems so easy for everyone else and so difficult for me. I turn from these extremes of feeling on top of the fucking world - to feeling so despondent. They don't have to struggle like I do - or maybe that's just me comparing my goddamn insides to everyone else's outsides. But I swear to God, I just seem to wrestle with everything more than anyone else.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
There is small merit in mocking goodness, tweaking charity; it is much more comic to deprive people of their petty little existence for no reason at all, for a lark.
Jacques Rigaut
Odd words floated back to them over the hundreds of heads. "Nobility of spirit"..."intellectual contribution"..."greatness of heart"...It did not mean very much. It had little to do with Dumbledore as Harry had known him. He suddenly remembered Dumbledore's idea of a few words, "nitwit," "oddment," "blubber," and "tweak," and again had to suppress a grin...
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Harry Potter, #6))
I don't want you to worry about protecting my feelings or your father's or anybody's. When you were little you always tried to make everyone ahppy. Then it was like one day you just exploded.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
We have a few chicken-shit senators who are afraid of the NRA and its ilk, but with the right tweaks, I still think you have a shot . . .
Mark M. Bello (Betrayal High (A Zachary Blake Legal Thriller Book 5))
Life has a complex plan that involves you and me. While we dream, work and organize, life makes its own tweaks—and many times circumstances might not turn out as we hoped. But life is not the enemy. It’s not against us. Life provides opportunities for growth and strength of character. Stop fighting against your greatest ally.
Jaime Buckley
In preparing for this ceremony," Kai said, setting the bouquet on the mantel behind him, "I did some research and learned that the word Alpha has held many meanings across history. Alpha can refer to the first of something," said Kai, "or the beginning of everything. It can be attributed to a particularly powerful or charismatic person, or it can signify the dominant leader in a pack of animals, most notably, of course, wolves." His serious expression tweaked briefly into a teasing smile. "It has meanings in chemistry, physics, and even astronomy, where it describes the brightest star in a constellation. But it seems clear that Ze’ev and Scarlet have created their own definition for the word, and their relationship has given this word a new meaning for all of us. Being an Alpha means that you’ll stand against all adversity to be with your mate. It means accepting each other, both for your strengths and your flaws. It means forging your own path to happiness and to love.
Marissa Meyer (Stars Above (The Lunar Chronicles, #4.5))
Listen--God only exists in people's minds. Especially in Japan, God's always been kind of a flexible concept. Look at what happened after the war. Douglas MacArthur ordered the divine emperor to quit being God, and he did, making a speech saying he was just an ordinary person. So after 1946 he wasn't God anymore. That's what Japanese gods are like--they can be tweaked and adjusted. Some American comping on a cheap pipe gives the order and presto change-o--God's no longer God. A very postmodern kind of thing. If you think God's there, He is. If you don't, He isn't. ~pages 286-287
Haruki Murakami (Kafka on the Shore)
I wanted to say something to cheer her up. I had a feeling that cheering her up might be a lot of work. I was thinking of how sometimes, trying to say the right thing to people, it’s like some kind of brain surgery, and you have to tweak exactly the right part of the lobe. Except with talking, it’s more like brain surgery with old, rusted skewers and things, maybe like those things you use to eat lobster, but brown. And you have to get exactly the right place, and you’re touching around in the brain but the patient, she keeps jumping and saying, “Ow.
M.T. Anderson (Feed)
Dear ignoramuses, Halloween is not 'a yankee holiday' celebrated only by gigantic toddlers wearing baseball caps back to front and spraying 'automobiles' with eggs. This is ignorance. Halloween is an ancient druidic holiday, one the Celtic peoples have celebrated for millennia. It is the crack between the last golden rays of summer and the dark of winter; the delicately balanced tweak of the year before it is given over entirely to the dark; a time for the souls of the departed to squint, to peek and perhaps to travel through the gap. What could be more thrilling and worthy of celebration than that? It is a time to celebrate sweet bounty, as the harvest is brought in. It is a time of excitement and pleasure for children before the dark sets in. We should all celebrate that. Pinatas on the other hand are heathen monstrosities and have no place in a civilised society.
Jenny Colgan (Welcome To Rosie Hopkins' Sweetshop Of Dreams)
The brain represented the most complex organism ever to exist, and impossible to tame. Morality could not be spawned by tweaking a few genes or shutting off a few neurons. Not yet. So though humanity conquered the very stars, it remained unable to conquer the darkness within.
G.S. Jennsen (Starshine (Aurora Rising #1; Aurora Rhapsody #1))
Honestly, I'm not sure how much longer I can keep doing this. It's like there are seven candles lit in my stomach. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven candles burning and smoking - lit - seven flames of doubt, fear, sorrow, pain, waste, hopelessness, despair. They turn my insides black with soot and ash. There is something at the back of my eyes- a pressure building, building, building - hot like the flames of seven candles, which no amount of breath can extinguish. I imagine drinking glasses of water. One, two, three four, five, six, seven. I dive into the clearest pool. I drown myself in the coarse, dry sand. I swallow handfuls of crushed white salt, but the flames burn still - brighter, hotter, deeper. Sweat runs in delicate patterns down my back, over my crooked spine and jutting hips. I scratch at the wounds these last weeks have left, but I can't break free of them. The flies gather and vultures circle overhead. The fire eats away my flesh. The fire spreads. The fire runs through my veins. The fire courses beneath my muscles - my tendons - the marrow of my bones. I sit rocking on the street corner. No, I can't keep doing this. I just can't.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
As a technology, the book is like a hammer. That is to say, it is perfect: a tool ideally suited to its task. Hammers can be tweaked and varied but will never go obsolete. Even when builders pound nails by the thousand with pneumatic nail guns, every household needs a hammer. Likewise, the bicycle is alive and well. It was invented in a world without automobiles, and for speed and range it was quickly surpassed by motorcycles and all kinds of powered scooters. But there is nothing quaint about bicycles. They outsell cars.
James Gleick
O gouvernment francais, I think it was not very clever of You to put this terrible doll in La Ferte; for when Governments are found dead there is always a little doll on top of them, pulling and tweaking with his little hands to get back at the microscopic knife which sticks firmly in the quiet meat of their hearts.
E.E. Cummings (The Enormous Room)
It only takes a tweak to make the whole world new.
Terry Pratchett (A Slip of the Keyboard: Collected Nonfiction)
She stood back and examined the overall effect, then tweaked until the arrangement was just right. Where her books were, she was. Get the books right and the rest will follow. Now she could address the rest of the room.
Maureen Johnson (Truly Devious (Truly Devious, #1))
It's never something huge that changes everything, but instead the tinniest of details,irrevocably tweaking the balance of the universe while your're busy focusing on the bigger picture.
Sarah Dessen (Twice Told: Original Stories Inspired by Original Artwork)
How do text messages make you feel existential? I start thinking about exactly that: how people can edit a thought before sending it out to the world. They can make themselves seem more well spoken than they are, or funnier, smarter. I start thinking that no one in the world is who they say the are, then my mind goes to how I also edit myself, not just online but in real life, except for those rare instances like right now where I'm ranting- even though that's a lie because I've had this train of thought before and damned if I didn't tweak it in my head a few times to make it sound better- and then my mind starts racing so furiously I can't control my thoughts, and I start thinking about robots and wondering if I'm even a real person.
Adi Alsaid (Never Always Sometimes)
So we are left with a stark choice: allow climate disruption to change everything about our world, or change pretty much everything about our economy to avoid that fate. But we need to be very clear: because of our decades of collective denial, no gradual, incremental options are now available to us. Gentle tweaks to the status quo stopped being a climate option when we supersized the American Dream in the 1990s, and then proceeded to take it global.
Naomi Klein (This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. The Climate)
So close, I thought. A shorter fence, a fatter dog, and everything would be different. But wasn't that always the way. It's never something huge that changes everything, but instead the tiniest of details, irrevocably tweaking the balance of the universe while you're busy focusing on the big picture.
Sarah Dessen (Lock and Key)
They say suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. he problem with being humas isn't really so temporary
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
When Tony lost it, it would be up to Ruger to take Lady Death by the tits and giver a good tweak. That's how he saw it. Give Lady Death's tits a good tweak.
Jonathan Maberry (Ghost Road Blues (Pine Deep, #1))
Fiction is but truth.. tweaked or disguised.
Syed Arshad (If It's Not Love)
We all look for strategies or techniques that will free us from the pain of relationships and the hard work good relationships demand. We hope that better planning, more effective communication, clear role definitions, conflict resolution strategies, gender studies, and personality typing--to name just a few -- will make the difference. There may be value in these things, but if they were all we needed, Jesus' life, death, and resurrection would be unnecessary or, at best, redundant. Skills and techniques appeal to us because they promise that relational problems can be fixed by tweaking our behavior without altering the bent of our hearts. But the Bible says something very different. It says that Christ is the only real hope for relationships because only he can dig deep enough to address the core motivations and desires of our hearts. Most dangerous aspect of your relationships is not your weakness, but your delusions of strength. Self-reliance is almost always a component of a bad relationship.
Paul David Tripp
It's like there are seven candles lit in my stomach. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven candles burning and smoking - lit - seven flames of doubt, fear, sorrow, pain, waste, hopelessness, despair. They turn my insides black with soot and ash.
Nic Sheff
If I wanted Belle," he cut in, "I would have asked her to marry me." He pulled her more tightly against him. "Henry, I love you. I'd love you if you wore a sackcloth. I'd love you if you had a mustache." He paused and tweaked her nose. "Well, the mustache would be difficult. Please promise me you won't grow one.
Julia Quinn (Minx (The Splendid Trilogy, #3))
And that feeling is there, inside me - being small, with all the confusion and worry and longing - but also the peace and safety. And now I'm here, giving that feeling to Lucy. She is an angel - light and sweet and delicate and lovely. That is so there in her. But it's also in Spencer, in my dad lying with me as a child on the futon, It's even in me. Sure, I buried it. I buried and buried it and turned away from everything light and sweet and delicate and lovely and became so scared and scarred and burdened and fucked up. But that goodness is still there, inside - it must be.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
I've always been serious that way, trying to evolve to a more conscious state. Funny thing about that,though. You tweak yourself,looking for more love, less lust, more compassion, less jealousy. You keep tweaking, keep adjusting those knobs until you can no longer find the original settings. In some sense,the original settings are exactly what I'm looking for-a return to the easygoing guy i was before my world got complicated, the nice guy who took things as they came and laughed so hard the blues would blow away in the summer wind.
Bill Withers
Seventeen years later and she’s still trying to tweak me just a little bit more to her liking.
Val Emmich (Dear Evan Hansen)
I rose up on my shoulders, arching my back from the sheer torment of being so sensually tweaked.
Roxie Rivera (Ivan (Her Russian Protector, #1))
She kissed him then, allowing him to relax. “I was able to make improvements to you, wasn’t I?” “Those were only tweaks. I was already brilliant.” The
Christine d'Abo (Batteries Not Required)
The tweaking of us by God in the quiet is the saving of us in public.
Lysa TerKeurst (Uninvited: Living Loved When You Feel Less Than, Left Out, and Lonely)
Dude, did you do drugs or something? Because you look like you’re tweaking.
C.M. Owens (Loving War (Sterling Shore, #4))
The trick is learning to frame your new ideas as tweaks of old ideas, to mix a little fluency with a little disfluency—to make your audience see the familiarity behind the surprise.
Derek Thompson (Hit Makers: The Science of Popularity in an Age of Distraction)
He took three shots a night-no more, no less. He switched from whisky to straight gin. The bum compensated for the scant volume. Three shots tweaked his hatreds. Four shots and up cut those hatreds all the way loose. Three shots said, You project danger. Four shots or more said, You're ugly and you limp.
James Ellroy (American Tabloid (Underworld USA #1))
I was still trying to get my adrenaline levels down to an acceptable level. If a cop gave me a sobriety test right now, I would look like a meth addict in the midst of a giant tweaking.
Mark Tufo (Tattered Remnants (Zombie Fallout, #9))
There was an old joke about being left on a deserted island with an editor. You are starving. All you have left is a glass of orange juice. Days pass. You are near death. You are about to drink the juice when the editor grabs the glass from your hand and pees into it. You look at him, stunned . "There," the editor says, handing you the glass. "It just needed a little tweaking.
Harlan Coben (Promise Me (Myron Bolitar, #8))
You know that I’m not for sale, right?” “I know. Or I would have already bought you.” I grinned, thinking he was kidding, but he just stared into my eyes. Too intense! So I tried a playful turn. “And what would you do if you owned me?” I tweaked his strong chin. “Would I be your slave?” He shook his head. “I would free you, Victoria. And then I would buy you the entire goddamned world.
Kresley Cole (The Player (The Game Maker, #3))
Discernment,” C.H. Spurgeon once famously quipped, “is knowing the difference between right and almost right.” Tweaking that ever so slightly, discernment is knowing the difference between what is good and what is better. And sometimes, seeking what is better means learning to trust God while you wait for Him to supply it.
Hannah Anderson (All That's Good: Recovering the Lost Art of Discernment)
Jabba resembled a giant tadpole, like the cinematic creature for whom he was nicknamed, the man was a hairless spheroid. As resident guardian angel of all NSA computer systems, Jabba marched from department to department, tweaking, soldering, and reaffirming his credo that prevention was the best medicine. No NSA computer had ever been infected under Jabba's reign; he intended to keep it that way.
Dan Brown (Digital Fortress)
The dark is settling in. The sky glows yellow- pale- anemic from the city lights. The Tenderloin at night is a real horror show. Every 3 feet someone is accosting you with a plea for a handout or the offer of drug or sex. The men and women wander the streets and alleys with a threatening, violont want. Takers looking to take, hustlers looking to hustle, all trying to satisfy a craving that is parpatually unsatisfiable. And tonight I'm one of them.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
We should have the lady-balls to say, “Yeah—I like the look of this world. And I’ve been here for a good while, watching. Now—here’s how I’d tweak it. Because we’re all in this together. We’re all just, you know. The Guys.
Caitlin Moran (How To Be A Woman)
In looking for the right places to make these tiny changes, there are three broad areas of opportunity. You can tweak your beliefs—or what psychologists call your mindset; you can tweak your motivations; and you can tweak your habits. When we learn how to make small changes in each of these areas, we set ourselves up to make profound, lasting change over the course of our lives.
Susan David (Emotional Agility: Get Unstuck, Embrace Change, and Thrive in Work and Life)
We can’t tweak the genes of the food we eat without suspicion,” Erskine added. “We can pick and choose the naturally mutated ones until a blade of grass is a great ear of corn, but we can’t do it with purpose. Vic had dozens of examples like these. He rattled them off in the cafeteria that day.” Erskine ticked his fingers as he counted. “Vaccines versus natural immunities, cloning versus twins, modified foods. Or course he was perfectly right. The bastard always was. It was the manmade part that would have caused the chaos. It would be knowing that people were out to get us, that there was danger in the air we breathed.
Hugh Howey (Second Shift: Order (Shift, #2))
...feel the fierce way desire tourniquets itself around you and clings Clubland South of Market tweak- chic trannies powder their noses from bullet-shaped compacts and flick their forked tongues like switchblades as they burn the night down bleed day to night to day to Mission sidewalks where pythons hide twenty dollar balloons beneath their tongues which get bartered in smiles quicker than a coke buzz and tossed out through the cracks Cottonmouth kisses camouflage emotions and strike with a vengeance when he wants and she wants and they want and I won't Genet was right, I suppose when he wrote "The only way to avoid the horror of horror is to give in to it" it's the nature of the economy of the business it's the nature of things...
Clint Catalyst (Cottonmouth Kisses)
Damn straight I’m better looking. And why were you noticing?” Colton tweaked him in the side. “More jealousy?” “You’l notice I’m rather possessive.” “You? No! ” He tickled him again. “Then again…I do hear the word ‘ mine’ out of your mouth quite often.
Finn Marlowe (A Thread of Deepest Black)
Like Wide Sargasso Sea and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, fanfiction asserts the rights of storytellers to take possession of characters and settings from other people’s narratives and tell their own tales about them—to expand and build upon the original, and, when they deem it necessary, to tweak it and optimize it for their own purposes.
Anne Jamison (Fic: Why Fanfiction Is Taking Over the World)
Now is now. There is nothing but now... This, right here, is all there is.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Most of us lived in a state of constant calibration, tweaking one area of life in hopes of bringing more steadiness to another.
Michelle Obama (Becoming)
Welcome!” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! “Thank you!
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (Harry Potter, #1))
Now, if you make fun of my plan I'll give you bad coffee for a week, and then where are you, sir?" cried Mrs. Jo, tweaking him by the ear just as if he was one of the boys.
Louisa May Alcott (Little Men [with Biographical Introduction])
Tweaking bad Web content is just putting lipstick on a pig.
David Meerman Scott (World Wide Rave: Creating Triggers That Get Millions of People to Spread Your Ideas and Share Your Stories)
Everyone is just looking to be told that who he or she is is right and true and wholly acceptable. No need to tinker and tweak. Exactly right.
Gregory Boyle (Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion)
To reestablish control, we need to move beyond tweaks and instead rebuild our relationship with technology from scratch, using our deeply held values as a foundation.
Cal Newport (Digital Minimalism: Choosing a Focused Life in a Noisy World)
What’s Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba That he should weep for her? What would he do Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have? He would drown the stage with tears And cleave the general ear with horrid speech, Make mad the guilty and appall the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing—no, not for a king, Upon whose property and most dear life A damned defeat was made. Am I a coward? Who calls me “villain”? Breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by the nose? Gives me the lie i' th' throat As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this?
William Shakespeare (Hamlet)
Should have upped his game,” Louis murmured as we stepped forward. “He took my magical design for Stratford and simply tweaked it in a few places. Worst case of fan fiction I’ve ever seen.
Jaymin Eve (Broken Compass (Supernatural Prison Story #1))
In a way it's like too serene or whatever - too empty. I feel that familiar feeling of being a dark smudge on this otherwise pristine white canvas. There's just no way to blend in out here.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Now is now... There is nothing but now and I try to hold on to that. The past is gone, the future hasn't happened yet. This, right here, is all there is.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
The age that had had the confidence and power to smash these lines through its own capital had apparently balked at tweaking God into compliance. Like the Islamic carpets that contain a deliberate flaw, the avenue was disrupted by the Divine.
Will Wiles (Care of Wooden Floors)
I need everyone to like me and I just burn out bending over backward to make that happen. Having people be mad at me is my worst fear. I can't stand it. There is this crazy fear I have of being rejected by anyone - even people I don't really care about. It's always better to leave them first, cut all ties, and disappear. They can't hurt me that way - no one can.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Bram stared into a pair of wide, dark eyes. Eyes that reflected a surprising glimmer of intelligence. This might be the rare female a man could reason with. "Now, then," he said. "We can do this the easy way, or we can make things difficult." With a soft snort, she turned her head. It was as if he'd ceased to exist. Bram shifted his weight to his good leg, feeling the stab to his pride. He was a lieutenant colonel in the British army, and at over six feet tall, he was said to cut an imposing figure. Typically, a pointed glance from his quarter would quell the slightest hint of disobedience. He was not accustomed to being ignored. "Listen sharp, now." He gave her ear a rough tweak and sank his voice to a low threat. "If you know what's good for you, you'll do as I say." Though she spoke not a word, her reply was clear: You can kiss my great wolly arse. Confounded sheep.
Tessa Dare (A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove, #1))
Computers thwart, contort, and befuddle us. We mess around with fonts, change screen backgrounds, slow down or increase mouse speed. We tweak and we piddle. We spend countless hours preparing PowerPoint slides that most people forget in seconds. We generate reports in duplicate and triplicate and then somw that end up serving only one function for most of the recipients - to collect dust.
Jeff Davidson (The Complete Idiot's Guide to Getting Things Done)
In recent years, some of the biggest new drug kingpins can't be successfully prosecuted. The Pablo Escobars of today are coming out of China, and they don't have to worry about being imprisoned by their government. They can operate free and in the clear, within the boundaries of their country's own laws. Whenever a deadly new drug is made illegal in China, manufacturers simply tweak its chemical structure and start producing a new drug that is still legal. Many fentanyl analogues and cannabinoids have been made this way.
Ben Westhoff (Fentanyl, Inc.: How Rogue Chemists Are Creating the Deadliest Wave of the Opioid Epidemic)
Whether it means prizing the value of lessons learned, building games into your creative process, or getting gifts upon certain milestones of achievement, self-derived rewards make a big difference…You cannot ignore or completely escape the deeply ingrained short-term reward system within you. But you can become aware of what really motivates you and then tweak your incentives to sustain your long-term pursuits.
Scott Belsky (Making Ideas Happen: Overcoming the Obstacles Between Vision and Reality)
Guilt wants to cover all the bases, be everywhere at once, reach into the past to tweak, neaten and repair. Guilt like Tourettic utterance flows uselessly, inelegantly from one helpless human to another, contemptuous of perimeters, doomed to be mistaken or refused on delivery.
Jonathan Lethem (Motherless Brooklyn)
The thing is, though, every time I think I’m just gonna give up—that I can’t possibly do it, that I’m just going to curl up alone somewhere and waste away, well, I always keep trying. I mean, for some reason I manage to make it through another day and then another day after that.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
You’re the smartest girl I know. You can’t help knowing everything and being constantly brilliant—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I kissed her lips again, but after several moments, she pulled back slightly. “Hey,” she murmured. “There are people in the house.” “There are always people in the house,” I reminded her. “That’s why we escaped up here to the castle tower. Escape plan number . . . hell, I don’t know. I lost count. We haven’t had to come up with some dreamy escape plan in a while.” Sydney trailed her fingers down the side of my face. “That’s because we’re living it, Adrian. This is the only escape plan we need.” “Are you sure?” I asked, propping myself up on one elbow. I tried to put on a thoughtful, speculative expression. “Because there are things that could be tweaked. Like a bigger house. Or maybe—” “Adrian,” she interrupted. “Didn’t you just say I’m brilliant and know everything? Then trust me on this.” “Always,” I said, letting her pull me back down to her. “Always.
Richelle Mead (The Ruby Circle (Bloodlines, #6))
Alpha can refer to the first of something," said Kai, "or the beginning of everything. It can be attributed to a particularly powerful or charismatic person, or it can signify the dominant leader in a pack of animals, most notably, of course, wolves." His serious expression tweaked briefly into a teasing smile. "It has meanings in chemistry, physics, and even astronomy, where it describes the brightest star in a constellation. But it seems clear that Ze'ev and Scarlet have created their own definition for the word, and their relationship has given this word a new meaning for all of us. Being an Alpha means that you'll stand against all adversity to be with your mate. It means accepting each other, both of your strengths and your flaws. It means forging your own path to happiness and to love.
Marissa Meyer (Stars Above (The Lunar Chronicles, #4.5))
Still, children seem like empty vessels who pick up on everything and are so affected by their surroundings. I mean, that's what they tell me in therapy and it seems to be true. Stuff I don't consciously remember affects my behavior every day. I see that now
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
There's something about outward appearances that has always been important to me. I always thought I was so ugly. I mean, I really did. I remember... as a little kid and just staring into the mirror for hours. It was like, if I looked long enough, maybe I'd finally be handsome. It never worked. I just got uglier and uglier. Nothing about me ever seemed good enough. And there was this sadness inside me - this hopelessness. Focusing on my physical appearance was at least easier than trying to address the internal shit. I could control the external - at least, to a point. I could buy different clothes, or cut my hair, or whatever. The pit opening up inside me was too frightening to even look at.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
The thought leader, when he or she strips politics from the issue, makes it about actionable tweaks rather than structural change, removing the perpetrators from the story. It is no accident that thought leaders, whose speaking engagements are often paid for by MarketWorld, whose careers are made by MarketWorld, are encouraged to put things that way.
Anand Giridharadas (Winners Take All: The Elite Charade of Changing the World)
It is the same for us all - 'whoever'. I am to deny myself, take up my cross and follow him. Every Christian is called to costly sacrifice. Denying yourself does not mean tweaking your behaviour here and there. It is saying 'no' to your deepest sense of who you are, for the sake of Christ. To take up a cross is to declare your life (as you have known it) forfeit. It is laying down your life for the very reason that your life, it turns out, is not yours at all. It belongs to Jesus. He made it. And through his death he has bought it. Ever since I have been open about my own experiences with homosexuality, a number of Christians have said something like this: 'the gospel must be harder for you than it is for me', as though I have more to give up than they do. But the fact is that the gospel demands everything out of all of us. If someone thinks the gospel has somehow slotted into their life quite easily, without causing any major adjustments to their lifestyle or aspirations, it is likely that they have not really started following Jesus at all.
Sam Allberry (Is God anti-gay?: And other questions about homosexuality, the Bible and same-sex attraction)
Now come,” he said. “Does your Alex love you back, or is he a hopeless idiot?” “He loves me,” she said quietly. “But I’m afraid he’ll stop after we marry. He’ll change his mind. He’ll—” “He’ll love you more. Trust me.” “Really?” She was far too somber. “Really.” He had no words to make her smile, and so Gareth tweaked her nose. And she giggled. It had been a long time since he’d laughed. But despite all those years, he still remembered how. What he’d forgotten was the lightness of his soul when he did so. The moment was perfect.
Courtney Milan (Proof by Seduction (Carhart, #1))
So you think you should just be able to kill yourself and no one should care?... You don't think that your actions are gonna affect other people - the people who love you?
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Again, fix the outsides and maybe my insides won't be such a dark place.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Get your idea down on paper. You can always tweak it later.
Steven Pressfield (Do the Work)
Everything is a drug. Family, art, causes, new shoes... We're all just tweaking our chem to avoid the void.
Joss Whedon
It’s not easy, either psychologically or practically, to keep tweaking the truth to make it all fit together.
Haruki Murakami (1Q84)
You wore what you had the money to buy, and then, if anyone looked down his nose at you, you found a way to tweak that nose—again with the utmost style.
Iris Johansen
Many people have discovered that, when it comes to changing their own behavior, environmental tweaks beat self-control every time.
Chip Heath (Switch: How to Change Things When Change Is Hard)
He reached over and tweaked one of my bumps, then cuffed me on the chin. “You hiding walnuts in there or something?” “Shut up,” I said. I jumped in and swam the length of the pool, hiding my smile underwater. He was a flirt, that was all. What was wrong with that? If Mrs. Masicotte was stupid enough to buy us a pool because he flirted a little, that was her problem, not ours.
Wally Lamb (She's Come Undone)
The problem with problem-solving methods, which all business methodologies are, is that they are abstractions, but the world is not abstract. Real work contains hard parts that no method can dictate for you. No method can capture how and when to abandon the method or tweak it; only a team and its leader can do that. And for a team to do that successfully, they need to trust each other.
Berkun, Scott (The Year Without Pants: WordPress.com and the Future of Work)
For the universe to exist as it does requires that hydrogen be converted to helium in a precise but comparatively stately manner. Tweak the numbers even slightly and we would not be here. Optical
Bill Bryson (A Short History of Nearly Everything)
There is this crazy fear I have of being rejected by anyone - even people I don't really care about. It's always better to leave them first, cut all ties, and disappear. They can't hurt me that way - no one can.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
The way to create something beautiful is often to make subtle tweaks to something that already exists, or to combine existing ideas in a slightly new way. This kind of work is hard to convey in a research paper.
Paul Graham (Hackers and Painters: Big Ideas from the Computer Age)
We have a different tale to tell. Pay attention. We've tweaked minor details. We've completely rearranged major details. Some names have been changed to protect the innocent (or not-so-innocent, or simply because we thought a name was terrible and we liked another name better). And we've added a touch of magic to keep things interesting. So really anything could happen. This is how we think Jane's story should have gone.
Cynthia Hand (My Lady Jane (The Lady Janies, #1))
But, when I was growing up, the one thing that did help me not to feel so isolated and crazy was reading - especially books by authors who fearlessly examined and exposed their highly imperfect inner lives. Books like "Confessions of a Mask" by Yukio Mishima; "Tropic of Cancer" by Henry Miller; "Try" by Dennis Cooper; and, of course, the works of authors like Bukowski, Salinger, Hesse, Bataille, Iceberg Slim, and Murakami. These writers revealed the things that existed beneath most humans' seemingly secure and confident exteriors. I suddenly realized, after reading their work, that I wasn't unique - that my doubts and fears and insecurities were more universal that I could've ever imagined. Their words gave me strength. They have me permission to start trying to accept my flaws, my darkness, my insanity. They let me know that it was okay not to fit in with everyone else - to be a sensitive person - and that others struggled just like I did. It was such a relief when I finally began to understand this. It was like I could breathe - maybe for the first time.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
I would like to tell about war and friendship among the various parts of the body, the arms that do battle with the feet, and the veins that make love with the arteries, or the bones with the marrow. All the stories I would like to write persecute me. When I am in my chamber, it seems as if they are all around me, like little devils, and while one tugs at my ear, another tweaks my nose, and each says to me, 'Sir, write me, I am beautiful.' Then I realize that an equally beautiful story can be told, inventing an original duel, for example, a man fighting and convincing his adversary to deny God, then running him through so that he dies damned....
Umberto Eco (The Island of the Day Before)
Sure, I buried it. I buried it and buried it and turned away from everything light and sweet and delicate and lovely and became so scared and scarred and burdened and fucked up. But that goodness is there, inside - it must be.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
I guess I just struggle with belonging to any organization. I always feel like I should be able to do it on my own. My ego tells me I'm better than all this... I want to rebel against it, though of course, I don't really have any options.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Your life is written in indelible ink. There's no going back to erase the past, tweak your mistakes, or fill in missed opportunities. When the moment's over, your fate is sealed. But if look closer, you notice the ink never really dries on any our experiences. They can change their meaning the longer you look at them. Klexos. There are ways of thinking about the past that aren't just nostalgia or regret. A kind of questioning that enriches an experience after the fact. To dwell on the past is to allow fresh context to trickle in over the years, and fill out the picture; to keep the memory alive, and not just as a caricature of itself. So you can look fairly at a painful experience, and call it by its name. Time is the most powerful force in the universe. It can turn a giant into someone utterly human, just trying to make their way through. Or tell you how you really felt about someone, even if you couldn't at the time. It can put your childhood dreams in context with adult burdens or turn a universal consensus into an embarrassing fad. It can expose cracks in a relationship that once seemed perfect. Or keep a friendship going by thoughts alone, even if you'll never see them again. It can flip your greatest shame into the source of your greatest power, or turn a jolt of pride into something petty, done for the wrong reasons, or make what felt like the end of the world look like a natural part of life. The past is still mostly a blank page, so we may be doomed to repeat it. But it's still worth looking into if it brings you closer to the truth. Maybe it's not so bad to dwell in the past, and muddle in the memories, to stem the simplification of time, and put some craft back into it. Maybe we should think of memory itself as an art form, in which the real work begins as soon as the paint hits the canvas. And remember that a work of art is never finished, only abandoned.
The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows
Shh, kitten,” he whispered in English once more, nuzzling her temple, mouth open and hot against her ear. “Trust me.” His palms curved beneath her breasts, lifting them as his blunt fingertips tweaked her nipples expertly enough to have slickness gathering between her clenched thighs. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever touched. Une ange, bébé.” He groaned quietly as he caught her earlobe between his teeth. “Je t’adore,” he muttered, thrusting against her backside.
Edie Harris (The Corrupt Comte (The Bourbon Boys Quartet, #1))
The worst possible thing you can do when you’re down in the dumps, tweaking, vaporous with victimized self-righteousness, or bored, is to take a walk with dying friends. They will ruin everything for you. First of all, friends like this may not even think of themselves as dying, although they clearly are, according to recent scans and gentle doctors’ reports. But no, they see themselves as fully alive. They are living and doing as much as they can, as well as they can, for as long as they can. They ruin your multitasking high, the bath of agitation, rumination, and judgment you wallow in, without the decency to come out and just say anything. They bust you by being grateful for the day, while you are obsessed with how thin your lashes have become and how wide your bottom.
Anne Lamott (Small Victories: Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace)
For ninety minutes, I was transported into another life, another reality, another character. Basically, it let me be someone that I wasn't. It allowed me to travel, to be a part of different cultures, different world views, different societies. Plus there are all the elements of movies: music, visuals, writing, and acting. In some ways it is the perfect art form. It is the culmination of all mediums.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Therefore, we read the Bible selectively. We pick a text here and there to fit our felt needs. This is like a doctor who forgets how to write prescriptions for the best antibiotics because every- body seems healthy, and he has spent the last decades tweaking good health with hip-hop exercise videos, unaware that pestilence is at the door. It’s like the soldier who forgets how to use his weapons because the times seem peaceful, and he has spent the last decades doing relief work and teaching the children how to play games.
John Piper (Spectacular Sins: And Their Global Purpose in the Glory of Christ)
So many people, including myself, talk at each other but don’t listen. To ourselves or to other people. Believe in actively listening to yourself. Take time to have a conversation with yourself every now and again. What’s working? What could maybe use a little tweaking?
Chrissy Metz (This Is Me)
A burst of high-frequency TMS pulses applied over Broca’s area on the left side would shut down the ability to speak, Shirley told me. This wasn’t what they were doing in the autism study—what they proposed was a much subtler tweaking. But I was intrigued by her comment and didn’t let it go. “Did you actually try it yourself?” I asked her. It turned out that she had—in fact, quite a few of the researchers, as part of their training to work in the lab, had experienced the speech-suppression TMS. They offered to show me what it felt like.
John Elder Robison (Switched On: A Memoir of Brain Change and Emotional Awakening)
It would not be such a terrible thing to raise another generation of citizens like them. The old model, with a few tweaks, is worth following: passion and commitment, but also knowledge and argument. Curiosity about the world outside your own head and about people unlike yourself. Care for this country and its citizens, all of them, and a willingness to sacrifice for them. And the ambition to imagine a common future for all of us. Any parent or educator who teaches these things is engaged in political work—the work of building citizens.
Mark Lilla (The Once and Future Liberal: After Identity Politics)
The government regulates them, or chooses not to, approves or blocks their mergers and acquisitions, and sets their tax policies (often turning a blind eye to the billions parked in offshore tax havens). This is why tech companies, like the rest of corporate America, inundate Washington with lobbyists and quietly pour hundreds of millions of dollars in contributions into the political system. Now they’re gaining the wherewithal to fine-tune our political behavior—and with it the shape of American government—just by tweaking their algorithms.
Cathy O'Neil (Weapons of Math Destruction: How Big Data Increases Inequality and Threatens Democracy)
It's like that story of the father whose son breaks his leg. The villagers come up and say, 'Your son broke his leg, what bad luck.' but the father replies, 'Good luck, bad luck, who knows?' Then there's a war and all the young men in the village must fight. There is a terrible battle and most everyone is killed - except for the man's son who couldn't fight because he broke his leg. So the villagers come up to him and say, 'What good luck, your son didn't have to fight and now he is alive.' But the father replies, 'Good luck, bad luck, who knows?
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
You’d better not let Galbatorix get the better of you, or I’ll be honor-bound to march in after you.” “We’ll be careful,” Eragon said with a smile. “I should hope so, because I doubt I could do much more than tweak Galbatorix on the nose.” That I would like to see, said Saphira.
Christopher Paolini (Inheritance (The Inheritance Cycle, #4))
You've got to seduce the brain throughout a King Weekend, appease it, and occasionally confound it. The brain is so commanding, confident that every thought has always been right, is right, will be right, that tweaking a man's heart has no chance of success if the brain isn't distracted.
Edmond Manning (King Perry (The Lost and Founds, #1))
When your mama was the geek, my dreamlets,' Papa would say, 'she made the nipping off of noggins such a crystal mystery that the hens themselves yearned toward her, waltzing around her, hypnotized with longing. "Spread your lips, sweet Lil," they'd cluck, "and show us your choppers!"' This same Crystal Lil, our star-haired mama, sitting snug on the built-in sofa that was Arty's bed at night, would chuckle at the sewing in her lap and shake her head. 'Don't piffle to the children, Al. Those hens ran like whiteheads.' Nights on the road this would be, between shows and towns in some campground or pull-off, with the other vans and trucks and trailers of Binewski's Carnival Fabulon ranged up around us, safe in our portable village. After supper, sitting with full bellies in the lamp glow, we Binewskis were supposed to read and study. But if it rained the story mood would sneak up on Papa. The hiss and tick on the metal of our big living van distracted him from his papers. Rain on a show night was catastrophe. Rain on the road meant talk, which, for Papa, was pure pleasure. 'It's a shame and a pity, Lil,' he'd say, 'that these offspring of yours should only know the slumming summer geeks from Yale.' 'Princeton, dear,' Mama would correct him mildly. 'Randall will be a sophomore this fall. I believe he's our first Princeton boy.' We children would sense our story slipping away to trivia. Arty would nudge me and I'd pipe up with, 'Tell about the time when Mama was the geek!' and Arty and Elly and Iphy and Chick would all slide into line with me on the floor between Papa's chair and Mama. Mama would pretend to be fascinated by her sewing and Papa would tweak his swooping mustache and vibrate his tangled eyebrows, pretending reluctance. 'WellIll . . .' he'd begin, 'it was a long time ago . . .' 'Before we were born!' 'Before . . .' he'd proclaim, waving an arm in his grandest ringmaster style, 'before I even dreamed you, my dreamlets!' 'I was still Lillian Hinchcliff in those days,' mused Mama. 'And when your father spoke to me, which was seldom and reluctantly, he called me "Miss." ' 'Miss!' we would giggle. Papa would whisper to us loudly, as though Mama couldn't hear, 'Terrified! I was so smitten I'd stutter when I tried to talk to her. "M-M-M-Miss . . ." I'd say.' We'd giggle helplessly at the idea of Papa, the GREAT TALKER, so flummoxed. 'I, of course, addressed your father as Mister Binewski.
Katherine Dunn (Geek Love)
The trouble with psychics is that they convince you that you get this future no matter what you do. It is as though you can cheat the universe out of your experiences, that you need only tweak something here or there to live happily ever after. It allows for spiritual sloth in the certainty of providence.
Thomm Quackenbush (Pagan Standard Times: Essays on the Craft)
Ecstatic technology isn't limited to silicon chips and display screens. As John Lilly's early research established, it's the knowledge of how to tweak the knobs and levers in our brain. When we get it right, it produces those invaluable sensations of selflessness, timelessness, effortlessness, and richness.
Steven Kotler (Stealing Fire: How Silicon Valley, the Navy SEALs, and Maverick Scientists Are Revolutionizing the Way We Live and Work)
You need to eat more." (...) "Then I'd get fat, and you wouldn't like me." Johnny tweaked her nose in teasing response and shifted her into a more comfortable position with her back against his chest. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and his arms hugged her waist before they were settled to his satisfaction. Rachel, spellbound, cast a sideways glance up and back to find that his eyes on her face were as bright and hot as the clear August sky overhead. "You still don't get it, do you, teacher? I'd like you any way I could get you, any way at all. Besides, I bet you'd be cute fat. A little round dumpling.
Karen Robards (One Summer)
I learned to move silently in the background, a dirty, neglected little kid with no voice, no wants, and who made no trouble so as not to call the wrath of the eight or so tweaking adults who lived there down on me. I drifted, faded, and became a listless, ghostlike scavenger who took what she could get. I lived mostly in my head and for a while actually convinced myself that I was a survivor of one of those catastrophic earthquakes or tornadoes I used to see on the Weather Channel,a dazed, bewildered, and emotionless girl picking her way through an endless landscape of foul and stinking rubble to try and come out on the other side.
Laura Wiess (Ordinary Beauty)
Everything is working out, he keeps saying. For the first time, I'm not so sure. I think back to my life sober - working, getting up early to go on bike rides and shit, going to movies. I haven't looked at a newspaper in over two weeks. There could be a new war going on and I'd have no idea. But this is the life I want to live, right? I mean, I'm happier.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
I felt like everyone else had gotten this instruction manual that explained life to them, but somehow I'd just missed it.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Hey, man, helping you is how I stay alive. Never forget that.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Isn't that the greatest gift in the world - just not to care? I feel so grateful for it.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
They don't have to struggle like I do - or maybe that's just me comparing my goddamn insides to everyone else's outsides.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Trying is terrifying because I know I will just fail. But I do want things to be different. I do...I am so afraid. I'm afraid to hope again.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
While part of the strategy of the demonic is to deceive us into believing lies about ourselves, the other part is trying to get us to believe those lies about others. I don’t know why we feel the compulsion to condemn. May-be it makes us feel better about ourselves or our sense of justice becomes tweaked by our own wounds. Whatever the reason, this is not how God treats people. He
Blake K. Healy (The Veil)
In a nutshell, Blue Ocean Strategy is about creating completely new industries through fundamental differentiation as opposed to competing in existing industries by tweaking established models. Rather than outdoing competitors in terms of traditional performance metrics, Kim and Mauborgne advocate creating new, uncontested market space through what the authors call value innovation.
Alexander Osterwalder (Business Model Generation: A Handbook for Visionaries, Game Changers, and Challengers)
It was all by design, as he said later. Angry fighters don’t think clearly. They don’t stick to their plans. They get frustrated, sloppy. Clay knew that Liston was sensitive about his image, that he yearned for respect, and so Clay worked to deny him that respect. By labeling Liston an ugly bear, Clay was tweaking his opponent’s most sensitive nerve and perhaps using racism to do it,
Jonathan Eig (Ali: A Life)
Her concerned gaze skimmed over him. "Are you able to move much?" Now we're talking. "The hips work just fine, honey. Course, it'd probably be easier if you did all the-- hey, c'mon now, Luna, I was just teasing." He barely managed to hold in his laugh. "Don't storm away." She pivoted on her heel and stomped back toward him. Joe braced himself, waiting for the blast of her ire. She surprised him by drawing a deep breath, then another. And one more. He sighed. She was such a volatile, passionate woman, which made tweaking her temper fun. He raised a brow. "Got control of yourself?" She gave a sharp nod. The little liar. She wanted to bludgeon him. "Good." He patted the side of the bed next to his hip. "So tell me about this 'needing me' stuff. I'm all ears.
Lori Foster (Say No To Joe? (Visitation, North Carolina, #1))
His lips fell back against mine and in the blink of an eye, our bathing suits were shed. He fisted my hair and tilted my head off to the side, nibbling down my neck as he sucked marks against my skin. I felt my pussy heating for him. I felt my toes curling as he kissed down the valley of my breasts. He cupped them forcefully, massaging and tweaking my puckered peaks as I moaned and squealed and whimpered. “Teo,” I whispered. He growled. “Already so wet for me.” He slid two fingers inside of my body and my back arched dangerously. He crooked them against that pebbled spot as his thumb slid against my clit, and already I felt my ending approaching. I fisted the bed sheets as he pumped his dexterous fingers, tickling that sweet spot that made my eyes widen and my jaw unhinge with silent pleasure. An unearthly drone bubbled up the back of my throat as my orgasm crashed over me. But, nothing felt even remotely wonderful compared to the feeling of his cock sliding between my legs. “Holy fuck,” he growled. He pinned my wrists above my head and pounded against my body. My tits jumped for his viewing pleasure as he planted his knees into the mattress. My legs locked around him as I opened myself up for his assault. His thick dick, sliding against my walls as they clamped around him. My body, puckering at every movement and every sound he graced me with. All I knew was pleasure. All I understood was his presence. And the only name that came to mind as my second orgasm approached was his name. “Teo! Holy shit!” I exclaimed. He grunted. “Come for me. Squeeze that tight little pussy ar—ound—oh, shit.” He slowed his movements long enough to work me through an ecstasy that crashed so hard against my body that my vision tunneled. My body shook and tensed. Contracted and released. Then finally, my back collapsed to the bed. I felt physically spent until Teo’s dick slid from between my legs. And automatically, I missed him.
Callie Vincent (Monster (Sold to the Don, #1))
The strange brew of neurotransmitters that had encouraged the bike-activist fantasy sloshed up against some limiting mechanism and began to recede; the recipe was tweaked, and chemicals brushed past one another, exchanging glances, methyl groups. Leo started the process, which would increase in period and intensity throughout the day, of telling himself that he was a loser and a failure.
David Shafer (Whiskey Tango Foxtrot)
And so you were in here, chatting with God?" Bruce stared at her face, studying her features in minute detail. His voice dropped to a soft, velvety whisper. "I wanted to thank Him for my many blessings." The burning of her eyes increased. She would not cry like some ninny just because Bruce was happy. He was a devout and wonderful person who always looked to the bright side. Knowing that prompted her to say, "You're such a good man, Bruce." "I'm a fortunate man, in many, many ways." He made a grand gesture toward the glass blocks. "It's a beautiful, sunny day, and my very own church is almost complete." "It is shaping up. Everyone will like it." His thumb moved to her bottom lip with a teasing, gentle touch. "Good friends surround me, and I enjoy good health." "All things you deserve." He smiled. "And I've been given the greatest gift of all." "What's that?" He laughed, tweaked her chin. "You." "Me?" He slowly nodded. "God's given me a lot. But best of all, He's given me you." He took her mouth in a long, toe-curling, stomach-tightening kiss, and in a husky rumble: "I'll be thinking Him every day for the rest of my life." -Bruce and Cyn
Lori Foster (When Bruce Met Cyn... (Visitation, North Carolina, #3))
And that leaves you with an interesting choice... Do you sacrifice you own happiness and feelings of peace in order to have this relationship, or do you start to get well and choose a real life...?
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Strength by itself is just bullying, capitulation by itself is an invitation to get fucked; only mixed strategies survive. Everything is personal, but they know that too. They can smell pandering like a fart. If you treat them like they’re a treasure box where if you just tweak them the right way, the policy you want falls out, you’re already fucked. They’ll misjudge you, so be ready to use that.
James S.A. Corey (Babylon's Ashes (Expanse, #6))
I acknowledge the challenge of believing in a supernatural divinity. After all, in the natural a rock is a rock; a desk is a desk; my skin is my skin. Or are they? That rock you pick up and feel on your skin and place on the desk is 99.9% empty space—between atoms; as is your skin and the desk. So, perhaps it is our perception of the natural or “real” world that needs tweaking, not the supernatural.
Charles F. Glassman (Brain Drain The Breakthrough That Will Change Your Life)
With making changes, the difficult part of trying to implement a new way, idea or thought, is getting people to believe the effect of your notion, and have them believe in themselves of adapting to something new.
Anthony Liccione
I appeared before him now, he had no such honeyed terms as “love” and “darling” on his lips: the best words at my service were “provoking puppet,” “malicious elf,” “sprite,” “changeling,” &c.  For caresses, too, I now got grimaces; for a pressure of the hand, a pinch on the arm; for a kiss on the cheek, a severe tweak of the ear.  It was all right: at present I decidedly preferred these fierce favours to anything more tender. 
Charlotte Brontë (Jane Eyre)
Antidepression medication is temperamental. Somewhere around fifty-nine or sixty I noticed the drug I’d been taking seemed to have stopped working. This is not unusual. The drugs interact with your body chemistry in different ways over time and often need to be tweaked. After the death of Dr. Myers, my therapist of twenty-five years, I’d been seeing a new doctor whom I’d been having great success with. Together we decided to stop the medication I’d been on for five years and see what would happen... DEATH TO MY HOMETOWN!! I nose-dived like the diving horse at the old Atlantic City steel pier into a sloshing tub of grief and tears the likes of which I’d never experienced before. Even when this happens to me, not wanting to look too needy, I can be pretty good at hiding the severity of my feelings from most of the folks around me, even my doctor. I was succeeding well with this for a while except for one strange thing: TEARS! Buckets of ’em, oceans of ’em, cold, black tears pouring down my face like tidewater rushing over Niagara during any and all hours of the day. What was this about? It was like somebody opened the floodgates and ran off with the key. There was NO stopping it. 'Bambi' tears... 'Old Yeller' tears... 'Fried Green Tomatoes' tears... rain... tears... sun... tears... I can’t find my keys... tears. Every mundane daily event, any bump in the sentimental road, became a cause to let it all hang out. It would’ve been funny except it wasn’t. Every meaningless thing became the subject of a world-shattering existential crisis filling me with an awful profound foreboding and sadness. All was lost. All... everything... the future was grim... and the only thing that would lift the burden was one-hundred-plus on two wheels or other distressing things. I would be reckless with myself. Extreme physical exertion was the order of the day and one of the few things that helped. I hit the weights harder than ever and paddleboarded the equivalent of the Atlantic, all for a few moments of respite. I would do anything to get Churchill’s black dog’s teeth out of my ass. Through much of this I wasn’t touring. I’d taken off the last year and a half of my youngest son’s high school years to stay close to family and home. It worked and we became closer than ever. But that meant my trustiest form of self-medication, touring, was not at hand. I remember one September day paddleboarding from Sea Bright to Long Branch and back in choppy Atlantic seas. I called Jon and said, “Mr. Landau, book me anywhere, please.” I then of course broke down in tears. Whaaaaaaaaaa. I’m surprised they didn’t hear me in lower Manhattan. A kindly elderly woman walking her dog along the beach on this beautiful fall day saw my distress and came up to see if there was anything she could do. Whaaaaaaaaaa. How kind. I offered her tickets to the show. I’d seen this symptom before in my father after he had a stroke. He’d often mist up. The old man was usually as cool as Robert Mitchum his whole life, so his crying was something I loved and welcomed. He’d cry when I’d arrive. He’d cry when I left. He’d cry when I mentioned our old dog. I thought, “Now it’s me.” I told my doc I could not live like this. I earned my living doing shows, giving interviews and being closely observed. And as soon as someone said “Clarence,” it was going to be all over. So, wisely, off to the psychopharmacologist he sent me. Patti and I walked in and met a vibrant, white-haired, welcoming but professional gentleman in his sixties or so. I sat down and of course, I broke into tears. I motioned to him with my hand; this is it. This is why I’m here. I can’t stop crying! He looked at me and said, “We can fix this.” Three days and a pill later the waterworks stopped, on a dime. Unbelievable. I returned to myself. I no longer needed to paddle, pump, play or challenge fate. I didn’t need to tour. I felt normal.
Bruce Springsteen (Born to Run)
Let’s face it: The “genius” stuff happens in the editing process. Most successful writers go through a tedious process of drafting and shaping their content to get something worth sharing. How do they do this? They write every day. They write a thousand terrible words to find a hundred words worth using. They share their work with a close friend. They edit, tweak, and then ship. But they have to have something to start the process with. And so do you.
Jeff Goins (You Are A Writer (So Start Acting Like One))
I was thinking of how sometimes, trying to say the right thing to people, it's like some kind of brain surgery, and you have to tweak exactly the right part of the lobe. except with talking, it's more like brain surgery with old, rusted skewers and things, and maybe like those things you use to eat lobster, but brown. And you have to get exactly the right place, and you're touching around in the brain, But the patient, she keeps jumping and saying ow.
M.T. Anderson (Feed)
humans find the sweet spot sandwiched between “too easy” and “too difficult” irresistible. It’s the land of just-challenging-enough computer games, financial targets, work ambitions, social media objectives, and fitness goals. Addictive experiences live in this sweet spot, where stopping rules crumble before obsessive goal-setting. Tech mavens, game developers, and product designers tweak their wares to ensure their complexity escalates as users gain insight and competence.
Adam Alter (Irresistible: The Rise of Addictive Technology and the Business of Keeping Us Hooked)
We ache for this feeling, but it’s everywhere. Booze, drugs, sex, sport, art, prayer, music, meditation, virtual reality. Kids, hyperventilating, spinning in circles, feel oneness. Why William James called it the basic lesson of expanded consciousness—just tweak a few knobs and levers in the brain and bam. So the drop, the comedown, it’s not that we miss oneness once it’s gone; it’s that we suddenly can’t feel what we actually know is there. Phantom limb syndrome for the soul.
Steven Kotler (Last Tango in Cyberspace)
And I have this, for now. I just wish I could figure out how to keep my fucking mind from going all over the place - dwelling on all the loss and pain and everything I'VE DONE - then jumping off into the future to how impossible it all seems.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
IT MAY LOOK FUNKY, BUT THE TWIGGLER HACKED THROUGH LUMENARIA’S SECURITY AND HELPED SAVE THE GNOMES! FIRST: THIS IS A PANIC SWITCH—NOT A BORING COGNATE RING. IT ALSO SAVED SOPHIE’S LIFE TWICE. AND IT WORKS SO WELL THAT I’VE BEEN MAKING THEM FOR EVERYONE I CARE ABOUT! THE EVADER MAKES IT SUPER EASY TO HACK INTO THINGS LIKE THE REGISTRY—AND IT LEAVES NO TRACE THAT I WAS THERE! (WELL, UNLESS I CHANGE STUFF…) NOW I JUST NEED TO MAKE A FEW TWEAKS SO I CAN BYPASS THE SECURITY ON CERTAIN FILES.
Shannon Messenger (Unlocked (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #8.5))
A condition?" Her eyebrows crinkled together, and Rafe could all but see little cogs turning behind them. "Is it..." She lowered her voice. "Is it serious?" "Sadly, yes. Possibly fatal." She covered her gasp with both hands. Because, apparently, one hand wouldn't have been dramatic enough. "No. But surely something can be done. What is it?" "I don't know. I was unconscious when the doctor saw me. Lord Rafe can explain it better." Bruiser nudged him in the ribs. "Go on, then. Tell her the whole story of my malady. In detail. With all the particulars. What did that German doctor call it?" Rafe gave her a single, unembroidered word. "Syphilis." The lady's maid turned a pale shade of green. She began backing away in small steps. "I just came to say Miss Whitmore is looking for you, my lord." With that, she dropped a frantic curtsy and fled. The moment she was out of sight, Bruiser tweaked his ear. "You bloody jackass." "What are you complaining about? I lied. She believed me.
Tessa Dare (Say Yes to the Marquess (Castles Ever After, #2))
Leopold was not even interested in hurting, and was only tweaking her petals off or her wings off with the intention of exploring himself. His dispassionateness was more dire, to Henrietta, than cruelty. With no banal reassuring grown-ups present, with grown-up intervention taken away, there is no limit to the terror strange children feel of each other, a terror life obscures but never ceases to justify. There is no end to the violations committed by children on children, quietly talking alone.
Elizabeth Bowen (The House in Paris)
Have you noticed,” he said conversationally, “that your right breast is a bit larger than the left?” Susanna was sure her cheeks must be glowing in the dark, her blush came so fast and fierce. “They’re my breasts. Of course I’ve noticed.” And I’ve only been self-conscious about it all my adult life, thank you very much. “It’s like they have two different personalities. One’s generous and nurturing.” He lifted the other. “And the other . . . it’s saucy, isn’t it? It wants a tweak.” He gave her left nipple a pinch.
Tessa Dare (A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove, #1))
The only thing that ever really gives us any genuine satisfaction is caring for other people. It doesn't matter how popular we are or anything. The only thing that actually makes life more fulfilling is our love for others... And the results speak for themselves.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
As long as you look for someone else to validate who you are by seeking their approval, you are setting yourself up for disaster. You have to be whole and complete in yourself. No one can give you that. You have to know who you are - what others say is irrelevant.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
I am absolutely positive they’re wrong.” “Why?” “Because you belong to me, that’s why.” She swept out her free hand. “We’re perfect for each other. I love you. Why do you need arcanematch.com? What’s that woman they claim they found for you got that I don’t have?” The dangerous energy that had swirled around him shifted with disconcerting abruptness into sensual hunger. “Interesting question,” he said. “The answer is nothing. Zero. Zip. Nada. She’s got absolutely nothing that I don’t have. Don’t bother to set up a date with her because there will be three of us there and I don’t think she’s going to feel real comfortable chatting with me, do you?” “Don’t know,” he said. “It would certainly make for an unusual first date.” “Skip the snappy repartee. I am dead serious, Jake Salter Jones.” His mouth tweaked up at the corners. Heat burned in his eyes. “About me?” “About you. And me. We’re a match. Can’t you see that?” “Yes.” “What’s more, there’s no frickin’ way those arcanematch.com people could have found anyone who will love you more than I do.
Jayne Ann Krentz (White Lies (Arcane Society, #2))
While Trip’s looking for a place to stay, I was hoping maybe you would let me stay at your apartment.” She holds her breath, waiting for my response. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask again. But this time I wrap my arms around her while I do it and spin her around. She giggles against me, and I can feel the movement of it in her belly. She doesn’t try to push me away the way she did with Trip earlier when he tried this move on her. Of course, he wasn’t the happiest man in the whole fucking world when he did it. I guess that matters. “Of course you can stay with me.” I tweak her nose. “Silly woman.” I want her with me every minute of every day. “Your brothers won’t mind?” she asks. “They’ll be ecstatic,” I say. I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “They’ve missed you.” “Does your apartment smell like sweaty socks and stale pizza?” she asks. I grimace. It probably does. I hold my finger and thumb an inch apart. “Maybe a little bit.” She cuddles into me, wrapping her arms around my waist. She says something against my chest, but I can’t see her lips. I tip her face up. “What?” I ask. “I love you,” she says.
Tammy Falkner (Smart, Sexy and Secretive (The Reed Brothers, #2))
opting to complain, life gives you things to complain about this vicious circle ensures your happiness drought life responds to us according to our actions and belief thus reinforcing those beliefs to no relief there is no first cause—still, break the cycle abide in peaceful Silence or experience an inner hell “others” are often a reflecting mirror shining back revealing to us what loads are left to unstack what are friends for but a means to practice kindness and for fortifying the ego’s belief in disconnectedness people cater to me according to my own nature so they are me—there is no individual self, rest assured tweak your thoughts about her and she then treats you thus all minds are one, and all is illusory, as priorly discussed she is you, and you, her the shroud of separateness shall now henceforth wither look back at your life’s recurring patterns and themes and the façade of the ego will start to crack at the seams untranscended mindsets follow wherever we go the common denominator is what your mind has sown that which supports life is automatically supported the get-gain-obtain mentality can be safely aborted
Jarett Sabirsh (Love All-Knowing: An Epic Spiritual Poem)
great. This is a good description of Rovio, which was around for six years and underwent layoffs before the “instant” success of the Angry Birds video game franchise. In the case of the Five Guys restaurant chain, the founders spent fifteen years tweaking their original handful of restaurants in Virginia, finding the right bun bakery, the right number of times to shake the french fries before serving, how best to assemble a burger, and where to source their potatoes before expanding nationwide. Most businesses require a complex network of relationships to function, and these relationships take time to build. In many instances you have to be around for a few years to receive consistent recognition. It takes time to develop connections with investors, suppliers, and vendors. And it takes time for staff and founders to gain effectiveness in their roles and become a strong team.* So, yes, the bar is high when you want to start a company. You’ll have the chance to work on something you own and care about from day to day. You’ll be 100 percent engaged and motivated, and doing something you believe in. You can lead an integrated life, as opposed to a compartmentalized one in which you play a role in an office and then try to forget about it when you get home. You can define an organization, not the other way around. But even if you quit your job, hunker down for years, work hard for uncertain reward, and ask everyone you know for help, there’s still a great chance that your new business will not succeed. Over 50 percent of companies fail within their first three years.2 There’s a quote I like from an unknown source: “Entrepreneurship is living a few years of your life like most people won’t, so that you can spend the rest of your life like most people can’t.
Andrew Yang (Smart People Should Build Things: How to Restore Our Culture of Achievement, Build a Path for Entrepreneurs, and Create New Jobs in America)
You snuck past me, didn’t you?” Ian accused. “I knew I hadn’t gone to sleep.” Sam understood what Ian was doing: giving Ryland time to assimilate the danger to his son and come to terms with it. He deliberately drew attention away from their leader. “Many times, as a matter of fact,” Azami said, willing to sacrifice herself so that Ryland could take a moment to recover and hold his child close. “I tweaked your chin once.” Ian rubbed his chin, glaring at her. “You did. I felt it. A draft hit me and it felt like someone pulled a hair from my chin.” “I was red and I couldn’t resist. You really need to shave,” Azami pointed out. “What’s with that little red fuzz on your chin anyway? Is it some sort of statement I don’t understand?” “Statement?” Ian flared, stroking the tiny little red vee on his chin. “This is manly, woman. Don’t you know that?” Azami gave a slight bow, lowering her lashes and chin demurely, but not before Sam caught the sparkle in her eyes. “Forgive me, Ian, I did not know a man of your stature needed fuzz to be manly. I can only plead ignorance of this custom.” The men snickered and nudged Ian, Tucker reaching out to touch the red fuzz. Ian punched his arm away.
Christine Feehan (Samurai Game (Ghostwalkers, #10))
It's like the world's gravitational pull has just lessened tenfold. Everything trapped in me, rushing in and out like the ocean against a jetty - pounding over and over, trying to crush the breaker wall with each rhythmic explosion - has finally been taken away. I cry for that and I'm not sure what else.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Act normal, the Russo girl had said. And so Eli tried again. Started fresh. It wasn’t a perfect imitation, not by far. But it was an improvement. The children at this new house still called him names, but the names had changed. Timid, quiet, weirdo had been replaced by strange, curious, intense. Soon came another family, and another chance. Another opportunity to reinvent, to modify, to adjust aspects of that act. Eli tested his theater on the families as if they were an audience, and used their feedback, the immediate, constant feedback, to tweak his performance. Slowly strange, curious, intense had been refined, honed into charming, focused, clever.
V.E. Schwab (Vengeful (Villains, #2))
And though I have done many shameful things, I am not ashamed of who I am. I am not ashamed of who I am because I know who I am. I have tried to rip myself open and expose everything inside - accepting my weaknesses and strengths - not trying to be anyone else. 'Cause that never works, does it? So my challenge is to be authentic.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Often I’m convinced that I have no idea what they’re on about during the meetings. But without my realising it some part of my mind is taking it all in. I go back to my office, look at the notes and they still don’t mean much, if anything – and I have a massive panic! But then I concentrate on the agreement and all of a sudden I start tweaking things, playing with the clauses, moving words around until it all fits … you know, creating a new exception here, or a new proviso there, a few new definitions … and it always ends up alright. Then sometimes I get all this praise for having shown such a focused approach, but in truth I never know quite what happened!
Tom Vaughan MacAulay (Being Simon Haines)
As a minister of the Lord in whatever way the Lord decides to use you and with the gifts he gives you for the work, there is the tendency to start idolizing the work itself or the gifts that you forget it is the father who gave it to you. Who picked you up and dusted you from nothing and adorned you. You forget and make the work a god before him. Exodus 20:3 "You shall have no other gods before me". ----- This can be very subtle especially for social media ministry. You begin to love your social image over the word of God. You begin to dampen and tweak the word of God to appeal to a wider audience. You're suddenly no longer about the raw truth of the gospel. As the followers and likes increase you begin to get more and more addicted to the fruit of the works and the response to YOUR messages and posts. If a post doesn't do too well and get many likes and comments you are not happy. It hurts you deeply. That is how you know It has become about you. ------ If this is you and this message has touched your heart, if this post is like a mirror to your face, go back to God and ask for forgiveness. Ask God to forgive you for elevating yourself and your work as a god before him and return back to when it was just about loving him and preaching the good news. You probably may have noticed you lost the fire of inspiration you used to have at the beginning. This is why.
Daniel Friday Danzor
The sun's still keeping the sky somewhat colored, even though it's already gone down beyond the horizon. There are strips of patterned pinks and oranges layered up like sideways colored bars. A Los Angeles sunset, made beautiful by a screen of haze, pollution, and trash. It says a lot about this city. It says a lot about the people who live here.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
I would tell you the safe procedure to avoid lightning strikes while on an exposed ridge, but I see no reason you should not learn it as I did. If you get tweaked by God's long electric fingers, I can hardly be to blame. You are a fat-assed nerd anyway, without a pistol within reach and incapable of running more than three miles without the last rites. You, fart-brain, are a reader, and the only thing I despise more is a writer, who simply ought to announce himself a public masturbator and be done with it. But I am telling my story, you are listening, and so we have a truce, if not respect. I am a writer, you a reader, and if there were a God, he might be amused to have mercy on our souls. Or piss on them. In long electric streaks.
Howard McCord (The Man Who Walked to the Moon: A Novella)
night.” “Sometimes, yes,” Meggie had said. “But it only works for children.” Which made Mo tweak her nose. Mo. Meggie had never called her father anything else. That night—when so much began and so many things changed forever—Meggie had one of her favorite books under her pillow, and since the rain wouldn’t let her sleep she sat up, rubbed the drowsiness from her eyes, and took it out. Its pages rustled promisingly when she opened it. Meggie thought this first whisper sounded a little different from one book to another, depending on whether or not she already knew the story it was going to tell her. But she needed light. She had a box of matches hidden in the drawer of her bedside table. Mo had forbidden her to light candles at night. He didn’t like fire. “Fire devours books,” he always said, but she was twelve years old, she surely could be trusted to keep an eye on a couple of candle flames. Meggie loved to read by candlelight. She had five candlesticks on the windowsill, and she was just holding the lighted match to one of the black wicks when she heard footsteps outside. She blew out the match in alarm—oh, how well she remembered it, even many years later—and knelt to look out of the window, which was wet with rain. Then she saw him. The rain cast a kind of pallor on the darkness, and the stranger was little more than a shadow. Only his face gleamed white as he looked up at Meggie. His hair clung to his wet forehead. The rain was falling on him, but he ignored it. He stood there motionless, arms crossed over his chest as if that might at least warm him a little. And he kept on staring at the house. I must go and wake Mo, thought Meggie. But she stayed put, her heart thudding, and went on gazing out into the night as if the stranger’s stillness had infected her. Suddenly, he turned his head, and Meggie felt as if he were looking straight into her eyes. She shot off the bed so fast the open book fell to the floor, and she ran barefoot out into the dark corridor. This was the end of May, but it was chilly in the old house. There was still a light on in Mo’s room. He often stayed up reading late into the night. Meggie had inherited her love of books from her father. When she took refuge from a bad dream with him, nothing could lull her to sleep better than Mo’s calm breathing beside her and the sound of the pages turning. Nothing chased nightmares away faster than
Cornelia Funke (The Inkheart Trilogy: Inkheart, Inkspell, Inkdeath)
Oh God, Harry, I just don’t know what to do.” “Have you ever thought..?” “What?” I ask hopefully. Harry hesitates. “That maybe there’s nothing you can do?” It is not the answer I’m expecting. I stare at him. “I mean, maybe – maybe this is what it’s going to be like when he gets ill,” Harry continues doggedly. “He’ll have an episode – either of mania or depression – his meds will be tweaked, therapy will be stepped up, and everyone will wait for it to pass. Which, of course, it will do.” “And so – you’re saying I should just weather the storm?” Harry nods slowly. “I think so, yes. Otherwise you’re going to wear yourself down, trying to help him, trying to make things better, when it’s basically out of your control.” I look at Harry. Somewhere, at the back of my mind, I think he might have a point. But I don’t want to admit it. Not yet.
Tabitha Suzuma (A Voice in the Distance (Flynn Laukonen, #2))
Quite often, the Tesla engineers brought their Silicon Valley attitude to the automakers’ traditional stomping grounds. There’s a break and traction testing track in northern Sweden near the Arctic Circle where cars get tuned on large plains of ice. It would be standard to run the car for three days or so, get the data, and return to company headquarters for many weeks of meetings about how to adjust the car. The whole process of tuning a car can take the entire winter. Tesla, by contrast, sent its engineers along with the Roadsters being tested and had them analyze the data on the spot. When something needed to be tweaked, the engineers would rewrite some code and send the car back on the ice. “BMW would need to have a confab between three or four companies that would all blame each other for the problem,” Tarpenning said. “We just fixed it ourselves.
Ashlee Vance (Elon Musk: Inventing the Future)
Still, for all the therapy I had, none of it ever really fixed that feeling of torn-apartness inside of me. I learned how to express myself, that was all. And, for whatever reason, identifying the root cause of my problem - like fear of abandonment or something - didn't change a goddamn thing. I could see quite clearly why I acted a certain way, but that wouldn't make me any different. I sought out craziness. I was attracted to it. No therapy could take that away.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Zero has had a long history. The Babylonians invented the concept of zero; the ancient Greeks debated it in lofty terms (how could something be nothing?); the ancient Indian scholar Pingala paired Zero with the numeral 1 to get double digits; and both the Mayans and the Romans made Zero a part of their numeral systems. But Zero finally found its place around AD 498, when the Indian astronomer Aryabhatta sat up in bed one morning and exclaimed, "Sthanam sthanam dasa gunam" — which translates, roughly as, "place to place in ten times in value". With that, the idea of decimal based place value notion was born. Now Zero was on a roll: It spread to the Arab world, where it flourished; crossed the Iberian Peninsula to Europe (thanks to the Spanish Moors); got some tweaking from the Italians; and eventually sailed the Atlantic to the New World, where zero ultimately found plenty of employment (together with the digit 1) in a place called Silicon Valley.
Dan Ariely (Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions)
...I realize that the times I have known some sort of inner peace in my life, those have always been times when I focused on helping others more than myself... babysitting, cooking dinner for my family, cleaning up the house, talking to a friend on the phone and just listening to them vent about something or other without offering an opinion or judging. Those have been the moments when I get to stop obsessing about myself and really feel a sense of liberation. 'Freedom from the bondage of self...
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
because of the huge number of pages and links involved, Page and Brin named their search engine Google, playing off googol, the term for the number 1 followed by a hundred zeros. It was a suggestion made by one of their Stanford officemates, Sean Anderson, and when they typed in Google to see if the domain name was available, it was. So Page snapped it up. “I’m not sure that we realized that we had made a spelling error,” Brin later said. “But googol was taken, anyway. There was this guy who’d already registered Googol.com, and I tried to buy it from him, but he was fond of it. So we went with Google.”157 It was a playful word, easy to remember, type, and turn into a verb.IX Page and Brin pushed to make Google better in two ways. First, they deployed far more bandwidth, processing power, and storage capacity to the task than any rival, revving up their Web crawler so that it was indexing a hundred pages per second. In addition, they were fanatic in studying user behavior so that they could constantly tweak their algorithms.
Walter Isaacson (The Innovators: How a Group of Inventors, Hackers, Geniuses, and Geeks Created the Digital Revolution)
This scene came from the writing I did with Bill in New York, working out of an office in the Director’s Guild building. I generally came in early and worked for a couple of hours before Bill arrived. He would then spend about an hour puttering around the office and smoking cheroots, then would eventually settle in next to me at the desk, read what I had written, and begin offering suggestions and improvements. Sometimes I would print out a scene and then mark it up—as with the scene above—as Bill tried out Phil’s dialogue, and we tweaked lines accordingly. Our afternoons were often spent walking around New York running Bill’s errands while talking about general script issues. He was a warm and wonderful host to me during my New York visit. There was an afternoon where he and Tom Davis paired up against me and Dan Aykroyd in a spontaneous basketball game, the four of us sneakerless and slipping around in our socks. I made my bones with Bill that day when he hurled a basketball at my head and I managed to duck. “Good reflexes,” he said. I think of these two weeks with Bill as one of the more surreal and memorable experiences of my writer’s life.
Danny Rubin (How to Write Groundhog Day)
Behavioral Shifts to Overcome Excessive Hesitancy Important: So far we’ve been focusing on how tweaking your thinking can help shift your behavior. This is important, but it’s only half the story. People are usually quite good at identifying how changes in thoughts or feelings may lead to changes in behavior, such as “When I have more energy, I’ll do more exercise” or “When I have more ideas, I’ll take more action.” However, people tend to underestimate the impact of changing their behavior on their thoughts and feelings, such as “When I exercise more, l'll have more energy” or “When I take more actions, I’ll have more ideas.” Don’t make the mistake of thinking you need to wait for your thoughts to change before you try behavioral shifts. Mental and behavioral shifts go hand in hand. When you start making changes in your behavior (even subtle ones), you’ll notice that all kinds of thoughts, including your view of yourself, start to shift. Changing your behavior, without waiting for you thoughts to always shift first, is one of the best and fastest ways you can reduce your anxiety. That’s why a cognitive behavioral approach focuses on both thoughts and behaviors.
Alice Boyes (The Anxiety Toolkit: Strategies for Fine-Tuning Your Mind and Moving Past Your Stuck Points)
What can you say about hospitals? No matter how upscale they are, the air is always saturated with disinfectant and an underlying stench of chemicals. Most of the patients' doors are closed, but a few of them are open. The beds are mostly occupied by elderly men and women with brown splotchy age marks all over. They're hooked up to tubes and wires and things... They appear to be sleeping - or lost. It's hard for me to look at them. It's as though all the emptiness inside of all of us - regret about our past and fear about our future - has been physically manifested in these withering bodies.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
This was all splendid stuff for Luciaphils; it was amazing how at a first glance she recognised everybody. The gallery, too, was full of dears and darlings of a few weeks' standing, and she completed a little dinner-party for next Tuesday long before she had made the circuit. All the time she kept Stephen by her side, looked over his catalogue, put a hand on his arm to direct his attention to some picture, took a speck of alien material off his sleeve, and all the time the entranced Adele felt increasingly certain that she had plumbed the depth of the adorable situation. Her sole anxiety was as to whether Stephen would plumb it too. He might--though he didn't look like it--welcome these little tokens of intimacy as indicating something more, and when they were alone attempt to kiss her, and that would ruin the whole exquisite design. Luckily his demeanour was not that of a favoured swain; it was, on the other hand, more the demeanour of a swain who feared to be favoured, and if that shy thing took fright, the situation would be equally ruined. . . . To think that the most perfect piece of Luciaphilism was dependent on the just perceptions of Stephen! As the three made their slow progress, listening to Lucia's brilliant identifications, Adele willed Stephen to understand; she projected a perfect torrent of suggestion towards his mind. He must, he should understand. . . . Fervent desire, so every psychist affirms, is never barren. It conveys something of its yearning to the consciousness to which it is directed, and there began to break on the dull male mind what had been so obvious to the finer feminine sense of Adele. Once again, and in the blaze of publicity, Lucia was full of touches and tweaks, and the significance of them dawned, like some pale, austere sunrise, on his darkened senses. The situation was revealed, and he saw it was one with which he could easily deal. His gloomy apprehensions brightened, and he perceived that there would be no need, when he went to stay at Riseholme next, to lock his bedroom-door, a practice which was abhorrent to him, for fear of fire suddenly breaking out in the house. Last night he had had a miserable dream about what had happened when he failed to lock his door at The Hurst, but now he dismissed its haunting. These little intimacies of Lucia's were purely a public performance. "Lucia, we must be off," he said loudly and confidently. "Pepino will wonder where we are.
E.F. Benson (Lucia in London (Lucia, #3))
Ever since then 'Buela is convinced I have magical hands when it comes to cooking. And I don't know if I really have something special, or if her telling me I got something special has brainwashed me into believing it, but I do know I'm happier in the kitchen than anywhere else in the world. It's the one place I let go and only need to focus on the basics: taste, smell, texture, fusion, beauty. And something special does happen when I'm cooking. It's like I can imagine a dish in my head and I just know that if I tweak this or mess with that, if I give it my special brand of sazón, I'll have made a dish that never existed before. Angelica thinks it's because we live in the hood, so we never have exactly the right ingredients- we gotta innovate, baby. My aunt Sarah says it's in our blood, an innate need to tell a story through food. 'Buela says it's definitely a blessing, magic. That my food doesn't just taste good, it is good- straight up bottled goodness that warms you and makes you feel better about your life. I think I just know that this herb with that veggie with that meat plus a dash of eso ahí will work. And that if everything else goes wrong, a little squeeze of lime and a bottle of hot sauce ain't never hurt nobody.
Elizabeth Acevedo (With the Fire on High)
Zeke drifted over to her father’s guitar in the corner of the office. He stared at it for a few long moments, before glancing at her over his shoulder. “Mind?” She shook her head, curious what he would do with the old acoustic. It had seen better days and Dad kept it more for sentimental reasons than practical. Zeke picked it up and dust swirled away. He fitted it under his arm, running through chords to check to see if it was in tune. It wasn’t off by much, but his broad fingers tweaked and tightened until it was at perfect pitch. Seamlessly, he strummed the opening chords to “Home” by Michael Buble. Ember knew her mouth had to be hanging open, but she didn’t care. As if he couldn’t not, his deep voice fell into accompaniment. She stepped away to sink down into a chair, entranced by the broken man singing, eyes shut. Tendrils of need and longing crept into her heart, and it was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. Tears filled her eyes. Almost halfway through the song, his fingers fumbled a note and he stopped singing. When she lifted her eyes to look at him, he stared at her as if he’d forgotten she were there. Jaw tight, emotion brimming in his eyes, he set the guitar back on the stand and walked out of the room. Ember could have wept. She didn’t know why he’d quit, but she wanted him to come right back in and finish the song. Her mind knew what melody was supposed to come next, but it couldn’t create the same type of emotion he had while singing. She thought back to the absolute absorption on his face as he sang, and realized he hadn’t stuttered or hesitated once through the entire performance.
J.M. Madden (Embattled Minds (Lost and Found, #2))
Rockton is no more Oliver than Churchgrove is Lord Kirkwood,” Lady Minerva said stoutly. “Then why did you steal my name for him?” Oliver asked. “It’s not quite your name, old chap,” Lord Gabriel said. “And you know perfectly well that Minerva likes to tweak your nose from time to time.” “Stop calling me ‘old,’ blast it,” Oliver grumbled. “I’m not some doddering fool.” “How old are you, anyway?” Maria asked him, amused by his vanity. “Thirty-five.” Mrs. Plumtree had said little until now, but apparently the conversation had piqued her interest. “That’s long past the age when a man should marry, don’t you think, Miss Butterfield?” Aware of Oliver’s gaze on her, Maria chose her words carefully. “I suppose it depends on the man. Papa didn’t marry until he was nearly that age. He was too busy fighting in the Revolutionary War to court anyone.” When the blood drained from Mrs. Plumtree’s face, Oliver’s eyes held a glint of triumph. “Ah, yes, the Revolutionary War. Did I forget to mention, Gran, that Mr. Butterfield was a soldier in the Continental Marines?” The table got very quiet. Lady Minerva focused on eating her soup. Lady Celia took several sips of wine, one after another, and Lord Jarret stared into his soup bowl as if it contained the secret to life. The only real sound punctuating the silence was Lord Gabriel’s muttered “bloody hell.” Clearly, there was some undercurrent here that Maria didn’t understand. Oliver was watching his grandmother again like a wolf about to pounce, and Mrs. Plumtree was clearly contemplating which weapon would best hold the wolf at bay. “Uncle Adam was a hero,” Freddy put in, oblivious as usual to undercurrents of any kind. “At the Battle of Princeton, he held off ten of the British until help could arrive. It was just him and his bayonet, slashing and stabbing-“ “Freddy,” Maria chided under her breath, “our hosts are British, remember?
Sabrina Jeffries (The Truth About Lord Stoneville (Hellions of Halstead Hall, #1))
In the same movie, Emperor Joseph II offers Mozart some musical advice: "Your work is ingenious. It's quality work. And there are simply too many notes, that's all. Just cut a few and it will be perfect." The emperor was put off by the surface complexity of Mozart's music. He didn't see that each note served a purpose-to make a promise or fulfill one, to complete a pattern or vary one. Similarly, at first encounter people are sometimes put off by the superficial complexity of fundamental physics. Too many gluons! But each of the eight color gluons is there for a purpose. Together, they fulfill complete symmetry among the color charges. Take one gluon away, or change its properties, and the structure would fall. Specifically, if you make such a change, then the theory formerly known as QCD begins to predict gibberish; some particles are produced with negative probabilities, and others with probability greater than 1. Such a perfectly rigid theory, one that doesn't allow consistent modification, is extremely vulnerable. If any of its predictions are wrong, there's nowhere to hide. No fudge factors or tweaks are available. On the other hand, a perfectly rigid theory, once it shows significant success, becomes very powerful indeed. Because if it's approximately right and can't be changed, then it must be exactly right! Salieri's criteria explain why symmetry is such an appealing principle for theory building. Systems with symmetry are well on the path to Salieri's perfection. The equations governing different objects and different situations must be strictly related, or the symmetry is diminished. With enough violations all pattern is lost, and the symmetry falls. Symmetry helps us make perfect theories. So the crux of the matter is not the number of notes or the number of particles or equations. It is the perfection of the designs they embody. If removing any one would spoil the design, then the number is exactly what it should be. Mozart's answer to the emperor was superb: "Which few did you have in mind, Majesty?
Frank Wilczek (The Lightness of Being: Mass, Ether, and the Unification of Forces)
Our horses plunged up the trail. “Go on…Go!” Bran jerked one hand toward the mountains, then swayed in his saddle. Another arrow sang overhead. “I won’t leave you,” I snapped. “Go. Our people…Carry on the fight.” “Bran--” In answer he yanked the reins on his terrified horse, which lunged toward mine. Gritting his teeth, he leaned out and whipped the ends of his reins across the mare’s shoulder. “Go!” My mount panicked, leaped forward. My neck snapped back. I clutched to the horse’s mane with all my strength. The last glimpse I had of Bran was of his white face and his anxious eyes watching me as he and his mount fell back. And then I was on my own. For a time the mare raced straight up the trail while the only thought I could hold in my mind was, A trap? A trap? And then the image, seen endlessly, of Bran being shot. Then a scrap of memory floated up before my inner eye. Again I saw the elegant Renselaeus dining room, heard the Marquis’s refined drawling voice: My people are taking and holding the Vesingrui fortress on your border. For now they are wearing the green uniform… A trap. Cold fury washed through me. They have betrayed us. It was then that I recovered enough presence of mind to realize that I was in my home territory at last, and I could leave the trail anytime. The horse had recovered from the panic and was trotting. So I recaptured the reins, leading the horse across the side of the mountain toward the thickest, oldest part of the local forest. It didn’t take me long to lose the pursuit, and then I turned my tired mare north, permitting her to slow as I thought everything through. It made perfect sense, after all. Bran and I were certainly an inconvenience, especially since we’d refused to ally. For a moment guilt tweaked at my thoughts--if it hadn’t been for me, we’d both be alive and well in their capital. And in their hands, I told myself. If they could cold-bloodedly plan this kind of treachery, wasn’t this sort of end waiting for us anyway? And now Bran is dead. Branaric, my fun-loving, trusting brother, the one who pleaded with me to give them a fair chance. Who wanted to be their friend. All my emotions narrowed to one arrow of intent: revenge.
Sherwood Smith (Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1))
Bram stared into a pair of wide, dark eyes. Eyes that reflected a surprising glimmer of intelligence. This might be the rare female a man could reason with. “Now, then,” he said. “We can do this the easy way, or we can make things difficult.” With a soft snort, she turned her head. It was as if he’d ceased to exist. Bram shifted his weight to his good leg, feeling the stab to his pride. He was a lieutenant colonel in the British army, and at over six feet tall, he was said to cut an imposing figure. Typically, a pointed glance from his quarter would quell the slightest hint of disobedience. He was not accustomed to being ignored. “Listen sharp now.” He gave her ear a rough tweak and sank his voice to a low threat. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do as I say.” Though she spoke not a word, her reply was clear: You can kiss my great woolly arse. Confounded sheep. “Ah, the English countryside. So charming. So…fragrant.” Colin approached, stripped of his London-best topcoat, wading hip-deep through the river of wool. Blotting the sheen of perspiration from his brow with his sleeve, he asked, “I don’t suppose this means we can simply turn back?” Ahead of them, a boy pushing a handcart had overturned his cargo, strewing corn all over the road. It was an open buffet, and every ram and ewe in Sussex appeared to have answered the invitation. A vast throng of sheep bustled and bleated around the unfortunate youth, gorging themselves on the spilled grain-and completely obstructing Bram’s wagons. “Can we walk the teams in reverse?” Colin asked. “Perhaps we can go around, find another road.” Bram gestured at the surrounding landscape. “There is no other road.” They stood in the middle of the rutted dirt lane, which occupied a kind of narrow, winding valley. A steep bank of gorse rose up on one side, and on the other, some dozen yards of heath separated the road from dramatic bluffs. And below those-far below those-lay the sparkling turquoise sea. If the air was seasonably dry and clear, and Bram squinted hard at that thin indigo line of the horizon, he might even glimpse the northern coast of France. So close. He’d get there. Not today, but soon. He had a task to accomplish here, and the sooner he completed it, the sooner he could rejoin his regiment. He wasn’t stopping for anything. Except sheep. Blast it. It would seem they were stopping for sheep. A rough voice said, “I’ll take care of them.” Thorne joined their group. Bram flicked his gaze to the side and spied his hulking mountain of a corporal shouldering a flintlock rifle. “We can’t simply shoot them, Thorne.” Obedient as ever, Thorne lowered his gun. “Then I’ve a cutlass. Just sharpened the blade last night.” “We can’t butcher them, either.” Thorne shrugged. “I’m hungry.” Yes, that was Thorne-straightforward, practical. Ruthless. “We’re all hungry.” Bram’s stomach rumbled in support of the statement. “But clearing the way is our aim at the moment, and a dead sheep’s harder to move than a live one. We’ll just have to nudge them along.” Thorne lowered the hammer of his rifle, disarming it, then flipped the weapon with an agile motion and rammed the butt end against a woolly flank. “Move on, you bleeding beast.
Tessa Dare (A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove, #1))
You do that a great deal, don’t you?” He swallowed the rest of his wine. “What?” “Close up into yourself whenever someone tries to peer into your soul. Make a joke of it.” “If you came out here to lecture me,” he snapped, “don’t bother. Gran has perfected that talent. You can’t possibly compete.” “I only want to understand.” “I want to be consumed by a star, but we don’t all get what we want.” “What?” “Never mind.” Turning for the nearest door into the house, he started to stalk off, but she caught his arm. “Why are you so angry at your grandmother?” Maria asked. “I told you-she’s trying to ruin the lives of me and my siblings.” “By requiring you to marry so you can have children? I thought all lords and ladies were expected to do that. And the five of you are certainly old enough.” Her tone turned teasing. “Some of you are beyond being old enough.” “Watch it, minx,” he clipped out. “I’m not in the mood for having my nose tweaked tonight.” “Because of your grandmother, you mean. It’s not just her demand that has you angry, is it? It goes back longer than that.” Oliver glared at her. “Why do you care? Has she got you fighting her battles for her now?” “Hardly. She just informed me that I was, and I quote, ‘exactly the sort of woman who would not meet my requirements of a wife.’” A smile touched his lips at her accurate mimicking of Gran at her most haughty. “I told you she would think that.” “Yes,” she said dryly. “You both excel at insulting people.” “One of my many talents.” “There you go again. Making a joke to avoid talking about what makes you uncomfortable.” “And what is that?” “What did your grandmother do, besides giving you an ultimatum about marriage, that has you at daggers drawn?” Blast it all, would she not leave off? “How do you know she did anything? Perhaps I’m just contrary.” “You are. But that’s not what has you so angry at her.” “If you plan to spend the next two weeks asking ridiculous questions that have no answers, then I will pay you to return to London.” She smiled. “No, you won’t. You need me.” “True. But since I’m paying for the service you’re providing, I get some say in how it’s rendered. Bedeviling me with questions isn’t part of our bargain.” “You haven’t paid me anything yet,” she said lightly, “so I should think there’s some leeway in the terms. Especially since I’ve been working hard all evening furthering your cause. I just finished telling your grandmother that I have ‘feelings’ for you, and that I know you have ‘feelings’ for me.” “You didn’t choke on that lie?” he quipped. “I do have feelings for you-probably not the sort she meant, though apparently she believed me. But she was suspicious. She’s more astute than you give her credit for. First she accused us of acting a farce, and then, when I denied that, she accused me of thinking to marry you so I could gain a fortune from her down the line.” “And what did you say to that?” “I told her she could keep her precious fortune.” “Did you, indeed? I would have given my right arm to see that.” Maria was proving to be an endless source of amazement. No one ever stood up to Gran-except this American chit, with her naïve beliefs in justice and right and morality. It amazed him that she’d done it, considering how he’d treated her. No one, not even his siblings, had ever defended him with so little reason. It stirred something that had long lain dead inside him. His conscience? No, that wasn’t dead; it was nonexistent.
Sabrina Jeffries (The Truth About Lord Stoneville (Hellions of Halstead Hall, #1))
Here was the puppeteer who was pulling strings all over the Empire. Didn’t he know that the Fates were the only ones who could tweak the threads of destiny?
Rosie Pugh
Any self-help program that discourages me from thinking for myself, that is, from tweaking what I've learned to understand myself is suspect. Growth is all about thinking creatively, and I can't very well do that if I take on the role of parrot.
Dannye Williamsen (Life Untwisted: Targeting Your Potential With A Fearless Attitude)
onto the fabric of her shift; I reached out one-handed and tweaked the cloth up to cover her. She put a hand over her breast and pressed hard to stop the milk. “What does he mean to do, though? If he finds him.
Diana Gabaldon (The Fiery Cross (Outlander, #5))
Just as a concert album littered with technical errors was filled with more life than a perfectly tweaked studio production, the meal possessed more simple honesty than Ellis had experienced in years.
Anonymous
Customer lifetime value and customer acquisition cost drive your growth, and you’ll run experiments to try to capture more loyal users for less, tweaking how you charge, when you charge, and what you charge for.
Alistair Croll (Lean Analytics: Use Data to Build a Better Startup Faster (Lean (O'Reilly)))
This is the problem with inventing. Virtually everything has been done already. These days most things are just the same things but tweaked. Everything is ‘new and improved’.
Karl Pilkington (The Moaning of Life: The Worldly Wisdom of Karl Pilkington)