Two Wheeler Quotes

I have done some of the best work of my life because of you. And I know you have done some of the best work of your life because of me. I don’t know a better way to explain what love means to two people like us.

We two make banquets of the plainest fare In every cup we find the thrill of pleasure... For us life always moves with lilting measure We two, we two, we make our world, our pleasure

Two Kinds of People There are two kinds of people on earth today, Two kinds of people no more I say. Not the good or the bad, for it's well understood, The good are half bad, the bad are half good. Not the happy or sad, for in the swift-flying years, Bring each man his laughter, each man his tears. Not the rich or the poor, for to count a man's wealth, You must know the state of his conscience and health. Not the humble and proud, for in life's busy span, Who puts on vain airs is not counted a man. No! the two kinds of people on earth I mean, Are the people who lift, the people who lean. Wherever you go you'll find the world's masses Are ever divided into these two classes. And, strangely enough, you will find, too, I mean, There is only one lifter to twenty who lean. In which class are you? Are you easing the load Of the overtaxed lifters who toiled down the road? Or are you a leaner who lets others bear, Your portion of worry and labor and care?

And to the girl who kissed me,’ she says, ‘I have done some of the best work of my life because of you. And I know you have done some of the best work of your life because of me. I don’t know a better way to explain what love means to two people like us.

Take care of your car in the garage, and the car will take care of you on the road.

I am emotional about engines, if you hurt my car, you hurt my heart.

The world is no longer man's theatre. Man has been made into a helpless spectator. The two evil forces he has created- science and the state- have combined into one monstrous body. We're at the mercy of our monster...

He's a very nice man and all that, easy to get along with, fun, he never makes me cry. But is that love? I mean, is that all there is to it? Even when you learned to ride your two-wheeler, you had to fall off a few times and scrape both knees. Call it a rite of passage. And that was just a little thing.

Asking someone else to drive your sports car is like asking someone else to kiss your girlfriend.

Among all the machines, motorcar is my favorite machine.

There are always two reasons we do anything, Paedrin. The real reason and the one that sounds good to everyone else.

I feel like there are two different sides of me, like I could be anyone and touch anyone and love like that kind of Holy Ghost love - everywhere and everyone. Most of my friends act like they know exactly who and what they are, like there's only one answer, but to me, that feels like putting a beginning and end on something that's not supposed to have either.

...moving had been hard—hard like the pavement the first time I fell off my pink two-wheeler and my palms burned like fire from all of the hurt just under the skin.

She hands over Chloe’s usual Starbucks order: iced matcha latte with two pumps of brown sugar syrup and one pump of vanilla

I am so obsessed with the cars that sometimes I feel like my heart is not a muscle, it's an engine.

According to a much quoted Russian saying 'the country has two eternal problems, roads and idiots'.

Every wheel wish to be the wheel of a car, and not of just another vehicle.

the unfortunate case of McArthur Wheeler, a man who robbed two banks disguised only by lemon juice rubbed on his face. He believed this would make him invisible to security cameras.

Advice" I must do as you do? Your way I own Is a very good way, and still, There are sometimes two straight roads to a town, One over, one under the hill. You are treading the safe and the well-worn way, That the prudent choose each time; And you think me reckless and rash to-day Because I prefer to climb. Your path is the right one, and so is mine. We are not like peas in a pod, Compelled to lie in a certain line, Or else be scattered abroad. 'T were a dull old world, methinks, my friend, If we all just went one way; Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end, Though they lead apart today. You like the shade, and I like the sun; You like an even pace, I like to mix with the crowd and run, And then rest after the race. I like danger, and storm, and strife, You like a peaceful time; I like the passion and surge of life, You like its gentle rhyme. You like buttercups, dewy sweet, And crocuses, framed in snow; I like roses, born of the heat, And the red carnation's glow. I must live my life, not yours, my friend, For so it was written down; We must follow our given paths to the end, But I trust we shall meet--in town.

They sat there for a moment or two, just looking at each other through the screen. "You know that awkward moment when you're on the phone with someone you like and neither of you wants to hang up first?" she asked. "Yes." He tried not to smirk. She bit her lip. "Now we know what it looks like.

Half a dozen years later, the Census Report of 1852 featured a dozen pages heralding the expansion of the telegraph, including a map of all the existing telegraph lines. North of the Mason-Dixon Line it looked like a spider’s web. South of that demarcation, however, were only two threads, one running down the east coast, and the other down the Mississippi Valley.

Everyone was glaring at them. The pressure just popped those two women out the door like corks. I wanted to run out after them and beg them to take me with them. And all the while I was thinking, Oh shit, that’s gonna be me.” Angie shook her head. “It’s tough when you see it coming, ain’t it?” “Yeah,” I said, “it’s like driving on a single-lane highway and seeing an eighteen-wheeler heading right for you.

The story Lucas labored over for years was in many senses a product of its time and the eras that had preceded it, but the dream he captured on celluloid turned out to be utterly malleable and exportable. Star Wars might just have the power to make Diné cool again. But isn’t this just a form of American cultural imperialism, in which Native people are surrendering to the forces of Hollywood? Wheeler has two words for that notion: “C’mon, dude.” Star Wars is not Hollywood.

Quantum physics tells us that no matter how thorough our observation of the present, the (unobserved) past, like the future, is indefinite and exists only as a spectrum of possibilities. The universe, according to quantum physics, has no single past, or history. The fact that the past takes no definite form means that observations you make on a system in the present affect its past. That is underlined rather dramatically by a type of experiment thought up by physicist John Wheeler, called a delayed-choice experiment. Schematically, a delayed-choice experiment is like the double-slit experiment we just described, in which you have the option of observing the path that the particle takes, except in the delayed-choice experiment you postpone your decision about whether or not to observe the path until just before the particle hits the detection screen. Delayed-choice experiments result in data identical to those we get when we choose to observe (or not observe) the which-path information by watching the slits themselves. But in this case the path each particle takes—that is, its past—is determined long after it passed through the slits and presumably had to “decide” whether to travel through just one slit, which does not produce interference, or both slits, which does. Wheeler even considered a cosmic version of the experiment, in which the particles involved are photons emitted by powerful quasars billions of light-years away. Such light could be split into two paths and refocused toward earth by the gravitational lensing of an intervening galaxy. Though the experiment is beyond the reach of current technology, if we could collect enough photons from this light, they ought to form an interference pattern. Yet if we place a device to measure which-path information shortly before detection, that pattern should disappear. The choice whether to take one or both paths in this case would have been made billions of years ago, before the earth or perhaps even our sun was formed, and yet with our observation in the laboratory we will be affecting that choice. In

A late arrival had the impression of lots of loud people unnecessarily grouped within a smoke-blue space between two mirrors gorged with reflections. Because, I suppose, Cynthia wished to be the youngest in the room, the women she used to invite, married or single, were, at the best, in their precarious forties; some of them would bring from their homes, in dark taxis, intact vestiges of good looks, which, however, they lost as the party progressed. It has always amazed me - the capacity sociable weekend revelers have of finding almost at once, by a purely empiric but very precise method, a common denominator of drunkenness, to which everybody loyally sticks before descending, all together, to the next level. The rich friendliness of the matrons was marked by tomboyish overtones, while the fixed inward look of amiably tight men was like a sacrilegious parody of pregnancy. Although some of the guests were connected in one way or another with the arts, there was no inspired talk, no wreathed, elbow-propped heads, and of course no flute girls. From some vantage point where she had been sitting in a stranded mermaid pose on the pale carpet with one or two younger fellows, Cynthia, her face varnished with a film of beaming sweat, would creep up on her knees, a proffered plate of nuts in one hand, and crisply tap with the other the athletic leg of Cochran or Corcoran, an art dealer, ensconced, on a pearl-grey sofa, between two flushed, happily disintegrating ladies. At a further stage there would come spurts of more riotous gaiety. Corcoran or Coransky would grab Cynthia or some other wandering woman by the shoulder and lead her into a corner to confront her with a grinning imbroglio of private jokes and rumors, whereupon, with a laugh and a toss of her head, he would break away. And still later there would be flurries of intersexual chumminess, jocular reconciliations, a bare fleshy arm flung around another woman's husband (he standing very upright in the midst of a swaying room), or a sudden rush of flirtatious anger, of clumsy pursuit-and the quiet half smile of Bob Wheeler picking up glasses that grew like mushrooms in the shade of chairs. ("The Vane Sisters")

It wasn’t destroyed, Sera. It was neglected. Eventually the decay grew so bad that a roof collapsed. It became dangerous. Rather than spending time and money fixing it, the people who lived there ignored the problems until the entire place was ruined utterly. To reconstruct the abbey would have required enormous funds. A small decision not to fix broken roof shingles led to another decision to put off the problem. And another and another. Eventually, given enough time, there will not be two stones left standing.” “That is an awful story,” Sera said. “Fixing the roof should have been a priority. Now the entire structure is lost.” “I understand that someone was hired to fix the roof and the brickwork in the beginning. An accident ensued, and the man who’d been hired was incapable of finishing the work. Eventually the problem was ignored.

Wheeler wasn’t the first to point out that quantum mechanics slips into paradox the minute you introduce a second observer. The Nobel Prize–winning physicist Eugene Wigner, for one, had emphasized it with a Schrödinger’s-cat-style thought experiment that became known as “Wigner’s friend.” It went something like this: Inside a lab, Wigner’s friend sets up an experiment in which an atom will randomly emit a photon, producing a flash of light that leaves a spot on a photographic plate. Before Wigner’s friend checks the plate for signs of a flash, quantum mechanics shows that the atom is in a superposition of having emitted a photon and not having emitted a photon. Once the friend looks at the plate, however, he sees a single outcome—the atom flashed or it didn’t. Somehow his looking collapses the atom’s wavefunction, transforming two possibilities into a single reality. Wigner, meanwhile, is standing outside the lab. From his point of view, quantum mechanics shows that until his friend tells him the outcome of the experiment, the atom remains in a superposition of having emitted a photon and not having emitted a photon. What’s more, his friend is now in a superposition of having seen a spot of light on the plate and not having seen a spot of light on the plate. Only Wigner, quantum theory says, can collapse the wavefunction by asking his friend what happened in there. The two stories are contradictory. According to Wigner’s friend, the atom’s wavefunction collapsed when he looked at the plate. According to Wigner, it didn’t. Instead, his friend entered a superposition correlated with the superposition of the atom, and it wasn’t until Wigner spoke to his friend that both superpositions collapsed. Which story is right? Who is the true creator of reality, Wigner or his friend?

Every person who is Fountain-blessed demonstrates a remarkable power, and sometimes more than one. They keep their lore secret from the world, except for some general principles that I will speak on. The terms used to describe the two major ways in which they draw in power are “rigor” and “vigor.” The term “rigor” implies severity and strictness. The magic comes through meticulous and persistent adherence to some regimented craft or routine. These individuals are iron-willed and self-disciplined to a degree very uncommon amongst their fellows. The term “vigor” implies effort, energy, and enthusiasm. To do a task out of the love of it, not for ambition’s sake alone. These two concepts mark the twin horses by which the magic of the Fountain can be drawn. Why one individual may prefer one to the other or whether there is difference in the efficacy of these methods remains, to the rest of us, a mystery.   —Polidoro Urbino, Court Historian of Kingfountain

Rμv– 1/2 gμv R = 8πTμv The left side of the equation starts with the term Rμv, which is the Ricci tensor he had embraced earlier. The term gμv is the all-important metric tensor, and the term R is the trace of the Ricci tensor called the Ricci scalar. Together, this left side of the equation—which is now known as the Einstein tensor and can be written simply as Gμv—compresses together all of the information about how the geometry of spacetime is warped and curved by objects. The right side describes the movement of matter in the gravitational field. The interplay between the two sides shows how objects curve spacetime and how, in turn, this curvature affects the motion of objects. As the physicist John Wheeler has put it, “Matter tells spacetime how to curve, and curved space tells matter how to move.”83 Thus is staged a cosmic tango, as captured by another physicist, Brian Greene: Space and time become players in the evolving cosmos. They come alive. Matter here causes space to warp there, which causes matter over here to move, which causes space way over there to warp even more, and so on. General relativity provides the choreography for an entwined cosmic dance of space, time, matter, and energy.84 At

If dimensions are virtual like the particles in quantum foam are virtual then, entanglement is information that is in more than one location (hologram). There are no particles, they may be wave packets but the idea of quantum is, a precise ratio of action in relationship to the environment. Feynman's path integral is not infinite, it is fractal. If you look at a star many light years away, the photon that hits your eye leaves the star precisely when the timing for the journey will end at your eye because the virtual dimension of the journey is zero distance or zero time. Wheeler said that if your eye is not there to receive the photon then it won't leave the star in the distant past. If the dimension in the direction of travel is zero, you have a different relationship then if it is zero time in terms of the property of the virtual dimensions. Is a particle really a wave packet? Could something like a "phase transition" involve dimensions that are more transitory then we imagined. Example; a photon as a two dimensional sheet is absorbed by an electron so that the photon becomes a part of the geometry of the electron in which the electrons dimensions change in some manner. Could "scale" have more variation and influence on space and time that our models currently predict? Could information, scale, and gravity be intimately related?

Sarjomdih, which for about sixty years was another nondescript dot on a map. That part of the Chhotanagpur area which is now formally known as the Purbi Singbhum district. Sarjomdih, where most of the population is Santhal and the rest are Munda; all of them are followers of Sarna, the aboriginal faith of the Chhotanagpur area. Saijomdih, which stands atop the mineral-rich core of the Indian subcontinent. Sarjomdih, outside whose southern frontiers a mine and a copper factory were established, where the Copper Town sprang up, and which was now gradually threatening to swallow all of Sarjomdih. Sarjomdih, which bore the repercussions of development, the nationalization of the mine and the factory, the opening up of two more quarries, and the confiscation of the villagers' properties so roads and living quarters could be built. Sarjomdih, whose men were given jobs as unskilled laborers in the mines and the factory in return for their fecund land. Sarjomdih, which is a standing testimony to the collapse of an agrarian Adivasi society and the dilution of Adivasi culture, the twin gifts of industrialization and progress. Sarjomdih, which within sixty years acquired all the signs of urbanity, just like the Copper Town: concrete houses; cable television; two-wheelers; a hand-pump; a narrow, winding tarmac that everyone called the 'main road'; and a primary school...

The result was not nearly as vivid to the layman as, say, E=mc2. Yet using the condensed notations of tensors, in which sprawling complexities can be compressed into little subscripts, the crux of the final Einstein field equations is compact enough to be emblazoned, as it indeed often has been, on T-shirts designed for proud physics students. In one of its many variations,82 it can be written as: Rμv– 1/2 gμv R = 8πTμv The left side of the equation starts with the term Rμv, which is the Ricci tensor he had embraced earlier. The term gμv is the all-important metric tensor, and the term R is the trace of the Ricci tensor called the Ricci scalar. Together, this left side of the equation—which is now known as the Einstein tensor and can be written simply as Gμv—compresses together all of the information about how the geometry of spacetime is warped and curved by objects. The right side describes the movement of matter in the gravitational field. The interplay between the two sides shows how objects curve spacetime and how, in turn, this curvature affects the motion of objects. As the physicist John Wheeler has put it, “Matter tells spacetime how to curve, and curved space tells matter how to move.”83 Thus is staged a cosmic tango, as captured by another physicist, Brian Greene: Space and time become players in the evolving cosmos. They come alive. Matter here causes space to warp there, which causes matter over here to move, which causes space way over there to warp even more, and so on. General relativity provides the choreography for an entwined cosmic dance of space, time, matter, and energy.

When Surkov finds out about the Night Wolves he is delighted. The country needs new patriotic stars, the great Kremlin reality show is open for auditions, and the Night Wolves are just the type that’s needed, helping the Kremlin rewrite the narrative of protesters from political injustice and corruption to one of Holy Russia versus Foreign Devils, deflecting the conversation from the economic slide and how the rate of bribes that bureaucrats demand has shot up from 15 percent to 50 percent of any deal. They will receive Kremlin support for their annual bike show and rock concert in Crimea, the one-time jewel in the Tsarist Empire that ended up as part of Ukraine during Soviet times, and where the Night Wolves use their massive shows to call for retaking the peninsula from Ukraine and restoring the lands of Greater Russia; posing with the President in photo ops in which he wears Ray-Bans and leathers and rides a three-wheel Harley (he can’t quite handle a two-wheeler); playing mega-concerts to 250,000 cheering fans celebrating the victory at Stalingrad in World War II and the eternal Holy War Russia is destined to fight against the West, with Cirque du Soleil–like trapeze acts, Spielberg-scale battle reenactments, religious icons, and holy ecstasies—in the middle of which come speeches from Stalin, read aloud to the 250,000 and announcing the holiness of the Soviet warrior—after which come more dancing girls and then the Night Wolves’ anthem, “Slavic Skies”: We are being attacked by the yoke of the infidels: But the sky of the Slavs boils in our veins . . . Russian speech rings like chain-mail in the ears of the foreigners, And the white host rises from the coppice to the stars.

The game had only two rules. The first was that every statement had to have at least two words in which the first letters were switched. “You’re not my little sister,” Shawn said. “You’re my sittle lister.” He pronounced the words lazily, blunting the t’s to d’s so that it sounded like “siddle lister.” The second rule was that every word that sounded like a number, or like it had a number in it, had to be changed so that the number was one higher. The word “to” for example, because it sounds like the number “two,” would become “three.” “Siddle Lister,” Shawn might say, “we should pay a-eleven-tion. There’s a checkpoint ahead and I can’t a-five-d a ticket. Time three put on your seatbelt.” When we tired of this, we’d turn on the CB and listen to the lonely banter of truckers stretched out across the interstate. “Look out for a green four-wheeler,” a gruff voice said, when we were somewhere between Sacramento and Portland. “Been picnicking in my blind spot for a half hour.” A four-wheeler, Shawn explained, is what big rigs call cars and pickups. Another voice came over the CB to complain about a red Ferrari that was weaving through traffic at 120 miles per hour. “Bastard damned near hit a little blue Chevy,” the deep voice bellowed through the static. “Shit, there’s kids in that Chevy. Anybody up ahead wanna cool this hothead down?” The voice gave its location. Shawn checked the mile marker. We were ahead. “I’m a white Pete pulling a fridge,” he said. There was silence while everybody checked their mirrors for a Peterbilt with a reefer. Then a third voice, gruffer than the first, answered: “I’m the blue KW hauling a dry box.” “I see you,” Shawn said, and for my benefit pointed to a navy-colored Kenworth a few cars ahead. When the Ferrari appeared, multiplied in our many mirrors, Shawn shifted into high gear, revving the engine and pulling beside the Kenworth so that the two fifty-foot trailers were running side by side, blocking both lanes. The Ferrari honked, weaved back and forth, braked, honked again. “How long should we keep him back there?” the husky voice said, with a deep laugh. “Until he calms down,” Shawn answered. Five miles later, they let him pass. The trip lasted about a week, then we told Tony to find us a load to Idaho. “Well, Siddle Lister,” Shawn said when we pulled into the junkyard, “back three work.” — THE WORM CREEK OPERA HOUSE announced a new play: Carousel. Shawn drove me to the audition, then surprised me by auditioning himself. Charles was also there, talking to a girl named

Using the castle to transition between lands was a visual trick Walt called a weenie. According to Disney historian Jim Korkis, during the development of Disneyland, Walt would come home late at night and usually enter his house through the kitchen, which was closer to the garage. He would walk into the kitchen and grab two uncooked hot dogs, or wieners, one for himself and one for his dog. Korkis said, "By wiggling the treat, Walt could get his dog to go from side to side, around in a circle, jump up and more. Both Walt and the dog loved the game and she was finally rewarded with the tasty and satisfying treat." "Each of the gateways into the lands offered weenies. The spinning carousel through the portal leading through Sleeping Beauty Castle called guests into Fantasyland. The stockade gates, the steam bellowing from the Mark Twain stern-wheeler, and the seeming infinite horizon beckoned guests to visit Frontierland. Over in Tomorrowland was the clock of the World and the TWA Moonliner ready for launch. Only Adventureland lacked a weenie. It was thought that if guests knew too much, it would not be much of an adventure.

The newspaper called them “Atomic Cows” and they traveled like a sideshow from Alamogordo to El Paso and back again. In December, Paramount Pictures came to town and “secured some good pictures of the cattle and also of two cats which have changed coloring.” This stretch of fame did not last long. The military took note and started rounding up the mutated cattle that hadn’t already been slaughtered, about three hundred head, and sent some as far away as Oak Ridge, Tennessee, where they were poked and prodded and bred until they were raw. Only twice in the 1950s would the atomic cows at Oak Ridge hit the headlines, both times to say they were fine or dying of natural causes or didn’t seem to be passing on any mutations to their offspring.

inside each person lives two wolves. One was full of evil, jealousy, anger, resentment. The other wolf was kind, benevolent, generous, and dutiful.

Though Owen was twenty-four years old, he felt like an old man. His cares and responsibilities were an unshakable burden. He was sick at heart, sick in his soul, and the only force that kept him going was the slender hope of escaping the daily misery his life had become. The thought of seeing Evie again—no, seeing Elysabeth again—both worried him and rekindled sparks of warmth inside his cold iron heart. He had not spoken to her once since the day they had said good-bye at the cistern in the king’s palace seven years ago. He occasionally received letters from her, flowery prose talking about the wonders of Atabyrion and the antics of her two children. He never answered—he could not bring himself to—but he had finally written to tell her of her grandfather’s failing health. He owed her that much, a chance to see her grandfather before he passed. Besides, Owen felt a debt of duty and gratitude to Duke Horwath, enough for him to summon the courage to face the girl he had loved and lost. That she was happy in her marriage to Iago made it worse somehow.

Not engaging is the most frustrating thing to a protestor, right? “Guns don’t kill people! People kill people!” he yells. Of course this line almost stops me. Should I have a conversation with this sad sack about the disingenuousness of this statement? Should I hold a two-minute seminar on the many machines, chemicals and drugs that are strictly monitored because of their potential lethal power? Should I point out that we don’t let people walk around with heroin or bombs or cyanide or mercury, or let just anyone pilot helicopters or cruise ships or 18-wheelers? But why bother with this guy? A discussion in causation or semantics isn’t going to change his mind.

Reacher kept the guy talking all the way through Minnesota, which he figured was his job, like human amphetamine. Anything to keep the guy awake. Anything to avoid the old joke: I want to die peacefully in my sleep like Grandpa. Not screaming in terror like his passengers. The resulting conversation spiralled off in all kinds of different directions. Institutional injustices in the milk business were exposed. Grievances were aired. Then the guy wanted to hear war stories, so Reacher made some up. The big truck stop came along soon enough. The guy had not been exaggerating. There was an acres- wide fuel stop, and a spreading two- storey motel a hundred yards long, and a warehouse- sized family restaurant, blazing with neon outside and fluorescence inside. There were back- to- back eighteen- wheelers wheezing in and out, and all kinds of cars and trucks and panel vans.

A small decision not to fix broken roof shingles led to another decision to put off the problem. And another and another. Eventually, given enough time, there will not be two stones left standing.

The two little girls who were sitting in the backseat flew out of the front window from the impact of the 18 wheeler, killing them on the scene. As

This was 1849, a year when the frenzy to reach California gold was so intense that all wisdom had percolated from the American brain. Speed in reaching northern California was everything, and Turner and Allen were actually pikers in that department. The craziest westering scheme of all was devised by a head case New Yorker named Rufus Porter, an inventor and balloon enthusiast who was the founder of Scientific American magazine. Like many Americans, Porter was swept up by the visionary possibilities of a mass crossing to plunder the gold fields of the Pacific West. Porter became convinced that giant balloons, powered by twin steam engines borrowed from a paddle-wheeler, could loft as many as two hundred Gold Rush miners to California at once.

Daniel and the Pelican As I drove home from work one afternoon, the cars ahead of me were swerving to miss something not often seen in the middle of a six-lane highway: a great big pelican. After an eighteen-wheeler nearly ran him over, it was clear the pelican wasn’t planning to move any time soon. And if he didn’t, the remainder of his life could be clocked with an egg timer. I parked my car and slowly approached him. The bird wasn’t the least bit afraid of me, and the drivers who honked their horns and yelled at us as they sped by didn’t impress him either. Stomping my feet, I waved my arms and shouted to get him into the lake next to the road, all the while trying to direct traffic. “C’mon beat it, Big Guy, before you get hurt!” After a brief pause, he cooperatively waddled to the curb and slid down to the water’s edge. Problem solved. Or so I thought. The minute I walked away he was back on the road, resulting in another round of honking, squealing tires and smoking brakes. So I tried again. “Shoo, for crying out loud!” The bird blinked, first one eye then the other, and with a little sigh placated me by returning to the lake. Of course when I started for my car it was instant replay. After two more unsuccessful attempts, I was at my wits’ end. Cell phones were practically non-existent back then, and the nearest pay phone was about a mile away. I wasn’t about to abandon the hapless creature and run for help. He probably wouldn’t be alive when I returned. So there we stood, on the curb, like a couple of folks waiting at a bus stop. While he nonchalantly preened his feathers, I prayed for a miracle. Suddenly a shiny red pickup truck pulled up, and a man hopped out. “Would you like a hand?” I’m seldom at a loss for words, but one look at the very tall newcomer rendered me tongue-tied and unable to do anything but nod. He was the most striking man I’d ever seen--smoky black hair, muscular with tanned skin, and a tender smile flanked by dimples deep enough to drill for oil. His eyes were hypnotic, crystal clear and Caribbean blue. He was almost too beautiful to be real. The embroidered name on his denim work shirt said “Daniel.” “I’m on my way out to the Seabird Sanctuary, and I’d be glad to take him with me. I have a big cage in the back of my truck,” the man offered. Oh my goodness. “Do you volunteer at the Sanctuary?” I croaked, struggling to regain my powers of speech. “Yes, every now and then.” In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect solution to my dilemma. The bird was going to be saved by a knowledgeable expert with movie star looks, who happened to have a pelican-sized cage with him and was on his way to the Seabird Sanctuary.

A wise Aldermaston once said, “To know nothing is the happiest life.” Knowledge is always a sword with two edges. It cuts away falsehood but reveals hypocrisy. Too much truth can lead to heresy. Such we are experiencing in Hautland with an Aldermaston who defied the High Seer of Avinion by hanging shingles decrying the established order. He has agreed to face trial at the abbey of Viegg. If he does not recant his deeds, he will be branded a heretic and excommunicated. He has agreed to come to the abbey on the condition that he will not face a trial of flame. His intention is to answer for his actions by citing the words of the tomes. He will be condemned. It did not have to be this way. He could have had a happy life if he had just remained silent.

wise Aldermaston once said, “To know nothing is the happiest life.” Knowledge is always a sword with two edges. It cuts away falsehood but reveals hypocrisy.

The Kinlock area presently lies within the boundaries of two counties—Lawrence and Winston. He decided to check the Winston County record first. He traveled to the county courthouse in Double Springs only to learn that this was a dead end.

people change for two reasons. Either they have learned much, or they’ve been hurt much.

Like Wheeler and Feynman, Cramer proposed that the wavefunction of a particle moving forward in time is just one of two relevant waves determining its behavior. The retarded wave in Cramer’s theory is complemented by a response wave that travels specifically from the particle’s destination, in temporal retrograde. In his theory, a measurement, or an interaction, amounts to a kind of “handshake agreement” between the forward-in-time and backward-in-time influences.13 This handshake can extend across enormous lengths of time, if we consider what happens when we view the sky at night. As Cramer writes: When we stand in the dark and look at a star a hundred light years away, not only have the retarded waves from the star been traveling for a hundred years to reach our eyes, but the advanced waves generated by absorption processes within our eyes have reached a hundred years into the past, completing the transaction that permitted the star to shine in our direction.14 Cramer may not have been aware of it, but his poetic invocation of the spacetime greeting of the eye and a distant star, and the transactional process that would be involved in seeing, was actually a staple of medieval and early Renaissance optics. Before the ray theory of light emerged in the 1600s, it was believed that a visual image was formed when rays projecting out from the eye interacted with those coming into it. It goes to show that everything, even old physics, comes back in style if you wait long enough—and it is another reason not to laugh too hard, or with too much self-assurance, at hand-waving that seems absurd from one’s own limited historical or scientific standpoint. In short: Cramer’s and Aharonov’s theories both imply a backward causal influence from the photon’s destination. The destination of the photon “already knows” it is going to receive the photon, and this is what enables it to behave with the appropriate politeness. Note that neither of these theories have anything to do with billiard balls moving in reverse, a mirror of causation in which particles somehow fly through spacetime and interact in temporal retrograde. That had been the idea at the basis of Gerald Feinberg’s hypothesized tachyons, particles that travel faster than light and thus backward in time. It inspired a lot of creative thinking about the possibilities of precognition and other forms of ESP in the early 1970s (and especially inspired the science-fiction writer Philip K. Dick), but we can now safely set aside that clunky and unworkable line of thinking as “vulgar retrocausation.” No trace of tachyons has turned up in any particle accelerator, and they don’t make sense anyway. What we are talking about here instead is an inflection of ordinary particles’ observable behavior by something ordinarily unobservable: measurements—that is, interactions—that lie ahead in those particles’ future histories. Nothing is “moving” backwards in time—and really, nothing is “moving” forwards in time either. A particle’s twists and turns as it stretches across time simply contain information about both its past and its future.

She made the null gesture herself, the crossing of her two middle fingers over the outer ones, forming a V shape.

None of these fellows like Don or Claude had any college, and they didn’t want me hiring any college men. They had the idea that college graduates wouldn’t get down and scrub floors and wash windows. The classic training in those days was to put a two-wheeler—you know, a cart that you carry merchandise on—into a guy’s hands within the first thirty minutes he came to work and get him pushing freight out of the back room. They all came out of these variety stores with the same background and the same kind of philosophy and education. And we looked for the action-oriented, do-it-now, go type of folks.

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If two friends ask you to judge a dispute, don’t accept, because you will lose one friend; on the other hand, if two strangers come with the same request, accept because you will gain one friend.

In 1905, the ASL’s strategy started reaching a groundswell when it effortlessly ousted Ohio governor Myron Herrick, a Republican who had been elected just two years earlier with the largest plurality in the state’s history. Ohio started going dry. “Never again,” Wheeler crowed, “will any political party ignore the protests of the church and the moral forces of the state.

Wherever there is danger, there lurks opportunity; whenever there is opportunity, there lurks danger. The two are inseparable. They go together.

Studies show that most people rate themselves well above average when it comes to ethical behavior. In fact, a newsmagazine poll asked people whom they thought would get to heaven. Bill Clinton was a toss-up, getting 52 percent backing from respondents. Former basketball star Michael Jordan did better, at 62 percent. Mother Teresa topped the two American men with 79 percent. But she was not the highest. That honor went to “yourself,” with 87 percent.

I love the wheels, I mean steering wheel.

Affirmative action and equal opportunity was never and is not intended to let people with fewer skills and less experience triumph over those with more. It was intended to aid a decision between two people who have the same set of skills.

He’s a very nice man and all that, easy to get along with, fun, he never makes you cry. But is that love? I mean, is that all there is to it? Even when you learned to ride your two-wheeler, you had to fall off a few times and scrape both knees. Call it a rite of passage. And that was just a little thing.

are two things a person should never be angry at. What they can help. And what they cannot.

By the all-powerful dispensation of Providence, I have been protected beyond all human probability or expectation; for I had four bullets through my coat, and two horses shot under me, and escaped unhurt, although death was leveling my companions on every side of me. Fifteen years after the battle, Washington

Side-Wheelers were built following the time sail ships were popular. It was a time when engineers experimented with various ways to transfer the thrust of steam engines to useful ways of propelling vessels through water. Side-Wheelers are a subspecies of paddleboats that were popular for a time, until it was determined that they were actually dangerous in heavy seas. Paddle steamers have a paddle wheel on each side of the ship’s hull making the vessel vulnerable to wave action coming in from abeam. If the seas were heavy enough the upper paddles could actually push water in the opposite direction from the ships heading, although the upper reach of the paddles were usually encased in a wooden housing. If the vessel rolled far enough the paddles or blades on one side or the other could come completely out of the water, thereby losing the necessary resistance. It was dangerous at best and was most frequently used on river boats. One of the best examples of a side-wheeler lost at sea was the sidewheel steamer Portland owned by the Eastern Steamship Company. It was 7 p.m. on Nov. 26, 1898 when Capt. Hollis Blanchard, convinced that he could outrun an oncoming storm and make it back to Portland in the morning left Boston. The 219-foot vessel had 120 passengers and 60 crew members including the night watchman, Griffin S. Reed of Portland. That night, hurricane-force winds and 40-foot seas blew up as blinding snow from two storms hit simultaneously and ravaged the New England coast. The Portland must been swamped by the violent sea just a few hours later. Although a ship’s whistle was heard on Cape Cod giving a distress signal of four short blasts, nothing could be seen through the heavy snow. Later that night bodies started washing ashore, late that night however. Many of the victims of the gale were laid to rest in the Portland Evergreen Cemetery. Griffin Reed’s body was never recovered however a stone has been placed in the cemetery in his memory. A total of about 400 New Englanders died in this storm still known as “The Portland Gale.” A hundred and fifty vessels, including the Portland sank in this ferocious storm leaving no survivors. In 2002, divers finally located the Portland in 500 feet of water. From her location, Highland Light, on Cape Cod, bears 175 degrees true at a distance of 4.5 miles.

eliminate it from their records?” Wheeler snorted his disgust. “Mr. McRyan, I’ve been cooperative with you because that’s generally my nature. I’m not looking for trouble, but I think I’ve had quite enough of your questioning. Are you a cop with any jurisdiction up here?” “Nope,” Mac responded, holding his ground. “But let me ask you a question. Do you really think that makes me less dangerous to you?” “Is that a threat?” Wheeler asked. “What do you think?” Mac retorted, glaring. Wheeler looked at Rawlings. “Sheriff, is Mr. McRyan working with your office, either officially or unofficially?” “No, Mr. Wheeler, he is not. But he is someone who is a serious person that I have to respect. He’s asking questions, interesting questions, about a case I care very much about.” “Sheriff, do you have a search warrant for my premises?” “No, I don’t, Mr. Wheeler.” “Am I or my company under investigation?” Rawlings shook his head. “Not by my office at the moment, but I remain interested in the Buller case. Four people were murdered, including two very young children. Mr. McRyan has raised certain specific issues that have once again piqued my interest in that case.” “I understood that case to be closed.” “It is perhaps not an active investigation, but it is not closed,” Rawlings replied. “There’s been no arrest. There is a theory as to what happened, but that’s all it is—a theory.” Mac looked back with a cunning smile and said, “Theories change, Mr. Wheeler. Evidence, like oil, bubbles up to the surface.” “That’s enough,” Wheeler retorted, standing up, coming around the desk, and getting into McRyan’s space. “I don’t like your tone or what either of you are accusing me or my company of.” Wheeler pointed to the door. “Sheriff, you want to get a search warrant, get a search warrant, but I think you won’t. And Mr. McRyan, if you want any more information, here’s the number for our lawyer.

We saw in just a couple of days how the media could begin to pass along a story that it seemed nobody ever checked out, but that everyone might believe regardless—amplifying the false information. There was a valuable lesson for me in all this. For some time, I had been saying that setting the record straight was one big part of our pursuit of justice in the case of Emmett Till. Now I could see very clearly how disinformation and misinformation were two sides of the same coin—public understanding.

Toll for two-wheelers? What's next, charging pedestrians for using the sidewalk? Are we really trying to navigate the chaos !

As Fuqua and his breakfast companions sipped second cups of coffee, the first wave of Japanese planes crossed the northernmost point of Oahu and flew almost directly over the startled faces of Privates Lockard and Elliott at Kahuku Point. The Zero fighters surged ahead to suppress any resistance from Army Air Forces fighters from Wheeler, Kaneohe, and Hickam airfields. Val dive-bombers climbed to twelve thousand feet and cut directly across the island to approach Pearl Harbor from the northeast. Kates carrying torpedoes dropped to near sea level and split into two groups to come at the harbor from opposite directions. The Kates assigned to high-altitude bombing made a lazy circle over the western point of the island and then turned northeast,

The great breakthrough of Einstein’s work is his assertion that gravitational attraction comes not as an external law imposed on the universe but from the objects themselves. Though the mathematical equations are complex, the interpretation is straightforward. Space is imagined as malleable, and matter is pictured as having the power to bend, dent, and curve space. A two-dimensional analogy would be a vast plain made of a rubbery material upon which various objects like stars and galaxies rested. A single star would make a dent in the rubber surface, a single galaxy would make a deeper dent, and a cluster of galaxies would make an even deeper dent in this imagined surface. In this way each of these objects was a creator of gravity. Einstein’s theory asserts that objects move along geodesic pathways that are determined by the curvature of this rubbery surface. If a rolling marble happens upon a dent in the surface, it will roll downhill toward whatever is causing the dent. If the marble happens to be moving quickly, it will slide toward the bottom of the dent but will have enough speed to carry it up and out of the indentation. Applied to my situation there at the lip of the Fraser River in British Columbia, my rock was sliding down to Earth because of the dent Earth made in the rubbery fabric of four-dimensional space-time. This cosmological dynamic received a succinct summary by John Archibald Wheeler, one of the main developers of Einstein’s theory, who said, “Matter tells space-time how to curve and curved space-time tells matter how to move.” The precision of prediction is astonishing. By plugging into Einstein’s field equations the values for the mass of my rock and of Earth, one can predict with highest accuracy the pathway the rock travels when released. Einstein’s work holds not only for the movements of rocks dropped on Earth, but for planets revolving around the Sun, for the Sun revolving around the Milky Way galaxy, for the Milky Way pinwheeling about Andromeda, and for the Virgo supercluster of galaxies soaring through

Social behavior, especially during leisure time, occurs in small groups with greater frequency among collectivists. Individualists prefer socializing in couples. For example, Korean skiers often ski in groups, whereas Americans tend to ski alone or in couples (Brandt, 1974). Similarly, collectivists are more likely to eat in large groups (Triandis, 1990; Levine, 1992). Most interaction among collectivists is individual-group, and most interaction among individualists occurs between two individuals (Wheeler, Reis, and Bond, 1989).

Bellows was a small Army fighter base near the eastern end of Oahu. It had only two small squadrons, and only 12 of the planes were modern P-40s, but all of them were lined up just as neatly as the planes at Hickam and Wheeler. The men were all taking it easy or planning the usual Sunday projects.

Sometimes the flings would last a night, other times they’d stretch on for a week or two. Three tops. They were always finite, always ended in disappointment and disappearances.

There are always two reasons people do anything. There’s the real reason, and then there’s the one we think sounds good to others.

was kind, benevolent, generous, and dutiful. Owen had asked how someone could survive with two such beasts inside them. Would not one of them eventually win? Duke Horwath had given him a crinkled smile. “Which wolf wins?” he had asked. “The one that you feed.

Elmwood UFO Capital of the World Stop through Elmwood at any time of year other than the last full weekend in July, and you’ll think the aliens have already come and gone … and took everyone with them! Not much seems to be happening in this sleepy little burg. But that hasn’t always been the case. The first UFO sighting near Elmwood occurred on March 2, 1975. A star-shaped light chased a local woman and eventually landed on her car’s hood when she stopped to get a better look. A year later, in April 1976, another fireball—this one the size of a football field—shot out a blue light beam that blasted all the sparkplugs in a police cruiser driven by officer George Wheeler. Little green men seem to have trained their laser sights on Elmwood. And Elmwood welcomes the extraterrestrial attention. A few years ago Tomas Weber of the UFO Site Center Corporation in Chippewa Falls proposed that a two-square-mile UFO landing pad be built near town. The price? Twenty-five million dollars. The project has yet to get off the ground, or on the ground. Nobody talks much about it anymore, perhaps due to some type of black-ops “shadow government” cover-up.

something no one had ever done before.” Jinx recruited bassist Oz Osbourne, guitarist Chris Neilson, Rick Durrett on keyboards, and drummer Steve Ross to form Coven in the late 1960s. The date of the band's formation is often given as 1969, but they were popular in their hometown and opening for groups like Vanilla Fudge, the Yardbirds, and Alice Cooper at least two years earlier;

There are many worlds. Yet we constantly separate ourselves, by degrees, from the others. We create arbitrary distinctions to set ourselves apart. But let me speak first of the two main worlds that orbit each other. There are those who live in estates and cities that have mastered the clouds and sit on their perch of air to overlook the vast landscapes below. That is the upper world. The world of the wealthy. The world of the gifted. The world where the Mysteries hold sway. The other world is darker. There are neighborhoods of extreme poverty. Winding alleys and street urchins and gangs. This is a world of fog. It is a world of coughing, sickness, and pestilence. It is a world where industry beckons the ambitious to risk their all—and where the mighty and rich descend in shame after their fortunes have been ruined by games of chance and power. These are very different worlds. And yet, they are much the same.

Wheeler's brilliant student Richard Feynman had developed a unique approach to quantum mechanics, called 'sum over histories', that generalized Hamilton's least-action principle to the study of how photons transfer between electrons and other charged particles to generate the electromagnetic force. In creating a force, the photon acts as what is called an 'exchange particle'. (Its existence is required through Weyl's gauge theory of electromagnetism.) Unlike in classical mechanics, in which particles travel along unique paths, Feynman showed how in quantum interactions all possible paths are taken, weighted by their probabilities to create a net result.

We stopped for the driver, Sergei, to take a bathroom break in the woods. He had taken a dislike to me. 'What would you have done', he asked, 'if it were minus thirty, which it might well have been, and you were wearing those light trousers?' I said that the fabric was high-tech and I had worn the trousers in the Arctic, and showed him my merino leggings underneath, and two pairs of thermal socks. at this news he changed tack. 'Far too much for this mild weather'.

To be real my dude you look like anything but a business man. I mean of course unless you ran like a strip club or something. Yeah, I could see that, you in the back room smacking a**es and raising the pole rent.

Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.

We are, for the most part, the product of what we think about the most. Our minds are fertile beds, like these flower boxes. What would happen if the gardener did not pull out the weeds? Like this little one,” he said, pointing out a small weed in one of the boxes. “They would grow and overrun the garden eventually,” Sera replied. “Precisely. It takes little effort to pull one up now.” And he did so and set it down on the stone railing for the gardener to collect. “But they are much more difficult to remove when their roots grow deeper. There is a tendency within the very nature of all things to degrade. On clear days, the ruins of Sempringfall Abbey can be seen from my estate. People like to wander the grounds there and look at the bones of the abbey. There are a few arches still, but most of the place has crumbled. People who visit there always comment about the structure and imagine what might have caused the desolation.” “Why was the abbey destroyed?” “It wasn’t destroyed, Sera. It was neglected. Eventually the decay grew so bad that a roof collapsed. It became dangerous. Rather than spending time and money fixing it, the people who lived there ignored the problems until the entire place was ruined utterly. To reconstruct the abbey would have required enormous funds. A small decision not to fix broken roof shingles led to another decision to put off the problem. And another and another. Eventually, given enough time, there will not be two stones left standing.

Love and marriage are completely unrelated enterprises. Marriage bears as little resemblance to love as competing in the Olympics does to your afternoon jog. Sometimes I think with regret of how our love might have grown if we hadn’t driven a pregnancy, then a marriage—like two speeding 18-wheelers—straight into it.

quote—“‘There are two things a person should never be angry at. What they can help. And what they cannot.

India’s Highway Revolution: Exploring the Nation’s Finest Infrastructure Driving along India’s #besthighwayinfrstructure is an experience that seamlessly blends innovation with nature. These highways are redefining travel, offering a perfect combination of comfort, efficiency, and breathtaking beauty. The first thing that captivates you is the flawless road quality. Gone are the days of bumpy, pothole-filled journeys—today’s highways feature smooth, meticulously paved surfaces. Wide, clearly demarcated lanes ensure organized traffic flow, accommodating everything from two-wheelers to heavy trucks. Strategically placed signage enhances navigation, making every journey effortless. Beyond functionality, these highways offer stunning visuals. As you travel, the landscape transforms—from rolling hills to vast plains—showcasing some of India’s most scenic views. Thoughtfully designed noise barriers and landscaped medians not only preserve the environment but also enhance the aesthetic appeal of the journey. The supporting infrastructure is just as remarkable. Rest stops go beyond basic amenities, serving as welcoming hubs for relaxation and refreshment. Thanks to #Modernroadmakers, travelers have access to clean facilities, diverse dining options, and even play areas for children—ensuring a comfortable journey for all. Technology plays a crucial role in elevating the highway experience. Automated toll plazas minimize delays, while well-lit roads provide optimal visibility for night travel. Bridges and flyovers, constructed using cutting-edge techniques, are not just functional but also architectural wonders that reflect India’s infrastructural prowess. India’s highways symbolize the nation’s unwavering commitment to progress. They represent a country that is advancing with style while maintaining a deep respect for its natural surroundings. Traveling on these roads isn’t just about reaching a destination—it’s about experiencing a journey that leaves a lasting impression.

Look at the way his hair is cut (fig. 6); that is the Hoⁿ´-ga A-hiu-ṭoⁿ hair cut. That style is called ḳoⁿ´-ha-u-thi-stse. Xu-tha´-pa, Eagle-head, better known as Ben Wheeler, a young man who sat near us, looked up and said: “That’s my little boy; I cut my children’s hair like that.” Saucy-calf then explained that the act of the parents in cutting the hair of the child in that prescribed fashion was an implied petition to Wa-ḳoⁿ´-da to permit the little one to live to see old age without obstruction of any kind.

Freedom of association, freedom of speech; it was the freedom to unite, to draw strength from numbers. But what good was freedom of the press if you couldn’t read or afford a two-penny paper? What good was freedom of association if you had no place to convene, no free hour to do it in? Speech might be free, Greta thought, but to be heard cost money.

What a man said and what he actually did were two very different things.