Velcro Quotes

When you don't fit in, you become superhuman. You can feel everyone else's eyes on you, stuck like Velcro. You can hear a whisper about you from a mile away. You can disappear, even when it looks like you're still standing right there. You can scream, and nobody hears a sound. You become the mutant who fell into the vat of acid, the Joker who can't remove his mask, the bionic man who's missing all his limbs and none of his heart. You are the thing that used to be normal, but that was so long ago, you can't even remember what it was like.

Aside from velcro, time is the most mysterious substance in the universe. You can't see it or touch it, yet a plumber can charge you upwards of seventy-five dollars per hour for it, without necessarily fixing anything.

I know in the spy movies it always looks really cool when the operative goes from a maid's uniform to a slinky, sexy, ballgown in the amount of time it takes an elevator to climb three floors. Well, I don't know how it is for TV spies, but I can tell you that even with Velcro, the art of the quick change is one that must take a lot of practice (not to mention better lighting than one is likely to find in a tunnel that was once part of the underground railroad).

So I’m into men now, even though they can be frightening. I want a schedule-keeping, waking-up-early, wallet-carrying, non-Velcro-shoe-wearing man.

See, some people, they’re sticky like Velcro. You’re sticky. Your problems stick to you like fuzzballs from the laundry; you take them everywhere with you and people can see them plain as day. Ty, he’s like spandex. Nothing sticks to him, and he’s shiny on the outside

You’re like Marilyn Monroe,’ Ken tells me, which I take as a compliment and say a nervous “Thank You”. Interrupting, he adds, ‘You’re all velvet and Velcro. Men want you because you’re sexy and broken and when it gets too rough they can say “Hey! This toy is broken!” and toss you aside without feeling bad.

Your brain is like Velcro for negative experiences but Teflon for positive ones.

F*ck the padded rooms, give me a Trampoline with bubble wrapped walls, and a Velcro ceiling. Then let's see what happens.

This doesn’t mean anything,” Haley whispers as she reaches up and pulls at the Velcro of my glove. “Yes, it does.” I bring my arms to my sides and the instant the gloves fall to the floor, my hands latch on to that beautiful body. “Tell me, Haley. Please tell me it does because this means something to me.

. . . and Vaclav's special new shoes with the lights on the heels and the Velcro everywhere, because in America no one, not even small children, has time to tie his own shoes, and everything must have flashing lights.

Now it’s the age for the translator. It’s the age for the bridge builder. It’s the age for Velcro. It’s the age for Lego. It’s the age for combining what we already have into what we need.

Forgiving people doesn’t necessarily mean you want to meet them for lunch. It means you try to undo the Velcro hook. Lewis Smedes said it best: “To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.

The problem is most of the time when God’s supposed to be the hero, he comes across as the villain. I mean, look at what he did to Lot’s wife. What kind of divine being turns a man’s wife into a pillar of salt? What was her crime? Turning her head? You have to admit this is a God hopelessly locked in time, not free of it; otherwise he might have confounded the ancients by turning her into a flat-screen television or at least a pillar of Velcro.

Momma didn’t raise no fool. Chuck E. Cheese was for mouth breathers and kids with Velcro shoes.

Before I can even attempt to lower my heart rate, she's velcroed herself to me with the kind of hug one might extend if they held proof of a matched blood relation.

Dave once asked me what blind people dream about. Mostly in sound and feeling, I replied. At night I fall in love with a voice, and then wake to a feeling of physical loss. Sometimes I close my eyes to a chorus of “Happy Birthday!” The smell of cake and the sound of feet under the table. I awake in a body that’s too big. I also dream in motion and sensation. My father’s boat and the snore of the mast; the rough fabric of the safety harness and the rip of Velcro. The sun on my legs. And endless stretch of water impossible to imagine.

When we hold negative thoughts and feelings in nonjudgmental awareness, we are able to pay attention to them without getting stuck like Velcro. Mindfulness allows us to see that our negative thoughts and emotions are just that—thoughts and emotions—not necessarily reality. They are therefore given less weight—they are observed, but not necessarily believed. In this way, negatively biased thoughts and emotions are allowed to arise and pass away without resistance. This allows us to deal with whatever life brings our way with greater equanimity.

When these Velcro thoughts and emotions arise, the key is to face and investigate whatever belief structures underlie them. In that moment, inquiry is your spiritual practice. To avoid this practice is to avoid your own awakening. Anything you avoid in life will come back, over and over again, until you’re willing to face it—to look deeply into its true nature.

[to Navy SEALs] Quite frankly, I didn't even want to use you guys, with your dip and velcro and all your gear bullshit. I wanted to drop a bomb. But people didn't believe in this lead enough to drop a bomb. So they're using you guys as canaries. And, in theory, if bin Laden isn't there, you can sneak away and no one will be the wiser. But bin Laden is there. And you're going to kill him for me.

As the man continues to stare at his mobile phone, his yellow safety vest loosens itself up and flaps wildly in the breeze, hitting him in the face. I watch him swat away at the vest, taming it under control aggressively. Pulling down the vest, he presses the Velcro back together and flattens it against his zip up brown jumper.

Bee had been the glue that held them all together, then he was the Velcro. Not as secure, maybe, but there would be an awful tearing sound if he pulled away.

Astronauts’ helmets contain a small piece of Velcro so they can scratch their noses.

We were like two sides of Velcro that fused together to create an unbreakable bond. I was the rough side and she was the soft

I carry your love like a backpack. I only wish your love had a larger cargo capacity, and had zippers instead of Velcro.

Suddenly, I can’t wait to get out of my clothes. They feel Velcroed to my skin, itchy and definitely unfresh.

The ultimate goal of a sermon-based small group is simply to velcro people to the two things they will need most when faced with a need-to-know or need-to-grow situation: the Bible and other Christians.

In a sec.......let's see if this will help. Once there was a bunny that was very sad cause his ears were long and floppy and he stepped on them all the time." "Like my shoelaces?" "Yep, just like that. One day a beautiful fairy,,,,,,,," "The shoelace fairy?" "Yep. She landed on the bunny's head and.........." "Didn't that hurt? Does she have a wand?" "Nope. She lifted up the bunny's ears and crossed them over like an x." "I can cross my eyes.........look." "Lovely. She put one ear through the bottom of the x and she pulled." "She pulled the bunny's ears..........bad fairy." "No, she was trying to tie his.........." "Dan," Jordan laughed, "Stop. That is the worst thing I've ever heard." "Well, it's better than the teepees and the arrows and crap," Danny huffed. "Can I go see Andy now?" "Yes, go see Andy and his Velcro sneakers," Jordan snickered. "We give up.

When you don’t fit in, you become superhuman. You can feel everyone else’s eyes on you, stuck like Velcro. You can hear a whisper about you from a mile away. You can disappear, even when it looks like you’re still standing right there. You can scream, and nobody hears a sound. You

She kisses him because he is a good kisser, because he is sweet, because for the last hour she has only been here; and because he is a gentleman who wants to bring her another blanket that will smell of dust and old straw, who paid for their drinks with the only ten-pound note left in a wallet that had a strip of Velcro on it.

Angie had been summoned to Casa Bellicosa to unfasten a screech owl from the presidential pompadour, which the low-swooping raptor had mistaken for a road-kill fox. When Angie arrived, the commander-in-chief was lurching madly around the helipad, bellowing and clawing at the Velcro skull patch into which the confused bird had embedded its talons.

He remembered the black sands beach along California’s lost coast where his mother finally gave up the fight. He hadn’t even realized she’d been injured so badly after running into his father in Seattle. She’d bled most of the way though Oregon, but he hadn’t thought it was serious. He hadn’t known she was bleeding out on the inside, a kidney and her liver ruptured, her intestines bruised beyond repair. […] They stopped six feet from the tide and she made him repeat every promise she’d ever dragged out of him: don’t look back, don’t slow down, and don’t trust anyone. Be anyone but himself, and never be anyone for too long. By the time Neil understood she was saying goodbye, it was too late. She died gasping for one more breath, panting with something that might have been words or his name or fear. Neil could still feel her fingernails digging into his arms as she fought not to slip away, and the memory left him shaking all over. Her abdomen felt like stone when he touched her, swollen and hard. He tried pulling her from her seat only once, but the sound of her dried blood ripping off the vinyl like Velcro killed him. […] He hadn’t cried when the flames caught, and he hadn’t flinched when he pulled her cooling bones out. […] By the time he found the highway again he was numb with shock, and he lasted another day before he fell to his knees on the roadside and puked his guts out.

Jason was the next batter. He did his whole Velcro routine. Then he stepped up to the plate. The first ball went past. “Strike!” I groaned. “Come on, Jason.” He swung at the second. I didn’t realize I was squeezing Tiffany’s and Bird’s hands until Bird said, “You know, bones break under pressure.” “Oh, sorry.” I tried holding my own hands, but it wasn’t as comforting.

O’er rivers, through woods, With winding and weaves, Their school bus sailed on Through the new-fallen leaves. When out on the road There arose such a clatter, They threw down their windows To see what was the matter. When what with their wondering eyes Should they see, But a miniature farm And eight tiny turkey. And a little old man So lively and rugged, They knew in a moment It was Farmer Mack Nuggett. He was dressed all in denim From his head to his toe, With a pinch of polyester And a dash of Velcro. And then in a twinkling They heard in the straw The prancing and pawing Of each little claw. More rapid than chickens His cockerels they came. He whistled and shouted And called them by name: “Now Ollie, now Stanley, now Larry and Moe, On Wally, on Beaver, on Shemp and Groucho!

not shifting so the desk frame doesn’t go screek screek, not breathing so he doesn’t smell any smells, but sweat is trickling down his ribs, and Wesley Ohman keeps opening and closing the Velcro on his left shoe, and Tony Molinari’s lips are going poppoppop, and Mrs. Onegin is writing a huge, terrible A-M-E-R-I-C- on the whiteboard, the marker tip rasping and squeaking, the classroom clock ticktickticking, and all these sounds race into his head like hornets into a nest.

I...I...YOU...SIXTEEN LOG THIRTY-THREE...ALL COSINE SUBSCRIPTS...ANTI...ANTI...IN ALL THESE YEARS...BEAM...FLOOD...PYTHAGOREAN...CARTESIAN LOGIC...CAN I...DARE I...A PEACH...EAT A PEACH...ALLMAN BROTHERS...PATRICIA...CROCODILE AND WHIPLASH SMILE...CLOCK OF DIALS...TICK-TOCK, ELEVEN O'CLOCK, THE MAN'S IN THE MOON AND HE'S READY TO ROCK...INCESSAMENT...INCESSAMENT, MON CHER...OH MY HEAD...BLAINE...BLAINE DARES...BLAINE WILL ANSWER...I...(screaming in the voice of an infant, lapsing into another language, presumably French, as none of the words are familiar to Eddie, beginning to sing when the song Velcro Fly by Z.Z. Top suddenly plays courtesy of its percussion drums)

He’s coming off the bridge,” said Serge. “The rocks will start soon.” “Rocks?” “It’s local tradition, and another reason I love the Keys.” Serge stood and put on his sneakers. “It’s our version of when those people went out to the overpasses and waved at O. J. Simpson during the slow-motion chase. Except in the Keys, when there’s a high-speed pursuit on TV heading south, the locals line the road and wait for the car to come off the bridge to Key Largo. Last time was around Christmas.” “You’re right.” Coleman pointed at the TV again. “They’re lining the side of the road. They’re throwing rocks.” “And we’re at Mile Marker 105, so that gives us about three minutes.” Serge tightened the Velcro straps on his shoes. “Let’s go throw rocks.

Here’s what it looks like: “I am going to close my eyes”—then place your hands over your eyes—“and all I’m saying is that if there is a child with his shoes on when I open my eyes . . . oh my goodness, if there is a child all Velcroed up . . . I just don’t know what I am going to do! I am going to be so confused! I may even—oh no oh no—have to do a silly jumpy dance and wiggle all around and I may even fall on the floor!” Then pause. Wait. The chances of your child’s running to put his shoes on just skyrocketed. Why? Because now your child is in charge. He feels in control rather than like he’s being controlled. Your child feels you trust him because you’re not watching (even though you may be peering through your fingers), and you’re adding in silliness and the promise of doing something absurd—what kid doesn’t love to watch a parent dance and fall down and look ridiculous?

In your own mind, what do you usually think about at the end of the day? The fifty things that went right, or the one that went wrong? Such as the driver who cut you off in traffic, or the one thing on your To Do list that didn’t get done . . . In effect, the brain is like Velcro for negative experiences, but Teflon for positive ones. That shades implicit memory—your underlying feelings, expectations, beliefs, inclinations, and mood—in an increasingly negative direction. Which is not fair, since most of the facts in your life are probably positive or at least neutral. Besides the injustice of it, the growing pile of negative experiences in implicit memory naturally makes a person more anxious, irritable, and blue—plus it gets harder to be patient and giving toward others. But you don’t have to accept this bias! By tilting toward the good—toward that which brings more happiness and benefit to oneself and others—you merely level the playing field. Then, instead of positive experiences washing through you like water through a sieve, they’ll collect in implicit memory deep down in your brain.

I try to plan my exits from the office so that I don’t need to talk to anyone else on the way out. There are always so many questions. What are you up to tonight? Plans for the weekend? Booked a holiday yet? I’ve no idea why other people are always so interested in my schedule. I’d timed it all perfectly, and was maneuvering my shopper over the threshold when I realized that someone had pulled the door back and was holding it open for me. I turned around. “All right, Eleanor?” the man said, smiling patiently as I unraveled the string on my mittens from my sleeve. Even though they were not required in the current temperate atmosphere, I keep them in situ, ready to don as the eventual change in season requires. “Yes,” I said, and then, remembering my manners, I muttered, “Thank you, Raymond.” “No bother,” he said. Annoyingly, we began walking down the path at the same time. “Where are you headed?” he asked. I nodded vaguely in the direction of the hill. “Me too,” he said. I bent down and pretended to refasten the Velcro on my shoe. I took as long as I could, hoping that he would take the hint.

By the time I got down there, Bird was standing to the left of the backstop, near the warm-up area, smiling at Brandon. It was obvious he was trying not to get caught smiling at her, that he was supposed to focus on the game. I scooted over until I was standing behind the dugout. Jason was still messing with his gloves. I was surprised the Velcro still worked, that it hadn’t worn down until all the tiny sticky teeth were gone. “Hey, Jason,” I said. “Awesome no-hitter.” I was vaguely aware of someone gasping and someone else moaning, as Jason came up off the bench fast, spun around, and stared at me like I’d morphed into something from The X-Files. The guy who’d gasped, Chase, put one knee on the bench, so he could talk to me in a low voice and still be heard. “You’d better go.” “Why? What did I do?” “You never talk to the pitcher when…” He shook his head. “You just never talk to the pitcher when--” “I just wanted to congratulate him on a good game--” “It’s not over ’til it’s over,” Chase said. “You jinxed me,” Jason said, crouching down in the corner, pressing his palms against his forehead, like he’d been struck with a migraine headache.

For the briefest of seconds, it was like he looked back into the stands, like maybe he spotted me, shaking my rattle, giving him all the encouragement I could. I could have sworn I saw a corner of his mouth curl up. Then he did the whole Velcro batting glove thing and stepped up to the plate. The pitch came. He swung. Crack! He hit it! He hit it! I jumped up and started shouting. I had a second to see the stunned look on his face, like maybe he’d never hit the ball before, but that couldn’t be… And then I realized what it was. As he started running, he turned his head, his gaze following the ball… The ball that went out of the ballpark! Right over the Backyard Mania billboard! Home run! My boyfriend had hit a home run! I jumped around, pointing at the number on my jersey, hugging Bird, hugging Tiffany, watching Jason slapping his coach’s hand as he rounded third. I watched him cross home plate, wearing the biggest grin on his face. “You know what this means, don’t you?” Bird said. “That we’re ahead two to nothing?” “It means he’ll insist you sit in this exact spot for every game. He’ll think this is the good luck spot.” “No way.” “Either that, or he’ll ask you not to wash your underwear.” “Ew! That’s so not happening. Maybe I can convince him it was wearing the jersey.” Yeah, I thought. That’s the ticket.

We were like velcro with all the noise it makes when you take the two pieces apart, hugging like staples, we went until there, this time for good it’s over.

Scientists call this default mechanism a “negativity bias,” and it makes perfect sense. Our very survival depends on being able to screen out potential attacks. “The mind is like Velcro for negative experiences,” says neuropsychologist Rick Hanson, “and Teflon for positive ones.”4

The big Nazi cat went on raking up thread-loops from my trousers, seemingly intent on single-handedly reinventing Velcro.

I patted where he indicated and felt something below the surface of the cloth. I could see the stitching where the fabric came together. I couldn’t see a pocket, and yet… I leaned over to inspect it, and then pulled at the seam. It came apart with the ripping sound of Velcro. The old man was right; he did have a hidden pocket.

Eventually I was ready to learn how to perform routine life tasks again. 'Enabling occupation'—that’s what the learning process was called when it was presented to me. Enabling occupation involved the mastery of skills that I didn’t even know could properly be called 'skills.' How to pick up and carry and manipulate a set of common objects: a handbag, a stoneware saucer, a mobile phone, a paperback book. I was told that my new limbs were capable of hefting an automobile, of bending an iron bar, but I couldn’t make them do any of these magical things—not anything remotely close. Instead, I spent my days trying to pick up a thumbtack from a hard surface using my feeble pincer grasp, to activate a light switch with a single articulated finger, and to fasten a long line of shirt buttons, each of which was around the size of a half-dollar coin. During this period, I worked to improve my gross motor skills in parallel. I relearned how to reach for distant objects without collapsing under my own weight, how to twist a standard brass doorknob, and how to pour liquid from a plastic pitcher into a paper cup without spilling everything everywhere or crushing the handle itself in my grip. Eventually I used these newfound skills to practice clothing myself in simple blouses with velcro fasteners and pants with elastic waistbands, struggling to take it all off again when it was time. At some point during this phase, a team of nameless staff members helped me stand upright in front of a full-length mirror so I could stare at my newly-made body, fully exposed, and with my sharpened vision I was able to see the true extent of my transformation, the exquisite atrocity I’d chosen to perpetrate.

The brain is like Velcro for negative experiences but Teflon for positive ones.” So

Hello, said Loo. What's wrong? Hawley asked. You're not outside. Not tonight. But you're *always* outside. Hawley did not know how to answer. All this time he had been watching her window, it had never occurred to him that she was watching for him, too. He could hear Loo's breath, heavy and expectant, blowing hard into the mouthpiece, and for a moment all he could think of was the sound of the whale's spout--the blast of air and water as the giant rose to the surface, the salted spray that had rained down upon him in Puget Sound and filled him with terror and longing and a sense that he could right the path he was on. He had not realized that he'd been waiting for this sound until he heard it. He knew only that he had been waiting--for something that had never arrived, that had failed him, that had made him rage and murder int he silence it had left. But now here it was again. His daughter, still breathing. And so was he. I'll come now. Right now? Yes, said Hawley. Put your coat on. And get your toothbrush. Your real toothbrush. Hawley wrapped the phone cord around his arm, tighter and tighter, waiting to hear what she would say. Instead he heard the sound of footsteps. A door open and close. Then a clattering as the phone dropped to the ground. Hawley called Loo's name. He pressed his ear tightly against the receiver, straining to listen. Something dragged across the floor. Shuffling. Thumps. A noise like Velcro being ripped apart. And then she came back to him. I've got my shoes on, Loo said. I've got the candy, too.

For the briefest of seconds, it was like he looked back into the stands, like maybe he spotted me, shaking my rattle, giving him all the encouragement I could. I could have sworn I saw a corner of his mouth curl up. Then he did the whole Velcro batting glove thing and stepped up to the plate. The pitch came. He swung. Crack! He hit it! He hit it! I jumped up and started shouting. I had a second to see the stunned look on his face, like maybe he’d never hit the ball before, but that couldn’t be… And then I realized what it was. As he started running, he turned his head, his gaze following the ball… The ball that went out of the ballpark! Right over the Backyard Mania billboard! Home run! My boyfriend had hit a home run!

I fell in love with a fluffy white and black cat that wandered onto the monastery property. She was so beautiful. I took excellent care of her. I used to spend hours pulling the Velcro-like burrs that got stuck in her long fur when she came to visit my hermitage. The monastery eventually decided she was better off living with a neighbor instead of us. That meant I would never see her again. When I heard the news, I became quite sad. The day she was picked up by her new owners and gone for good was one of the hardest days of my training. That night, I sat in meditation. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. When the bell rang to finish my meditation, I asked a question, “How do you let go of someone you love?” The answer that appeared was, “Love everyone.” I’ll never forget the magnitude of that response. My heart opened up beyond its broken capacity to include all of those around me. The feeling was so overwhelming that it was impossible to experience loss. Love everyone.

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If their life together were a recipe, it would be this: tablespoons of late nights talking, a dash of fervent fingers across skin, and too many I love you's to count. Date nights and nights in and days spent in the sunshine or getting caught in the rain or sneaking cigarettes at family functions, and their wedding day. His homemade spaghetti sauce followed by her coffee cake. Their cat, Velcro. Their Greenwood home. Trust, laughter, tears, and pure joy, kneaded into one by years of togetherness.

«la mente es adherente como el velcro para las experiencias negativas, y resbaladiza como el teflón para las positivas»

the Close Your Eyes Hack. This trick gives our kids the core elements they need in order to want to listen to us—it infuses respect, trust, independence, control, and playfulness all at once. Here’s what it looks like: “I am going to close my eyes”—then place your hands over your eyes—“and all I’m saying is that if there is a child with his shoes on when I open my eyes . . . oh my goodness, if there is a child all Velcroed up . . . I just don’t know what I am going to do! I am going to be so confused! I may even—oh no oh no—have to do a silly jumpy dance and wiggle all around and I may even fall on the floor!” Then pause. Wait.

Lots of pockets, with zippers and Velcro and ties, because I am picking up new things all the time. I always want there to be space for everything I want to be.

His wiry black hair and his stubble could, together, have been used as makeshift velcro, if you were marooned on a desert island with him and desperately needed to construct an easy-open fastener.

You brought condoms on a training operation?” Harvard laughed as he opened one of the Velcro pockets of his vest. “Yeah. You did, too. You should have three or four in your combat vest. To put over our rifle barrels in case of heavy rain, remember?

Though this evening seemed somehow enchanted, Jess was terrified that, once they were alone together, her mum would rip off her smile with a horrible tearing Velcro sound. In fact, she might rip off her whole friendly face and underneath there might be a fire-breathing dragon. This time you've really blown it! She might roar, sparks flying out of her eyes and burning small craters in the pavement. You're a treacherous, cunning, lying, horrible harlot! Mum's hair would turn into hissing snakes. Steam would come screaming out her ears and cause a sulfurous fog that would hang over Cornwall for days, ships would founder on the rocks. Trees would go black and die. Teddy bears' eyes would fall out.

Rip. “Velcro.

The key is giving appreciations that stick like Velcro, instead of the quick “Hey, thanks!” that slips off like Teflon.

Hanson says, “The brain is like Velcro for negative experiences but Teflon for positive ones.

I meet his eyes. They are deep and almost mesmerizing. Did I say deep before? Yeah, right. That’s not it. They have a pull to them, like currents, like Velcro or something, totally captivating, like when you see a convertible flipped over on the highway and there are body bags and you don’t want to look but you look because you can’t look, because you can’t not look, because you are just riveted and . . . Stop. Just stop.

She goes to Seth and starts to take Mellie from him, but I reach around her and pick up the sleeping girl instead. Mellie wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist, and she clings to me like she’s a Velcro monkey. My heart stutters a little. I like this feeling. I like it a lot, and my heart aches because I will never have this. “I can take her,” Skylar says, holding out her hands. “I got her,” I say, and Seth stands up with Joey wrapped around him. I hitch Mellie a little higher, and she makes a snuffling noise against my neck. I don’t have any desire to put her down.

His gaze fell to the rolling table beside his bed and the tattered brown teddy bear resting there. “Your boss said the little girl you saved wanted you to have it while you were sick, but she expects to get it back.” Emotion constricted his throat and he had to look away from Cat to clear it. Reaching out a finger, he stroked down the stuffed animal’s head. “She didn’t have to do that.” “Chad seemed very surprised she had given it up.” He nodded, his head throbbing from emotion and physical pain. He wanted to crawl into bed and drag Cat with him. She seemed to sense as well that he had almost reached his limit, because she peeled the blankets back on the bed. “Why don’t you chill for a little bit? We’ll go over our options later. Want me to help you with the sling?” Without argument he turned to let her release the Velcro strips, then shifted himself back to the mattress, dragging a spare pillow over his aching eyes. The lack of light immediately eased some of the tension in his head. “Can you hang out with me for a while?” She stroked her hand down his arm and squeezed his fingers. “I will.” Huffing

My office is over here—” He stopped. Frowned. Looked about. Had to backtrack to the kitchen in order to find the various parties. Sola’s grandmother had her head in the Sub-Zero refrigerator, rather as if she were a gnome looking for a cool place in the summer. “Madam?” Assail inquired. She shut the door and moved on to the floor-to-ceiling cabinets. “There is nothing here. Nothing. What do you eat?” “Ah . . .” Assail found himself looking at the cousins for aid. “Usually we take our meals in town.” The scoffing sound certainly appeared like the old-lady equivalent of Fuck that. “I need the staples.” She pivoted on her little shiny shoes and put her hands on her hips. “Who is taking me to supermarket.” Not an inquiry. And as she stared up at the three of them, it appeared as though Ehric and his violent killer of a twin were as nonplussed as Assail was. The evening had been planned out to the minute—and a trip to the local Hannaford was not on the list. “You two are too thin,” she announced, flicking her hand in the direction of the twins. “You need to eat.” Assail cleared his throat. “Madam, you have been brought here for your safety.” He was not going to permit Benloise to up the stakes—and so he’d had to lock down potential collateral damage. “Not to be a cook.” “You have already refused the money. I no stay here for free. I earn my keep. That is the way it will be.” Assail exhaled long and slow. Now he knew where Sola got her independent streak. “Well?” she demanded. “I no drive. Who takes me.” “Madam, would you not prefer to rest—” “Your body rest when dead. Who.” “We do have an hour,” Ehric hedged. As Assail glared at the other vampire, the little old lady hitched her purse up on her forearm and nodded. “So he will take me.” Assail met Sola’s grandmother’s gaze directly and dropped his tone a register just so that the line drawn would be respected. “I pay. Are we clear—you are not to spend a cent.” She opened her mouth as if to argue, but she was headstrong—not foolish. “Then I do the darning.” “Our clothes are in sufficient shape—” Ehric cleared his throat. “Actually, I have a couple of loose buttons. And the Velcro strip on his flak jacket is—” Assail looked over his shoulder and bared his fangs at the idiot—out of eyesight of Sola’s grandmother, of course. Remarshaling his expression, he turned back around and— Knew he’d lost. The grandmother had one of those brows cocked, her dark eyes as steady as any foe’s he’d ever faced. Assail shook his head. “I cannot believe I’m negotiating with you.” “And you agree to terms.” “Madam—” “Then it is settled.” Assail threw up his hands. “Fine. You have forty-five minutes. That is all.” “We be back in thirty.” At that, she turned and headed for the door. In her diminutive wake, the three vampires played ocular Ping-Pong. “Go,” Assail gritted out. “Both of you.” The cousins stalked for the garage door—but they didn’t make it. Sola’s grandmother wheeled around and put her hands on her hips. “Where is your crucifix?” Assail shook himself. “I beg your pardon?” “Are you no Catholic?” My dear sweet woman, we are not human, he thought. “No, I fear not.” Laser-beam eyes locked on him. Ehric. Ehric’s brother. “We change this. It is God’s will.” And out she went, marching through the mudroom, ripping open the door, and disappearing into the garage. As that heavy steel barrier closed automatically, all Assail could do was blink.

According to neuropsychologist Rick Hanson, your brain is like Velcro for negative experiences and Teflon for positive ones. For most of human history, we were chased by predators or endangered by natural forces. So we are genetically wired to focus on what is wrong, what we do not have, what lurks in the unknown. It takes practice to create a positivity bias, to be grateful for all you do have instead of all you do not have, all that is right instead of all that is wrong, all that feels good instead of all that aches.

to help our ancestors survive, the brain evolved a negativity bias that makes it like Velcro for bad experiences but Teflon for good ones.

Water is doled out as if it were being squeezed from the atmosphere by robots; each person is allowed eight minutes of shower time a week. The six crew members keep in touch with mission control only by computer, with a twenty-minute lag in each direction to simulate communication from Mars, and they leave the dome only on E.V.A.—extra-vehicular activity—wearing Velcro-sealed approximations of spacesuits.

He can’t stay here.” I’m putting my foot down. I won’t allow this to happen. “I’ll leave, Dad. I swear to God, if you try to make me do this, I’ll disappear again.” Dad sits back, looking smug. “You know, I got a call from Matt’s doctor the other day.” Dad stares direct at Logan. “They said your brother is ready for phase two of the treatment. And they asked if I would be providing the funds.” Logan’s arm falls from around my waist, and he lumbers to his feet very slowly. He looks down at me and presses a finger to my lips. His finger trembles. “Mr. Madison,” he says. He nods at my dad, and then at my mom. “Mrs. Madison. It was wonderful to meet you. I will say good-bye now.” He starts toward the door. “And as far as the treatment is concerned, if Emily’s freedom is the price, you can take your money and shove it up your ass.” He stops at the door. I’m latched onto his arm like a Velcro monkey. “Please don’t walk out,” I beg. “Not like this. I can fix this.” He peels me off of his arm. “I know you can.” He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering there as he breathes in deeply, his eyes closed. Then he pushes me back from him. “I need to go,” he says. His voice is hoarse. “I’ll talk to you later.” “I’m going to deal with this, and then I’ll come find you. I promise.” He nods. Then he steps out the door and closes it softly behind him. There’s a thud on the other side of the wall and I know Logan waited until he got outside to smash something.

We walk out of the bathroom, and Mellie grins up at me and hugs my leg, just below my knee. She sits down on my foot, and I take a few steps wearing her like a boot, her clinging to me like Velcro. She thinks it’s hilarious, and the other girls want to take a turn, too. After everyone gets a ride and I make sure they all have snacks, I walk out into the hallway. Emily is standing there, and she looks me up and down and nods. “What?” I ask. “Nothing,” she sings, grinning like a fool. “Say it,” I prompt. She shrugs. But then she looks up into my face. “You’re going to be the best dad ever, Matt,” she says. My heart swells. “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about them turning out like me.” I scratch my belly. “Being this handsome is quite a burden to bear.” She laughs and punches me in the gut. I bend in the middle, clutching my stomach, and that’s when Sky walks around the corner. She looks toward Hayley’s room. “I was just going to check on the girls,” she says. “I just did,” I tell her. Her brow furrows, and she looks so damn pretty that I want to kiss her. “Don’t tell anyone, but Mellie’s pants peed on her,” I whisper dramatically. She turns toward her bag. “Oh, I better get some clothes,” she says. “Already took care of it,” I say, and I wrap my arms around Sky. She hugs me back. “You took care of it?” She lays her face against my chest and nuzzles against me. I could stand here like this all day long. “Of course,” I say. She mumbles something against my chest that sounds like, “You’re really sexy when you take care of children.” “Hey,” I cry. “You should see me when I vacuum. And do dishes. You won’t be able to stand the sexy.

The brain is like Velcro for negative experiences but Teflon for positive ones.

It is a strangely secure sensation (though a misleading one) to attach oneself like Velcro to the frozen surface of a mountain.

Negative thoughts are like velcro; they stick. Positive thoughts are like teflon; they fall away easily.

our brain is like Velcro for negative experiences but Teflon for positive ones.” We tend to take the positive for granted while focusing on the negative as if our life depended on it.

Velcro, Gabriel’s cat, joined the pride on the mound, finding a warm little corner next to Olivia.

A large percentage of scientific breakthroughs happened by accident: X-rays, penicillin, Velcro, and plastic—all accidental discoveries. Even Viagra. Zach could imagine that conversation: “Gentlemen, check out this result …

She was also dressed differently. The rest of the group, including Wiley Corval, had gone with the blue-blazer, khaki, loafer-sans-socks spirit, even if that wasn’t exactly what they were wearing. Poor man’s yacht club. Enid wore mom jeans, Velcro white sneakers, and a stretched-out cable-knit sweater that was a yellow usually found on a Ticonderoga pencil.

...the soul is like Velcro, and when you brush up against someone else, especially when there are no clothes to separate you, part of you clings to them and part of them clings to you. Soon you find yourself carrying pieces of souls that you don't want and don't want you. But you can't help it. It's like being handcuffed to a stranger on the subway and your stop never comes. [Casey]

July 18 Velcro Relationships All minds are joined. — A Course In Miracles While Carla was teaching a seminar, a woman told her, “I feel that my marriage is over. My husband and I have been together for a long time, and we have grown in different directions. I want to leave, but I cannot because I know it would crush him.” A month later at another workshop, a man confessed, “My marriage is empty, but I’m staying with my wife because I know she would never survive a divorce.” Then Carla discovered that he was the husband of the woman who spoke at the first seminar. Relationships are based on matching energy. Like strips of Velcro fasteners, partners contain hooking energies that conform by agreement. Often couples have similar or polarized underlying feelings that go unspoken. When you speak your truth, you invite your partner to do the same, and together you bring the

Trust me when I say there are many different types of intelligence and education. Nobody has them all. Maybe you're a social charmer who can read any room with no formal education or perhaps you're a physics professor who has to wear Velcro shoes and can't read an analogue clock - there really shouldn't be a hierarchy of these skills. One is not cleverer than the others.

There’s another large group of churches at the opposite end of the spectrum. These are the ingrown and dying churches that don’t seem to care if anyone ever comes through the front door—or goes to hell, for that matter. On the surface, they can appear to be focused on one another and somewhat sticky, but they’re not. Ingrown and dying churches don’t take care of the flock. They appease the flock. And they’re not very sticky either. Except for a small group of people welded tightly together at the center, these churches are a lot more like teflon than velcro. Just try to connect with one. You can’t unless you’re willing to marry a member’s daughter.

Everything we do is aimed at helping the Christians we already have grow stronger in Christ. But everything is done in such a way that their non-Christian friends will understand all that we’re saying and doing. Bottom line: We’ve tried to create a perfect storm for come-and-see evangelism while velcroing newcomers for long-term spiritual growth.

shit. I’ve just got back from the funeral of my best friend.  He died after being hit on the head with a tennis ball.  It was a lovely service. Death is nature’s way of saying ‘Slow down’. I intend to live forever……or die trying. What happens when you get scared half to death twice? A man has died after falling into a vat of coffee.  It was instant. A Chinese man faked his death but his family were suspicious.  They didn’t bereave him. I saw an ad for burial plots.  I thought to myself ‘That’s the last thing I need’. I met a Dutch girl with inflatable shoes last week and phoned her up to arrange a date.  Unfortunately, she’d popped her clogs. My grandad gave me some sound advice on his deathbed.  He said that it’s worth shelling out on good speakers. A friend of mine always wanted to be run over by a steam train.  When it happened, he was chuffed to bits. The man who invented Velcro has died. RIP. A Mexican stuntman died while making a film.  At his funeral, his mother approached the director and said ‘Jesus died for your scenes’. The Grim Reaper came for me last night and I beat him

The Responsive mode is our home base, but we’re easily driven from home and prone to getting stuck in the red zone due to the brain’s negativity bias, which makes it like Velcro for bad experiences but Teflon for good ones. •

Maybe I’m going crazy, but I swore I’d never go there again. I see the edge of the pond and feel the dangling willow branches tangle in my hair as if it were yesterday. The water pulls at me like Velcro, clinging, drawing me in. Why can I remember that from so many years ago and not where I put the bread today? I know one thing: They will not put me in an asylum for the mentally deranged. Not again.

High-Priority Storage When an event is flagged as negative, the hippocampus makes sure it’s stored carefully for future reference. Once burned, twice shy. Your brain is like Velcro for negative experiences and Teflon for positive ones—even though most of your experiences are probably neutral or positive.

There were more beautiful girls, too, who always seemed stickier than other people, easier to snare, as if made of Velcro—the pale-haired dancer whose feet twitched as she slept; the radish farmer who could say thread in seven languages; the anthropology student with exactly seventy-five brown freckles on each cheek. More and more and more small hooks on which his thread caught and stretched outward from his body. More harp strings that yanked him here or there, which grew tighter the farther he moved from whatever or whomever he was tied to. The Thread

Be radically hopeful; dream of a better world, dream of better days. I guess what I’m saying really is, be brave enough to hope that things will get better.

Max watched the little submissive’s eyes widen as she tugged ineffectually on her wrists. After a second, she asked in adorable outrage, “What kind of people have Velcro straps attached to their lounge chairs?” “Doms, baby. Doms.

Velcro fasteners at his belly reaching out for each other like lovers at the moment of separation.

Well?” she demanded. “I no drive. Who takes me.” “Madam, would you not prefer to rest—” “Your body rest when dead. Who.” “We do have an hour,” Ehric hedged. As Assail glared at the other vampire, the little old lady hitched her purse up on her forearm and nodded. “So he will take me.” Assail met Sola’s grandmother’s gaze directly and dropped his tone a register just so that the line drawn would be respected. “I pay. Are we clear—you are not to spend a cent.” She opened her mouth as if to argue, but she was headstrong—not foolish. “Then I do the darning.” “Our clothes are in sufficient shape—” Ehric cleared his throat. “Actually, I have a couple of loose buttons. And the Velcro strip on his flak jacket is—” Assail looked over his shoulder and bared his fangs at the idiot—out of eyesight of Sola’s grandmother, of course.

And so about a hundred million years ago plants stumbled on a way - actually a few thousand different ways - of getting animals to carry them, and their genes, here and there. This was the evolutionary watershed associated with the advent of the angiosperms, an extraordinary new class of plants that made showy flowers and formed large seeds that other species were induced to disseminate. Plants began evolving burrs that attach to animal fur like Velcro, flowers that seduce honeybees in order to powder their thighs with pollen, and acorns that squirrels obligingly taxi from one forest to another, bury, and then, just often enough, forget to eat. Even evolution evolves. About ten thousand years ago the world witnessed a second flowering of plant diversity that we would come to call, somewhat self-centeredly, 'the invention of agriculture.' A group of angiosperms refined their basic put-the-animals-to-work strategy to take advantage of one particular animal that had evolved not only to move freely around the earth, but to think and trade complicated thoughts. These plants hit on a remarkably clever strategy: getting us to move and think for them. Now came edible grasses (such as wheat and corn) that incited humans to cut down vast forests to make more room for them; flowers whose beauty would transfix whole cultures; plants so compelling and useful and tasty they would inspire human beings to seed, transport, extol, and even write books about them. [...] That's why it makes just as much sense to think of agriculture as something the grasses did to people as a way to conquer the trees.

NON-STICK MIND Our mind has little hooks, it whirls around and catches onto everything. It is like Velcro - our mind sees something vaguely attractive and it catches. What we need to do is to retract these hooks. Have a Teflon mind, so things don’t stick. A non-stick mind - that is what we need. Then whatever we see, we can appreciate, but we don’t catch onto it. The Buddha said that the cause of our suffering is this grasping mind, this clinging mind which catches onto things. That is what causes suffering, not the things themselves. But the fact is that we catch on and can't let go, and since everything is impermanent, we suffer.

2018). The crisis history compounding the threat of the current crisis is known as the Velcro effect: Organizations with a history of crises attract additional reputational damage just as Velcro attracts lint (Coombs & Holladay, 2002;

She fell asleep anticipating another enigmatic dream. Tonight’s feature starred the commander-in-chief himself. Angie had been summoned to Casa Bellicosa to unfasten a screech owl from the presidential pompadour, which the low-swooping raptor had mistaken for a road-kill fox. When Angie arrived, the commander-in-chief was lurching madly around the helipad, bellowing and clawing at the Velcro skull patch into which the confused bird had embedded its talons. The owl was still clutching a plug of melon-colored fibers when Angie freed it. Swiftly she was led to a windowless room and made to sign a document stating she’d never set foot on the property, or glimpsed the President without his hair. A man wearing a Confederate colonel’s uniform and a red baseball cap stepped forward and hung a milk-chocolate medal around Angie’s neck, after which she was escorted at sword-point out the gates. She

I froze. The Velcro closing on my girdle had given way. The entire thing came undone under my shirt. The buttons on my silk blouse threatened to pop and the material between each button gapped hideously open. I moaned and swayed, feeling a bit faint. Please, please, earth, swallow me whole.

My first product, the nylon-and-Velcro wallet, was manufactured in the Far East and shipped to a warehouse in New York, near where I had gone to school.

To deliver a breakthrough fix, however, you must often go beyond just remembering the small stuff; you have to see it in a fresh light. This is how many game-changing inventions come about. In 1941 a Swiss engineer named Georges de Mestral returned from a hunting trip in the Alps to find burrs from a burdock plant all over his socks and his dog’s coat. But instead of just yanking off the sticky, furry balls without a second thought, as hikers have done for generations, he put them under a microscope, where he noticed hundreds of tiny hooks designed to attach to any surface with loops, such as clothing. De Mestral suddenly saw burrs in a way no one had before—and used that fresh insight to invent Velcro.

Then I heard a long, loud ripping sound. It reminded me of a Velcro shoe being torn open. My heart skipped a beat as I moved closer to the shrubs. I heard a moan, soft and weak. And then I stopped when I heard the chewing. The crack of bone breaking. Loud chewing … chewing … chewing … I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to see what was on the other side of the shrub. With a pounding heart, I moved around the bushes, looked down at the ground—and opened my mouth in an endless scream. A deer was sprawled on its side in the tall grass. Its head had been torn off. The head sat straight up a few feet from the body. One eye stared blankly at me. The other eye had been yanked out. The body had been clawed apart. Pale white bones and bright red meat poked out through the torn fur. A swarm of flies already buzzed around the opening.

Evolutionary biologists back up this premise. They describe how our amygdala uses about two thirds of its neurons scanning for threats. As a result, painful and frightening events are more easily stored in our long-term memory than pleasant events. Scientists call this default mechanism a “negativity bias,” and it makes perfect sense. Our very survival depends on being able to screen out potential attacks. “The mind is like Velcro for negative experiences,” says neuropsychologist Rick Hanson, “and Teflon for positive ones.