Vent Book Quotes

I wanted to talk to someone. But who? It’s moments like this, when you need someone the most, that your world seems smallest.

Sighing, she shut the book with a snap. “All right. You need to vent, so I’ll listen to you vent. But do it quickly, because Rydstorm was about to plunder Sabine with his thick, hard—

She moved through it carrying her fat book, attracted, unsure, a stranger, wanting to feel relevant but knowing how much of a search among alternative universes it would take.

He had written books of a lifetime, on the airs of vast rooms in vast buildings, and had it all fly out the vents.

The first strategy for breaking the anger cycle is “Never try to rationally engage angry people.” Anger must be vented before offering problem solving solutions.

That's it: watch your moods. Don't let people see you fluctuate. Don't let yourself run your mouth. Never ever cry, even alone, because your cat or your kettle might tell. Always smile, but don't laugh loudly. Mania is an extrovert, but if you need to vent, tell your mattress or maybe your therapist, but put nothing in writing and never tell a friend or coworker how you're really feeling. Downplay any problem or joy. Pay attention to any signs that your life is shitty or excellent, because either is an illusion. Be careful around men, especially ones with big arms or opinions. Stop talking.

Do not make an excuse that you have not opportunities to do anything for the glory of God, for the interest of the Redeemer's kingdom, and for the spiritual benefit of your neighbors. If your heart is full of love, it will find vent; you will find or make ways enough to express your love in deeds. When a fountain abounds in water it will send forth streams.

When I feel sad, I try to think of someone else in the world who is suffering worse than me. Like someone in Seattle, who is hurting so bad financially that instead of a vente coffee at Starbucks every morning, they have to downsize to grande.

Look at life: the insolence and idleness of the strong, the ignorance and brutishness of the weak, horrible poverty everywhere, overcrowding, degeneration, drunkenness, hypocrisy, lying -- yet in all the houses and on the streets there is peace and quiet; of the fifty thousand people who live in our town there is not one who would cry out, who would vent his indignation aloud. We see the people who go to market, eat by day, sleep by night, who babble nonsense, marry, grow old, good-naturedly drag their feet to the cemetery, but we do not see or hear those who suffer, and what is terrible in life goes on somewhere behind the scenes. Everything is peaceful and quiet and only mute statistics protest.

Death for that crew must have been by roasting, as the fires intensified and burned, and the blazing, sticking liquid dripped down into the hull through any vent or crack.

And yes, I recall every entry I read. I usually memorise anything by reading it once. I took special care of her journal. Now all her words, her vents, and her confusions and fake personality are integrated into my head. When I grow old and my memory starts demanding to delete files to be able to remember others, I’d choose her stupid journal over books by philosophers and psychologists any day. Chaos. She’s fucking chaos.

According to Zagat Disneyland Insider's Guide (2010), the Candy Palace is the fifth most popular store in the entire resort, and the third most popular in the park. Perhaps one reason is the shop's intoxicating candy scent; it vents onto Main Street, an elixir of vanilla and molten chocolate that entices Guests to enter the premises and then entices then to remain. pouring over the bins, shelves, and racks of traditional and unique candies.

But this was not enough on its own to generate the kind of terror that Mao wanted. On 18 August, a mammoth rally was held in Tiananmen Square in the center of Peking, with over a million young participants. Lin Biao appeared in public as Mao's deputy and spokesman for the first time. He made a speech calling on the Red Guards to charge out of their schools and 'smash up the four olds' defined as 'old ideas, old culture, old customs, and old habits." Following this obscure call, Red Guards all over China took to the streets, giving full vent to their vandalism, ignorance, and fanaticism. They raided people's houses, smashed their antiques, tore up paintings and works of calligraphy. Bonfires were lit to consume books. Very soon nearly all treasures in private collections were destroyed. Many writers and artists committed suicide after being cruelly beaten and humiliated, and being forced to witness their work being burned to ashes. Museums were raided. Palaces, temples, ancient tombs, statues, pagodas, city walls anything 'old' was pillaged. The few things that survived, such as the Forbidden City, did so only because Premier Zhou Enlai sent the army to guard them, and issued specific orders that they should be protected. The Red Guards only pressed on when they were encouraged. Mao hailed the Red Guards' actions as "Very good indeed!" and ordered the nation to support them. He encouraged the Red Guards to pick on a wider range of victims in order to increase the terror. Prominent writers, artists, scholars, and most other top professionals, who had been privileged under the Communist regime, were now categorically condemned as 'reactionary bourgeois authorities." With the help of some of these people's colleagues who hated them for various reasons, ranging from fanaticism to envy, the Red Guards began to abuse them. Then there were the old 'class enemies': former landlords and capitalists, people with Kuomintang connections, those condemned in previous political campaigns like the 'rightists' and their children.

What a skeletal wreck of man this is. Translucent flesh and feeble bones, the kind of temple where the whores and villains try to tempt the holistic domes. Running rampid with free thought to free form, and the free and clear. When the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at a laundry mat to sift and focus on the bigger, better, now. We all have a little sin that needs venting, virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems are ripped from the branches of office, do you know where your post entails? Do you serve a purpose, or purposely serve? When in doubt inside your atavistic allure, the value of a summer spent, and a winter earned. For the rest of us, there is always Sunday. The day of the week the reeks of rest, but all we do is catch our breath, so we can wade naked in the bloody pool, and place our hand on the big, black book. To watch the knives zigzag between our aching fingers. A vacation is a countdown, T minus your life and counting, time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube, and hope you get a taste. WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS FOR? WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON? SHUT UP! I can go on and on but lets move on, shall we? Say, your me, and I’m you, and they all watch the things we do, and like a smack of spite they threw me down the stairs, haven’t felt like this in years. The great magnet of malicious magnanimous refuse, let me go, and punch me into the dead spout again. That’s where you go when there’s no one else around, it’s just you, and there was never anyone to begin with, now was there? Sanctimonious pretentious dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse, and a finger on the trigger. CLASSIFIED MY ASS! THAT’S A FUCKING SECRET, AND YOU KNOW IT! Government is another way to say better…than…you. It’s like ice but no pick, a murder charge that won’t stick, it’s like a whole other world where you can smell the food, but you can’t touch the silverware. Huh, what luck. Fascism you can vote for. Humph, isn’t that sweet? And we’re all gonna die some day, because that’s the American way, and I’ve drunk too much, and said too little, when your gaffer taped in the middle, say a prayer, say a face, get your self together and see what’s happening. SHUT UP! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! I’m sorry, I could go on and on but their times to move on so, remember: you’re a wreck, an accident. Forget the freak, your just nature. Keep the gun oiled, and the temple cleaned shit snort, and blaspheme, let the heads cool, and the engine run. Because in the end, everything we do, is just everything we’ve done.

The Book of Oogenesis In the beginning were the gametes. And though there was sex, lo, there was no gender, and life was in balance. And God said, “Let there be Sperm”: and some seeds did shrivel in size and grow cheap to make, and they did flood the market. And God said, “Let there be Eggs”: and other seeds were afflicted by a plague of Sperm. And yea, few of them bore fruit, for Sperm brought no food for the zygote, and only the largest Eggs could make up the shortfall. And these grew yet larger in the fullness of time. And God put the Eggs into a womb, and said, “Wait here: for thy bulk has made thee unwieldy, and Sperm must seek thee out in thy chambers. Henceforth shalt thou be fertilized internally.” And it was so. And God said to the gametes, “The fruit of thy fusion may abide in any place and take any shape. It may breathe air or water or the sulphurous muck of hydrothermal vents. But do not forget my one commandment unto you, which has not changed from the beginning of time: spread thy genes.” And thus did Sperm and Egg go into the world. And Sperm said, “I am cheap and plentiful, and if sowed abundantly I will surely fulfill God’s plan. I shall forever seek out new mates and then abandon them when they are with child, for there are many wombs and little time.” But Egg said, “Lo, the burden of procreation weighs heavily upon me. I must carry flesh that is but half mine, gestate and feed it even when it leaves my chamber,” for by now many of Egg’s bodies were warm of blood, and furry besides. “I can have but few children, and must devote myself to those, and protect them at every turn. And I will make Sperm help me, for he got me into this. And though he doth struggle at my side, I shall not let him stray, nor lie with my competitors.” And Sperm liked this not. And God smiled, for Its commandment had put Sperm and Egg at war with each other, even unto the day they made themselves obsolete.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voice to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

It is not,’ said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek, and gave his tears free vent, ‘it is not on earth that Heaven’s justice ends. Think what earth is, compared with the World to which her young spirit has winged its early flight; and say, if one deliberate wish expressed in solemn terms above this bed could call her back to life, which of us would utter it!

army of people. First, a massive thank you to all of my readers. I wouldn’t be writing this right now if it wasn’t for your support. I say it every time, but you guys are seriously the absolute best. Thank you for sticking with me and just being awesome in general. To the greatest reading group in the history of the Internet, my Slow Burners, thank you for your patience and love. To my pre-readers/ friends for putting up with me and the horrible drafts I send you. Ryn, I can’t thank you enough for not just being a good friend but for also helping me out with this freaking blurb. To my new friend Amy who kept me company so many nights doing writing sprints and for letting me vent randomly, this book would have taken me way longer to finish (and it would have been less fun). Eva, Eva, Eva. The list of

We can appreciate the choices we need to make with objective eyes; we can vent our frustrations; sort out our confusions; untangle a web of lies even. All so that we can find our way to a much larger story. One that we control consciously now, with our eyes wide open. Through stories our true character is revealed, or transformed in the process, like the refining away of the dross in order to make gold.

This life is hard. There is a lot going on in the world today that makes it even harder. And I believe that’s why now, more than ever, we need to be sounding boards for each other. Maybe that looks like joining or organizing a parents’ group, a support group, a church group, a book club, a walking club, a volunteer organization… Maybe that looks like inviting a friend who may be down and out for coffee and a vent session. My heart is for making connections with people, because as you’ve read in my stories, you never know how far one of those connections might take you.

saw the crew of a Tiger burning up with their vehicle – each man slumped in his hatch, presumably killed by a high-explosive burst as they tried to escape. The flames rose around them, fed by their gasoline reserves, a column of orange as high as an oak tree against the sunset. I saw the crew of a Stalin, disembarked from their bogged-down vehicle in a crater, being set upon by Panzergrenadiers from a Hanomag. Our troops were venting their anger and frustration, and yet conserving their precious ammunition, by bayoneting the Russian crews and clubbing them down with entrenching spades.

Want to be an AWESOME mom? TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF TAKE TIME FOR YOURSELF and REWARD YOURSELF Vent and cry if you need to. Say how you feel. Ask for help. Stop comparing yourself to other moms. Walk away from senseless toxic drama. Forget about the housework. Escape from reality every now and then. Take a hot bath. Take a nap. Lose yourself in a book. Pamper yourself. Go to the spa. Buy something for YOU. Go out to eat. Order in. Have a few drinks. Go out with the girls. Plan a date night. Go see a movie. Dance the night away. Celebrate LIFE. Celebrate YOURSELF. It’s NOT selfish. It’s necessary and important.

She was very showy, but she was not genuine: she had a fine person, many brilliant attainments; but her mind was poor, her heart barren by nature: nothing bloomed spontaneously on that soil; no unforced natural fruit delighted by its freshness. She was not good; she was not original: she used to repeat sounding phrases from books: she never offered, nor had, an opinion of her own. She advocated a high tone of sentiment; but she did not know the sensations of sympathy and pity; tenderness and truth were not in her. Too often she betrayed this, by the undue vent she gave to a spiteful antipathy she had conceived against little Adèle: pushing

Wes Sinclair tossed his cell phone onto his desk, dropped his head into his hands, and pressed the base of his palms against his eyes in a futile attempt to stem the sudden throbbing in his temples. “I can’t believe she fucking did it again,” he muttered irritably to himself. “Who did what again?” The amused voice of Connor Prescott, one of his business partners, only spiked Wes’s displeasure. So much for being alone and being able to vent his frustration. Instead, he lowered his hands and glared at his good friend, who was also directly related to the person Wes was currently annoyed with. He watched as Connor casually sauntered into the office, the dust on his jeans an

Tonight they had been presented with a heavily spiced and scented barbecue lamb; rabbits stewed in fermented grape-juice with red peppers and whole cloves of garlic; meat-balls stuffed with brown truffles which literally melted in the mouth; a harder variety of meat-balls fried in coriander oil and served with triangular pieces of chilli-paste fried in the same oil; a large container full of bones floating in a saffron-coloured sauce; a large dish of fried rice; miniature vol-au-vents and three different salads; asparagus, a mixture of thinly sliced onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, sprinkled with herbs and the juice of fresh lemons, chick-peas soaked in yoghurt and sprinkled with pepper.

A VALEDICTION: OF THE BOOK I'll tell thee now (dear love) what thou shalt do To anger destiny, as she doth us; How I shall stay, though she eloign me thus, And how posterity shall know it too; How thine may out-endure Sibyl's glory, and obscure Her who from Pindar could allure, And her, through whose help Lucan is not lame, And her, whose book (they say) Homer did find, and name. Study our manuscripts, those myriads Of letters, which have past 'twixt thee and me; Thence write our annals, and in them will be To all whom love's subliming fire invades, Rule and example found; There the faith of any ground No schismatic will dare to wound, That sees, how Love this grace to us affords, To make, to keep, to use, to be these his records. This book, as long-lived as the elements, Or as the world's form, this all-graved tome In cypher writ, or new made idiom; We for Love's clergy only are instruments; When this book is made thus, Should again the ravenous Vandals and Goths invade us, Learning were safe; in this our universe, Schools might learn sciences, spheres music, angels verse. Here Love's divines—since all divinity Is love or wonder—may find all they seek, Whether abstract spiritual love they like, Their souls exhaled with what they do not see; Or, loth so to amuse Faith's infirmity, they choose Something which they may see and use; For, though mind be the heaven, where love doth sit, Beauty a convenient type may be to figure it. Here more than in their books may lawyers find, Both by what titles mistresses are ours, And how prerogative these states devours, Transferred from Love himself, to womankind; Who, though from heart and eyes, They exact great subsidies, Forsake him who on them relies; And for the cause, honour, or conscience give; Chimeras vain as they or their prerogative. Here statesmen, (or of them, they which can read) May of their occupation find the grounds; Love, and their art, alike it deadly wounds, If to consider what 'tis, one proceed. In both they do excel Who the present govern well, Whose weakness none doth, or dares tell; In this thy book, such will there something see, As in the Bible some can find out alchemy. Thus vent thy thoughts; abroad I'll study thee, As he removes far off, that great heights takes; How great love is, presence best trial makes, But absence tries how long this love will be; To take a latitude Sun, or stars, are fitliest viewed At their brightest, but to conclude Of longitudes, what other way have we, But to mark when and where the dark eclipses be?

Ione II. 'TWAS in the radiant summer weather, When God looked, smiling, from the sky; And we went wand'ring much together By wood and lane, Ione and I, Attracted by the subtle tie Of common thoughts and common tastes, Of eyes whose vision saw the same, And freely granted beauty's claim Where others found but worthless wastes. We paused to hear the far bells ringing Across the distance, sweet and clear. We listened to the wild bird's singing The song he meant for his mate's ear, And deemed our chance to do so dear. We loved to watch the warrior Sun, With flaming shield and flaunting crest, Go striding down the gory West, When Day's long fight was fought and won. And life became a different story; Where'er I looked, I saw new light. Earth's self assumed a greater glory, Mine eyes were cleared to fuller sight. Then first I saw the need and might Of that fair band, the singing throng, Who, gifted with the skill divine, Take up the threads of life, spun fine, And weave them into soulful song. They sung for me, whose passion pressing My soul, found vent in song nor line. They bore the burden of expressing All that I felt, with art's design, And every word of theirs was mine. I read them to Ione, ofttimes, By hill and shore, beneath fair skies, And she looked deeply in mine eyes, And knew my love spoke through their rhymes. Her life was like the stream that floweth, And mine was like the waiting sea; Her love was like the flower that bloweth, And mine was like the searching bee — I found her sweetness all for me. God plied him in the mint of time, And coined for us a golden day, And rolled it ringing down life's way With love's sweet music in its chime. And God unclasped the Book of Ages, And laid it open to our sight; Upon the dimness of its pages, So long consigned to rayless night, He shed the glory of his light. We read them well, we read them long, And ever thrilling did we see That love ruled all humanity, — The master passion, pure and strong.

You should have just left me there.” He pulls out of the cemetery and onto the road. “Don’t be so dramatic. Besides I told you I would never leave you. Just like you never left me.” “I think you’ve repaid that debt, Jackson Gray.” He shakes his head. “So quickly you forget our pact.” I put my foot on his dash and hold my hands in front of the vents. I still can’t believe he’s still rescuing me, years later. “Who could forget that. You were cowering on the floor of the library.” “I wasn’t cowering.” “Okay. You were leaning down to get a book when large bullies materialized in front of you.” I glance at him. “Is that better?” He rolls his eyes. “No one’s ever done something like that for me before. Even though I’d never admit a girl fought one of my battles.” I adjust the seat belt so it’s tighter. “Get over it, Jackson Gray. I did what anyone would do.” “No one else would have stuck up for the new kid.” He shrugs. “Is that the type of person you’d leave freezing in a cemetery?” “You mean, you’d leave other people freezing in a cemetery?” He sighs and nudges me in the shoulder. “Just shut up.

Who did what again?” The amused voice of Connor Prescott, one of his business partners, only spiked Wes’s displeasure. So much for being alone and being able to vent his frustration. Instead, he lowered his hands and glared at his good friend, who was also directly related to the person Wes was currently annoyed with. He watched as Connor casually sauntered into the office, the dust on his jeans and boots a good indication that he’d just come in from working on a jobsite. “The who is your sister. The what is stealing yet another million-dollar listing right out from under me,” Wes snapped, even more perturbed that Natalie Prescott could push his buttons more than any other woman ever had, and make him rock hard at the same time. Not that she knew what kind of effect she had on his dick, and she never would. Because one, she was his best friend’s little sister and he’d known her most of his life. And two, he’d never give her that kind of leverage or smug satisfaction when they were business adversaries in an indust

De chacun de nos actes dépend l'équilibre du tout. Les vents et les mers, les puissances de l'eau, de la terre et de la lumière, tout ce que font ces éléments, et tout ce que font les bêtes et les végétaux, est bien fait, et justement fait. Tous agissent selon l'Equilibre. Depuis l'ouragan et le plongeon de la baleine géante jusqu'à la chute d'une feuille morte et le vol du moustique, tous leurs actes sont fonction de l'équilibre du tout. Mais nous, dans la mesure où nous avons un pouvoir sur le monde et sur chacun de nous, nous devons apprendre à faire ce que la feuille, la baleine et le vent font naturellement. Nous devons apprendre à maintenir l'Equilibre. Ayant été dotés d'intelligence, nous ne devons pas agir comme des ignorants. Ayant le choix, nous ne devons pas agir comme des irresponsables.

think it might be true to say that we were close to calling it a day. Steve O’Rourke always maintained that each member of the band came to him separately at some point to vent his irritation, going as far as threatening to leave.

Stevie has never been very happy, and I don’t think the success of her album has made her any happier. In fact, it may have made her less happy. “She’s flexing some kind of emotional muscles that she feels she can flex now that she’s in a more powerful position. There’s a certain amount of leeway in how you can interpret Stevie’s behavior, I’d say, but at the same time there’s no denying that her success is making her feel that she can pull things that she wouldn’t have felt comfortable pulling before. And most of them aren’t particularly worthwhile, but she’s venting something—loneliness, unhappiness or something.

Even extreme grief may ultimately vent itself in violence — but more generally takes the form of apathy...

This made the zombies very, very angry, because they totally wanted to sprint and jump and do cool little special attack moves. They totally did. Luckily, nearly every kid in school showed up by then. They did so quietly. There were few words, no shouts or commands, and not the slightest trace of fear. They wanted to be here. Graduation was coming, their ranks weren't high, and what better way to improve your Combat grade than an endless wave of undead? As for the humans, zombies meant items, experience points, and perhaps a way to vent the frustrations that came with being trapped in a world of one meter cubes. Kolbert pointed his sword at the broken section of wall. "We'll hold them off there!" Oh, would we hold them off there. We would hold that area like a noob clutching onto his first diamond. If we didn't, a countless number would spill into the streets, and game over, good game, they'd trash everything . . . including the ice cream stand.

wealthy people are more likely to: exercise daily and avoid junk food, hold their tongue instead of giving vent to their feelings, read and listen to audio books rather than watch TV, maintain a to-do list, focus on an important goal, wake up early, etc.

When children vent, be assertive in a calm voice and watch that the body language is non confrontational. Keep the face expressionless and speak in a low voice. This helps children calm and settle down. Remind children that nothing will change till they cooperate.

Everything was turned to salt and embers. But the finale was yet to come. Huge geysers of salt water burst out in locations all about the Jordan Sea. They had been released like vents from Sheol. The salt water would kill all sea life in its wake as it spread through the fresh waters. One last seismic convulsion ripped through the plain. The entire valley dropped three hundred feet in five seconds. It was as if the earth had been sucked downward. In the sudden surface change, a runoff of the Jordan Sea rushed in, to fill the newly lowered plain. A wall of salt water washed over the cities of the plain, putting out the fires. It buried the inhabitants and their ruins under a blanket of salt water. A new shoreline washed up all the way to the town of Zoar, where Lot had fled to. Black steam billowed and mixed with the smoke of the burning bitumen. The plans of Ba’al and Ashtart had been thwarted. Sodom and Gomorrah, Admah and Zeboiim, were now under the deadly brine waters of what would now be called the Dead Sea.

Please, come in. Let me open the air conditioning vent so you can squeeze through.

For some politics has become a battle ground that allows them to vent their frustrations, while at the same time hide behind the anonymity of the social media. For others it has become a weapon to overwhelm their opponents by the weight of the number of comments sent to the originator of the blog or article. Fair or not, this method of cyber warfare works and could possibly change the course of history. A continuance of this cyber activity is still not totally understood by most bloggers, but certainly can be threatening and intimidating. Recently we have witnessed where foreign countries become involved in the attempt to rig elections by altering the mind set of those receiving overwhelming amounts of mostly altered news. This is certainly presently true in France. In Pakistan a student was murdered by his fellow students, simply because he had a difference of opinion. Art has become a victim of this form of attack, being accused of being a financial drain on the country’s economy whereas it, in all of its forms, is a stabilizer of civilization. Helping and feeding those less fortunate then ourselves also stabilizes a good society. On the opposite side of this topic a destabilizing activity is war, which cost us much more, however it does get us to alter our focus. It is the threat of nuclear annihilation that really gets our attention and may even eventually offer job opportunities to the survivors. I feel certain that the opposing sides of these issues are already marshaling their forces and stand fast to their beliefs. You would think that funding for the arts should be non-political, however I have found it to be a hot button issue, whereas going to war is accepted by an overwhelming majority of people, even before we attempt peaceful diplomatic negotiations. Building a wall separating us from Mexico is a great idea that is embraced by many who still believe that Mexico will eventually pay for it, but our “Affordable Health Care” must be thrown out! What will give our people more bang for the buck? An improved health care Bill or a Beautiful Wall? I’ve heard that Medicare and Social Security are things we can no longer afford, but it’s the same people who still believe that we can afford a nuclear war. These are issues that we can and should address, however I’ll just get back to my books and deal with the pro or anti Castro activists, or neo-Nazis, or whoever else wants to make a political statement. My next book “Seawater One….” will have some sex in it…. Perhaps we can all agree that, that’s a good thing or perhaps not.

So it’s imperative that we choose our words carefully. But, some times more than others, it can be difficult to control our tongues because of our emotions. Proverbs 29:11 says, “A fool gives full vent to his spirit, but a wise man quietly holds it back.” This leads me to believe that God considers us wise when we are able to control our emotions.

[N]ature listens not to the plaints of man, it is callous to his sorrows. Hence man turns away from Nature, … He turns within, that here … he may find audience for his griefs. Here he utters his oppressive secrets; … he gives vent to stifled sighs.

It seemed, for near a minute, as if demons of hell had possessed themselves of the air about them, and were venting their savage humors in barbarous sounds. The cries came from no particular direction, though it was evident they filled the woods, and as the appalled listeners easily imagined, the caverns of the falls, the rocks, the bed of the river, and the upper air.

These six bullet points are worth the price of the book. Commit them to memory: Most women process out loud. By talking. Stop wishing they didn’t! When your wife vents, share the moment with her. Process with her. This is how you build closeness and intimacy. Women don’t typically come out and say what they want. Instead, they drop a few crumbs to see if we care enough to follow the trail. Our winning percentages go way up when we tune in to what's not being said by our spouse. Your wife’s invitation to build relational intimacy will often be un-inviting. It might be veiled as a complaint or an accusation. The hot-button issue at hand is hardly ever the real issue. That means the hero move is rarely on the surface. It's rarely obvious. It will require some digging. A Level-Five Husband turns a point of contention into a point of connection.

Misunderstood and undervalued is how I describe book publisher Quarto, a holding which I believe will 'deliver' in the future. The founder and then CEO Laurence Orbach vents his frustration in the annual report: 'I risk opprobrium for voicing my dismay that Quarto shareholders have not been better served by my explanation of the company's virtues to the investing community.' Sadly, this brave and honest statement failed to bring about any improvement in Quarto share price and Laurence was deposed by shareholders' vote in 2012.

Bare vent. Der dukker en eller anden smuk ainatunari op og tager sig af hende. Som i et menneskeeventyr, hvor den gode prins redder den smukke prinsesse. Han finder hende, forelsker sig i hende og bringer hende sikkert tilbage til hendes far og bror i det skønne kongerige.” Han sendte Ryna det smil, som han vidste, hun ikke ville kunne modstå, og ganske rigtigt bredte smilet sig nu også over Rynas ansigt. Der var det glimt i Rynas øjne, som Alaric havde savnet hele dagen. ”Hvis jeg kender hende ret, så stikker hun prinsen en lige højre, stjæler hesten og rider selv ud og finder sin bror.

Free festivals, organic gatherings of people on common land, have always been a threat to the status quo. But organised, sanctioned festivals, the bread and circuses of ancient Rome, were seen as a way of allowing people to vent their frustrations in a manner contained by local authorities.

I thought about it, and I came up with the perfect way to raise her awareness. I wrote her a bedtime story, a disarming blend of humor and affection, and I called it: The Book of Oogenesis In the beginning were the gametes. And though there was sex, lo, there was no gender, and life was in balance. And God said, “Let there be Sperm”: and some seeds did shrivel in size and grow cheap to make, and they did flood the market. And God said, “Let there be Eggs”: and other seeds were afflicted by a plague of Sperm. And yea, few of them bore fruit, for Sperm brought no food for the zygote, and only the largest Eggs could make up the shortfall. And these grew yet larger in the fullness of time. And God put the Eggs into a womb, and said, “Wait here: for thy bulk has made thee unwieldy, and Sperm must seek thee out in thy chambers. Henceforth shalt thou be fertilized internally.” And it was so. And God said to the gametes, “The fruit of thy fusion may abide in any place and take any shape. It may breathe air or water or the sulphurous muck of hydrothermal vents. But do not forget my one commandment unto you, which has not changed from the beginning of time: spread thy genes.” And thus did Sperm and Egg go into the world. And Sperm said, “I am cheap and plentiful, and if sowed abundantly I will surely fulfill God’s plan. I shall forever seek out new mates and then abandon them when they are with child, for there are many wombs and little time.” But Egg said, “Lo, the burden of procreation weighs heavily upon me. I must carry flesh that is but half mine, gestate and feed it even when it leaves my chamber,” for by now many of Egg’s bodies were warm of blood, and furry besides. “I can have but few children, and must devote myself to those, and protect them at every turn. And I will make Sperm help me, for he got me into this. And though he doth struggle at my side, I shall not let him stray, nor lie with my competitors.” And Sperm liked this not. And God smiled, for Its commandment had put Sperm and Egg at war with each other, even unto the day they made themselves obsolete.

Writing is therapeutic, Ultimate Catharsis… Venting tool. Exploring a world on your own terms…

Another way to tell if someone has used a vent is to look at the admin chart.

In Beyond Good and Evil, 229 (even earlier in Daybreak, 18, 77, 113), I pointed a cautious finger at the constantly growing spiritualization and “deification” of cruelty, which runs through the entire history of higher culture (and, in a significant sense, even constitutes that culture). In any case, it’s not so long ago that people wouldn’t think of an aristocratic wedding and folk festival in the grandest style without executions, tortures, or something like an auto-da-fé [burning at the stake], and similarly no noble household lacked creatures on whom people could vent their malice and cruel taunts without a second thought (—remember, for instance, Don Quixote at the court of the duchess; today we read all of Don Quixote with a bitter taste on the tongue; it’s almost an ordeal. In so doing, we would become very foreign, very obscure to the author and his contemporaries — they read it with a fully clear conscience as the most cheerful of books. They almost died laughing at it).

reflected how many satisfied, happy people there really are! What a suffocating force it is! You look at life: the insolence and idleness of the strong, the ignorance and brutishness of the weak, incredible poverty all about us, overcrowding, degeneration, drunkenness, hypocrisy, lying... Yet all is calm and stillness in the houses and in the streets; of the fifty thousand living in a town, there is not one who would cry out, who would give vent to his indignation aloud. We see the people going to market for provisions, eating by day, sleeping by night, talking their silly nonsense, getting married, growing old, serenely escorting their dead to the cemetery; but we do not see and we do not hear those who suffer, and what is terrible in life goes on somewhere behind the scenes...

vol-au-vent

Pendant les 25 dernières années, l’idée du Congo a été étroitement liée dans l’imaginaire occidental au livre de 1998 intitulé “Le fantôme du roi Léopold” de l’écrivain américain Adam Hochschild. Ce livre est largement étudié dans les lycées et les universités, et il figure régulièrement en tête des listes des meilleures ventes en matière d’histoire coloniale, africaine et occidentale. Hochschild est devenu une sorte de roi du Congo, ou du moins de son histoire. Le livre est systématiquement cité par les universitaires réputés dans leurs notes de bas de page chaque fois qu’ils veulent affirmer qu’il est “bien connu” et “indiscutable” que des hommes sinistres en Europe ont semé le chaos en Afrique il y a plus d’un siècle. Toute discussion sur le Congo, ou sur le colonialisme européen en général, commence invariablement par la question : “Avez-vous lu Le fantôme du roi Léopold ?

in some cultures anger is a way to vent frustration, but in others it is more for exerting authority. In the United States, anger in white men is often portrayed as justifiable and patriotic, but in black men, as criminality; and in black women, as threat. In the Western world, which this book focuses on, anger in women has been widely associated with “madness.

Ari spent most of a year splenetically venting, about his wife, his son, his partners, his employees, etc. Feeling shut out, I often found myself shuttling between resentment, detachment, and feeling intimidated. Eventually, I understood that I was withdrawing, withholding a necessary confrontation, in retaliation for the narcissistic injury I felt about my perceived lack of impact on him. This understanding helped me to reorganize and mobilize the assertiveness I needed in order to reach Ari. One day, I finally raised my voice and said, quite loudly, “You know, I would like to say some things to you, but I’m afraid if you don't like what you hear, you will bite my head off, possibly literally.” Ari looked up at me with his sharp, penetrating eyes, and I was scared. I was quite surprised and touched, though, to see Ari's eyes go moist, his face reddening.

Excuse #2: “I’m Shy” Well, so am I. Most stand-ups are very shy in their personal lives, and going onstage is a great outlet. You shy people have a lot of stuff to let out, and the stage gives you an arena in which to vent your repressed criticisms of the world.

no light would make it here for months, in any case; you could tell the season by how hard the heating vents were creaking. She dressed herself from head to toe in polymer and synthetic weave. She combed her hair. Then Gideon whistled through her teeth as she unlocked her security cuff, and arranged it and its stolen key considerately on her pillow, like a chocolate in a fancy hotel.

I believe you,” he said, gently; “there arc sensitive plants, so fresh and fair, that it is a sin they should ever have to shiver in rude hands, and learn to bend with the world’s breath. But live as long as we have, and you will know that the deep feeling of which you are thinking is never found in unison with the poetic and drivelling sentiment we ridicule. Boys’ sorrows vent themselves in words — men’s griefs are voiceless. If ever you feel — pray God you never may — vital suffering, you will find that it will never seek solace in confidences, never lament itself, but rather hug its torture closer, as the Spartan child hugged the fierce wolf-fangs. You will find the difference between the fictitious sorrows which run abroad proclaiming their own wrongs; and the grief which lies next the heart night and day, and, like the iron cross of the Romish priest, eats it slowly, but none the less surely, away.

The study was slowly lit up by the candle that was brought. Familiar details emerged: deer’s antlers, shelves of books, the back of the stove with a vent that had long been in need of repair, his father’s sofa, the big desk, an open book on the desk, a broken ashtray, a notebook with his handwriting.

Hey Alexa, I’m really, really sorry for what happened. I promise I never intended for Ronnie, of all people, to find out. Like I said, I was angry with Ali, and I couldn’t help venting to Brie. That was when the other details slipped out. Ronnie walked past and must have overheard. But at the time, neither Brie nor I realized. I’m so sorry I mentioned anything. I had no right to talk about your personal life. I promise I didn’t share the details with anyone else, not even Jake. Also, so that you know, Brie and I don’t care where you lived before you moved to our neighborhood. Neither does Ali. I admire you so much. You’ve been through some really tough situations, but you’ve managed to cope. Plus, you’ve supported Tyler in whatever way you can. You’ve taught me so much about resilience and perseverance, and being strong, even in the worst situations imaginable. You truly are an inspiration, as well as a genuinely nice person. I really hope we can stay friends. Casey

...the Sibyl, Resisting possession, storms through the cavern, In the throes of her struggle with Phoebus Apollo. But the more she froths at the mouth And contorts, the more he controls her, commands her And makes her his creature. Then of their own accord Those hundred vast tunnel-mouths gape and give vent To the prophetess's responses...

However, it seems that over the years the countenances of the good monks occasionally clouded a little. For, appended onto angelically idealistic Rules of Pachomius: Part I are the slightly less serene Rules of Pachomius: Part II, and the even crabbier Rules of Pachomius: Part III. These testy codicils testify less to heavenly harmony than to the very earthly irritation that comes from living too close to one’s companions for too long, with nothing but basket-weaving for distraction. Crossness codified, they give vent to years of accumulated irritation, as action after action is outlawed and increasingly furious punishments are instituted. So, while Rules of Pachomius: Part I merely states that talking at dinner is not allowed, Part II confirms this – but adds that looking around at dinner is also not allowed; that putting one’s hands on the table before one’s elders is not allowed; that missing prayers at table is not allowed; and that, if any monk should laugh at table, ‘he shall be judged.’8 Like an oppressive partner, the laws go on, codifying in minute detail what is acceptable and what is unacceptable at all times of the day and night.