Why Life Is Tough Quotes

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I had no one to help me, but the T. S. Eliot helped me. So when people say that poetry is a luxury, or an option, or for the educated middle classes, or that it shouldn’t be read at school because it is irrelevant, or any of the strange stupid things that are said about poetry and its place in our lives, I suspect that the people doing the saying have had things pretty easy. A tough life needs a tough language – and that is what poetry is. That is what literature offers – a language powerful enough to say how it is. It isn’t a hiding place. It is a finding place.
Jeanette Winterson (Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?)
Life is so freaking hard. How do people do it? How do people get up every day and deal with the shit? It really makes you understand why there are so many messed-up people in the world. I mean, it's tough, trying to deal with demands coming at you from all sides.
Lisa Schroeder (Chasing Brooklyn)
A tough life needs a tough language—and that is what poetry is. That is what literature offers—a language powerful enough to say how it is.
Jeanette Winterson (Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?)
Life's been one tough little shit, but there's a very obvious reason why she hasn't let me get too comfy, settle too long or sink too deep. She knows she has to kick me in the ass sometimes to get me moving on my journey.
Jennifer DeLucy
If you believe that hard work pays off, then you work hard; if you think it’s hard to get ahead even when you try, then why try at all? Similarly, when people do fail, this mind-set allows them to look outward. I once ran into an old acquaintance at a Middletown bar who told me that he had recently quit his job because he was sick of waking up early. I later saw him complaining on Facebook about the “Obama economy” and how it had affected his life. I don’t doubt that the Obama economy has affected many, but this man is assuredly not among them. His status in life is directly attributable to the choices he’s made, and his life will improve only through better decisions. But for him to make better choices, he needs to live in an environment that forces him to ask tough questions about himself. There is a cultural movement in the white working class to blame problems on society or the government, and that movement gains adherents by the day.
J.D. Vance (Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis)
Such a tough life. This is not the easy way." "No," Penn agreed, "but I'm not sure easy is what I want for the kids anyway." She looked up at him. "Why the hell not?" "I mean, if we could have everything, sure. If we can have it all, yeah. I wish them easy, successful, fun-filled lives, crowned with good friends, attentive lovers, heaps of money, intellectual stimulation, and good views out the window. I wish them eternal beauty, international travel, and smart things to watch on tv. But if I can't have everything, if I only get a few, I'm not sure easy makes my wish list." "Really?" "Easy is nice. But its not as good as getting to be who you are or stand up for what you believe in," said Penn. "Easy is nice. But I wonder how often it leads to fulfilling work or partnership or being." "Easy probably rules out having children," Rosie admitted. "Having children, helping people, making art, inventing anything, leading the way, tackling the world's problems, overcoming your own. I don't know. Not much of what I value in our lives is easy. But there's not much of it I'd trade for easy either, I don't think.
Laurie Frankel (This Is How It Always Is)
[How do I do it?] Well, it's always a mystery, because you don't know why you get depleted or recharged. But this much I know. I do not allow myself to be overcome by hopelessness, no matter how tough the situation. I believe that if you just do your little bit without thinking of the bigness of what you stand against, if you turn to the enlargement of your own capacities, just that itself creates new potential. And I've learned from the Bhagavad-Gita and other teachings of our culture to detach myself from the results of what I do, because those are not in my hands. The context is not in your control, but your commitment is yours to make, and you can make the deepest commitment with a total detachment about where it will take you. You want it to lead to a better world, and you shape your actions and take full responsibility for them, but then you have detachment. And that combination of deep passion and deep detachment allows me to take on the next challenge, because I don't cripple myself, I don't tie myself in knots. I function like a free being. I think getting that freedom is a social duty because I think we owe it to each not to burden each other with prescription and demands. I think what we owe each other is a celebration of life and to replace fear and hopelessness with fearlessness and joy.
Vandana Shiva
So when people say that poetry is a luxury, or an option, or for the educated middle classes, or that it shouldn't be read in school because it is irrelevant, or any of the strange and stupid things that are said about poetry and its place in our lives, I suspect that the people doing the saying have had things pretty easy. A tough life needs a tough language - and that is what poetry is. That is what literature offers - a language powerful enough to to say how it is. It isn't a hiding place. It is a finding place.
Jeanette Winterson (Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?)
I wasn’t reading poetry because my aim was to work my way through English Literature in Prose A–Z. But this was different. I read [in, Murder in the Cathedral by T.S. Eliot]: This is one moment, / But know that another / Shall pierce you with a sudden painful joy. I started to cry. (…)The unfamiliar and beautiful play made things bearable that day, and the things it made bearable were another failed family—the first one was not my fault, but all adopted children blame themselves. The second failure was definitely my fault. I was confused about sex and sexuality, and upset about the straightforward practical problems of where to live, what to eat, and how to do my A levels. I had no one to help me, but the T.S. Eliot helped me. So when people say that poetry is a luxury, or an option, or for the educated middle classes, or that it shouldn’t be read at school because it is irrelevant, or any of the strange and stupid things that are said about poetry and its place in our lives, I suspect that the people doing the saying have had things pretty easy. A tough life needs a tough language—and that is what poetry is. That is what literature offers—a language powerful enough to say how it is. It isn’t a hiding place. It is a finding place.
Jeanette Winterson (Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?)
Man when living is soft and tender; when dead he is hard and tough. All animals and plants are tender and fragile; when dead they become withered and dry. Therefore it is said: the hard and the tough are parts of death; the soft and tender are parts of life. This is the reason why the soldiers when they are too tough cannot carry the day; the tree when it is too tough will break. The position of the strong and great is low, and the position of the weak and tender is high.
Alan W. Watts (Nature, Man and Woman)
Off To The Races" My old man is a bad man but I can't deny the way he holds my hand And he grabs me, he has me by my heart He doesn't mind I have a Las Vegas past He doesn't mind I have an LA crass way about me He loves me with every beat of his cocaine heart Swimming pool glimmering darling White bikini off with my red nail polish Watch me in the swimming pool bright blue ripples you Sitting sipping on your black Cristal Oh yeah Light of my life, fire of my loins Be a good baby, do what I want Light of my life, fire of my loins Give me them gold coins, gimme them coins And I'm off to the races, cases of Bacardi chasers Chasing me all over town Cause he knows I'm wasted, facing Time again at Riker's Island and I won't get out Because I'm crazy, baby I need you to come here and save me I'm your little scarlet, starlet singing in the garden Kiss me on my open mouth Ready for you My old man is a tough man but He's got a soul as sweet as blood red jam And he shows me, he knows me Every inch of my tar black soul He doesn't mind I have a flat broke down life In fact he says he thinks it's why he might like about me Admires me, the way I roll like a Rolling Stone Likes to watch me in the glass room bathroom, Chateau Marmont Slippin' on my red dress, puttin' on my makeup Glass film, perfume, cognac, lilac Fumes, says it feels like heaven to him Light of his life, fire of his loins Keep me forever, tell me you own me Light of your life, fire of your loins Tell me you own me, gimme them coins And I'm off to the races, cases of Bacardi chasers Chasing me all over town Cause he knows I'm wasted, facing Time again at Riker's Island and I won't get out Because I'm crazy, baby I need you to come here and save me I'm your little scarlet, starlet singing in the garden Kiss me on my open mouth Now I'm off to the races, laces Leather on my waist is tight and I am fallin' down I can see your face is shameless, Cipriani's basement Love you but I'm going down God I'm so crazy, baby, I'm sorry that I'm misbehaving I'm your little harlot, starlet, Queen of Coney Island Raising hell all over town Sorry 'bout it My old man is a thief and I'm gonna stay and pray with him 'til the end But I trust in the decision of the Lord to watch over us Take him when he may, if he may I'm not afraid to say that I'd die without him Who else is gonna put up with me this way? I need you, I breathe you, I never leave you They would rue the day I was alone without you You're lying with your gold chain on, cigar hanging from your lips I said "Hon' you never looked so beautiful as you do now, my man." And we're off to the races, places Ready, set the gate is down and now we're goin' in To Las Vegas chaos, Casino Oasis, honey it is time to spin Boy you're so crazy, baby, I love you forever not maybe You are my one true love, you are my one true love You are my one true love
Lana Del Rey
We do not like the truth because it is simple, we do not want the truth because it is hard, and we do not trust the truth because it is free. Perhaps because many are idealists and publishing is so frustrating, writers are particularly vulnerable to believing in those who offer hope in exchange for cash. Writers know life is tough and we all want to think of an easier way. Maybe for a rare few, there is. If you count on that, you are a chump and somebody is going to take your money and break your heart.
Pat Walsh (78 Reasons Why Your Book May Never Be Published and 14 Reasons Why It Just Might)
That’s the life. That’s why talent alone doesn’t cut it. If you want to be a successful actor, mental toughness is essential. Lay your whole self-worth on getting the role, on the illusion of validation, before long you’re left angry, resentful, and jealous. You’re doomed.
Bryan Cranston (A Life in Parts)
In all those stories about people who sold their souls to the devil, I never quite understood why the devil was the bad guy, or why it was okay to screw him out of his soul. They got what they wanted: fame, money, love, whatever—though usually it turned out not to be what they really wanted or expected. Was that the devil's fault? I never thought so. Like John Wayne said, "Life's tough. It's even tougher when you're stupid.
James Anderson (The Never-Open Desert Diner (Ben Jones, #1))
all may not be well but, sometimes, things that seem so uncanny are what shield and protect us from the worst situations in life.
Ernest Agyemang Yeboah
When life puts you in tough situations, don’t say “why me”, say “try me
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Why is it when people are proud of me that my life sucks?” “Because growing up means making tough choices, and doing the right thing doesn’t necessarily mean doing the thing that feels good.
Katie McGarry (Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits, #1))
Beloved, to be white is to know that you have at your own hand, or by extension, through institutionalized means, the power to take black life with impunity. It’s the power of life and death that gives whiteness its force, its imperative. White life is worth more than black life. This is why the cry “Black Lives Matter” angers you so greatly, why it is utterly offensive and effortlessly revolutionary. It takes aim at white innocence and insists on uncovering the lie of its neutrality, its naturalness, its normalcy, its normativity. The most radical action a white person can take is to acknowledge this denied privilege, to say, “Yes, you’re right. In our institutional structures, and in deep psychological structures, our underlying assumption is that our lives are worth more than yours.” But that is a tough thing for most of you to do.
Michael Eric Dyson (Tears We Cannot Stop: A Sermon to White America)
As I looked at the great tapestry that was the accumulation of my life up to that point, I was able to identify exactly what had brought me to where I was today. Just look at my life path! Why, oh why, have I always been so harsh with myself? Why was I always beating myself up? Why was I always forsaking myself? Why did I never stand up for myself and show the world the beauty of my own soul? Why was I always suppressing my own intelligence and creativity to please others? I betrayed myself every time I said yes when I meant no! Why have I violated myself by always needing to seek approval from others just to be myself? Why haven’t I followed my own beautiful heart and spoken my own truth? Why don’t we realize this when we’re in our physical bodies? How come I never knew that we’re not supposed to be so tough on ourselves? I still felt myself completely enveloped in a sea of unconditional love and acceptance. I was able to look at myself with fresh eyes, and I saw that I was a beautiful being of the Universe. I understood that just the fact that I existed made me worthy of this tender regard
Anita Moorjani (Dying To Be Me: My Journey from Cancer, to Near Death, to True Healing)
When I got to school the next morning I had stepped only one foot in the quad when he spotted me and nearly tackled me to the ground. “Jamie!” he hollered, rushing across the lawn without caring the least bit about the scene he was creating. The next thing I knew, my feet were off the ground and I was squished so tightly in Ryan’s arms that I could barely breathe. “Okay, Ryan?” I coughed in a hushed tone. “This is exactly the kind of thing that can get you killed.” “I don’t care, I’m not letting go. Don’t ever disappear like that again!” he scolded, but his voice was more relieved than angry. “It’s been days! You had your mother worried sick!” “My mother?” I questioned sarcastically. Ryan laughed as he finally set me back on my feet. “Okay, fine, me too.” He still wouldn’t let go of me, though. He was gripping my arms while he looked at me with those eyes, and that smile… You know, being all Ryan-ish. And then, when I got lost in the moment, he totally took advantage of how whipped I was and he kissed me. The jerk. He just pulled my face to his right then and there, in the middle of a crowded quad full of students, where I could have accidentally unleashed an electrical storm at any moment. And okay, maybe I liked it, and maybe I even needed it, but still! You can’t just go kissing Jamie Baker whenever you want, even if you are Ryan Miller! “Ryan!” I yelled as soon as I was able to pull away from him—which admittedly took a minute. “I’m sorry.” Ryan laughed with this big dopey grin on his face and then kissed me some more. I had to push him away from me. “Don’t be sorry, just stop!” I realized I was screaming at him when I felt a hundred different pairs of eyes on me. I tried to ignore the audience that Ryan seemed oblivious to and dropped the audio a few decibels. “I wasn’t kidding when I said this has to stop. Look, I will be your friend. I want to be your friend. But that’s it. We can’t be anything more. It’ll never work.” Ryan watched me for a minute and then whispered, “Don’t do that.” I was shocked to hear the sudden emotion in his voice. “Don’t give up.” It was hopeless. “Fine!” I snapped. “I’ll be your stupid girlfriend!” Big shocker, me giving Ryan his way, I know. But let’s face it—it’s just what I do best. I had to at least act a little tough, though. “But!” I said in the harshest voice I was capable of. “You can’t ever touch me unless I say. No more tackling me, and especially no more surprise kissing.” He actually laughed at my request. “No promises.” Stupid, cocky boyfriend. “You’re crazy. You know that, right?” Ryan got this big cheesy smile on his face and said, “Crazy about you.” “Ugh,” I groaned. “Would you be serious for a minute? Why do you insist on putting your life in danger?” “Because I like you.” His stupid grin was infectious. I wanted to be angry, but how could I with him looking at me like that? “I’m not worth it, you know,” I said stubbornly. “I have issues. I’m unstable.” “You’re cute when you’re unstable,” Ryan said, “and I like your issues.” The stupid boy was straight-up giddy now. But he was so cute that I cracked a smile despite myself. “You really are crazy,” I muttered.
Kelly Oram (Being Jamie Baker (Jamie Baker, #1))
How can man know himself? It is a dark, mysterious business: if a hare has seven skins, a man may skin himself seventy times seven times without being able to say, “Now that is truly you; that is no longer your outside.” It is also an agonizing, hazardous undertaking thus to dig into oneself, to climb down toughly and directly into the tunnels of one’s being. How easy it is thereby to give oneself such injuries as no doctor can heal. Moreover, why should it even be necessary given that everything bears witness to our being — our friendships and animosities, our glances and handshakes, our memories and all that we forget, our books as well as our pens. For the most important inquiry, however, there is a method. Let the young soul survey its own life with a view of the following question: “What have you truly loved thus far? What has ever uplifted your soul, what has dominated and delighted it at the same time?” Assemble these revered objects in a row before you and perhaps they will reveal a law by their nature and their order: the fundamental law of your very self. Compare these objects, see how they complement, enlarge, outdo, transfigure one another; how they form a ladder on whose steps you have been climbing up to yourself so far; for your true self does not lie buried deep within you, but rather rises immeasurably high above you, or at least above what you commonly take to be your I.
Friedrich Nietzsche
Actresses talking about characters they’ve played often use the phrase “strong woman”, which kind of irks me. Firstly, the description appears to be reserved for two kinds of female: the gun-toting chick in tiny-vest-and-shorts combo, or the tough-talking businesswoman who secretly longs for a man to bring out her softer side. So obviously, our idea of strength is pretty narrow and one-dimensional. Secondly, why isn’t Brad Pitt ever asked about how much he enjoys playing a “strong man”? Is it automatically assumed that men’s roles will be complex and interesting?
Rosie Blythe (The Princess Guide to Life)
God knew the African woman was going to have a very, very hard life. That is why He gave her skin as tough as Mother Earth herself. He gave her that tough, timeless skin so that her woes would not be written all over her face, so that her face would not be a map to her torn and tattered heart.
Sindiwe Magona (Beauty's Gift)
According to the Turnaround paper, which was written by a consultant named Brooke Stafford-Brizard, high-level noncognitive skills like resilience, curiosity, and academic tenacity are very difficult for a child to obtain without first developing a foundation of executive functions, a capacity for 
self-awareness, and relationship skills. And those skills, in turn, stand atop an infrastructure of qualities built in the first years of life, qualities like secure attachment, the ability to manage stress, and self-regulation.
Paul Tough (Helping Children Succeed: What Works and Why)
Why was I told in every situation to man up and not cry? I’d manned up all my life and now my strength to stay tough broke down I felt robbed of a remedy to my pain
Pierre Alex Jeanty (Unspoken Feelings of a Gentleman)
I didn’t know anyone in London, and I never wanted to be there. This was not how my life was meant to be, but needs must. It was as if the gods were showing me how tough everyone else’s lives were, and what I had left behind. I understood for the first time why people wanted to escape to places like the Lake District. I understood then what National Parks were for, so that people whose lives are always like this can escape and feel the wind in their hair and the sun on their faces.
James Rebanks (The Shepherd's Life: A People's History of the Lake District)
He did atrocious things, but it was him I wanted. Always, only him. Troy stopped when we were nose to nose. Toe to toe. I loved watching those eyes from up-close. They were so ocean blue, no wonder they made my head swim. “I love you, Red. I love you determined, tough, innocent, resilient…” His brows furrowed as he drank me in, stroking the curve of my face with his calloused fingertips. “I love you broken, insecure, scared, furious and pissed off…” He let a small smile loose. I actually felt it, even though it was on his lips. “I love every part of you, the good and the bad, the hopeless and the assertive. We don’t just love. We heal each other with every touch and complete each other with ever kiss. And fuck, I know it’s corny as hell, but that’s what I need. You’re what I need.” My eyes fluttered shut, a lone tear hanging from the tip of my eyelash. “We don’t have ordinary words between us. You always set my fucking brain on fire when you talk to me. We don’t even have ordinary moments of silence. I always feel like I’m playing with you or being played by you when you’re around. And I refuse to let you walk out on this, on us.” He cupped my cheeks and I locked his palms in place, tightening my grip. I never wanted him to let go. He dipped his head down, tilting his forehead against mine. I knew he was right. Knew that I’d already forgiven him. Probably before I even knew what he did, when we were still living together. Hell, probably on that dance floor, when I was nine. My capturer. My monster. My savior. “I’m an asshole, was an asshole, and have every intention of staying an asshole. It’s the makeup of my fucking DNA. But I want to be your asshole. To you, I can be good. Maybe even great. For you, I’ll stop the rain from falling and the thunder from cracking and the wind from fucking blowing. And yes, I sure as hell knew you’d come back. You came straight back into my arms, flew back to your nest, lovebird. Now why would you do that if you didn’t love the shit out of me?” My eyes roamed his face. His hands felt delicious on my skin. It was like he was pumping life into me with his fingertips. Like he made me whole before I even knew parts of me were missing.
L.J. Shen (Sparrow)
I found society as annoying as he did, but there wasn't anything about myself that I particularly wanted to defend, so I couldn't understand why Shiraha was taking it out on me like this. Well, I dare say life is tough for him, I thought, sipping at my warm water.
Sayaka Murata (Convenience Store Woman)
Gregori brought Savannah's hand to the warmth of his mouth,his breath heating the pulse beating in her wrist. The night is especially beautiful, mon petit amour.Your hero saved the girl, walks among humans, and converses with a fool.That alone should bring a smile to your face.Do not weep for what we cannot change.We will make certain that this human with us comes to no harm. Are you my hero,then? There were tears in her voice, in her mind, like an iridescent prism. She needed him, his comfort,his support under her terrible weight of guilt and love and loss. Always,for all eternity, he answered instantly,without hesitation, his eyes hot mercury. He tipped her chin up so that she met the brilliance of his silver gaze.Always, mon amour.His molten gaze trapped her blue one and held her enthralled. Your heart grows lighter.The burden of your sorrow becomes my own. He held her gaze captive for a few moments to ensure that she was free of the heaviness crushing her. Savannah blinked and moved a little away from him, wondering what she had been thinking of.What had they been talking about? "Gary." Gregori drawled the name slowly and sat back in his chair,totally relaxed. He looked like a sprawling tiger,dangerous and untamed. "Tell us about yourself." "I work a lot.I'm not married. I'm really not much of a people person. I'm basically a nerd." Gregori shifted, a subtle movement of muscles suggesting great power. "I am not familiar with this term." "Yeah,well,you wouldn't be," Gary said. "It means I have lots of brains and no brawn.I don't do the athlete thing. I'm into computers and chess and things requiring intellect. Women find me skinny,wimpy,and boring. Not something they would you." There was no bitterness in his voice,just a quiet acceptance of himself,his life. Gregori's white teeth flashed. "There is only one woman who matters to me, Gary, and she finds me difficult to live with.I cannot imagine why,can you?" "Maybe because you're jealous, possessive, concerned with every single detail of her life?" Gary plainly took the question literally, offering up his observations without judgement. "You're probably domineering,too. I can see that. Yeah.It might be tough." Savannah burst out laughing, the sound musical, rivaling the street musicians. People within hearing turned their heads and held their breath, hoping for more. "Very astute, Gary.Very, very astute. I bet you have an anormous IQ." Gregori stirred again, the movement a ripple of power,of danger. He was suddenly leaning into Gary. "You think you are intelligent? Baiting the wild animal is not too smart.
Christine Feehan (Dark Magic (Dark, #4))
Death was more like what we went through in the park: two people walking side by side in the mist, rubbing against trees and bushes, and not a word between them. It was something emptier than the name itself and yet right and peaceful, dignified, if you like. It was not a continuation of life, but a leap in the dark and no possibility of ever coming back, not even as a grain of dust. And that was right and beautiful, I said to myself, because why would one want to come back. To taste it once is to taste it forever - life or death. Whichever way the coin flips is right, so long as you hold no stakes. Sure, it's tough to choke on your own spittle - it's disagreeable more than anything else. And besides, one doesn't always die choking to death. Sometimes one goes off in his sleep, peaceful and quiet as a lamb. The Lord comes and gathers you up into the fold, as they say. Anyway, you stop breathing. And why the hell should one want to go on breathing forever? Anything that would have to be done interminably would be torture. The poor human bastards that we are, we ought to be glad that somebody devised a way out. We don't quibble about going to sleep. A third of our lives we snore away like drunken rats. What about that? Is that tragic? Well then, say three-thirds of drunken rat-like sleep. Jesus, if we had any sense we'd be dancing with glee at the thought of it! We could all die in bed tomorrow, without pain, without suffering - if we had the sense to take advantage of our remedies. We don't want to die, that's the trouble with us. That's why God and the whole shooting match upstairs in our crazy dustbins.
Henry Miller (Tropic of Capricorn (Tropic, #2))
But what slayed Robert was that for all these years, all his adult life, he'd never believed in relationships and commitment. They were highly overrated as far as he was concerned. Some people's entire lives revolved around love...finding it, keeping it. People had written poetry about it, had sacrificed for it, had even died for it. And he'd never been able to understand why. Why would anyone want to invest themselves in such a fickle emotion that sounded too good to be true because it was too good to be true. When the going got tough, even when someone claimed to love and be committed to the people in their lives, they really only honored that commitment when things were good.
M.L. Rhodes (Satisfaction (Passion, #2))
I saw a man swerve his car and try to hit a stray dog, but the quick mutt dodged between two parked cars and made his escape. God, I thought, did I just see what I think I saw? At the next red light, I pulled up beside the man and stared hard at him. He knew that'd I seen his murder attempt, but he didn't care. He smiled and yelled loud enough for me to hear him through our closed windows: 'Don't give me that face unless you're going to do something about it. Come on, tough guy, what are you going to do?' I didn't do anything. I turned right on the green. He turned left against traffic. I don't know what happened to that man or the dog, but I drove home and wrote this poem. Why do poets think they can change the world? The only life I can save is my own.
Sherman Alexie (War Dances)
Successful people are not afraid to ask themselves tough questions and then go deep to get the answers. Unsuccessful people avoid the tough questions, and if they come across one, either they won't answer it or they avoid it. Of course, it's not enough to pose good questions, which is why successful people are also good listeners. Most people tend to be so busy formulating their next statement that they hear very little of what is said to them.
Randy Carlson (The Power of One Thing: How to Intentionally Change Your Life)
If you would wait and’ve won my heart Still we know the end is yet to come there’s no hiding we cant escape the darkness and end of Love,darkness will chase us and theywill always win. everything comes to an end .ones you taste the goodness,tails the end So goodbye LOVER It sfunny that We both know how it will end but we still kept fighting I’ll wait for you…Im sorry but Im not strong There’ s no point loverboy. Let me give you some fact No matter what you do ,where you hide it will always haunt you…sorrow my dear Im talking ‘bout Just like the others.Idont wan t to become a memory cause Im telling you Im different If you promise to wait I promise to you that I will always be yours and I will never hurt you Remember you told me nothing is impossible when you love someone Don’t tell me you love me,dear,love is one of the most unpredictable thing in the world. Why so careless? Im sorry,believed me I tried..thank you cause I felt the warmth of your love and it felt so good at the same time I felt so weak ,your love is like the summer that melts my cold heart but Im still in the battle field and soldiers cant be weak at the time of battle they have to be tough! Your words says you can fix me and I thought hey why don’t we give him a chance and I realized no one can fix me it is only me who can fix myself because this is my life.
Irome
She might never understand why the Almighty had allowed so much tragedy to befall her during the past two years, but she wasn't going to turn away from him as many people did when life got tough. She was going to cling tight to his promise that he would be with her always. And she was going to trust that one day soon, life would be bright again. Because if she didn't, the shadows hovering over her soul could swoop in and shroud her in darkness forever.
Irene Hannon (Dangerous Illusions (Code of Honor, #1))
His hands came to her wrists, squeezed reflexively, before he got quickly to his feet. "You're mixing things up." Panic arrowed straight into his heart. "I told you sex complicates things." "Yes,you did.And of course since you're the only man I've been with, how could I knew the difference between sex and love? Then again, that doesn't take into account that I'm a smart and self-aware woman, and I know the reason you're the only man I've been with is that you're the only man I've loved.Brian..." She stepped toward him, humor flashing into her eyes when he stepped back. "I've made up my mind.You know how stubborn I am." "I train your father's horses." "So what? My mother groomed them." "That's a different matter." "Why? Oh, because she's a woman.How foolish of me not to realize we can't possibly love each other, build a life with each other.Now if you owned Royal Meadows and I worked here, then it would be all right." "Stop making me sound ridiculous." "I can't." She spread her hands. "You are ridiculous.I love you anyway. Really, I tried to approach it sensibly.I like doing things in a structured order that makes a beeline for the goal.But..." She shrugged, smiled. "It just doesn't want to work that way with you.I look at you and my heart,well, it just insists on taking over.I love you so much,Brian. Can't you tell me? Can't you look at me and tell me?" He skimmed his fingertips over the bruise high on her temple. He wanted to tend to it, to her. "If I did there'd be no going back." "Coward." She watched the heat flash into his eyes,and thought how lovely it was to know him so well. "You won't push me into a corner." Now she laughed. "Watch me," she invited and proceeded to back him up against the steps. "I've figured a lot of things out today,Brian.You're scared of me-of what you feel for me. You were the one always pulling back when we were in public, shifting aside when I'd reach for you.It hurt me." The idea quite simply appalled him. "I never meant to hurt you." "No,you couldn't.How could I help but fall for you? A hard head and a soft heart.It's irresistable. Still, it did hurt. But I thought it was just the snob in you.I didn't realize it was nerves." "I'm not a snob, or a coward." "Put your arms around me.Kiss me. Tell me." "Damn it." he grabbed her shoulders, then simply held on, unable to push her back or draw her in. "It was the first time I saw you, the first instant. You walked in the room and my heart stopped. Like it had been struck by lightning.I was fine until you walked into the room." Her knees wanted to buckle.Hard head, soft heart, and here, suddenly, a staggering sweep of romance. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you make me wait?" "I thought I'd get over it." "Get over it?" Her brow arched up. "Like a head cold?" "Maybe." He set her aside, paced away to stare out at the hills. Keeley closed her eyes, let the breeze ruffle her hair, cool her cheeks. When the calm descended, she opened her eyes and smiled. "A good strong head cold's tough to shake off.
Nora Roberts (Irish Rebel (Irish Hearts, #3))
This isn’t some libertarian mistrust of government policy, which is healthy in any democracy. This is deep skepticism of the very institutions of our society. And it’s becoming more and more mainstream. We can’t trust the evening news. We can’t trust our politicians. Our universities, the gateway to a better life, are rigged against us. We can’t get jobs. You can’t believe these things and participate meaningfully in society. Social psychologists have shown that group belief is a powerful motivator in performance. When groups perceive that it’s in their interest to work hard and achieve things, members of that group outperform other similarly situated individuals. It’s obvious why: If you believe that hard work pays off, then you work hard; if you think it’s hard to get ahead even when you try, then why try at all? Similarly, when people do fail, this mind-set allows them to look outward. I once ran into an old acquaintance at a Middletown bar who told me that he had recently quit his job because he was sick of waking up early. I later saw him complaining on Facebook about the “Obama economy” and how it had affected his life. I don’t doubt that the Obama economy has affected many, but this man is assuredly not among them. His status in life is directly attributable to the choices he’s made, and his life will improve only through better decisions. But for him to make better choices, he needs to live in an environment that forces him to ask tough questions about himself. There is a cultural movement in the white working class to blame problems on society or the government, and that movement gains adherents by the day. Here is where the rhetoric of modern conservatives (and I say this as one of them) fails to meet the real challenges of their biggest constituents. Instead of encouraging engagement, conservatives increasingly foment the kind of detachment that has sapped the ambition of so many of my peers. I have watched some friends blossom into successful adults and others fall victim to the worst of Middletown’s temptations—premature parenthood, drugs, incarceration. What separates the successful from the unsuccessful are the expectations that they had for their own lives. Yet the message of the right is increasingly: It’s not your fault that you’re a loser; it’s the government’s fault. My dad, for example, has never disparaged hard work, but he mistrusts some of the most obvious paths to upward mobility. When
J.D. Vance (Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis)
I know that gen Z has it tough—they’re losing their proms and graduations to the quarantine, they’re on deck to bear the full brunt of climate catastrophe, and they’re inheriting a carcass of a society that’s been fattened up and picked clean by the billionaire class, leaving them with virtually no shot at a life without crushing financial and existential anxiety, let alone any fantasy of retiring from their thankless toil or leaving anything of value to their own children. That’s bad. BUT, counterpoint! Millennials have to deal with a bunch of that same stuff, kind of, PLUS we had to be teenagers when American Pie came out!... American Pie absolutely captivated a generation because my generation is tacky as hell. “I have a hot girlfriend but she doesn’t want to have sex” was an entire genre of movies in the ’90s. In the ’90s, people loved it when things were “raunchy” (ew!). Every guy at my high school wanted to be Stifler! Can you imagine what that kind of an environment does to a person? To be of the demographic that has a Ron Burgundy quote for every occasion, without the understanding that Ron Burgundy is a satire? This is why we have Jenny McCarthy, I’m pretty sure, and, by extension, the great whooping cough revival of 2014. Thanks a lot, jocks!
Lindy West (Shit, Actually: The Definitive, 100% Objective Guide to Modern Cinema)
THIS IS WHAT WE’RE HERE FOR “Why then are we offended? Why do we complain? This is what we’re here for.” —SENECA, ON PROVIDENCE, 5.7b–8 No one said life was easy. No one said it would be fair. Don’t forget, though, that you come from a long, unbroken line of ancestors who survived unimaginable adversity, difficulty, and struggle. It’s their genes and their blood that run through your body right now. Without them, you wouldn’t be here. You’re an heir to an impressive tradition—and as their viable offspring, you’re capable of what they are capable of. You’re meant for this. Bred for it. Just something to keep in mind if things get tough.
Ryan Holiday (The Daily Stoic: 366 Meditations on Wisdom, Perseverance, and the Art of Living)
No, when the stresses are too great for the tired metal, when the ground mechanic who checks the de-icing equipment is crossed in love and skimps his job, way back in London, Idlewild, Gander, Montreal; when those or many things happen, then the little warm room with propellers in front falls straight down out of the sky into the sea or on to the land, heavier than air, fallible, vain. And the forty little heavier-than-air people, fallible within the plane's fallibility, vain within its larger vanity, fall down with it and make little holes in the land or little splashes in the sea. Which is anyway their destiny, so why worry? You are linked to the ground mechanic's careless fingers in Nassau just as you are linked to the weak head of the little man in the family saloon who mistakes the red light for the green and meets you head-on, for the first and last time, as you are motoring quietly home from some private sin. There's nothing to do about it. You start to die the moment you are born. The whole of life is cutting through the pack with death. So take it easy. Light a cigarette and be grateful you are still alive as you suck the smoke deep into your lungs. Your stars have already let you come quite a long way since you left your mother's womb and whimpered at the cold air of the world. Perhaps they'll even let you go to Jamaica tonight. Can't you hear those cheerful voices in the control tower that have said quietly all day long, 'Come in BOAC. Come in Panam. Come in KLM'? Can't you hear them calling you down too: 'Come in Transcarib. Come in Transcarib'? Don't lose faith in your stars. Remember that hot stitch of time when you faced death from the Robber's gun last night. You're still alive, aren't you? There, we're out of it already. It was just to remind you that being quick with a gun doesn't mean you're really tough. Just don't forget it. This happy landing at Palisadoes Airport comes to you courtesy of your stars. Better thank them.
Ian Fleming (Live and Let Die (James Bond, #2))
A well expected question here is why to live such a tough life and why bear so much. The answer is if you have decided to become a saint, why to leverage anything. You should not become saint to live in Ashramas which have palace like amenities, being served by ladies and even spending nights with them. You should not enjoy a variety of food, when even a single diet is not available to lots of poor people. You should not charge people to help them with their problems. If a saint or a monk does this and prefer enjoying his life with all these earnings he make of it, this means he is more into the profession and he must be considered a businessman. And no businessman deserves the respect like a Saint or a Monk does.
Tarun Jain (Jainism Scientifically)
He actually does the opposite. He says, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel’s will save it.”1 If Jesus wanted to grow a church, didn’t he know telling people they need to daily pick up an instrument of torture, death, and shame wasn’t the way to do it? Jesus opposed the pharisaical legalism of his time, but he also opposed the watered-down, flimsy, cultural religion. He was essentially saying, “I know my miracles are awesome. I know I have immense power. But don’t follow me for the wrong reason. The cost is high. The road to follow me is tough, it’s painful, it hurts, and you might even face death, but I promise there is joy on the other side. Do you want in?
Jefferson Bethke (Jesus > Religion: Why He Is So Much Better Than Trying Harder, Doing More, and Being Good Enough)
It can be tough to recognize that you need to leave something behind to be able to get where you want to go. Sometimes the reason we have carried something in our pack for so long is that someone we trusted told us we would need it. Even when it has become obvious the advice given us does not match our experience, it can be difficult to reconcile the advice with the reality of our situation. Consequently, many will continue carrying unnecessary burdens. While this added weight might be manageable walking on flat ground when the terrain becomes more demanding and the pace more important, it will become increasingly difficult to keep up. This is why an approach to life that worked at one point does not always work at another point. If you are seeking to maximize your life, you cannot do so without making tough choices.
Nathan Mellor (Sleeping Giants: Authentic Stories and Insights for Building a Life That Matters)
In terms of the Trinity, I believe in the Father and the Holy Ghost but not really Jesus that much. Yes, Jesus was pretty badass because he stood up for what he believed in and was definitely an alpha and a man of his convictions, and all that respectable shit, and he took a hell of a beating in the end, but his message was wrong. All that turn the other cheek and love thy neighbor nonsense; be a lamb and so on. It’s silly and doesn’t work. The God of the Old Testament, the Father, that guy makes a lot more sense to me. He had it in him to be mean and spiteful. I get that I was made in the image of a guy who’d fuck over a nobody like Job basically for fun and to prove a point to a rival. I get that I was made in the image of a guy who’d kick two shitheads out of the Garden of Eden for disobeying Him. I get the idea of Him laying waste to entire cities with fireballs or whatever because He didn’t very much like the type of people that lived there (though Sodom and Gomorrah seem like just the sort of places I’d like to hang out). If God is love, it ain’t Jesus’. The Father’s love, tough love, is what works. Sometimes there’s difficulty distinguishing it from hate, and that’s why it applies to the way I live my life. Jesus’ message just makes people nice, makes them pussies, and while I’m thankful for it because it’s given me the upper hand throughout my life in very Christian America, believing in it, really, would be idiotic for anyone like me, a winner. And I believe in the Holy Ghost too mostly because I’ve felt Him working through me while doing really cool shit, like playing football and writing good songs or whatever. He’s what people mean when they say God-given talent, which I have a lot of.
A.D. Aliwat (Alpha)
Claudette Colbert was not Hollywood’s greatest beauty, but her trim little figure, round, kitten-like face, and obviously intelligent good humor made her a bit of a sex symbol, much to her own surprise. By 1934 she’d adopted the hairstyle she kept for life: a short, auburn bob with a fringe of bangs. Although a partygoer and social animal, Claudette was also known as a tough-as-nails professional, overseeing her lighting and camera angles. Her right profile was known as “the dark side of the moon,” and scenes had to be staged so as not to show it. She was also self-conscious about her short neck—directing her in a 1956 TV show, Noël Coward reportedly snapped, “If only Claudette Colbert had a neck, I’d wring it!” “When it comes to details, I’m a horror,” she admitted cheerfully, though downplaying the profile story. “Why not have your good side showing?
Eve Golden (Bride of Golden Images)
Seriously... a sermon is not going to achieve anything. We all know perfectly well that one must not commit suicide. And yet there are times when the world we live in becomes so tough on us that we play with the thought. Therefore, it's useless to appeal to ethics; he ought to go with a more practical and concrete approach. If I were to stop suicide, I would do it like this: "Dying means falling into an eternal state of nothingness, a perfect void that can't be conceived by anything that is alive. Just think about it: your brain goes away. You do not have any thought anymore. Surely, you've heard of the phrase 'I think, thus I am,' no? Give it some careful thought. Nothing exists. Do you get this? Nothing exists. How many seconds could you endure being in a world without sound, without light, and without any kind of sensation? A world where you don't even get hungry. Where you have no desires at all. Can you follow me? But death is a perfect void, so it exceeds even such a sensation-less world. There is no future. Heaven is just a construct people who fear death made up. You should know why there will always be people who believe in a world after death despite the advent of science; it's because they are scared. Scared of what waits beyond death. So, don't think ending your own life will save you! It simply ends. It E-N-D-S. Suicide is the act of killing yourself, and dying without comprehending the meaning of death is but escaping from reality. Although the result is the same in both cases. All right, come on. Try to kill yourself if you can; try to kill yourself now that you've learned the truth." At the very least, I couldn't kill myself. After all, the only reason why I'm here now is because I'm more afraid of death than most.
Eiji Mikage (神栖麗奈は此処にいる [Kamisu Reina Wa Koko Ni Iru] (神栖麗奈シリーズ #1))
I struggle with words. Never could express myself the way I wanted. My mind fights my mouth, and thoughts get stuck in my throat. Sometimes they stay stuck for seconds or even minutes. Some thoughts stay for years; some have stayed hidden all my life. As a child, I stuttered. What was inside couldn't get out. I'm still not real fluent. I don't know a lot of good words. If I were wrongfully accused of a crime, I'd have a tough time explaining my innocence. I'd stammer and stumble and choke up until the judge would throw me in jail. Words aren't my friends. Music is. Sounds, notes, rhythms. I talk through music. Maybe that's why I became a loner, someone who loves privacy and doesn't reveal himself too easily. My friendliness might fool you. Come into my dressing room and I'll shake your hand, pose for a picture, make polite small talk. I'll be as nice as I can, hoping you'll be nice to me. I'm genuinely happy to meet you and exchange a little warmth. I have pleasant acquaintances with thousands of people the world over. But few, if any, really know me. And that includes my own family. It's not that they don't want to; it's because I keep my feelings to myself. If you hurt me, chances are I won't tell you. I'll just move on. Moving on is my method of healing my hurt and, man, I've been moving on all my life. Now it's time to stop. This book is a place for me to pause and look back at who I was and what I became. As I write, I'm seventy hears old, and all the joy and hurts, small and large, that I've stored up inside me...well, I want to pull 'em out and put 'em on the page. When I've been described on other people's pages, I don't recognize myself. In my mind, no one has painted the real me. Writers have done their best, but writers have missed the nitty-gritty. Maybe because I've hidden myself, maybe because I'm not an easy guy to understand. Either way, I want to open up and leave a true account of who I am. When it comes to my own life, others may know the cold facts better than me. Scholars have told me to my face that I'm mixed up. I smile but don't argue. Truth is, cold facts don't tell the whole story. Reading this, some may accuse me of remembering wrong. That's okay, because I'm not writing a cold-blooded history. I'm writing a memory of my heart. That's the truth I'm after - following my feelings, no matter where they lead. I want to try to understand myself, hoping that you - my family, my friends, my fans - will understand me as well. This is a blues story. The blues are a simple music, and I'm a simple man. But the blues aren't a science; the blues can't be broken down like mathematics. The blues are a mystery, and mysteries are never as simple as they look.
B.B. King (Blues All Around Me: The Autobiography of B.B. King)
Cole shut the bedroom door and gazed at Kyle. His eyes said he’d married his salvation, and Kyle knew what he meant. Two souls in need had finally found resolution with “I do.” “Wife. You’re the most stunning vision I’ve ever seen. Will you always be mine?” Cole held out his hand as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Husband, I already promised you that.” She accepted his hand and cuddled into his chest. “I, Kyle McHugh, choose you, Cole Bridge, to be my husband, to respect you in your failures, to care for you in sickness, to nurture you, and to grow with you throughout the seasons of life.” “Why did you leave out the good parts?” Cole tilted her delicate face toward his. “It’ll be easy to stand next to you during good times. It’s the bad times, the scary times that are tough. I’ll never leave—no matter what life hands us.” A tear shone on Kyle’s cheek. Cole wiped it dry with his thumb. “To the bad times then, my divine bride. I pledge my heart to bad times as well.” He leaned down, changing his hold so he could pull her body into his and deliver a passionate kiss. She buried herself in his chest when they needed to catch their breath.
Debra Anastasia (Poughkeepsie (Poughkeepsie Brotherhood, #1))
It just seems like such a hard road"-she took deep breaths until she felt herself inflated to the brink of bursting-"such a tough life. This is not the easy way." "no," Penn agreed, "but I'm not sure easy is what I want for the kids anyway." She looked up at him. "why the hell not?" "I mean, if we could have everything, sure. If we can have it all, yeah, I wish them easy, successful, fun-filled lives, crowned with good friends, attentive lovers, heaps of money, intellectual stimulation, and good views out the window. I wish them eternal beauty, international travel, and smart things to watch on TV. But if I can't have everything, if I only get a few, I'm not sure easy makes my wish list." "Really?" "Easy is nice, but it's not as good as getting to be who you are or stand up for what you believe in," said Penn. "Easy is nice, but I wonder how often it leads to fulfilling work or partnership or being." "Easy probably rules out having children," Rosie admitted. "Having children, helping people, making art, inventing anything, leading the way, tackling the world's problems, overcoming your own. I don't know. Not much of what I value in our lives is easy. But there's not much of it I'd trade for easy either, I don't think.
Laurie Frankel (This Is How It Always Is)
Lies always hurt. Shirley made it clear to me that she would accept nothing but 100 percent honesty in our relationship. That slap across the face was an eye-opener. It made me feel that I didn’t need to sneak around behind her back. It gave me the freedom for the first time in my life to let go of my secrets. It’s a lesson that I continue to learn--if you lie, no matter how good your intentions, you carry the lie with you. It weighs you down, it holds you back, and you start to lose respect for yourself. The biggest lies of all are those we tell ourselves. Every time you say, “I can’t do that,” “I don’t have what it takes,” “It’s too late,” or “I’m not good enough,” you’re keeping yourself from living your truth. This is always a tough one for me, and something I continually have to work on. Why do we lie to ourselves? Because a lie feels easy and comfortable. It keeps fear and pain away; it shields you from the unknown. But you deserve more. You deserve not to settle, not to be distracted, and not to deny yourself your highest potential. As the saying goes, “The truth shall set you free.” Be honest about what you want, what you need, and what you’re capable of. Tune out the negative voices in your head that hold you back. Change your mind, change yourself.
Derek Hough (Taking the Lead: Lessons from a Life in Motion)
Which brings me to my very last leading lesson for you: Live now. Truthfully, it’s something I struggle with every day. Being a choreographer, I need to constantly envision the future--what a routine might look like before it’s ever danced. You see a blank dance floor; I see bodies moving across it in an intricately woven series of moves. I suppose this is a good thing for a guy who competes on Dancing with the Stars, but it’s not such a good thing for my well-being. That “forward thinking” began to bleed into my everyday life as well, and for a long time, I would find myself in a constant state of worry about the future. I was anxious and relatively unhappy considering all my successes, and I didn’t know why. The day would fly by and I wouldn’t even remember what I did, because I was just going through the motions. Then it dawned on me: I wasn’t in the moment. It’s good to have goals for the future and it’s good to learn from the past, but life is happening now. You cannot let it rush by you unseized or unacknowledged. You have to make a real, conscious effort to be in the present and not let your thoughts drift to other places and times. Your mind is an instrument, a tool. It is there to be used for specific tasks, and when the task is completed, you lay it down. This is a tough thing for me. I’m an overthinker. Many of us are. My mind gets racing a thousand miles a minute and I get anxious about my work, my career, or where I need to be in thirty minutes. Every day I need to shut down this machine and simply be still.
Derek Hough (Taking the Lead: Lessons from a Life in Motion)
Are you sure you don't remember? Your mind seems to be working just fine to me." "You know what? Just forget it. Whatever it was, I forgive you. Give me my backpack so I can go back to the office. We're about to get busted anyway, just standing here." "If you really do forgive me, then you wouldn't still be going to the office." He tightens his hold on the strap of my backpack. "Ohmysweetgoodness, Galen, why are we even having this conversation? You don't even know me. What do you care if I change my schedule?" I know I'm being rude. The guy offered to carry my things and walk me to class. And depending on which version of the story I believe, he either asked me out on Monday already, or he did it indirectly a few seconds ago. None of it makes any sense. Why me? Without any effort, I can think of at least ten girls who beat me out in looks, personality, and darker foundation. And Galen could pull any of them. "What, you don't have a question for my question?" I ask after a few seconds. "It just seems silly for you to change your schedule over a disagreement about when the Titanic-" I throw my hands up at him. "Don't you see how weird this is for me?" "I'm trying to, Emma. I really am. But I think you've had a tough couple of weeks, and it's taking a toll on you. You said every time you're around me something bad happens. But you can't really know for sure that's true, unless you spend more time with me. You should at least acknowledge that." Something is wrong with me. Those cafeteria doors must have really worked me over. Otherwise, I wouldn't be pushing Galen away like this. Not with him pleading, not with the way he's leaning toward me, not with the way he smells. "See? You're taking it personally, when there's really nothing personal about it," I whisper. "It's personal to me, Emma. It's true, I don't know you well. But there are some things I do know about you. And I'd like to know more." A glass full of ice water wouldn't cool my cheeks. "The only thing you know about me is that I'm life threatening in flip-flops." That I won't meet his eyes obviously bothers him, because he lifts my chin with the crook of his finger. "That's not all I know," he says. "I know your biggest secret." This time, unlike at the beach, I don't swat his hand away. The electric current in my feet prove that we're really standing so close to each other that our toes touch. "I don't have any secrets," I say, mesmerized." He nods. "I finally figured that out. That you don't actually know about your secret." "You're not making any sense." Or I just can't concentrate because I accidentally looked up at his lips. Maybe he did talk me into swimming... The door to the front office swings open, and Galen grabs my arm and ushers me around the corner. He continues to drag me down the hall, toward world history. "That's it?" I say, exasperated. "You're just going to leave it at that?" He stops us in front of the door. "That depends on you," he says. "Come with me to the beach after school, and I'll tell you." He reaches for the knob, but I grab his hand. "Tell me what? I already told you that I don't have any secrets. And I don't swim." He grins and opens the door. "There's plenty to do at the beach besides swim." Then he pulls me by the hand so close I think he's going to kiss me. Instead, he whispers in my ear, "I'll tell you where your eye color comes from." As I gasp, he puts a gentle hand on the small of my back and propels me into the classroom. Then he ditches me.
Anna Banks (Of Poseidon (The Syrena Legacy, #1))
I stood on the street corner. I thought about chasing after her, but she was churning swiftly through the neighborhood -- she was already almost a block away -- so instead I entered a coffee shop. This is why I was on the street. I was going to a coffee shop, and I was buying a coffee, and then I was walking to class, and then I would teach, and then during office hours I would reassure the students who needed reassuring, and I would be tough on the students who could take it, and if someone cried in my office for reasons unrelated but maybe sort of related to the imperfect short story they'd written, I would tell them that fiction makes you cry, the fiction you read though more often it's the shitty fiction you write that makes you cry, and I would also be thinking, You poor person, you have no idea what awaits you. A life awaits you, like a serious fucking life. This is what I would want to say. And then I would go home to my serious fucking life, and it would be so ridiculously unserious; it would involve soup spills and dirty dishes and lengthy logic proofs meant to coerce tired, inarticulate people to bed, and I would think how lucky I was to have this unserious life, i.e., to be forced to do somewhat or even thoroughly banal things every day. Because what awaits you if you don't? What kind of life awaits you then? A life where you don't calmly think, as you're scraping up the crystallized juice rings before showering before getting dressed before buying coffee before teaching class before reassuring people their hard lives would only get harder, Fuck this whole existence. You're running down the street and you're screaming at a university to which you no longer belong, you're wearing a sweatshirt not even branded with the insignia of the university on which you blame your breakdown, the university to which you are no longer affiliated, because you are so deeply unaffiliated that you are barely even affiliated with your own face.
Heidi Julavits (The Folded Clock: A Diary)
Chip and I were both exhausted when we finally pulled up in front of that house, but we were still riding the glow of our honeymoon, and I was so excited as he carried me over the threshold--until the smell nearly knocked us over. “Oh my word,” I said, pinching my nose and trying to hold my breath so I wouldn’t gag. “What is that?” Chip flicked the light switch, and the light didn’t come on. He flicked it up and down a few times, then felt his way forward in the darkness and tried another switch. “The electricity’s off,” he said. “The girls must’ve had it shut off when they moved out.” “Didn’t you transfer it back into your name?” I asked. “I guess not. I’m sorry, babe,” Chip said. “Chip, what is that smell?” It was the middle of June in Waco, Texas. The temperature had been up over a hundred degrees for days on end, and the humidity was stifling, amplifying whatever that rotten smell was coming from the kitchen. Chip always carries a knife and a flashlight, and it sure came in handy that night. Chip made his way back there and found that the fridge still had a bunch of food left in it, including a bunch of ground beef that had just sat there rotting since whenever the electricity went out. The food was literally just smoldering in this hundred-degree house. So we went from living in a swanky hotel room on Park Avenue in New York City to this disgusting, humid stink of a place that felt more like the site of a crime scene than a home at this point. Honestly, I hadn’t thought it through very well. But it was late, and we were tired, and I just focused on making the most of this awful situation. So we opened some windows and brought our bags in, and I told Jo we’d just tough it out and sleep on the floor and clean it all up in the morning. That’s when she started crying. I lay down on the floor thinking, Is his what my life is going to look like now that I married Chip? Is this my new normal? That’s when another smell hit me. It was in the carpet. “Chip, did those girls have a dog here?” I asked. “They had a couple of dogs,” he answered. “Why?” You could smell it. In the carpet. It was nasty. I was just lying there with my head next to some old dog urine stain that had been heated by the Texas summer heat. It was like microwaved dog pee. It was. It was awful. It was three in the morning. And I finally said, “Chip, I’m not sleeping in this house.
Joanna Gaines (The Magnolia Story)
I awake with a start, shaking the cobwebs of sleep from my mind. It’s pitch-dark out, the wind howling. It takes a couple seconds to get my bearings, to realize I’m in my parents’ bed, Ryder beside me, on his side, facing me. Our hands are still joined, though our fingers are slack now. “Hey, you,” he says sleepily. “That one was loud, huh?” “What was?” “Thunder. Rattled the windows pretty bad.” “What time is it?” “Middle of the night, I’d say.” I could check my phone, but that would require sitting up and letting go of his hand. Right now, I don’t want to do that. I’m too comfortable. “Have you gotten any sleep at all?” I ask him, my mouth dry and cottony. “I think I drifted off for a little bit. Till…you know…the thunder started up again.” “Oh. Sorry.” “It should calm down some when the eye moves through.” “If there’s still an eye by the time it gets here. The center of circulation usually starts breaking up once it goes inland.” Yeah, all those hours watching the Weather Channel occasionally come in handy. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Wow, maybe you should consider studying meteorology. You know, if the whole film-school thing doesn’t work out for you.” “I could double major,” I shoot back. “I bet you could.” “What are you going to study?” I ask, curious now. “I mean, besides football. You’ve got to major in something, don’t you?” He doesn’t answer right away. I wonder what’s going through his head--why he’s hesitating. “Astrophysics,” he says at last. “Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes. “Fine, if you don’t want to tell me…” “I’m serious. Astrophysics for undergrad. And then maybe…astronomy.” “What, you mean in graduate school?” He just nods. “You’re serious? You’re going to major in something that tough? I mean, most football players major in something like phys ed or underwater basket weaving, don’t they?” “Greg McElroy majored in business marketing,” he says with a shrug, ignoring my jab. “Yeah, but…astrophysics? What’s the point, if you’re just going to play pro football after you graduate anyway?” “Who says I want to play pro football?” he asks, releasing my hand. “Are you kidding me?” I sit up, staring at him in disbelief. He’s the best quarterback in the state of Mississippi. I mean, football is what he does…It’s his life. Why wouldn’t he play pro ball? He rolls over onto his back, staring at the ceiling, his arms folded behind his head. “Right, I’m just some dumb jock.” “Oh, please. Everyone knows you’re the smartest kid in our class. You always have been. I’d give anything for it to come as easily to me as it does to you.” He sits up abruptly, facing me. “You think it’s easy for me? I work my ass off. You have no idea what I’m working toward. Or what I’m up against,” he adds, shaking his head. “Probably not,” I concede. “Anyway, if anyone can major in astrophysics and play SEC ball at the same time, you can. But you might want to lose the attitude.” He drops his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, Jem. It’s just…everyone has all these expectations. My parents, the football coach--” “You think I don’t get that? Trust me. I get it better than just about anyone.” He lets out a sigh. “I guess our families have pretty much planned out our lives for us, haven’t they?” “They think they have, that’s for sure,” I say.
Kristi Cook (Magnolia (Magnolia Branch, #1))
RECOMMENDED READING Brooks, David. The Road to Character. New York: Random House, 2015. Brown, Peter C., Henry L. Roediger III, and Mark A. McDaniel. Make It Stick: The Science of Successful Learning. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 2014. Damon, William. The Path to Purpose: How Young People Find Their Calling in Life. New York: Free Press, 2009. Deci, Edward L. with Richard Flaste. Why We Do What We Do: Understanding Self-Motivation. New York: Penguin Group, 1995. Duhigg, Charles. The Power of Habit: Why We Do What We Do in Life and Business. New York: Random House, 2012. Dweck, Carol. Mindset: The New Psychology of Success. New York: Random House, 2006. Emmons, Robert A. Thanks!: How the New Science of Gratitude Can Make You Happier. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2007. Ericsson, Anders and Robert Pool. Peak: Secrets from the New Science of Expertise. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2016. Heckman, James J., John Eric Humphries, and Tim Kautz (eds.). The Myth of Achievement Tests: The GED and the Role of Character in American Life. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014. Kaufman, Scott Barry and Carolyn Gregoire. Wired to Create: Unraveling the Mysteries of the Creative Mind. New York: Perigee, 2015. Lewis, Sarah. The Rise: Creativity, the Gift of Failure, and the Search for Mastery. New York: Simon and Schuster, 2014. Matthews, Michael D. Head Strong: How Psychology is Revolutionizing War. New York: Oxford University Press, 2013. McMahon, Darrin M. Divine Fury: A History of Genius. New York: Basic Books, 2013. Mischel, Walter. The Marshmallow Test: Mastering Self-Control. New York: Little, Brown, 2014. Oettingen, Gabriele. Rethinking Positive Thinking: Inside the New Science of Motivation. New York: Penguin Group, 2014. Pink, Daniel H. Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us. New York: Riverhead Books, 2009. Renninger, K. Ann and Suzanne E. Hidi. The Power of Interest for Motivation and Engagement. New York: Routledge, 2015. Seligman, Martin E. P. Learned Optimism: How To Change Your Mind and Your Life. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1991. Steinberg, Laurence. Age of Opportunity: Lessons from the New Science of Adolescence. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2014. Tetlock, Philip E. and Dan Gardner. Superforecasting: The Art and Science of Prediction. New York: Crown, 2015. Tough, Paul. How Children Succeed: Grit, Curiosity, and the Hidden Power of Character. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012. Willingham, Daniel T. Why Don’t Students Like School: A Cognitive Scientist Answers Questions About How the Mind Works and What It Means for the Classroom. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2009.
Angela Duckworth (Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance)
The path of self-discipline is riddled with tempting detours, rough patches, and frustrating roadblocks. You need tools to help you weather such challenges. In the face of any temptation, distraction, or impulse, there’s a four-pronged tool you can use to fortify your self-discipline—four illuminating questions you need to immediately ask yourself. “Do I want to be a disciplined person or not?” You can answer this question only with a yes or a no; rationalizations, bargaining, exceptions, and conditions are not allowed. If you put off a task to give in to temptation, the answer must be no. By forcing you to classify yourself in such a black-or-white manner, you become better aware of the ways you might rationalize your lapse in self-discipline. “Am I doing the right thing or simply what’s easy?” Doing the right thing—that is, practicing self-discipline—often means you need to do the hard thing. If you find yourself always taking the path of least resistance, then you’re probably not building discipline and are letting your need for comfort dictate the course of your life. “What am I getting for dessert?” This question is all about calling to mind the reason why you’re sacrificing so much now, the reward at the end of the road. When you lose sight of your purpose, it becomes so much harder to maintain self-control and enjoy the journey on the way to it. Having constant reminders of your goals and making sure those goals are compelling enough for you to persist are ways you can fortify your self-discipline. “Am I being self-aware?” Self-discipline requires self-awareness. If you fail to recognize how you’re making excuses for your laziness or what motivations push you to act, then you will find the practice of self-discipline all that much harder. Meditation, as well as engaging in creative pursuits that get you to focus on the present and cultivate your self-awareness, can help you rise above temptations and stay on track to reach your goals.
Peter Hollins (The Science of Self-Discipline: The Willpower, Mental Toughness, and Self-Control to Resist Temptation and Achieve Your Goals (Live a Disciplined Life Book 1))
Here are some specific rumble starters and questions that we use: The story I make up…(This is by far one of the most powerful rumble tools in the free world. It’s changed every facet of my life. We’ll walk through it in the part “Learning to Rise.”) I’m curious about… Tell me more. That’s not my experience (instead of “You’re wrong about her, him, them, it, this…”). I’m wondering… Help me understand… Walk me through… We’re both dug in. Tell me about your passion around this. Tell me why this doesn’t fit/work for you. I’m working from these assumptions—what about you? What problem are we trying to solve? Sometimes we’ll be an hour into a difficult rumble when someone will bravely say, “Wait. I’m confused. What problem are we trying to solve?” Ninety percent of the time we’ll realize that we’re not on the same page because we skipped the problem identification process and set a meeting intention of finding a solution to a problem that we had yet to define.
Brené Brown (Dare to Lead: Brave Work. Tough Conversations. Whole Hearts.)
My sweet heart! Got the point. Time is the right solution for all things, everything will be fine & mostly good people goes through hard time but nothing going to be tough for them. My love & wishes always be there with you. I may not so aware about your suffering but I can guess the situation & pain by the words. I may not be a big identity to the world, I may or may not help you, but I'll be always there for you. It is funny, but in between this situation how can you give time to me? Am I really important to you? If so, then why? No, don't answer it, because I am blushing now, give it to me later. Hope I am giving you some happiness, I am also kidding with you most of the time. What I do? You have taken that important place. I am scared about that moment when we will meet in future. God will save me. Definitely I can't face you. Wait! I have a question now, how are you hiding your expressions at home? obviously you are best actor, how can I forget it? We are playing very risky game! But it’s interesting & mainly live which gives us chance to know each other. Wow! Another interesting turn of life, where again I am experiencing you, more closely, sharing openly with hidden language, with that language where understanding leads this communication. I hope you will not remind me my craziness!
Love moments
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That's a good point. But, some flexibility, some openness... I mean, imagine Virginia Woolf coming for treatment. She's deeply depressed, suicidal. Let's say I'm a neo-Freudian psychotherapist, she even liked Freud so there, and I'm offering her smart neo-Freudian comments. But they don't stick, somehow. What I do doesn't work, she gets even more depressed, even more suicidal. She's about to end her life. So tell me: how arrogant would it be not to try anything that might work? How would I not say to myself: 'Okay, for some reason, the interpretations about her early sexual life and the fact that she's stuck in the oral stage - they don't seem to work, she keeps getting worse... Let's try something else.' Maybe she's more of an intersubjective type, a relationship type, a moment-to-moment person. Or maybe, I should do something like this: 'Virginia, I know that Tuesdays are really tough. God damn these Tuesday mornings... Why don't you go visit your sister, you like her daughter, don't you? Play with her a little... Read her a book, I don't know. Just don't be home by yourself.
Valery Hazanov (The Fear of Doing Nothing: Notes of a Young Therapist)
Dealing with adverse situations is difficult when you’re uncertain of the reasons you’re doing so. It’s hard to stay motivated to act if you’re unclear about why you’re putting in the effort.
Damon Zahariades (The Mental Toughness Handbook: A Step-By-Step Guide to Facing Life's Challenges, Managing Negative Emotions, and Overcoming Adversity with Courage and Poise)
in gunboats at war with their enemies. The other room was of paintings of tranquil family life. I was captivated by one painting in particular of a very wealthy family with classic round Dutch heads, each person holding a musical instrument. The Netherlands was the first country in the modern world to become fabulously wealthy. That wealth, and the great city of Amsterdam itself, were only possible through military security and force, which is something we tend to forget when we are making music with our families at home. I met a Dutch friend for tea that evening. I told him about my experience with Rene, his insistence on balancing carrots and sticks, and the contrasting rooms at the Rijksmuseum. He smiled and nodded. “We have an expression,” which he said in Dutch. “It means”—here he paused and looked up—“‘Soft doctors make wounds stink.’ Does that make sense?” “Do you mean doctors who are so afraid to hurt their patients fail to properly clean wounds, and they become infected and stink?” “Yes,” he said. “Do you have that expression in the US?” I told him we didn’t but that perhaps we should. Jabari, Tom, and Vicki all stressed that great social workers are both loving and tough. “My drug treatment specialist in prison was too much,” said Vicki Westbrook. “She was a [correctional officer] before she was a treatment counselor. I did not like this woman. But I’ll tell you what, I hear that woman in my head. When I’m doing something and I’m like, “Oh my God, this sucks.’ I hear her go, ‘Vicki, that’s where the growth is. Get excited. That’s where the growth is.’ I’m like, ‘Okay. That’s where the growth . . .’ You know what I’m saying? I love that woman because of the things that still go on in my head because of that.”56 People need help setting the right goals, and creating a plan to achieve them, which is what empowered caseworkers using assertive case management would do. “The problem isn’t setting the bar too high and not meeting it,” said Vicki. “It’s setting it too low and meeting it. People can’t imagine what’s possible for them.
Michael Shellenberger (San Fransicko: Why Progressives Ruin Cities)
To this woman, a “comfortable” life is one that includes a predictable routine and quiet, intimate, shared time with her husband. I suspect that this is at least in part because routine makes taking care of three boys much easier. Her husband’s energy level is disruptive and foreign. Yet this is inherently part of him; the energy, humor, and wit that have gotten him out of tough spots in the past are the key to his professional success and are likely a reason why his wife was initially attracted to him (before she needed the routine to help make her and the children’s lives easier). Neither spousal style is wrong in this situation; her routine helps her succeed as a mother, and his energy helps him succeed at work. It is the intersection of their styles at this particular time in their lives that creates the problems.
Melissa Orlov (The ADHD Effect on Marriage: Understand and Rebuild Your Relationship in Six Steps)
I was in charge of decisions and marketing, and Sean was in charge of research and operations. When we were trying to identify our target customer, he spent a ton of time putting together spreadsheets comparing all the different markets we should consider. When he showed them to me and asked me what I thought, I replied, “Yoga.” Huh? “We could easily do multiple products serving people who do yoga,” I told him. “It’s an emerging trend. And I know a ton of those people; I can ask them what they want. Let’s start a yoga business.” Sean’s initial response was, “That’s not a quantitative analysis, Ryan!” I’ve never been one to overthink things—most people spend way too much time in the research period. I make decisions fast and adjust later. With our target customer identified, we made a list of possible products and chose our gateway product—a yoga mat. With that, we began the process of product development. We looked up the top-selling yoga mats on Amazon and read through the reviews; we asked questions on Facebook groups, subreddits, and Instagram influencer accounts. It didn’t take long before we had an idea of the main pain points we needed to address with our first product. I remembered Don’s advice and began looking for people to make the product. With a quick scroll and a click, we could choose between a wholesaler in China, a private label supplier out of India, or a contract manufacturer in Vietnam. For about fifty bucks, we were able to order a set of yoga mat samples that had the exact features we were looking for. It was that easy. Samples in hand, we needed to refine our product idea to make sure we were really hitting the pain points we’d identified. At that time, I’d done yoga maybe two or three times in my life, and I wasn’t nearly the right demographic for our mats anyway. That forced me to ask questions. We were targeting yoga-loving millennials, so I went where they often congregate: Starbucks. There, I did the kind of tough field work that really makes an entrepreneur sweat: asking young women questions over coffee. “Which yoga mat do you prefer? Why?” “What makes the difference between a bad yoga mat and a good one?” “What’s wrong with your current yoga mat?” “What do you think of this one? And what about this one?” Next, I headed over to local yoga studios to see how our samples stacked up against the strenuous demands of a yoga class. A few classes later, Sean and I had everything we needed to narrow down our product development. Armed with all our data, we went back to the manufacturers. From a couple yoga-clueless guys, we’d become knowledgeable enough to know not just what a good yoga mat looked like, but how it had to feel and perform. We knew what we needed our yoga mat to do. Now we just had to find the manufacturer to supply it.
Ryan Daniel Moran (12 Months to $1 Million: How to Pick a Winning Product, Build a Real Business, and Become a Seven-Figure Entrepreneur)
Your colleagues, with it’s kaleidoscope of life experiences (whether it is the multi-generational wealthy, the new immigrants, the recent refugee, the poor, or the idealists vs. the crusaders vs. the realists, etc.); will fill you up with endless hours of companionship, will crack you up with dark humor, will hold you up when you can’t stand. Handle them gently. Their armor looks tough, but their hearts are spun of beautiful, breakable glass. It’s why they care for patients too.
Kim Walker
What seemed like a problem to liberals—the fact that conservatives identify “up,” with the 1 percent, the planter class—was actually a source of pride to the Tea Party people I came to know. It showed you were optimistic, hopeful, a trier. It wasn’t a problem that you seldom looked behind you in line. Why would you want to blame a guy if he got all the way to the top? they wondered. That gaze forward, even when matters seemed hopeless, was a feature of the brave deep story self. But such a self was less and less a source of honor, it seemed. Rising to the fore was another kind of self, a more upper-middle-class cosmopolitan self, with its more dispersed and looser friendship networks, its preparation to compete for entrance to big-name colleges and tough careers that might take a person far from home. Such cosmopolitan selves were directed to the task of cracking into the global elite. They made do with living farther away from their roots. They were ready to go when opportunity knocked. They took great pride in liberal causes—human rights, racial equality, and the fight against global warming. Many upper-middle-class liberals, white and black, didn’t notice what, emotionally speaking, their kind of self was displacing. For along with blue-collar jobs, a blue-collar way of life was going out of fashion, and with it, the honor attached to a rooted self and pride in endurance—the deep story self. The liberal upper-middle class saw community as insularity and closed-mindedness rather than as a source of belonging and honor. And they didn’t see that, given trends “behind the brow of the hill,” their turn to be displaced might be next. For the Tea Party around the country, the shifting moral qualifications for the American Dream had turned them into strangers in their own land, afraid, resentful, displaced, and dismissed by the very people who were, they felt, cutting in line. The undeclared class war transpiring on a different stage, with different actors, and evoking a different notion of fairness was leading those engaged in it to blame the “supplier” of the imposters—the federal government.
Arlie Russell Hochschild (Strangers in Their Own Land: Anger and Mourning on the American Right)
Date: 27th of Feb, 2021 What is Love ? Is it something you feel, vibe or exhibit ? Or is it in caring, sharing or sacrifices L.O.V.E Love is in small details, everywhere around, the sun loves the sky amidst it colours, the sky loves the clouds inspite of its darkness, the darkness loves the light inspite of its own capabilities to lighten, Love is not something that can be talked or explained, but then what am i trying to do so?? Weird. Despite the running thoughts right now i have to share what i feel before that thought would never strike again (Ps: You are a constant thought that runs in my mind) For me what love really is ! For me, love is a gift, that feeling is magical, being in that feeling is lucky, Love is not something you fall for, how can u fall in love, when you feel embraced and butterflies, in your stomach you are actually lifted in love, you are actually strong when you love. You admire the person with all its possibilities to be with her and its goodness and makeup your mind about the righteous of the person and imagine and day dreaming of being with them. That's the first sip. Love is true, when you demand no change and when u accept her the way she is with all her negativity and positivity, with her moods and habits, accepting and going with her choices, supporting her beyond the support you expect from her, pushing yourself to make efforts to see her smile, taking her stand in public, respecting her thoughts despite having different opinions. love is not about being right every time about everything, its about making her feel right about things that are not, its about sacrificing your thoughts to hear hers, its about sacrificing your last bite to look her smile, its about starring into your partner eyes and talk without a word, holding hands until you go home, hold her mood until she's back, and being insecured about her safety until she's home This is the only feeling that makes me feel special, its the only feeling that helps me finds happiness in sacrificing too, That's the only feeling that lifts my mood by seeing her or motivating her when i m having a bad day, its tough though sometimes, love can make you think for possibilities and impossibilities that may never occur and give you a hard time, sometimes you push yourself and them away. But cannot really stay away, then why do we do that, Sharing of emotions will be the best part of the journey of love You don't shy accepting, being in love, coz not everybody is lucky to have it, You embrace it, You love being in Love ❤️ but then why do they not talk about love Its a complex simple feeling. 05:19 AM (the moon was still so pretty)
Aagam Haran
That’s when his job got tough. Since that night, his shift had yet to go by without one of the inmates waking up with the night horrors. They all claimed the woman in Room 7 walked into their dreams. They couldn’t – or wouldn’t – elaborate on the details. Claude described the dreams to Dr. Morial, the ward’s on-call psychiatrist. Morial asked him if he liked his job. Claude let it drop. Life was complicated enough without trying to figure out why a bunch of loonies should fixate on a fellow inmate they had never seen. Or how they could describe her so well.
Nancy A. Collins (Sunglasses After Dark (Sonja Blue, #1))
Why do my movies make people feel so dead inside?
Kevin Smith (Tough Shit: Life Advice from a Fat, Lazy Slob Who Did Good)
Sometime you can spend days and years complaining about or wishing for something yet put off every single day. Why not making the constant steps daily? I have learn complain do not bring anything, rather self pity and giving up tendencies. R ealize what you complain are about and make efforts to change it. Try .. at-lest don't fail to try even if it require some tough time or dedication. Life is a gift, make the most of it. And do not forget gratitude. It not always what you receive, it also what you contribute. We create our own happiness and magics.
Urmila Danhoo
Sometime you can spend days and years complaining about or wishing for something yet put off every single day. Why not making the constant steps daily? I have learn complain do not bring anything, rather self pity and giving up tendencies. Realise what you complain are about and make efforts to change it. Try .. at-lest don't fail to try even if it require some tough time or dedication. Life is a gift, make the most of it. And do not forget gratitude. It not always what you receive, it also what you contribute. We create our own happiness and magics.
Urmila Danhoo
If everything was easy and life was beautiful in the absence of countless challenges and obstacles, success would have meant nothing of importance. Unfortunately, the real life today is not easy nor beautiful; there are tough challenges and never-ending obstacles; all of which and more might make you scream your head off, feel extreme frustration, or even go bananas. This is exactly why success is hard to achieve, and when you, you feel real glory.
John Taskinsoy
A tough life needs a tough language - and that is what poetry is.
Jeanette Winterson (Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?)
It is always strange looking back at a time that has had such a profound impact on one’s life. And when it comes to Everest, I see two very clear things: friendships that were forged in a tough crucible, and a faith that sustained me through the good, the bad, and the ugly. I survived and reached the top of that mountain because of the bonds I had with those beside me. Of that I am in no doubt. Without Mick and Neil, I would have been nothing. Down that dark crevasse, I also learned that sometimes we really need one another. And that is okay. We are not designed to be islands. We are made to be connected. So often life teaches us that we have to achieve everything on our own. But that would be lonely. For me, it is only by thinking about our togetherness that I can begin to make some sense of what happened on that mountain: the highs, the lows, the fatalities, the fear. Such things have to be shared. Looking back, it is the small moments together that I value the most. Like Neil and myself on the South Summit, holding each other’s hands so that we could both stand. It was only because our friendships were honest that, time after time, when we were tired or cold or scared, we were able to pick ourselves up and keep moving. You don’t have to be strong all the time. That was a big lesson to learn. When we show chinks it creates bonds, and where there are bonds there is strength. This is really the heart of why I still climb and expedition today. Simple ties are hard to break. That is what Everest really taught me.
Bear Grylls (Mud, Sweat and Tears)
That girl could make friends with the meanest croc alive with little more than a smile and a laugh. You, on the other hand, made her work for it.” “Did you just compare me to a mean old croc?” Kerry asked, the thread of amusement back in her tone. “If the tough hide fits,” he said, but not unkindly. Kerry nodded, gave him a considering look. “True that,” she said. She picked her way over a tricky stretch of kelp-covered rock, then added, “Maybe I was trying to save her from her own friendly nature.” She looked back as Cooper hopped his way over the last pile, his heavy-booted feet sinking into a narrow stretch of sand before starting over the next rock bed. “I knew I was going to leave. You all did. No point in breaking hearts.” She held his gaze more directly now, turning back slightly to look at him full on. “I might be a tough old croc, but I’m not heartless.” “I didn’t say--” “You didn’t have to.” She opened her mouth, closed it again, then took in a slow, steadying breath, letting the deep salt tang tickle the back of her throat and the tart brine of the sea fill her senses. Anything to keep his scent from doing that instead. “As a rule, I don’t do good-byes well. I know that about myself. I also know that I have the attention span of a sand fly. A well-intentioned sand fly,” she added, trying to inject a bit of humor, mostly failing judging by the unwavering look in his eyes. “So, given my wanderlusting, gypsy life, I learned early on to keep things friendly and light. Easy, breezy. I’ve made friends all over the world, but none so close that--” “That missing them causes a pang,” he added, “Here maybe,” he said, pointing at his own head. “But not here.” He pointed at her chest, more specifically at her heart. This was how they were, how they’d been from the start. Finishing each other’s sentences, following each other’s train of thought, even when the exchange of words was a bare minimum. She glanced up into his steady gaze and thought, or when there’d been no words at all. That was why they’d worked so well together. And also why she’d had a tough time keeping her feelings for him strictly professional…She’d forgotten how threatening it felt, to have someone read her so easily. Most folks never look past the surface. Cooper--hell, the entire Jax family--hadn’t even blinked at surface Kerry before barreling right on past all of her well-honed, automatically erected barriers. “Like I said,” she went on, “I don’t do good-byes well.” She continued walking down the beach then, knowing she was avoiding continued eye contact, but it was unnerving enough that he was here, in her personal orbit, in her world. Her home world. Wasn’t that invasive enough? “Would a postcard or two have killed you?” he finally asked her retreating back. “Not for me; I never expected one.” She didn’t glance back at that, but just as he knew her too well, she knew him the same way. She’d heard that little hint of disappointment, of long-held hope. Of course the very fact that he was there, on her beach, was proof enough that he’d had hopes where she was concerned. And in that moment, she thought, the hell with this, and stopped. Running halfway around the world apparently hadn’t been far enough to leave him and all of what had transpired between her and the entire Jax family behind. So why did she think she could escape it along the span of one low-tide beach?
Donna Kauffman (Starfish Moon (Brides of Blueberry Cove, #3))
Keystone habits make tough choices—
Charles Duhigg (The Power Of Habit: Why We Do What We Do In Life And Business)
Why is it a good thing to understand this movie so well? Because it will help you live a good life. Absorbing the deep meaning of the Nicomachean Ethics will also help you live a good life, but Groundhog Day will do it with a lot less effort. 35.
Charles Murray (The Curmudgeon's Guide to Getting Ahead: The Dos and Don'ts of Clear Writing, Tough Thinking, Right Behavior, and Living a Good Life)
What was going on? The only way to make sense of this exchange is through the prism of cognitive dissonance. Many prosecutors see their work as more than a job; it is more like a vocation. They have spent years training to reach high standards of performance. It is a tough initiation. Their self-esteem is bound up with their competence. They are highly motivated to believe in the probity of the system they have joined. In the course of their investigations, they get to know the bereaved families well and quite naturally come to empathize with their trauma. And they want to believe that in all those long hours spent away from their own families pursuing justice, they have helped to make the world a safer place. Imagine what it must be like to be confronted with evidence that they have assisted in putting the wrong person in jail; that they have ruined the life of an innocent person; that the wounds of the victim’s family are going to be reopened. It must be stomach churning. In terms of cognitive dissonance, it is difficult to think of anything more threatening.
Matthew Syed (Black Box Thinking: Why Most People Never Learn from Their Mistakes--But Some Do)
My dad was always tough to please. He thought pushing me would make me a man, but I was never man enough. All I ever wanted from him was a word of praise, a proud smile.” “What about your mother?” He smiled tenderly. “God, she was incredible. She always loved him, no matter what. And I didn’t have to do anything to make her think I was a hero. If I fell flat on my face she’d just beam and say, ‘Did you see that great routine of Ian’s? What a genius!’ When I was in that musical, she thought I was the best thing to hit Chico, but my dad asked me if I was gay.” He chuckled. “My mom was the best-natured, kindest, most generous woman who ever lived. Always positive. And faithful?” He laughed, shaking his head. “My dad could be in one of his negative moods where nothing was right—the dinner sucked, the ball game wasn’t coming in clear on the TV, the battery on the car was giving out, he hated work, the neighbors were too loud… And my mom, instead of saying, ‘Why don’t you grow the fuck up, you old turd,’ she would just say, ‘John, I bet I have something that will turn your mood around—I made a German chocolate cake.’” Marcie smiled. “She sounds wonderful.” “She was. Wonderful. Even while she was fighting cancer, she was so strong, so awesome that I kept thinking it was going to be all right, that she’d make it. As for my dad, he was always impossible to please, impossible to impress. I really thought I’d grown through it, you know? I got to the point real early where I finally understood that that’s just the kind of guy he was. He never beat me, he hardly even yelled at me. He didn’t get drunk, break up the furniture, miss work or—” “But what did he do, Ian?” she asked gently. He blinked a couple of times. “Did you know I got medals for getting Bobby out of Fallujah?” She nodded. “He got medals, too.” “My old man was there when I was decorated. He stood nice and tall, polite, and told everyone he knew about the medals. But he never said jack to me. Then when I told him I was getting out of the Marine Corps, he told me I was a fuckup. That I didn’t know a good thing when I had it. And he said…” He paused for a second. “He said he’d never been so ashamed of me in his whole goddamn life and if I did that—got out—I wasn’t his son.” Instead of crumbling into tears on his behalf, she leaned against him, stroked his cheek a little and smiled. “So—he was the same guy his whole stupid life.” Ian felt a slight, melancholy smile tug at his lips. “The same guy. One miserable son of a bitch.” “There’s
Robyn Carr (A Virgin River Christmas (Virgin River #4))
If your situation is too tough, don´t go back, go forward. You die quicker when you go backward. Die later when you go forward.
Patience Johnson (Why Does an Orderly God Allow Disorder)
When they finally handed me to my mother, I was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. She said I looked like a little monkey because I was covered in hair. I was so fragile, she was scared to hold me, let alone allow anyone else to. She was afraid I’d break. Maybe this was why she was always so tough on me. Maybe she wanted to teach me to be much stronger and more unbreakable than I looked.
Lacey Sturm (The Reason: How I Discovered a Life Worth Living)
Dear Teachers, I hope your school year is going pretty well. I hope your classes are not causing you too much trouble and your families are doing well. You might be wondering why you are tagged to this post and what this is all about. It’s Teachers’ Day, the day for being thankful to our teachers. Some of you I had over a decade ago, some of you might not even remember who the heck I am. But if you’re reading this, this is my way of officially thanking you. For what? Let me explain. To the ones who made me love learning as a whole – If you are an elementary school teacher, this goes out to you. You are the reason I am where I am today. If it weren’t for your hard work and dedication to teaching me and every other student what you know, my future would not be as bright as it is now. I chose to go to college because somewhere along the line, you taught me that education is important and I have to strive to help others by educating myself. This is not always easy, but you helped me understand that willingness to learn is one of the most important aspects of a person. For that, I am forever grateful for you and everything you have done for me and so many others. To the ones who helped me find my passions– Writing, training, and helping people are what I love. No matter what I have been through in my life, everything goes back to the fact that in the future, I want to help people and I want to change the world. Writing and creating training programs are what make that happen. It made me realize that in the future, I don’t just want a shiny car, big bungalow, and other material items. I want something that sticks with people for all time – and what better way to do that than to become a writer and write for those who can't write for themselves? Shout out to those teachers who helped me find my passion, and maybe even made an effort to help me pursue it as well. To the ones who taught me more than the textbooks – you honestly saved me. You taught me that learning isn’t always about getting 100s on every test and being the perfect student. You helped me realize that a part of learning means making mistakes. You taught me that brushing yourself off, getting back up, and trying again is essential to get anywhere in this world. I grew up being the smart kid who never had to study and when the going got tough, I didn’t always know how to respond. You helped me with my problem solving skills and fixing things that needed fixing. This isn’t necessarily always talking about school, but life in general. You taught me that my value was not depicted by my score on a test, but rather who I was as a person. It is hard to put into words, but some of you honestly are the reason I am here today – succeeding in my first semester of college, off to university before I know it. Thank you so much. To the ones who didn’t know I could talk – I’m sorry I didn’t speak up more in your class. Many of you knew I had a lot to say, but knew I did not know how to say it or how to get the thoughts out. I promise you, even though you could not hear it, I am thankful for you - thankful that you did not force me out of my comfort zone. I know that may not sound like much, but when you have as much of a fear of speaking out as I do, that is such a big deal. Thank you for working with me and realizing that someone does not need to speak in order to have knowledge in their mind. Thank you for not basing my intelligence on my ability to present that information. It means a lot more than you will ever realize. To the ones who don’t know why you made this list – Congratulations. Somewhere along the way, you impacted me in a way I felt was worth acknowledging you for. Maybe you said something in class that resonated with me and changed my outlook on a situation, or life in general. Maybe you just asked me if I was okay after class one day. If you’re sitting there scratching your head, wondering how you changed my life, please just know you did.
Nitya Prakash
Why should I lead a tough moral life if there is such injustice going on elsewhere?
Rajesh` (Random Cosmos)
Although NBC took a one-year option on the show, and Danny Thomas’s production company agreed to finance the pilot, the network decided not to air what appeared to be a poor prospect. When ABC finally broadcast the show, it seemed doomed from the start, since it was in the same time slot as two popular dramatic programs, Climax! and Dragnet. The first review, in Variety (October 7, 1957), seemed to confirm Brennan’s original misgivings: “‘The Real McCoys’ is a cornball, folksy-wolksy situation comedy series destined to find the going tough.” The Variety critic called the humor “forced,” the pacing “sluggish,” and the characters’ adventures “only lightly amusing.” And too many lovable characters! Brennan received due praise as a “fine actor,” but the rest of the cast was just “okay.” And yet, by the third week the show was number one in its time slot, compelling the Variety skeptic to allow, “It’s all so hokey that it can’t be taken seriously, and for that reason this quarter can’t see any really strong reason why cityfolk shouldn’t appreciate and enjoy it for what it is. The show is already big in the hinterlands.” By December 2, 1957, the critic was obliged to report that the “laughs come freely.” And then, for season after season, the praise escalated. The show began with an audience of ten million, but within a year the
Carl Rollyson (A Real American Character: The Life of Walter Brennan (Hollywood Legends Series))
Well, if he wants to be king, he’ll just plain have to get used to questions and toadies and all the rest of it,” I said. Remembering the conversation at dinner and wondering if I’d made an idiot of myself, I added crossly, “I don’t have any sympathy at all. In fact, I wish he hadn’t come up here. If he needed rest from the fatigue of taking over a kingdom, why couldn’t he go to that fabulous palace in Renselaeus? Or to Shevraeth, which I’ll just bet has an equally fabulous palace?” Nee sighed. “Is that a rhetorical or a real question?” “Real. And I don’t want to ask Bran because he’s so likely to hop out with my question when we’re all together and fry me with embarrassment,” I finished bitterly. She gave a sympathetic grin. “Well, I suspect it’s to present a united front, politically speaking. You haven’t been to Court, so you don’t quite comprehend how much you and your brother have become heroes--symbols--to the kingdom. Especially you, which is why there were some murmurs and speculations when you never came to the capital.” I shook my head. “Symbol for failure, maybe. We didn’t win--Shevraeth did.” She gave me an odd look midway between surprise and curiosity. “But to return to your question, Vidanric’s tendency to keep his own counsel ought to be reassuring as far as people hopping out with embarrassing words are concerned. If I were you--and I know it’s so much easier to give advice than to follow it--I’d sit down with him, when no one else is at hand, and talk it out.” Just the thought of seeking him out for a private talk made me shudder. “I’d rather walk down the mountain in shoes full of snails.” It was Nee’s turn to shudder. “Life! I’d rather do almost anything than that--” A “Ho!” outside the door interrupted her. Bran carelessly flung the tapestry aside and sauntered in. “There y’are, Nee. Come out on the balcony with me? It’s actually nice out, and we’ve got both moons up.” He extended his hand. Nee looked over at me as she slid her hand into his. “Want to come?” I looked at those clasped hands, then away. “No, thanks,” I said airily. “I think I’ll practice my fan, then read myself to sleep. Good night.” They went out, Bran’s hand sliding round her waist. The tapestry dropped into place on Nee’s soft laugh. I got up and moved to my window, staring out at the stars. It seemed an utter mystery to me how Bran and Nimiar enjoyed looking at each other. Touching each other. Even the practical Oria, I realized--the friend who told me once that things were more interesting than people--had freely admitted to liking flirting. How does that happen? I shook my head, thinking that it would never happen to me. Did I want it to? Suddenly I was restless and the castle was too confining. Within the space of a few breaths I had gotten rid of my civilized clothing and soft shoes and had pulled my worn, patched tunic, trousers, and tough old mocs from the trunk in the corner. I slipped out of my room and down the stair without anyone seeing me, and before the moons had traveled the space of a hand across the sky, I was riding along the silver-lit trails with the wind in my hair and the distant harps of the Hill Folk singing forlornly on the mountaintops.
Sherwood Smith (Court Duel (Crown & Court, #2))
Will you have kids?" "You make such an attractive case for the reproductive plunge. I don't know, Duncan. Childhood is so exhausting." "As a parent?" "I mean as the child. Not sure it's fair to drop somebody else into life without giving them a choice in the matter." "You'll find it's kind of tough to canvass the opinion of sperm." "I prefer asking the eggs—they're more articulate. Anyway, aren't you the guy who's always bemoaning the future of humanity? Saying how the worst jerks always have millions of babies, meaning the world gets worse every generation?" "Exactly why decent people need to have kids.
Tom Rachman (The Rise & Fall of Great Powers)
Gary.” Gregori drawled the name slowly and sat back in his chair, totally relaxed. He looked like a sprawling tiger, dangerous and untamed. “Tell us about yourself.” “I work a lot. I’m not married. I’m really not much of a people person. I’m basically a nerd.” Gregori shifted, a subtle movement of muscles suggesting great power. “I am not familiar with this term.” “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be,” Gary said. “It means I have lots of brains and no brawn. I don’t do the athlete thing. I’m into computers and chess and things requiring intellect. Women find me skinny, wimpy, and boring. Not something they would you.” There was no bitterness in his voice, just a quiet acceptance of himself, his life. Gregori’s white teeth flashed. “There is only one woman who matters to me, Gary, and she finds me difficult to live with. I cannot imagine why, can you?” “Maybe because you’re jealous, possessive, concerned with every single detail of her life?” Gary plainly took the question literally, offering up his observations without judgment. “You’re probably domineering, too. I can see that. Yeah. It might be tough.” Savannah burst out laughing, the sound musical, rivaling the street musicians. People within hearing turned their heads and held their breath, hoping for more. “Very astute, Gary. Very, very astute. I bet you have an enormous IQ.” Gregori stirred again, the movement a ripple of power, of danger. He was suddenly leaning into Gary. “You think you are intelligent? Baiting the wild animal is not too smart.
Christine Feehan (Dark Magic (Dark, #4))
Kristen had dreamed of having children since she was herself a child and had always thought that she would love motherhood as much as she would love her babies. “I know that being a mom will be demanding,” she told me once. “But I don’t think it will change me much. I’ll still have my life, and our baby will be part of it.” She envisioned long walks through the neighborhood with Emily. She envisioned herself mastering the endlessly repeating three-hour cycle of playing, feeding, sleeping, and diaper changing. Most of all, she envisioned a full parenting partnership, in which I’d help whenever I was home—morning, nighttime, and weekends. Of course, I didn’t know any of this until she told me, which she did after Emily was born. At first, the newness of parenthood made it seem as though everything was going according to our expectations. We’ll be up all day and all night for a few weeks, but then we’ll hit our stride and our lives will go back to normal, plus one baby. Kristen took a few months off from work to focus all of her attention on Emily, knowing that it would be hard to juggle the contradicting demands of an infant and a career. She was determined to own motherhood. “We’re still in that tough transition,” Kristen would tell me, trying to console Emily at four A.M. “Pretty soon, we’ll find our routine. I hope.” But things didn’t go as we had planned. There were complications with breast-feeding. Emily wasn’t gaining weight; she wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t play. She was born in December, when it was far too cold to go for walks outdoors. While I was at work, Kristen would sit on the floor with Emily in the dark—all the lights off, all the shades closed—and cry. She’d think about her friends, all of whom had made motherhood look so easy with their own babies. “Mary had no problem breast-feeding,” she’d tell me. “Jenny said that these first few months had been her favorite. Why can’t I get the hang of this?” I didn’t have any answers, but still I offered solutions, none of which she wanted to hear: “Talk to a lactation consultant about the feeding issues.” “Establish a routine and stick to it.” Eventually, she stopped talking altogether. While Kristen struggled, I watched from the sidelines, unaware that she needed help. I excused myself from the nighttime and morning responsibilities, as the interruptions to my daily schedule became too much for me to handle. We didn’t know this was because of a developmental disorder; I just looked incredibly selfish. I contributed, but not fully. I’d return from work, and Kristen would go upstairs to sleep for a few hours while I’d carry Emily from room to room, gently bouncing her as I walked, trying to keep her from crying. But eventually eleven o’clock would roll around and I’d go to bed, and Kristen would be awake the rest of the night with her. The next morning, I would wake up and leave for work, while Kristen stared down the barrel of another day alone. To my surprise, I grew increasingly disappointed in her: She wanted to have children. Why is she miserable all the time? What’s her problem? I also resented what I had come to recognize as our failing marriage. I’d expected our marriage to be happy, fulfilling, overflowing with constant affection. My wife was supposed to be able to handle things like motherhood with aplomb. Kristen loved me, and she loved Emily, but that wasn’t enough for me. In my version of a happy marriage, my wife would also love the difficulties of being my wife and being a mom. It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d have to earn the happiness, the fulfillment, the affection. Nor had it occurred to me that she might have her own perspective on marriage and motherhood.
David Finch (The Journal of Best Practices: A Memoir of Marriage, Asperger Syndrome, and One Man's Quest to Be a Better Husband)
I do not long for those days. I have no desire to make you "tough" or "street," perhaps because any "toughness" I garnered came reluctantly. I think I was always, somehow, aware of the price. I think I somehow knew that a third of my brain should have been concerned with more beautiful things. I think I felt that something out there, some force, nameless and vast, had robbed me of...what? Time? Experience? I think you know something of what that third could have done, and I think that is why you may feel the need for escape even more than I did. You have seen all the wonderful life up above the tree-line, yet you understand that there is no real distance between you and Trayvon Martin, and thus Trayvon Martin must terrify you in a way that he could never terrify me. You have seen so much more of all that is lost when they destroy your body.
Ta-Nehisi Coates (Between the World and Me)
It is the heavy reality of the writing life which makes the “why” so easy to forget: Gutless rejection letters, denigrating revision letters, incompetent copy edits, insulting reviews, late checks, disappointing sales, down-trending print-runs, shrinking advances, royalties paid in a geological timeframe, imprints folding, publishers downsizing their lists and conglomerating their overhead.  One day your editor expresses all the enthusiasm of an overtired undertaker. The next day your agent demonstrates all the faith and commitment of a diseased streetwalker. Your book is packaged with a cover that would embarrass anyone who wasn’t raised in a Red Light district. You give a thoughtful interview only to discover the resultant article describes you as churning out potboilers. Three people show up at your book signing, two of them because they thought you were someone else; the third person came because you owe him money. When you make the New York Times list, a neighbor asks you “which” NYT list you’re on, because there must be a separate one for the trash you write. Though you’ve been publishing regularly for years, you know people who ask, every single time they see you, if you still write. (No, I fell back on my independent wealth when the going got tough.)
Laura Resnick (Rejection, Romance and Royalties: The Wacky World of a Working Writer)
When life puts you in tough situations, don't say 'Why me' say 'Try me.
miley cryus
44. Let The Mountain Give You Strength This is something I couldn’t quite get my head round when I was younger. One of my heroes, Sir Edmund Hillary, used to say that he drew strength from the mountain, and I just couldn’t understand what he meant. Then one day I experienced it for myself. Let me explain… Mountains - and all the natural struggles and obstacles they present - are also arenas to find out what we are made of. Inside every challenge, high on every mountain, is the opportunity to find a strength within us to survive and thrive. It just takes us to be willing to dig deep and push on hard enough and long enough to find that strength. But most people give up before they find it. This is why most people never reach the summit of their goals. They quit when the winds pick up. They let their heads dip when it gets hard. But I have learnt that on the mountains, the winds invariably pick up as you near the summit. (There is a scientific reason for this called the venturi effect, which means that as the wind hits the steep faces it gets squeezed, and when wind is compressed it speeds up. Hence windswept mountaintops.) So don’t be daunted or downhearted when it gets tough, don’t shy away - step up to the plate, rise up to the challenge, and embrace the mountain. When we do this, the mountain will reward you, it will ‘give’ you the strength to overcome. I don’t always know where this strength comes from but I have often felt it within me. The tougher it becomes, the more I have felt this strength welling up inside. So embrace that push, don’t hide from the squeeze, but push on and allow the mountain to give you that strength. Edmund Hillary found it, many explorers when really up against the ropes have found it, and I have found it. The key to its discovery is a willingness to push on and feed off the scale of the climb or the obstacle. Do this and the strength will come. Dig a little deeper, keep going a little longer, and somehow the summit will eventually come into view. It might not be until dawn, when the sun rises, but if you hang on in there long enough, it will inevitably come. And so often the darkest hour is just before the dawn. You just have to hang on in there through those dark hours - don’t give up, let the mountain sustain you and empower you, and you will experience the mountain within you.
Bear Grylls (A Survival Guide for Life: How to Achieve Your Goals, Thrive in Adversity, and Grow in Character)
11. There Is No Education Like Adversity In 1941, as Britain was in the darkest days of World War Two, Churchill told a generation of young people that ‘these are great days - the greatest days our country has ever lived.’ But why was Churchill telling them that those bleak, uncertain, life-threatening and freedom-challenging days were also the best days of their lives? He knew that it’s when times are tough, when the conditions are at their worst, that we learn what we are truly capable of. There are few greater feelings than finding out you can achieve more, and endure more, than you had previously imagined, and it’s only when we are tested that we realize just how brightly we can shine. It’s a cliché, but it’s true: diamonds are formed under pressure. And without the pressure, they simply remain lumps of coal. The greatest trick in life is to learn to see adversity as your friend, your teacher and your guide. Storms come to make us stronger. No one ever achieves their dream without first stumbling over a few obstacles along the way. Experience teaches you to understand that those obstacles are actually a really good indication that you are on the right road. Trust me: if you find a road without any obstacles, I can promise you it doesn’t lead anywhere worthwhile. So, embrace the adversity, embrace the obstacles, and get ready for success. Today is the start of the greatest days of your life…
Bear Grylls (A Survival Guide for Life: How to Achieve Your Goals, Thrive in Adversity, and Grow in Character)
Most people hate their jobs, true, but my old man despised his in an Ahab-and-Moby (or Eminem-and-Moby) kinda way. He never said, “Go into the entertainment biz, son”—he was just a living example of why it was worth taking a shot going after the stuff of dreams rather than simply getting a job. I saw how much my dad hated working and realized he was right: Working blows. If you hate what you do, it’ll always be work.
Kevin Smith (Tough Sh*t: Life Advice from a Fat, Lazy Slob Who Did Good)
Extremely Vivid Dreams of Smoking/Using Stay prepared for dynamic dreams of smoking or using tobacco products. They may be so vivid and so real that you'll awaken totally convinced that you've relapsed to using. Such dreams are normal, expected and are often a sign of physical healing. And it isn't unusual to experience more than one. Picture a horizontal body in which mouth, throat and lung tissues suddenly begin healing and re-sensitizing after years of being marinated in toxin rich tobacco tars. Picture the sweeper brooms lining the smoker's lung bronchial tubes (their cilia) quickly regenerating and beginning to sweep mucus and tars up to the back of their throat. Now throw in a rapidly healing sense taste and smell, a horizontal sleeping body and dreaming. Presto! The tobacco smells and tastes you'll experience are probably real. What better proof could we possibly feel and sense of the amazing healing happening within? The dream that seems to cause the most concern is the one that happens later in recovery, weeks or even months after full acceptance that this time is for keeps. Although nearly always described as a "nightmare," they are sometimes mistaken by the ex-user as a sign that they want to start using again. It's here that we point out the obvious conflict. If a nightmare and not real, then why would any rational person want to invite their nightmare to become a real and destructive part of daily life? As Joel notes, seeing smoking as a nightmare is a healthy sign. And as for having smoking dreams long after ending use, such dreams are normal, yet not nearly as vivid as during the first week or so. We can no more erase from our mind our thousands of old nicotine use memories than we can our name. They reflect who we once were. What's amazing is that they happen so infrequently. Bad Days Ex-users should expect to experience bad days. Why? Because everyone has them, including never-users. But when a bad day occurs early in recovery it can become ammunition inside the challenged addict's mind as it searches for any excuse to use. Blaming a bad day on recovery would never have crossed our mind if it had occurred the week before ending nicotine use. But now, nicotine's absence becomes a magnet for blame. Would it ever occur to a never-user to reach for nicotine if having a bad day? It's a thought process peculiar to us nicotine addicts. As Joel teaches, if the bad day happens during the first week after ending nicotine use then feel free to blame recovery as "it is probably the reason." "But as time marches on you need to be a little more discriminating." Acknowledge bad days but allow your healing to live. "Sure there are some tough times," writes Joel, "but they pass and at the end of the day, you can still be free." Staying free means that, "in the greater scheme of things, it was a good day." If you want to hear about a horrible day, talk to someone
John R. Polito (Freedom from Nicotine - The Journey Home)
How could you be so toxic and think you'd win against logic? I fought the war of trying to keep us together, not realizing my enemy was you. You used and abused me. You really deeply and permanently bruised me. I gave you my all and it was never enough. Instead of making my life easy, you made it even more tough. Why didn't you have the decency to stop doing the atrocities you did to my soul? How is it that when I was surrounded by darkness, you never tried to console? What did I do to deserve all of this? Seems you never were the road ahead, just a soon-to-be memory causing a fall on the abyss. You're supposed to help me up when I'm down, not break me down when I'm falling. Your way of trying to control me , by trying to lower me down never worked. All you received is a fight to make you see, that I loved you too much and that you should better use your influence on me. But being stuck-up gauged your eyes out. Although I was blinded by love , finally I see... I gave it my all but it seems you didn't deserve this side of me. I never requested much of you, just a bit of love to keep us going... while your superficial nonsense destroyed it all. You want nothing of what's within. Just fame and glory. Instead of striving and sacrificing for family, you say "fuck it"... but not with me. Your warped sense of reality, cut nearly all the strings attached. Now it's just reflexes and my broken soul that turn my mind-view toward you. Nothing have you become, and again have I allowed myself to become numb by someone. But it's better to feel the hurt brewing inside the deepest pit of my soul, than to continue having my soul devoured by superficial and superfluous nothingness. Money is made to serve you, not you to be a slave of money. Money, fame and power is all you seek. I just want love, empathy and peace. Family will always be my priority.
Klaudio Marashi
I've got a leftover cooked pork chop from dinner last night, an acorn squash, pistachio nuts, and honey vinegar." "Okay," I say, practically watching the wheels turning in his little head. "Time starts... now!" Ian gets down to business, steeling his little chef's knife. "Talk me through it as you go," I say. "I'm going to do a pork chop and roasted squash quesadilla with pistachio chimichurri and honey vinegar crema." "That seems smart. Tell me why as you prep." Ian begins slicing the acorn squash into rings, laying them on a baking sheet and drizzling with olive oil. "Well, the pork chop is already cooked, and quesadillas are a smart use for leftovers because they cook fast so things don't have time to dry out or get tough. The squash has good sweetness, which will go well with the pork, and will also be friends with the honey vinegar." "Good. Why not just toss the pistachios into the quesadilla?" He seasons the acorn squash rings expertly with kosher salt, taking a pinch from the bowl and holding his hand at eye level, raining the salt crystals down evenly over the squash, and then pops the tray in the oven. "Because the heat of cooking would make them lose their snap and you need that textural element for contrast with the soft quesadilla." "Excellent. Tell me about the chimichurri." He throws the pistachios into a small nonstick sauté pan and starts to toast them. "Well, I'm toasting the nuts to bring out the flavor and intensify the crunch, and I'm going to chop them roughly and mix them with minced green olives, mint, parsley, shallots, olive oil, a touch of the honey vinegar, maybe some red pepper flakes for heat.
Stacey Ballis (How to Change a Life)
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Poker players tend to overly focus on money immediately after a session because it matters most in the long run and it’s so easy to calculate. The problem is that because of variance, monetary results alone are unreliable measures in the short term of how you played. Here are a few better ways to evaluate how you played: Look closely at tough decisions to see how you played them. Estimate how much variance influenced results. Calculate whether you accomplished the qualitative goals you set before the session. If you fell short, why? Review how you did in the areas you’re trying to improve (poker strategy and mental game). Did you see any progress? If you’re going to analyze hands later, write some game flow notes or thoughts about them that you may otherwise forget. Spending a short time to evaluate is also a great way to: Put poker down when you’re done playing, so you can go on with your life. Reset your mind before the next time you play.
Jared Tendler (The Mental Game of Poker: Proven Strategies For Improving Tilt Control, Confidence, Motivation, Coping with Variance, and More)
Anything that lifts responsibility for our actions is addictive, I’ve found. So really, looking back, I’d have to say that was not the hard moment. The tough bit is always later, when you’re held responsible for yourself again, and your life is expected to go on.
Catherine Ryan Hyde (Ask Him Why)
He gives even though we think he’s taking. And when God does that, he is beautifully shaping you and molding you into the image of his Son. If everything were always awesome in our lives, we wouldn’t see vital growth. The seasons when it’s tough, when it hurts, and when you hate it are bringing a season of sun and a season of life.
Jefferson Bethke (Jesus > Religion: Why He Is So Much Better Than Trying Harder, Doing More, and Being Good Enough)
It became so common to hear celebrities saying in flashy interviews: " I had nothing. I started from zero. I had a tough life". It became so common to read books, to watch news about heros, very poor people, that are not afraid to die for their belief. In both situations it can be about a calling, a destiny. But there is a huge courage you cannot pretend to not notice it. An immense difficult to understand courage. When you have riched the lowest level of living, when you have survived in miserable conditions, it is easier to follow your heart, your dreams, your belief. You know why? Because you have that confidence that you have nothing to lose if you have you.
Dragotel Viorica
Walking through the halls of my son's high school during lunch hour recently, I was struck by how similar it felt to being in the halls and lunchrooms of the juvenile prisons in which I used to work. The posturing, the gestures, the tone, the words, and the interaction among peers I witnessed in this teenage throng all bespoke an eerie invulnerability. These kids seemed incapable of being hurt. Their demeanor bespoke a confidence, even bravado that seemed unassailable but shallow at the same time. The ultimate ethic in the peer culture is “cool” — the complete absence of emotional openness. The most esteemed among the peer group affect a disconcertingly unruffled appearance, exhibit little or no fear, seem to be immune to shame, and are given to muttering things like “doesn't matter,” “don't care,” and “whatever.” The reality is quite different. Humans are the most vulnerable — from the Latin vulnerare, to wound — of all creatures. We are not only vulnerable physically, but psychologically as well. What, then, accounts for the discrepancy? How can young humans who are in fact so vulnerable appear so opposite? Is their toughness, their “cool” demeanor, an act or is it for real? Is it a mask that can be doffed when they get to safety or is it the true face of peer orientation? When I first encountered this subculture of adolescent invulnerability, I assumed it was an act. The human psyche can develop powerful defenses against a conscious sense of vulnerability, defenses that become ingrained in the emotional circuitry of the brain. I preferred to think that these children, if given the chance, would remove their armor and reveal their softer, more genuinely human side. Occasionally this expectation proved correct, but more often than not I discovered the invulnerability of adolescents was no act, no pretense. Many of these children did not have hurt feelings, they felt no pain. That is not to say that they were incapable of being wounded, but as far as their consciously experienced feelings were concerned, there was no mask to take off. Children able to experience emotions of sadness, fear, loss, and rejection will often hide such feelings from their peers to avoid exposing themselves to ridicule and attack. Invulnerability is a camouflage they adopt to blend in with the crowd but will quickly remove in the company of those with whom they have the safety to be their true selves. These are not the kids I am most concerned about, although I certainly do have a concern about the impact an atmosphere of invulnerability will have on their learning and development. In such an environment genuine curiosity cannot thrive, questions cannot be freely asked, naive enthusiasm for learning cannot be expressed. Risks are not taken in such an environment, nor can passion for life and creativity find their outlets. The kids most deeply affected and at greatest risk for psychological harm are the ones who aspire to be tough and invulnerable, not just in school but in general. These children cannot don and doff the armor as needed. Defense is not something they do, it is who they are. This emotional hardening is most obvious in delinquents and gang members and street kids, but is also a significant dynamic in the common everyday variety of peer orientation that exists in the typical American home.
Gabor Maté (Hold On to Your Kids: Why Parents Need to Matter More Than Peers)
Hundreds of inmates, all in prison whites, are killing time as guards look down from a tower. Young and black, almost all of them. According to the numbers, they’re in for nonviolent drug offenses. The average sentence is seven years. Upon release, 60 percent will be back here within three years. And why not? What’s on the outside to prevent their return? They are now convicted felons, a branding they will never be able to shake. The odds were stacked against them to begin with, and now that they’re tagged as felons, life in the free world is somehow supposed to improve? These are the real casualties of our wars. The war on drugs. The war on crime. Unintended victims of tough laws passed by tough politicians over the past forty years. One million young black men now warehoused in decaying prisons, idling away the days at taxpayer expense. Our prisons are packed. Our streets are filled with drugs. Who’s winning the war? We’ve lost our minds.
John Grisham (Rogue Lawyer)
If I had a dime for every time I said, “Why is this happening?” after a loved one got sick or passed away, Gram would never have to send me those silver coins again. I think that one of the hardest things to accept when you’re in any tough, life-changing situation, particularly related to mortality, is that there aren’t explanations to every question you have. I don’t even know all the answers, and I’ve got a direct line to Heaven!
Theresa Caputo (There's More to Life Than This: Healing Messages, Remarkable Stories, and Insight About the Other Side from the Long Island Medium)
Aren’t we waiting for Lori?” Jonah asked. Toby didn’t turn around as he answered. “Nah, she isn’t coming. We’ll meet up with her later today.” Great. Lori was too pissed to see him and Toby was like Antarctica. Jonah still wasn’t completely sure why they were so angry, given the fact that Zev hadn’t told anyone back home about their relationship. Well, there was one option; his old friends weren’t comfortable with him being gay. Tough shit. Jonah figured the best way to deal with the situation was to face it head-on. But as soon as they got into Jonah’s car, Toby started fiddling with the radio. Jonah decided to bide his time and wait for Toby to finish what he was doing so they could talk. He almost lost his composure when the other man landed on a Barry Manilow song and kept it there. Toby had to be the only Fanilow under the age of fifty. “So I’m guessing Lori told you about that guy in my apartment last night.” Toby’s posture immediately stiffened. Several long moments passed before he answered. “Yeah, she did.” “Anything you want to ask me about it, Toby? Might as well get it out there. No reason to walk on eggshells around each other.” “Ooookay,” Toby responded, drawing out the word. He took a deep breath and turned to face Jonah. “Did you stumble across a clearance sale on jackass cream or something? Maybe they were running a special on lobotomies?” Well, that was an unexpected response. “Huh? Whatta you mean?” “What I mean, Jonah…,” Toby said in a louder voice, “is that I know we’re all just a couple of bad decisions away from being one of those weirdos who buys fake nuts and hangs them on the back of his pickup truck, but you really managed to win the stupid cake last night.” Okay, this conversation wasn’t going exactly how Jonah had planned, but he still felt the need to defend himself. “Stupid? Why? Because I’m gay? That’s not a bad decision, Toby. It’s not a decision at all.” Jonah pulled into a parking lot of a decent diner, turned off the car, and turned to face Toby. The conversation was tense and awkward, but at least Toby’s atrocious music was no longer making Jonah’s ears bleed. Jonah would have preferred hearing his car engine drop out and drag across the asphalt than another cheesy ballad. “No shit, Sherlock. But cheating on Zev is a decision. A really bad decision.” Jonah’s mouth dropped open, and he snapped his eyes toward Toby in shock. Holy crap. Toby knew about his relationship with Zev. That meant Lori knew. As much as he hated being hidden from Zev’s family and life back in Etzgadol, Jonah didn’t want the man to be forced out against his will. “You know?” “Know what?” “About, um, me and Zev?” Toby rolled his eyes. “Of course I know. Just because I was blessed in the looks department doesn’t mean I was shorted anything upstairs. I’m not an idiot, Jonah.
Cardeno C. (Wake Me Up Inside (Mates, #1))
My fierce, blind loyalty to those who were insincere to me was spotted by her early on. After I stood up in class to defend Nadia one day, the teacher took me out and gently explained why I needed to not take risks for other people. She tried to warn me that not all people were worthy of my earnest support, but I did not listen. The friend in question would later abandon me on all key junctures of my life. My H.E teacher had perhaps been through it herself, and could recognise the vulnerability behind my tough, practical joker exterior. But it would be thirty years before I learned to put myself first. We listen to people, but do we hear what they are saying?
Reham Khan (Reham Khan)
February 16 A Love both Tough and Tender God sets the lonely in families, he leads forth the prisoners with singing; but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land.—Psalm 68:6 This beautiful passage holds three keys on how God deals with His creation. The first is an image of God constructing a home for each of us. Not only has he given us a dwelling in heaven, but the Bible says that He gives us families right here. Our own expectations can keep us from recognizing this gift. God has given us more than blood relatives; He has given us relatives by His blood. If we feel displaced, we should look around for the family that we have been failing to see. The second phrase tells us that he leads forth the prisoners with singing. God has designed abundant life for us and sent His Son to set us free (John 10:10, 8:36). He has given us the gift of song to celebrate our freedom. We return the gift by praising his name. We are encouraged by song when the world around us is harsh and lonely. The third word picture is that of a sun-scorched land. Obedient sheep follow their shepherd into abundance. The rebellious sheep insist that Jesus is unworthy to lead, nibbling instead at whatever leftovers he or she can find. God’s ultimate goal is that all His sheep would come into His fold (2 Peter 3:9), but He allows us independence. If your life is barren right now, why not turn around and seek the excellent grazing land that God has set aside for you? God also wants us to thrive for His glory. He is tender enough to meet our needs and give us families, tough enough to break the chains that bind us, and gracious enough to let us wander until we recognize our need for Him. Lord, thank You for Your great love and wisdom. You are so good! Please teach me to be grateful, and let me never forget that Your plans are always better than mine.
The writers of Encouraging.com (God Moments: A Year in the Word)
What would you do if you faced a candidate who took a traditional moral stance on the social and cultural issues? They would not be mean-spirited and, for example, blame gay people for the breakdown of the family, nor would they criminalize the choices of desperate women backed into difficult and dangerous corners. But the candidate would decidedly be pro-family, pro-life (meaning really want to lower the abortion rate), strong on personal responsibility and moral values, and outspoken against the moral pollution throughout popular culture that makes raising children in America a countercultural activity. And what if that candidate was also an economic populist, pro-poor in social policy, tough on corporate corruption and power, clear in supporting middle- and working-class families in health care and education, an environmentalist, and committed to a foreign policy that emphasized international law and multilateral cooperation over preemptive and unilateral war? What would you do?” I asked. He paused for a long time and then said, “We would panic!
Jim Wallis (God's Politics: Why the Right Gets It Wrong and the Left Doesn't Get It)
Set your mind for victory You may not realize it, but that’s setting the tone for defeat, for failure, for a lousy day. The first thing you should do is get your mind going in the right direction. This is why many people don’t have enough energy, joy, vision, or passion. Their minds are set on the negative. It’s been that way so long they don’t know any better. It’s normal to them. They go through the day expecting problems, bad breaks, to barely get by, and to be mistreated. They live by Murphy’s Law, which says, “If anything can go wrong, it will, and at the worst possible time. Things will take longer than you thought. It will be more difficult than it seems.” Because these people haven’t set their minds, they expect negative things to happen. They wonder why they have such a tough time, and why they can’t get ahead. It’s because they’re setting their minds for defeat, for bad breaks, for failure. If you have fallen into that negative mind-set, you’ve got to change your outlook. You are a child of the most high God. You’ve been crowned with favor. You were never created to live an average, get-by, short-end-of-the-stick life. You were created to be the head and not the tail, to lend and not borrow, to reign in life as a king. You have royalty in your blood. Winning is in your DNA. Now get rid of that negative mentality, and set your mind for victory. Set your mind for increase. Set your mind for good breaks. Start expecting your plans to work out. Expect people to be good to you. Expect to have a productive day. If it doesn’t happen, don’t fall back into that old negative mentality by thinking things like: “I should have known it would not work out for me. I never get good breaks. I never find a good parking spot. These people never treat me right. It always takes me longer than anyone else.
Joel Osteen (You Can You Will: 8 Undeniable Qualities of a Winner)
As we started our long drive back to the zoo, we stopped at what could be called a general store. There was a pub attached to the establishment, and the store itself sold a wide variety of goods, groceries, cooking utensils, swags, clothing, shoes, even toys. As we picked up supplies in the shop, we passed the open doorway to the pub. A few of the patrons recognized Steve from television. We could hear them talking about him. The comments weren’t exactly positive. Steve didn’t look happy. “Let’s just get out of here,” I whispered. “Right-o,” he said. One of the pub patrons was louder than the others. “I’m a crocodile hunter too,” he bragged. “Only I’m the real crocodile hunter. The real one, you hear me, mate?” The braggart made his living at the stuffy trade, he informed his audience. A stuffy is a baby crocodile mounted by a taxidermist to be sold as a souvenir. To preserve their skins, hunters killed stuffys in much the same way that the bear poachers in Oregon stabbed their prey. “We drive screwdrivers right through their eyes,” Mister Stuffy boasted, eyeing Steve through the doorway of the pub. “Right through the bloody eye sockets!” He was feeling his beer. We gathered up our purchases and headed out to the Ute. Okay, I said to myself, we’re going to make it. Just two or three more steps… Steve turned around and headed back toward the pub. I’d never seen him like that before. My husband changed into somebody I didn’t know. His eyes glared, his face flushed, and his lower lip trembled. I followed him to the threshold of the pub. “Why don’t you blokes come outside and tell me all about stuffys in the car park here?” he said. I couldn’t see very well in the darkness of the pub interior, but I knew there were six or eight drinkers with Mister Stuffy. I thought, What is going to happen here? There didn’t seem any possible good outcomes. The pub drinkers stood up and filed out to face Steve. A half dozen against one. Steve chose the biggest one, who Mister Stuffy seemed to be hiding behind. “Bring it on, mate,” Steve said. “Or are you only tough enough to take on baby crocs, you son of a bitch?” Then Steve seemed to grow. I can’t explain it. His fury made him tower over a guy who actually had a few inches of height on him and outweighed him with a whole beer gut’s worth of weight. I couldn’t imagine how he appeared to the pub drinkers, but he was scaring me. They backed down. All six of them. Not one wanted to muck with Steve, who was clearly out of his mind with anger. All the world’s croc farms, all the cruelty and ignorance that made animals suffer the world over, came to a head in the car park of the pub that evening. Steve got into the truck. We drove off, and he didn’t say anything for a long time. “I don’t understand,” I finally said in the darkness of the front seat, as the bush landscape rolled by us. “What were they talking about? Were they killing crocs in the wild? Or were they croc farmers?” I heard a small exhalation from Steve’s side of the truck. I couldn’t see his face in the gloom. I realized he was crying. I was astounded. This was the man I had just seen turn into a furious monster. Five minutes earlier I’d been convinced I was about to see him take on a half-dozen blokes bare-fisted. Now he wept in the darkness. All at once, he sat up straight. With his jaw set, he wiped the tears from his face and composed himself. “I’ve known bastards like that all my life,” he said. “Some people don’t just do evil. Some people are evil.” He had told me before, but that night in the truck it hit home: Steve lived for wildlife and he would die for wildlife. He came by his convictions sincerely, from the bottom of his heart. He was more than just my husband that night. He was my hero.
Terri Irwin (Steve & Me)
I was afraid of you. I know that’s not what you expect to hear from someone like me. I’m the kid from West End—I must be tough, I must be a thug, I must have a gun in my home, I must be in a gang…I bet he’s killed someone, I bet his brother’s in prison. You can see why I was afraid. I was so afraid that I would get here, and that’s all you would see—a picture in your heads that was so far from the truth, but too impossible to overcome.” “I was afraid of discrimination. Of intolerance. Of ignorance. I remember the meetings the admissions board held when I was in junior high, the ones about getting rid of the scholarship program because it exposed good kids to at-risk youth. At. Risk. Youth. That phrase…it’s too small. It’s pejorative. It’s not entirely wrong. Growing up in West End made me. That risk…it toughened me up. It made me fast. It made me fight. When I was a kid, I remember hiding on the floor of my room on Friday nights so stray bullets wouldn’t harm me. I hated my home. I loved it. I would never choose it for someone—never wish for my child to feel the fear I did. I could never imagine growing up somewhere else. That fear made me. That fear is the reason I stand up here; the reason I pushed myself to learn, to question, to try—to argue. That fear was balanced out by faith.” ““You made me, too. You lifted me. You pushed me. You believed in me. You saw the boy from West End. I surprised you. But you—you surprised me, too“When I was afraid, you challenged me. And now, I dare you. I defy you to be great. Do not just be tradition—break tradition. As only you can.
Ginger Scott (The Hard Count)
As I said, if I don’t do anything I tend to put on the pounds. My wife’s the opposite, since she can eat as much as she likes (she doesn’t eat a lot of them, but can never turn down anything sweet), never exercise, and still not put on any weight. She has no extra fat at all. Life just isn’t fair, is how it used to strike me. Some people can work their butts off and never get what they’re aiming for, while others can get it without any effort at all. But when I think about it, having the kind of body that easily puts on weight was perhaps a blessing in disguise. In other words, if I don’t want to gain weight I have to work out hard every day, watch what I eat, and cut down on indulgences. Life can be tough, but as long as you don’t stint on the effort, your metabolism will greatly improve with these habits, and you’ll end up much healthier, not to mention stronger. To a certain extent, you can even slow down the effects of aging. But people who naturally keep the weight off no matter what don’t need to exercise or watch their diet in order to stay trim. There can’t be many of them who would go out of their way to take these troublesome measures when they don’t need to. Which is why, in many cases, their physical strength deteriorates as they age. If you don’t exercise, your muscles will naturally weaken, as will your bones. Some of my readers may be the kind of people who easily gain weight, but the only way to understand what’s really fair is to take a long-range view of things. For the reasons I give above, I think this physical nuisance should be viewed in a positive way, as a blessing. We should consider ourselves lucky that the red light is so clearly visible.
Haruki Murakami (What I Talk About When I Talk About Running)
Why do we have to go up the tough stairs of life? Because when the time comes, there must be something important we did in the past that will console us as we descend!
Mehmet Murat ildan
This, then, is my life as a fat person. I am expected to absorb the discomfort and outright bias against my body in a world built for thin people. The responsibility is mine and mine alone. Should my body cost an airline more, it is my responsibility to pay them. Should my body cause discomfort for anyone around me, it is my responsibility to apologize and to comfort them. Should I begin to question why my body is forever a problem, it is my responsibility to keep quiet. And should these problems become untenable for me, it is my responsibility to “just lose weight.” The decent thing, after all, is to transform my body for the sake of those around me. It is no one’s responsibility to hear me. It is no one’s responsibility to care for my body. It is no one’s responsibility to ask about my comfort. At times, someone may do me the service of offering “tough love,” berating the body I have always had and the practices they assume created it, but I am never owed consideration, much less an apology. If there is a problem, I caused it with my gluttony and sloth. My body is my original sin. Every road leads back to the penance I must do for the body I have always had. No matter the problem, no matter the actions of an aggressor, the fault is mine. Regardless of the politics or life experience of the person I am talking to, the answer comes like clockwork. I guess if you hate it that much, you should just lose weight.
Aubrey Gordon (What We Don't Talk About When We Talk About Fat)
Arnold Schwarzenegger, signing new energy legislation: “I want to make California No. 1 in the fight against global warming. This is something we owe our children and grandchildren.” And Arnold at the United Nations: “We hold the future in our hands. Together we must ensure that our grandchildren will not have to ask why we failed to do the right thing, and let them suffer the consequences.
Bill McKibben (Eaarth: Making a Life on a Tough New Planet)
Heidi Wayment has pioneered the idea of a quiet ego. As she told Scientific American, with a quiet ego, “the volume of the ego is turned down so that it might listen to others as well as the self in an effort to approach life more humanely and compassionately.
Steve Magness (Do Hard Things: Why We Get Resilience Wrong and the Surprising Science of Real Toughness)
Keystone habits make tough choices—such as firing a top executive— easier, because when that person violates the culture, it’s clear they have to go.
Charles Duhigg (The Power Of Habit: Why We Do What We Do In Life And Business)
In the centuries following the French rule of England, the English language spread back into all areas of life, common and official, in a new mixed form with a vocabulary full of words that had come from French but were completely Anglicized. Words like farm, city, village, fruit, and flower now belonged to both the nobility and the folk. But the language continued to expand under the influence of French and Latin as literacy and education spread and people adopted new words to indicate a similar elevated status or prestige.
Arika Okrent (Highly Irregular: Why Tough, Through, and Dough Don't RhymeAnd Other Oddities of the English Language)
The ‘l’ and ‘r’ sounds are frequent players in the dissimilation game, whether by switching places or dropping out. Because of this, Latin developed two endings to make a noun into an adjective, -alis or -aris, depending on whether there were other ‘l’s close by in the root. From vita (life), we get vit-alis (vital), “pertaining to life.” From tempus (time), we get tempor-alis (temporal), “pertaining to time.” But the adjectives from populus (the people) and regula (rule) were popul-aris and regul-aris. Populalis and regulalis were just too l-ful for Latin.
Arika Okrent (Highly Irregular: Why Tough, Through, and Dough Don't RhymeAnd Other Oddities of the English Language)
The Viking invasions began as smash-and-grab raids to take as much as possible and go, but some groups decided to settle down and make a new life on the land they claimed. Their language was similar enough to Old English that they could communicate with the Anglo-Saxons without too much difficulty, and over time their own way of speaking mixed into the surrounding language, leaving vocabulary and expressions behind that don’t quite fit the rest of the pattern at the old Germanic layer. Much of the Scandinavian influence in English is so well absorbed that it doesn’t cause any weirdness. For example, there was a sequence in Germanic that became a ‘sk’ sound in Scandinavian and a ‘sh’ sound in English. When we mixed some Scandinavian words into English, we got some doubles like skirt and shirt, but we don’t even think of those as the same word, so the intrusion is unnoticeable.
Arika Okrent (Highly Irregular: Why Tough, Through, and Dough Don't RhymeAnd Other Oddities of the English Language)
The Celts were killed or driven out or absorbed into the new way of life. Very little Celtic influence remains in English, and what little there is is mostly in place names. English is at its core a Germanic language, and its story begins with those invading hordes.
Arika Okrent (Highly Irregular: Why Tough, Through, and Dough Don't RhymeAnd Other Oddities of the English Language)