Will Byers Quotes

A child has a greater chance of being sexually abused than burned in a fire. Along with stop, drop, and roll we must teach them to yell, run, and tell.

Are you always so cynical?' said Angelica. 'No,' said Katherine. 'Sometimes I'm asleep.

The only secrets that are good are the ones with an ending. Keep surprises instead of secrets in your home.

Sexual abuse injects poisonous lies into its victims’ hearts and minds. “You’re not worthy” is one of them.

Adults need to teach the children they love about sexual abuse so they know what to do if they encounter it. We need to prepare them so they know who to tell, should a violation occur, so they don't have to live with a painful secret, long into adulthood.

I was just four when a hired teenage field hand attempted to molest me. Miraculously, I got away, and I told my dad. My father made three important choices that day: He listened to me, he believed me, and he took action. I was one of the fortunate ones--I had a childhood.

Rebecca Byers, the comm officer on duty, could have been bred from a shark and a hatchet. Black eyes, sharp features, lips so thin they might as well not have existed. The story on board was that she’d taken the job to escape prosecution for killing an ex-husband. Holden liked her.

When we talk with our children about sexual abuse, we are not only taking a proactive step toward protecting them, we are building our relationship with them--grounded in honesty and trust. It's a win-win situation.

I don't much like it when people commit unsavory acts and try to shift the blame onto me.

Imagine, pretend, and play so you can become anyone you want to be. You don't need to be afraid.

His relationship with illness was flirtatious; only a particularly attractive ailment could tempt him into bed.

And Ana remembered her father's words, "Say no! Run! Tell me!

Protecting our kids from sexual abuse is not accomplished in a single conversation, but in ongoing conversations grounded in honesty and trust.

Rebecca Byers, the comm officer on duty, could have been bred from a shark and a hatchet.

There was, Katherine speculated, no possible way of concealing his Englishness, or any English person's Englishness for that matter. You could spot them immediately - pasty white; muffin bellied; Rorschached with quasi-Celtic tattoos.

Don't put your child at risk. Limit unsupervised one-on-one time between your child & another adult or another child.

Build a bridge over shame by teaching kids about sexual abuse. Give them a chance to run to us should they encounter it. Be their hero.

Like anything in life, something new takes a hot-ass minute to get used to, so if you need to be #brave alone at home for a bit, that’s okay. You can take your time.

I’m a badass bitch. Every body is a different body; the one I have now is amazing. If I want to change it, I can, but for now, this is it, and this is perfect.

Read Sonya Renee Taylor’s The Body Is Not an Apology, Da’Shaun Harrison’s Belly of the Beast, Charlotte Cooper’s Fat Activism, Roxane Gay’s Hunger, Caleb Luna’s Revenge Body, Kiese Laymon’s Heavy, Nicole Byer’s #VeryFat #VeryBrave, Esther Rothblum and Sondra Solovay’s The Fat Studies Reader, Rachel Wiley’s Fat Girl Finishing School, and more.

That was the year Marguerite Carlough first filed suit in New Jersey and Martland devised his tests. The executives had read Kjaer’s studies, attended the radium conference and seen the Eben Byers story: they knew radium was dangerous.

Games where someone wants to touch your body where your swimsuit covers or they ask you to touch their body where their swimsuit covers. Those body parts are private. No one is allowed to touch you there, or ask you to touch them there.

Sometimes I hesitate to use the term sexual abuse. It conjures up worst-case scenarios in our minds, and we think, "That will never happen to my kids." And we never begin the conversation regarding sexual abuse with our children. But one violation left in secret can cause significant pain.

Now here he was: sartorially, facially and interpersonally sharpened; every inch the beatific boffin.

the Byers case was a disaster. USRC supplied the radium for many of the products that had now been banned. The whole radium industry collapsed.

Once Victor and Violet’s baby is here, will we be calling that one Violet Junior as well?” Jack asked.

They responded to sadness only when it expressed itself as sadness, she thought. Sadness expressed as anger or hostility just turned people off.

You’re my friend, right, Tina? Don’t get mad when I say this, but, like, lick my asshole, Tina. I’ma wear what I want.

Real quick, I just wanna tell you why I wrote this book. I wanted to write a book about fat ladies—because I am one. Not curvy, not plus-size, not big-boned, not fluffy, not phat. I’m FAT.

She didn’t want to slide gently from this world. She wanted to go out with strawberries and champagne on her lips. With her loves holding her hand, and with the surety that she would be missed. The

Our lives intersect and interfere and there is no telling where certain beauties might come from. Some song in her heart where otherwise there wouldn't have been one and in Sarah's too passed on down.

Byerly will no doubt wish to squire Rish.” Thus saving steps for ImpSec, too. Mamere was well aware of every angle. Ivan managed not to choke. “Just . . . don’t invite Miles. Or let him invite himself.

The mother of chaos was fear, not evil, and the enjoyment of chaos was the continual fear of the unknown, the shifting foundation of everything, the knowledge that every twist and turn could lead to disaster.

Det er forbløffende hvor stemningsfull kunstig belysning kan være når det har begynt å mørkne, hvordan den kan påvirke oss følelsmessig, selv nå, ved begynnelsen av det enogtyvende århundre, i byer så store og godt opplyst som denne.

A healthy Christian life cannot be stitched together from a series of disjointed mountain-top experiences. We need a Christian spirituality that endures the shadowy, low-lying valleys and the rocky slopes in between all those glorious summits.

It is hypocritical to exhort the Brazilians to conserve their rainforest after we have already destroyed the grassland ecosystem that occupied half the continent when we found it. A large-scale grassland restoration project would give us some moral authority when we seek conservation abroad. I must admit that I also like the idea because it would mean a better home for pronghorn, currently pushed by agriculture into marginal habitats-The high sagebrush deserts of the West. I would love to return the speedsters to their evolutionary home, the Floor of the Sky. Imagine a huge national reserve where anyone could see what caused Lewis and Clark to write with such enthusiasm in their journals-the sea of grass and flowers dotted with massive herds of bison, accompanied by the dainty speedsters and by great herds of elk. Grizzly bears and wolves would patrol the margins of the herds and coyotes would at last be reduced to their proper place. The song of the meadowlarks would pervade the prairie and near water the spring air would ring with the eerie tremolos of snipe.

The appearance of Professor Benjamin Peirce, whose long gray hair, straggling grizzled beard and unusually bright eyes sparkling under a soft felt hat, as he walked briskly but rather ungracefully across the college yard, fitted very well with the opinion current among us that we were looking upon a real live genius, who had a touch of the prophet in his make-up.

The traitor elves of the World Above professed to hate evil. In reality, Quenthel thought, they feared what they didn’t understand. Thanks to the tutelage of Lolth, the drow did, and having understood it, they embraced it. For evil, like chaos, was one of the fundamental forces of Creation, manifest in both the macrocosm of the wide world and the microcosm of the individual soul. As chaos gave rise to possibility and imagination, so evil engendered strength and will. It made sentient beings aspire to wealth and power. It enabled them to subjugate, kill, rob, and deceive. It allowed them to do whatever was required to better themselves with never a crippling flicker of remorse. Thus, evil was responsible for the existence of civilization and for every great deed any hero had ever performed. Without it, the peoples of the world would live like animals. It was amazing that so many races, blinded by false religions and philosophies, had lost sight of this self-evident truth. In contrast, the dark elves had based a society on it, and that was one of the points of superiority that served to exalt them above all other races.

This should not be the only book you read by a fat person about fatness and anti-fatness. Read Sonya Renee Taylor’s The Body Is Not an Apology, Da’Shaun Harrison’s Belly of the Beast, Charlotte Cooper’s Fat Activism, Roxane Gay’s Hunger, Caleb Luna’s Revenge Body, Kiese Laymon’s Heavy, Nicole Byer’s #VeryFat #VeryBrave, Esther Rothblum and Sondra Solovay’s The Fat Studies Reader, Rachel Wiley’s Fat Girl Finishing School, and more. Whether you’re new to thinking critically about anti-fatness or a longstanding fat activist, be sure to locate this book, accurately, as just one of many fat perspectives available to you. Writers who aren’t fat have made substantial contributions here too. Sabrina Strings’s Fearing the Black Body: The Racial Origins of Fat Phobia is an indispensable history linking anti-Black racism to anti-fatness. J. Eric Oliver’s Fat Politics analyzes the emergence in the 1990s and 2000s of the United States’ so-called obesity epidemic. Each of these works offer vital analysis of the mechanics and history of anti-fatness. And each will deepen your thinking about anti-fatness and your clarity in countering anti-fatness.

When his story made the news, the headlines read: THE RADIUM WATER WORKED FINE UNTIL HIS JAW CAME OFF.10 Byers had died of radium poisoning on March 30, 1932, but before he died he gave evidence to the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) that Radithor had killed him. The authorities reacted with much more alacrity than they had in the cases of the dial-painters. In December 1931, the FTC issued a cease-and-desist order against Radithor;

[Benjamin Peirce's] lectures were not easy to follow. They were never carefully prepared. The work with which he rapidly covered the blackboard was very illegible, marred with frequent erasures, and not infrequent mistakes (he worked too fast for accuracy). He was always ready to digress from the straight path and explore some sidetrack that had suddenly attracted his attention, but which was likely to have led nowhere when the college bell announced the close of the hour and we filed out, leaving him abstractedly staring at his work, still with chalk and eraser in his hands, entirely oblivious of his departing class.

I wanted to say to them: I don't even know what we're doing. There is no scheme. There's nothing we want or hope for. I felt as if everything was pressing in, as if my mind was a sludgy and toxic as the slurry that covered the floor, the walls, our skin. There is no difference anymore, I realised, between what we were taking in and what we were expelling, between what we were and what we might aspire to be, between what we consumed and expelled, and what we'd become. It was all shit. We were shit. Our world was shit. Everything was a single, flowing, un-dammed, undifferentiated river of filth, and within that river we were formless and liquid and horribly free, and all anyone wanted to do was to fashion new moulds into which we should pull the cooling and hardening putrescence of who we were, so they could force what was formless into a form that they could comfortably condemn.’ (p.290)

Sometimes, looking back, I try to isolate a moment to change, a day or a night on either side of which things were demonstrably different. I never succeed. Partly, I think, is because it's simply not possible. Outside of sudden, violent events, changes is ongoing; we measure it only by holding what we've become against the memory of what we once were. But it's also because, in that space, at that particular time, We were so enmeshed in change, so completely caught up in it that singular, momentary factors became lost and blurred. Day and night slipped their boundaries. Our bodies ached, contorted, then were numbed with narcotics and went slack. My fingernails became sharp, then broken. In regular life, the life we'd left, we would have managed these processes, checked them, turned things back to how they were and how we liked them. There, in that concrete room, we surrendered ourselves to time and all its effects. The heat was unrelenting, pooling us in sweat and thickening the stink in which we lived. (p.271)

She used to test his commitment by hurting him. She threatened to leave him, or cheat on him, then watched his face and measured the depth of his feelings for her by the extent to which it crumbled. He was insecure; prone to worry. If he ever became confident, she thought, it would mean that he no longer loved her, since to love someone is to worry; to need someone is to fear the inevitability of their absence. Without fear, she thought, without drama, there was only the grey blankness of late-middle-age relationships, where, as far as she could make out, concepts like love and passion were replaced by what she saw as the wretched terminology of codependent ennui: companionship, contentment, compromise; where one person’s love for another was no longer stated simply because it was no longer questioned; where the key indicator not only of love but also of solidity would simply be the mere fact of the solidity and love that had gone before. No, no, she thought. Better the sense of odds, of struggle; the ongoing and repeated relief of trauma endured and survived. Without it, there was only the security of the unimaginative: an unspokenly dwindling sex life; roiling resentment; his-and-hers facial hair.

The traitor elves of the World Above professed to hate evil. In reality, Quenthel thought, they feared what they didn’t understand. Thanks to the tutelage of Lolth, the drow did, and having understood it, they embraced it. For evil, like chaos, was one of the fundamental forces of Creation, manifest in both the macrocosm of the wide world and the microcosm of the individual soul. As chaos gave rise to possibility and imagination, so evil engendered strength and will. It made sentient beings aspire to wealth and power. It enabled them to subjugate, kill, rob, and deceive. It allowed them to do whatever was required to better themselves with never a crippling flicker of remorse. Thus, evil was responsible for the existence of civilization and for every great deed any hero had ever performed. Without it, the peoples of the world would live like animals. It was amazing that so many races, blinded by false religions and philosophies, had lost sight of this self-evident truth. In contrast, the dark elves had based a society on it, and that was one of the points of superiority that served to exalt them above all other races. Paradoxically, though, a touch of the pure black heart of this darkest of all powers could be deadly, just as the highest expression of comforting warmth was the fire that consumed. Even folk who spent their lives in the adoration of evil generally had no real comprehension of the endless burning sea of it raging below and beyond the material world, and that was just as well. Even a fleeting glimpse could convey secrets too huge and fearsome for the average mind. Its touch could annihilate sanity and even identity. The threat was sufficiently grave that the majority of spellcasters hesitated to regard the force directly. They preferred to treat with evil at one remove, by dealing with the devils and undead that embodied it.

I was drunk but not drunk enough to say what I wanted, that we don't live our lives so much as come to them, as different people and things collect mysteriously around us.

Each day, Internet users share more than 1.8 billion photos, according to a report by venture firm Kleiner Perkins Caufield & Byers. For advertisers, the social media posts that include those photos are more valuable than those with just text because pictures reveal how consumers act "in the wild." "You have a window into their world," said Duncan Alney, CEO of Firebelly Marketing in Indianapolis, which uses Ditto Labs' service. Alney, whose firm represents a beer company, learned from Ditto that people drink beer not just with pub grub but also with healthier snacks like hummus. And that consumers who favor mainstream beers also consume craft brews. Other companies use it to interact with fans. Nissan North America found a photo on Twitter of a baby peeking out from behind a cardboard cutout of a Nissan race car driver. Nissan got the Twitter user's permission and reposted the photo on the company's account, garnering 17 retweets and 37 favorites. The original photo was not tagged with "Nissan," so without Ditto the company never would have found it, said Rob Robinson, a senior specialist in social communications at the automaker.

Asiatisk i Vælde er Angsten. Den er modnet med umodne Aar. Og jeg føler det dagligt i Hjærtet, som om Fastlande dagligt forgaar. Men min Angst må forløses i Længsel og i Syner af Rædsel og Nød. Jeg har længtes mod Skibskatastrofer og mod Hærværk og pludselig Død. Jeg har længtes mod brændende Byer og mod Menneskeracer på Flugt, mod et Opbrud, som ramte Alverden, og et Jordskælv, som kaldtes Guds Tugt.

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Having no say in their journey, they came here.

myself.

Aliza Kennedy. Kendele Byers. Tamay Mosely. There was a serial killer in Glenmore Park.

If any of my readers could get a tenth of the enjoyment in reading my books as I do in writing them, then all the time and effort put in to this dream would make it all worthwhile.

I would rather die trying than live a life filled with regrets.

If necessity is the mother of invention than imagination must be the egg. Nothing can be invented which has not first been dreamt.

A modest frugal retirement for a loyal Imperial bureaucrat?” said Pidge. “And yet your mother so wealthy.” “Doesn’t bother her,” Ivan said stoutly. “But does it bother him?” About to deny this with equal vehemence, Ivan realized that among the many things he didn’t know about Simon . . . that was another. “I am sure he has more important things on his mind.” Pidge smiled at him. “Fascinating.” With a little Shiv-like wave of her fingers, she trailed away toward the party; Byerly, with one of his less-comprehensible grimaces, promptly trailed after.

Reflection is a process whereby we examine the past to learn from our actions and behaviors. It provides an opportunity to view ourselves as the subject, removed from the immediacy of the moment, and pick apart our thoughts about our previous decisions, actions, and behaviors. In an ongoing conscious transaction with the past, reflective thought involves contemplating both into the past and into the future to determine if past experiences and perceptions align with current reality and future desires.

Reflection gives the brain an opportunity to pause amidst the chaos, untangle, and sort through observations and experiences, consider multiple interpretations, and create meaning… This meaning becomes learning.

but she knew if she stayed in alone and undistracted, she’d find herself truly blue.

Reading was like accumulating wisdom in a jar. The great magic was being able to bring it out again without being a bore.

This world was not made for women. And it certainly wasn’t made for mothers who had to look after themselves and their babies.

Most of the time I believed in God. Most of the time I liked the idea of seeing those we loved again in heaven or whatever came next. Most of the time, I wanted to meet those we’d tried to help after they died and hope they could tell us that we’d done enough.

Obsessing over the little things until they became huge, and then suddenly her days turned gray and her mood soured.

If you want to know where your heart [desire] is, look where your mind goes when it wanders.” --

Working Nine to Five   Wet, cold, miserable, Monday morning.  I had toast for breakfast, no bananas.  I think my mum is taking out her revenge on Steve’s behalf by withholding the purchase of bananas.  I stood by the sink sipping my morning tea watching the rain wash down the kitchen window.  Damn, I noticed that an eye had fallen off one of my bunny slippers.  I decided to wear the blue pencil skirt with a white blouse to work and to tie my hair up as best I could.  The journey was short and uneventful, no desperate people throwing themselves in

You can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.” ~Mark Twain

According to a 2015 report from Kleiner Perkins Caufield & Byers based on data from the US Census Bureau, from 1948–2000, jobs grew 1.7× faster than popuation. Since 2000, the population has grown 2.4× faster than jobs.3

                 Water. If the teaser worked, you guessed milk. 

                 First, think of the color of clouds. Next think of the color of snow. Last, think of the color of the moon. Now, what do cows drink? GO

Daniel was a little slow getting out of the locker room afterward and was one of the last guys to head to the parking lot. He was nearly to his car when he saw Stacy emerge from the edge of the woods. “Hey,” she said. “Hey.” She hugged her books to her chest. “I don’t know if we ever officially met. I’m Stacy.” She was waiting for you. She wanted to talk to you! “I’m Baniel Dyers—Daniel. I’m Daniel Byers.” Oh, you are such an idiot! A glimmer of a smile. “I know who you are.” “I know you too.” “Really?” “Uh-huh.” “How?” “I’ve seen you around.” “Oh.” A long pause. “So.” “So,” he replied lamely. “Well, it’s good to meet you. Officially.” “Good to meet you too.” He had the sense that she would reach out to shake his hand, but instead she stared down at the ground between them for a moment, then back at him. “You played good against Spring Hill.” “You were there?” A slight eye roll. “Of course I was there.” “Not everyone comes to the games.” “I do.” “Me too.” Dude, that was the stupidest thing ever to say! “Of course you do,” she said lightly. He felt like he wanted to hide somewhere—anywhere—but when she spoke again she just did so matter-of-factly and not the least bit in a way to make him feel more put on the spot. “Um, I just wanted to wish you luck on the game. I mean, the one tomorrow night.” “Thanks.” She waited. Ask her to the dance on Saturday—at least get her number. “Um . . .” He repositioned his feet. “Say, I was wondering . . .” “Yes?” “About the game.” No, not the game, the dance— “Yes?” He took a deep breath. “So, I was . . .” Go on! “Um . . . So maybe I’ll see you there. At the game.” “Oh. Sure. So, good luck,” she repeated. “Right.” Ask her for her number. But he didn’t. And then she was saying good-bye and he was fumbling out a reply. “See you around, Stacy.” “See you around, Baniel,” she replied good-naturedly. As she stepped away he opened his mouth to call her back, but nothing came out. And then she was gone. But at least he’d talked to her. You can’t be expected to ask a girl out or get her number the first time you officially meet her, can you? Um, yeah. He climbed into his car and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. Man, you sounded like a moron! Well, talk to her tomorrow. You can still ask her. The dance was Saturday night, but at least that gave him one more day. Before starting the car, he saw a text from Kyle asking what he was up to tonight, and he texted back that he was going to be at home finishing up his homework and then head to bed early to get a good night’s sleep before game day. He didn’t bring up anything about the conversation with Stacy. It would have only made him more embarrassed if Kyle knew how he’d failed to sound like even a halfway intelligent human being talking with her. Imagine that. Daniel Byers not knowing how to talk to a girl. What else is new? That night back in his bedroom, it took him a while to write his second blog entry, the one he was going to have to read in front of Teach’s class tomorrow. Without Kyle there to help him, he felt like a guy stuck on a boat in the middle of the ocean with no idea which direction to row toward land. Eventually he got something out, this time about hoping to send the vultures away, but it wasn’t nearly as good as if he’d had Kyle brainstorming with him. Then he went to bed, but his thoughts of Stacy kept him awake. Talk to her tomorrow at school, or at least before the game. But he also found that, just before falling asleep, his thoughts were drifting toward Nicole as well.

done beats perfect any day. I

They hired her for $ 17.50 a term, $ 1.50 less than Mr. Byers because she was a woman.

A newspaper, the first that had appeared, “The Rocky Mountain News,” was started whilst I was in Denver. The first number was full of scathing articles against the gamblers and blacklegs generally: in fact, the paper was run in the interest of the Vigilance Committee and law and order. The composing offices were in a log shanty, and the printers had to set the type with their six-shooters and double-barrelled guns lying on the benches beside them. I saw three of these men killed whilst they were peacefully carrying on their work. The editor’s name was Byers, and I knew him well. He never showed outside his door whilst these articles were appearing. The rowdies were always on the lookout for him, and directly he made any movement to leave his house half a dozen bullets would bury themselves in the woodwork. He stood this state of siege until the Vigilance Committee succeeded in clearing out the gang, when he became a great man in the town, very wealthy, and a State senator.

Et par gange havde vi gået ekstra ture ind i de små byer og tjekket nogle huse ud, der lå lidt fra søen. Der var et sted, der trak i mig, hver gang vi gik. Det lå lidt fra vandet, måske nogle hundrede meter inde i landet, og en lille asfalteret vej ledte fra syd mod nord i området, mens en større å krydsede igennem området fra øst mod vest ud i søen. Der lå syv huse i umiddelbar nærhed af hinanden, og det var Bulderbyhuse i ægte Lindgren-stil. Der var små folde, hvide hegn, køkkenhaver og frugttræer. Vi havde rekognosceret området flere gange, og vi var sikre på, at der ikke var mennesker tilbage i nærheden. Det var oplagt, at vi skulle slå os ned der, men det gav ingen mening uden de andre. Uden de andre. Det var der, vi var nu. Uden de andre. Det var kun Haady og mig, og derfor trådte plan B i kraft. Vi forlod Gissen sø til fordel for Vimmerby og håbet om at finde strøm og net og ødelægge Beredskabet indefra. Vi pakkede tingene sammen i hytten og satte kurs mod byen. Der var knap tyve kilometer, men det føltes som at gå ind i en helt anden verden efter de mange dage ved søen omgivet af natur og vand. Da husene sluttede tæt om os, stoppede jeg op et øjeblik og snurrede langsomt rundt for at tage det hele ind, denne nye virkelighed, det ensomste menneske i verden. ”Hvad tænker du?” spurgte jeg, selvom jeg vidste, at han var lige så meget på bar bund som jeg, som Mio og Jum-Jum på jagt efter den dybeste hule i det sorteste bjerg. Men vi havde ingen pilefløjter til at hjælpe os på vej. ”Vi finder et godt sted at slå os ned. Det ville være perfekt, hvis vi kunne finde et butikscenter med møbler, tøj og mad i et, så vi kan have alt under samme tag. Der behøver vi heller ikke frygte eventuel oprydning.” Oprydning betød lig. Menneskerester. Hud, hår og knogler. Dyb stank. Jeg nikkede samtykkende, tog en langsom snurretur mere for at prøve at regne ud, hvor sådan et center ville være i en by som Vimmerby, hvis de havde et, men Haady kom mig i forkøbet og pegede skråt fremad mod, hvad der på afstand kunne ligne en form for gågade. ”Kom,” sagde han og vinkede mig med.

The things men do to each other can be awful. The things men do for each other can be wonderful. I wasn’t in the trenches, thank god, but I saw men throw themselves over the body of a friend, one life for another. The good things aren’t exclusive to war heroism, either. People are heroic and kind and beautiful every day.

The events of Valentine’s evening and the jewel thief referenced in the first chapter are available in Mystery on Valentine’s Day co-written with the fabulous Lee Strauss.

The West Memphis Three may have been innocent, but that didn't mean that Byers was guilty. "We really hard-core believed that the profile was real," Lisa Fancher told me. "'Look, they're human bite marks!' And...nope. When you get real people who cost a whole lot of money, they're like, 'no, those are turtle marks.

Selvom verden var blevet én stor online social netværksklub på tværs af landegrænser og nationalitet, levede vi tilsyneladende stadig i bobler, hvor andres ulykke kun vedkom os, hvis det vakte genkendelse i os selv. Der var mere genkendelse i tragedien ved maratonløbet i et land, som vi kulturelt sammenlignede os med, end i angreb på syriske byer, ingen havde hørt om.

If someone doesn’t second-guess their qualifications at least upon occasion, we have to wonder if they’re connected to reality at all.

Scott Byer's journey is one of continuous self-improvement and growth. He's an avid reader of self-improvement books and financial literature, always seeking to expand his knowledge and skills.

Just imagine dying old and alone and always wondering what would have happened if you had just been brave.

Someone flip the switch For where there is light Darkness can't exist.

A place where you're the sane one Where the inmates run the asylum We let them think they are in charge It's so funny how easy it is To lie to them.

Princess William is my friend and we must rescue him! shouted the Princess By the way Knights, what are your names? asked the Princess Each knight took a turn responding. Your Royal Highness, my name is Ahamd. Your Royal Highness, my name is Amanda. Your Royal Highness, my name is Jamal. It is a pleasure to meet you all of you and thank you for your help. Now, we must rescue the Prince! replied Princess Lydia.

I don't want you to put down this book And feel like there is no chance for you to survive. Mental illness is real; it just needs to be treated So you can navigate it and feel alive, wanted and needed.

I shall call upon my Fairy Godmother, Bella, to cast a spell of protection around us then we shall all go and rescue the Prince. said Princess Lydia.

Oh Dragon, was that supposed to scare me? Asked Princess Lydia calmly.

When Ged comments to her that they have passed beyond the malign influence of the gods, Tenar experiences her release from the burden of relinquishing through tears, and in his company: "She did feel it. A dark hand had let go its lifelong hold upon her heart. But she did not feel joy, as she had in the mountains. She put her head down in her arms and cried, and her cheeks were salt and wet. She cried for the waste of her years in bondage to a useless evil. She wept in pain, because she was free" (Ursula K. Le Guin, "The Tombs of Atuan"). Tenar literally cries freedom, with "the pain of memory" for an originary lack, that of freedom and of self. Her ability to cry is returned to her by Ged's knowledge of her true name, a word from a language other than his own, a thing of great value that both restores her to herself and places him in her trust.

I'm surrounded by people; Rarely alone Yet I'm lonely most of the time I just don't feel at home.

I'm in lockdown , self imposed exile, just me myself and Denial! I 'm in lockdown, in good company. Denial, myself and ME! I'm in lockdown, Oh YES! Self imposed house arrest! No one can get me, everyone will leave me be! They'll compare me to Amy and Britney, but I just wanna figure out ME!

like a good butler should,

Honestly, no editor ever said to me that [Forgotten] Realms fiction was targeted at the YA market, and I didn’t think of it that way.

The truth was, his job as a columnist was not to say what he thought, it was to say what people expected him to think, and as a result of his continual self-portrayal as an honest everyman, what people expected him to think was exactly the same as what they themselves thought, meaning that in reality, his job was to say what other people already thought so that they no longer had to feel guilty about thinking it.

Only when the feelings pass away is archaeology a legitimate science.

Whenever you want to interfere, imagine that Jane is a brother instead of a sister. If Jane were a man, would it be suffocating or unfair or ridiculous if you acted on that desire to interfere? If so, don’t.

found that celebrating the holidays when you can didn’t ruin a thing if you chose not to let it.

I suppose I understand," the priestess said, "but I wonder why it's come to this. All these years, I've never truly understood the basis for our feud. If I'm to die, will you at least tell me why you chose Sabal over me? Was it fondness? Was it lust?" "Neither," Pharaun chuckled. "My choice had nothing whatever to do with personalities. How could it, when you twins were so alike? I threw in with Sabal simply because she was dangling from the bottom rung of the Mizzrym ladder. I thought it would be an amusing challenge to lift her to the top.

I'm an inexhaustible font of tricks, haven't you noticed?" Pharaun beamed at the assembled paupers and said, "How would you all like to assist two masters of the Academy engaged in a mission of vital importance? I assure you, Archmage Baenre himself will wax giddy with gratitude when I inform him of your aid." His audience stared back at him, fear in their eyes. One of the female commoners produced a bone-handled, granite-headed mallet and threw it. Ryld caught it and hurled it back. The makeshift weapon thudded into the center of the laborer's forehead, and she collapsed. "Would anyone else care to express a reservation of any sort?" Pharaun asked. He waited a beat. "Splendid, then just stand still. I assure you, this won't hurt." The Master of Sorcere pulled a wisp of fleece from a pocket and recited an incantation. With a soft hissing, a wave of magical force shimmered through the room. When it touched the paupers, they changed, each into a facsimile of Ryld or Pharaun himself. Only a single child remained unaffected. "Excellent," said Pharaun. "Now all you have to do is go outside, at which point, I recommend you scatter. With luck, many, if not all of you, will survive.

the

She cast about for her next adversary. She didn't seem to have one. The fight was over, and the few surviving hobgoblins were running away. "Form up!" she shouted. "I want a column with the traders in the middle. Fast!" Once the procession was under way, Aunrae, striding along at Greyanna's side, asked, "May I know where we're going? An ally's castle?" "No," Greyanna replied. "I suspect we couldn't get in. We're going to hide our charges in Bauthwaf." The column crept past corpses and burning stone, and as they made their way to the cavern wall, other commoners came running out of their homes to join the procession. Greyanna's first impulse was to turn away those without ties to House Mizzrym, but she thought better of it. Many of the newcomers carried swords, and she could press the dolts into martial service if needed. Occasionally someone collapsed, coughing feebly, poisoned by the stinging smoke. The rest stepped over her and pressed on. Someone gave a thin, high cry, as if at an unexpected pain. Greyanna spun around. The goblins weren't attacking. Her client the canoe maker had simply seized his opportunity to knife another male in the back. "A competitor," the craftsman explained.