It From Bit Theory Quotes

It from bit." It's an unorthodox theory, which starts with the assumption that information
is at the root of all existence. When we look at the moon, a galaxy, or an atom, their essence, he claims, is in the information stored within them. But this information sprang into existence when the universe observed itself. He draws a circular diagram, representing the history of the universe. At the beginning of the universe, it sprang into being because it was observed. This means that "it" (matter in the universe) sprang into existence when information ("bit") of the universe was observed. He calls this the "participatory
universe" - the idea that the universe adapts to us in the same way that we adapt to the universe, that our very presence makes the universe possible. ~ Michio Kaku

I was, however, still very much an emotional wreck and sometimes this resulted in misdirected anger. Unfortunately, my sisters bore the brunt of that. Sometimes I would just blow up without reason or warning. Once, my sister Sara was in the room and she was just moving things around, trying to clean up, and I blew up at her. She was so stunned and upset, she just walked out of the room and into the hallway to cry. Another soldier in a wheelchair came by and asked if she was okay. Through sobs and tears she choked out a "yeah."
"Did your soldier yell at you?" he asked. She nodded yes and he said, "I don't know why we do that. But don't take it personally. We're all going through it."
She calmed down and walked back in. She stood squarely in front of my bed and told me that I really pissed her off. Clearly I'd already forgotten I yelled at her because I looked at her with a bewildered expression and managed to push out through my wired jaw, "What's wrong with you?"
She glared at me and spat back, "You son of a bitch, you're what's wrong!" I was clueless. In fact, I pissed off my family members on a pretty regular basis until they figured out how to deal with it. They'd just control when I got to talk. My jaw was wired shut, but I could talk a little bit with some help.
I'd had a tracheotomy so I had a hole in my throat. I had this little purple plastic piece that I could put in the hole that would keep the air from coming out so I could talk. Every time I wo ~ Noah Galloway

I think that an artist is a bit like a computer. He receives information from the world around him and from his past and from his own experiences. And it all goes into the brain. ~ Gerald Scarfe

But I can tell you I myself have made many mistakes. Things sometimes I would be ashamed to admit. But if it weren't for those mistakes I wouldn't have seen the beauty in me. I wouldn't have awoken the goddess that lives in me. You see, goddesses although immortal were all flawed. They were all a bit extreme at their calling, and they were all betrayed and hurt at some point. They were even considered devious but what made them unique was their strength. ~ Mirtha Michelle

What is it?" Lend asked, noticing my stare as he wrapped his scarf around my neck. I was far, far from cold right now, but it was sweet of him. "And why is your voice different?"
"You really are beautiful. And I really want to kiss your brains out. But I've got to make a gate and save the world and stuff first."
"Kiss my brains out after?"
I bit my lip. "Are you going to . . . will there be an after?"
"Hurry, please," Reth said.
Lend ignored him and pulled me closer, his lips touching my ear. "The only world for me is the one you're in. Let's make the best life we can here and not worry about what comes after. I want to grow old with you."
"Really? We'll get rocking chairs and be all cute and wrinkly!"
"You'll be wrinkly. I'll just pretend to be."
I punched him lightly in the stomach, but closed my eyes, my own soul once again singing out louder than the others in me. "Best plan I've heard this week. And, trust me, I've heard a lot."
"I love you forever, Evie."
I pulled back and kissed him, all the energy and light in me springing up in joy and passion and happiness. "I love you forever, too, my Lend."
"Wow, your lips are really hot. Literally and metaphorically. But mostly literally. ~ Kiersten White

She slid a slim volume of poetry off the shelf and returned to her chair, swishing her rather unnattractive skirts before she sat down.
Benedict frowned. He'd never really noticed before how ugly her dress was. Not as bad as the one Mrs. Cabtree had lent her, but certainly not anything designed to bring out the best in a woman.
He ought to buy her a new dress. She would never accept it,of course, but maybe if her current garments were accidentally burned...
"Mr. Bridgerton?"
But how could he manage to burn her dress? She'd have to not be wearing it, and that posed a certain challenge in and of itself...
"Are you even listening to me?" Sophie demanded.
"Hmmm?"
"You're not listening to me."
"Sorry," he admitted. "My apologies. My mind got away from me. Please continue."
She began anew, and in his attempt to show how much attention he was paying her, he focused his eyes on her lips, which proved to be a big mistake.
Because suddenly those lips were all he could see, and he couldn't stop thinking about kissing her, and he knew- absolutely knew-that if one of them didn't leave the room in the next thirty seconds, he was going to do something for which he'd owe her a thousand apologies.
Not that he didn't plan to seduce her. Just that he'd rather do it with a bit more finesse.
"Oh, dear," he blurted out.
Sophie gave him an odd look. He didn't blame her. He sounded like a complete idiot. He didn't think he'd uttered t ~ Julia Quinn

Secretly in my heart, I believe food is a doorway to almost every dimension of our existence ... Food never was just food. From the time a cave person first came out from under a rock, food has been a little bit of everything: who we are spiritually as well as what keeps us alive. It's a gathering place, and in the best of all worlds it's possible that when people of one country sit down to eat another culture's food it will open their minds to the culture itself. Food is a doorway to understanding, and it can be as profound or as facile as you would like it to be. ~ Lynne Rossetto Kasper

So actually what that was able to do was twofold. For me, it helps illustrate what DTS is capable of doing right from the beginning. And secondly, technically, it actually gave us a little bit more time so we could just finesse some effects and things like that, because when you release theatrical, you actually get a bigger window than if you're DVD when you have to have it done sooner so they can press the DVDs and all that kind of stuff. ~ Klay Hall

I remember growing up with television, from the time it was just a test pattern, with maybe a little bit of programming once in a while. ~ Francis Ford Coppola

I don't think an authentic stand comes from your head. I think an authentic stand comes from your heart. If your child is sick, right? Something happens in you to make a miracle, to make a miracle. It has nothing to do with the facts. And that's all that's required is your child my child your grandchild, your child's child's child – they're in peril. And if you start thinking about it, you'll sit down. But if you feel it you'll stand up!

That's the amazing thing about this thing. It's that it's when you stand up you license other people to stand up. Now you standing up by yourself don't make a dad-gum bit of difference in the rational world. You're just one fool standing up. But if you've ever seen a standing ovation? It starts with one fool standing up. And then pretty soon the whole stadium is standing up. And it's a different moment! ~ Van Jones

Please, try to eat a bit less meat, a bit more veggies from today. Let it become a habit gradually until not to eat meat anymore. Then, observe the changing of the body and spirit after eating veggies, fruits and grains ? ~ Gautama Buddha

My mind then wandered. I thought of this: I thought of how every day each of us experiences a few little moments that have just a bit more resonance than other moments - we hear a word that sticks in our mind - or maybe we have a small experience that pulls us out of ourselves, if only briefly - we share a hotel elevator with a bride in her veils, say, or a stranger gives us a piece of bread to feed to the mallard ducks in the lagoon; a small child starts a conversation with us in a Dairy Queen - or we have an episode like the one I had with the M&M cars back at the Husky station.

And if we were to collect these small moments in a notebook and save them over a period of months we would see certain trends emerge from our collection - certain voices would emerge that have been trying to speak through us. We would realize that we have been having another life altogether; one we didn't even know was going on inside us. And maybe this other life is more important than the one we think of as being real - this clunky day-to-day world of furniture and noise and metal. So just maybe it is these small silent moments which are the true story-making events of our lives. ~ Douglas Coupland

Tucker's didn't forgive easily, and they held a grudge for eternity.

It was one of life's lessons she'd received from her bossy dad.

She was young, not bratty. Sure, she might be a bit of a handful at times, but what woman wasn't? She'd grown up around the MC, it meant she matured a long time ago, around men who drank, cavorted, and caused holy hell. ~ V. Theia

Some people feel stronger in their 30s. I'm 34. I've noticed I do feel stronger now than when I was 24. But I'm also more sore in the mornings. If I have a bump or a bruise from practice, it takes me a little bit more than just an ice bath to get rid of it. At the end of the week, my body's ready for a day off. ~ Holly Holm

I ain't sayin' I'm like Jesus," the preacher went on. "But I got tired like Him, an' I got mixed up like Him, an' I went into the wilderness like Him, without no campin' stuff. Nighttime I'd lay on my back an' look up at the stars; morning I'd set an' watch the sun come up; midday I'd look out from a hill at the rollin' dry country; evenin' I'd foller the sun down. Sometimes I'd pray like I always done. On'y I couldn' figure out what I was prayin' to or for. There was the hills, an' there was me, an' we wasn't separate no more. We was one thing. An' that one thing was holy...An' I got thinkin', on'y it wasn't thinkin', it was deeper down than thinkin'. I got thinkin' how we was holy when we was one thing, and' mankin' was holy when it was one thing. An' it on'y got unholy when mis'able little fella got the bit in his teeth an' run off his own way, kickin' and draggin' and fightin'. Fella like that bust the holiness. But when they're all workin' together, no one fella for another fella, but one fella kind of harnessed to the whole shebang -- that's right, that's holy. An' then I got to thinkin' I don't even know what I mean by holy...I can't say no grace like I use' ta say. I'm glad of the holiness of breakfast. I'm glad there's love here. That's all. ~ John Steinbeck

Have a culminative look at just one snippet from Ipolit's famous "Necessary Explanation" in The Idiot:

"Anyone who attacks individual charity," I began, "attacks human nature and casts contempt on personal dignity. But the organization of 'public charity' and the problem of individual freedom are two distinct questions, and not mutually exclusive. Individual kindness will always remain, because it is an individual impulse, the living impulse of one personality to exert a direct influence upon another....How can you tell, Bahmutov, what significance such an association of one personality with another may have on the destiny of those associated?"

Can you imagine any of our own major novelists allowing a character to say stuff like this (not, mind you, just as hypocritical bombast so that some ironic hero can stick a pin in it, but as part of a ten-page monologue by somebody trying to decide whether to commit suicide)? The reason you can't is the reason he wouldn't: such a novelist would be, by our lights, pretentious and overwrought and silly. The straight presentation of such a speech in a Serious Novel today would provoke not outrage or invective, but worse-one raised eyebrow and a very cool smile. Maybe, if the novelist was really major, a dry bit of mockery in The New Yorker. The novelist would be (and this is our own age's truest vision of hell) laughed out of town. ~ David Foster Wallace

I feed Volnay, who eats in her unusual way, delicately removing one piece of kibble at a time from her bowl, placing it on the little rug that serves as her dining room, and then eating it before going back in for a second piece of kibble. It takes her the better part of thirty minutes to finish her bowl. I'm sure if she had thumbs, she'd be patting her chin with a linen napkin after every morsel. When she finishes, she hits the water bowl. Silently. No one can figure out how she drinks, she sort of purses her lips and sucks, none of that slurping and splashing that accompany most dogs' drinking. She is a stealth drinker. When she finishes, she heads to her little bed in the corner of the kitchen to groom her fur a bit. Lovely girl. ~ Stacey Ballis

Opening her eyes, Eva placed her palm in the center of William's chest. "You're next." With her wee push, he obliged her and sat on the edge of the bed. Kneeling, she untied his shoes and removed his hose. When she stood, William had already untied the lace of the arming doublet he wore atop his shirt. Eva held up her finger. "Tsk, tsk. You don't want to spoil my fun do you?"
He shrugged out of the doublet with a look of defiance. "It canna hurt to help a bit."
"Come here." She pulled him up by the cord of his chausses. Fingers working quickly, she untied them and his braies, and let them drop to the floor. Then, with a sultry giggle, she slowly tugged the tie on his linen shirt, staring at his eyes while she tortured him, pulling oh so very slowly. "This bit of linen is all that's left between us, William."
He growled though straight white teeth. "And it will be torn to shreds if ye dunna haste to rip it from my torrid flesh. ~ Amy Jarecki

You never told me how everyone liked the sirupskake."
"It was splendid!" she said, her smile returning. "Your fa- my husband asked that you bake another one soon for me to bring him."
Freya was always tripping over her words like that. Anna did the same thing herself. She chalked it up to wanting to say so much in a short amount of time. She was like a pot of melting chocolate: the words bubbled over.
"Did he like the candied oranges I placed on top?"
"Yes! He said he'd never seen it done that way before."
Anna shrugged. "I love to put my own spin on recipes. I like to be unique, if you haven't noticed."
"I have." Freya smiled. "I think my husband would enjoy meeting you. You and I have a similar joyful spirit, while he"- she sighed- "carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, I'm afraid. Much like my daughter."
Freya talked about her daughter a lot but unfortunately never brought her along for visits. From what Anna knew, the girl seemed whip smart and serious. Anna wished she could meet her so she could shake her up a bit. Everyone needed to let their hair down sometimes. Plus it would be nice to have a friend close to her own age. ~ Jen Calonita

My primary pastoral work had to do with Scripture and prayer. I was neither capable nor competent to form Christ in another person, to shape a life of discipleship in man, woman or child. That is supernatural work, and I am not supernatural. Mine was the more modest work of Scripture and prayer- helping people listen to God speak to them from the Scriptures and then joining them in answering God as personally and honestly as we could in lives of prayer. This turned out to be slow work. From time to time, impatient with the slowness, I would try out ways of going about my work that promised quicker results. But after a while it always seemed to be more like meddling in these people's lives than helping them attend to God. More often than not I found myself getting in the way of what the Holy Spirit had been doing long before I arrived on the scene, so I would go back, feeling a bit chastised, to my proper work: Scripture and prayer; prayer and Scripture. ~ Eugene H. Peterson

Here's a simple example. The wooly mammoth inhabited the northern parts of Eurasia and North America, and was adapted to the cold by bearing a thick coat of hair (entire frozen specimens have been found buried in the tundra).3 It probably descended from mammoth ancestors that had little hair - like modern elephants. Mutations in the ancestral species led to some individual mammoths-like some modern humans - being hairier than others. When the climate became cold, or the species spread into more northerly regions, the hirsute individuals were better able to tolerate their frigid surroundings, and left more offspring than their balder counterparts. This enriched the population in genes for hairiness. In the next generation, the average mammoth would be a bit hairier than before. Let this process continue over some thousands of generations, and your smooth mammoth gets replaced by a shaggy one. ~ Jerry A. Coyne

You are gonna shoot me," he says. "One day." He's still holding Lindsay's hand, he's looking down at where their fingers are wound together and not at Lindsay's face, but his voice is clear. "I ain't thick. I know you'll get sick of me. You can't just let me go, I know too much, you'd be freaked out forever in case I snitched. You'll get proper sick of me one day, not just annoyed, and then you'll shoot me. It's okay."
"I won't get sick of you," Lindsay says. He feels numb and far away, as if its somebody else talking, and almost like he's going to throw up, a sort of lurch in his stomach like when you're at the top of the the Angel tube station escalator and somebody a bit too eager to get on the train shoves you from behind.
"Yeah you will. I'm gonna be with you til I die, though. Least I can say that and know its true, how many people can do that? Bit romantic, really. If you squint, and look at it sideways. ~ Richard Rider

The switch from ten-cylinder to eight-cylinder engines means that each manufacturer has to redevelop its power train. Not all will manage to successfully combine performance with reliability the first time around. That could shake things up a bit when it comes team hierarchy. ~ Michael Schumacher

Snowbound up here with you. Without books or business to occupy my time, I wonder what I'll do," he added with a leer.
She blushed gorgeously, but her voice was serious as she studied his face. "If things hadn't gone so well for you-if you hadn't accumulated so much wealth-you could have been happy up here, couldn't you?"
"With you?"
"Of course."
His smile was as somber as hers. "Absolutely."
"Although," he added, linking her hands behind her back and drawing her a little closer, "you may not want to remain up here when you learn your emeralds are back in their cases at Montmayne."
Her head snapped up, and her eyes shone with love and relief. "I'm so glad. When I realized Robert's story had been fabrication, it hurt beyond belief to realize I'd sold them."
"It's going to hurt more," he teased outrageously, "when you realize your bank draft to cover their cost was a little bit short. It cost me $45,000 to buy back the pieces that had already been sold, and $5,000 to buy the rest back from the jeweler you sold them to."
"That-that unconscionable thief!" she burst out. "He only gave me $5,000 for all of them!" She shook her head in despair at Ian's lack of bargaining prowess. "He took dreadful advantage of you."
"I wasn't concerned, however," Ian continued teasing, enjoying himself hugely, "because I knew I'd get it all back out of your allowance. With interest, of course. According to my figures," he said, pausing to calculate in his ~ Judith McNaught

It's nice that people can call me an artist and it's nice that I can refer to myself as such, but it also kind of separates me from the common man in a way that I don't wish to be, so craftsperson makes me feel a bit more connected. ~ Matana Roberts

Can they love? Or is it a bit of code meant to get a reaction from humans? Can anyone tell real love, in a bot or in a human? ~ Judd Trichter

He stroked the filly's neck, and she sniffed at the pouch on his belt, then turned her head away.
"She wants to let me know she doesn't care that I've apples in here.No, doesn't matter a bit to her." He looped the line around the fence and took an apple and his knife from his pocket. Idly he cut it in half. "Maybe I'll just offer this token to this other pretty lady here."
He held out the apple to Keeley, and Betty gave him a solid rap with her head that rammed him into the fence. "Now she wants my attention. Would you like some of this then?"
He shifted, held the apple out. Betty nipped it from his palm with dignified delicacy. "She loves me."
"She loves your apples," Keeley commented.
"Oh,it's not just that. See here." Before Keeley could evade-could think to-he cupped a hand at the back of her neck, pulled her close and rubbed his lips provocatively over hers.
Betty huffed out a breath and butted him.
"You see?" Brian let his teeth graze lightly before he released Keeley. "Jealous.She doesn't care to have me give affection to another woman."
"Next time kiss her and save yourself a bruise."
"It was worth it.On both counts."
"Horses are more easily charmed than women, Donnelly." She plucked the apple out of his hand, bit in. "I just like your apples," she told him, and strolled away.
"That one's as contrary as you are." He nuzzled Betty's cheek as he watched Keeley walk to her stables. "What is it that makes me find c ~ Nora Roberts

The Carpenters had a threshold more solid and extensive than the Great Wall of China. I would not be in the least bit surprised if you could see it from space. ~ Jim Butcher

The river never changes. it may alter it's path a bit, but it never changes. It's us who change. We come back here and we're are different. Not it."
Form can't be extracted from the essence like some broth reduction."
This river's taught me a good bit. Probably why I don't leave here. It winds, weaves, snakes around. Rarely goes the same twice. But, in the end, it always ends up in the same place and the gift is never the same." ... "it's the journey that matters. ~ Charles Martin

Hullo!" said Merry. "So that's what is bothering you? Now, Pippin my lad, don't forget Gildor's saying - the one Sam used to quote: Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger."
"But our whole life for months has been one long meddling in the affairs of Wizards," said Pippin. "I should like a bit of information as well as danger. I should like a look at that ball."
"Go to sleep!" said Merry. "You'll get information enough, sooner or later. My dear Pippin, no Took ever beat a Brandybuck for inquisitiveness; but is it this time, I ask you?"
"All right! What's the harm in my telling you what I should like: a look at that stone? I know I can't have it, with old Gandalf sitting on it, like a hen on an egg. But it doesn't help much to get no more from you than a you-can't-have-it-so-go-to-sleep!"
"Well, what else could I say?" said Merry. "I'm sorry, Pippin, but you really must wait till the morning. I'll be as curious as you like after breakfast, and I'll help you in any way I can at wizard-wheedling. But I can't keep awake any longer. If I yawn any more, I shall split at the ears. Good night! ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

He scowled at her. "That's it, Cinder. No more secrets. I don't know if I can survive any more big reveals from you, so if you have anything else to tell me, out with it. Right now."
Cinder rocked back on her heels, pondering.
Cyborg. Lunar. Princess.
No more secrets. No more lies.
Well, just one.
She though she might be a tiny bit in love with him.
But there was no way she could tell him that. ~ Marissa Meyer

As long as the centuries continue to unfold, the number of books will grow continually, and one can predict that a time will come when it will be almost as difficult to learn anything from books as from the direct study of the whole universe. It will be almost as convenient to search for some bit of truth concealed in nature as it will be to find it hidden away in an immense multitude of bound volumes. ~ Denis Diderot

Look, Ella..." He stared down at his hands, opening and closing his fists. I waited.
I think we might have a little bit of a misunderstanding here...
You're a nice girl and all,but...
I really like you,but I don't really like you...
The unmistakable notes of "Don't Stop Believin'," electronic version, suddenly filled my room, followed by the audible and visual treat of my phone vibrating its way across my desk toward Alex's hip. I flung myself on it. In a clear-headed moment, I would have just turned it off. As it was, I did manage a "Sorry!" to Alex before flipping it open/
"Are you dead?" Frankie demanded from the other end.
"No." I edged away from Alex, who was very politely pretending to be interested in the biscotti.
"Are you even sick?"
"No," I admitted.
"Of course not. Okay, I'm coming over."
"No!" I cringed as Alex jumped a little. I took a breath. "God, no. Don't. It's wedding central here. Sienna will have you trying up birdseed in little purple pouches."
There was a long pause. "You okay, Marino?"
"Yeah," I managed.
"Truth time.Where were you today?"
Could I do it? Could I actually use the word cramps with Alex Bainbridge standing three feet away? I could only imagine how the actual truth would sound. Here, in bed, hiding because I thought I'd made the queen of all fools out of myself e-mailing Alex Bainbridge over the break, and I can't even tell you about it because I promised...But it's okay- ~ Melissa Jensen

Mostly by [listening to] Green Day. I listened to music a little bit before I had heard of them, but after I'd heard of them, I knew music was my calling. I listened to it all day, and I loved it so much that I wanted to be a part of it, so I worked on being in a band from there. ~ Agent M

What are you two doing?" Her uncle's teasing voice came into the room before he did. But his voice was the second warning that they were no longer alone, since Violet had tasted his presence long before he'd actually stepped into her house. Ever since saving her and Jay at Homecoming, her uncle carried an imprint of his own. The bitter taste of dandelions still smoldered on Violet's tongue whenever he was near. A taste that Violet had grown to accept. And even, to some degree, to appreciate. "Nothing your parents wouldn't approve of, I hope," he added.
Violet flashed Jay a wicked grin. "We were just making out, so if you could make this quick, we'd really appreciate it."
Jay jumped up from beside her. "She's kidding," he blurted out. "We weren't doing anything."
Her uncle Stephen stopped where he was and eyed them both carefully. Violet could've sworn she felt Jay squirming, even though every single muscle in his body was frozen in place. Violet smiled at her uncle, trying her best to look guilty-as-charged.
Finally he raised his eyebrows, every bit the suspicious police officer. "Your parents asked me to stop by and check on you on my way home. They won't be back until late. Can I trust the two of you here . . . alone?"
"Of course you can - " Jay started to say.
"Probably not - " Violet answers at the same time. And then she caught a glimpse of the horror-stricken expression on Jay's face, and she laughed. "Relax, Uncle Stephen, we're fine. We ~ Kimberly Derting

It ruffles me a bit, not being able to tell apart my best friend from my girlfriend from this distance. But then one of the figures dashes across the sandy trail and jumps into my arms and I'm reasonably sure it's Liv and not Perry. ~ Veronica Rossi

She thinks she knows everything that goes on inside me, and she doesn't know a thing. What did she want from me – to tell the truth all the time? To run around saying it did matter to me that I live in a world where you can grow old and be alone and have to get down on your hands and knees and beg for friends? A place where people just sort of forget about you because you get a little old and your mind's a bit senile or silly? Did she think that didn't bother me underneath? ~ Paul Zindel