Moocs Massive Open Quotes

The Singapore Open is the flagship event of the Asian Tour, it is a massive event and it is being played in a great place. I love coming here and it is good to be back. ~ Lee Westwood

When I've got massive projects to be getting on with, I find myself open to distractions, particularly when deadlines are involved. ~ Max Tundra

Mr. Rohan," she heard Beatrix ask, "are you going to marry my sister?"
Amelia choked on her tea and set the cup down. She sputtered and coughed into her napkin.
"Hush, Beatrix," Win murmured.
"But she's wearing his ring - "
Poppy clamped her hand over Beatrix's mouth. "Hush!"
"I might," Cam replied. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued. "I find your sister a bit lacking in humor. And she doesn't seem particularly obedient. On the other hand - "
One set of French doors flew open, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. Everyone on the back terrace looked up in startlement, the men rising from their chairs.
"No," came Win's soft cry.
Merripen stood there, having dragged himself from his sickbed. He was bandaged and disheveled, but he looked far from helpless. He looked like a maddened bull, his dark head lowered, his hands clenched into massive fists. And his stare, promising death, was firmly fixed on Cam.
There was no mistaking the bloodlust of a Roma whose kinswoman had been dishonored.
"Oh, God," Amelia muttered.
Cam, who stood beside her chair, glanced down at her questioningly. "Did you say something to him?"
Amelia turned red as she recalled her blood-spotted nightgown and the maid's expression. "It must have been servants' talk."
Cam stared at the enraged giant with resignation. "You may be in luck," he said to Amelia. "It looks as if our betrothal is going to end prematurely." ~ Lisa Kleypas

The massive bronze gates were wide open now, too late. Inside, the cemetery had been turned into a grotesque place gleaming with high-powered searchlights, blue flashlight flares, winking pocket torches. Uniformed men were already swarming about. Red cigarette-embers showed oddly amidst the headstones here and there.
("The Street Of Jungle Death") ~ Cornell Woolrich

Iris is my opposite in all ways small. She loves reality TV, finds movies too long, and only reads when it's for an assignment. Her idea of fun involves a credit card and an open mall, and she has harbored a massive crush on Justin Bieber, despite all his WTFuckery, since her junior year of high school. Her continuing love of The Bieb is evident by the fact that her favorite nightshirt is a My World concert tee. And while the image of his face plastered over her boobs is more than creepy, I hate that she hides the shirt whenever Henry comes around. Or rather, I hate that Henry makes her feel like she should to hide it for fear he'll make fun of her. ~ Kristen Callihan

The split has widened because the right has moved right, not because the left has moved left. Republican presidents Eisenhower, Nixon, and Ford all supported the Equal Rights Amendment. In 1960, the GOP platform embraced "free collective bargaining" between management and labor. REpublicans boasted of "extending the minimum wage to several million more workers" and "strengthening the unemployment insurance system and extension of its benefits." Under Dwight Eisenhower, top earners were taxed at 91 percent; in 2015, it was 40 percent. Planned Parenthood has come under serious attack from nearly all Republican presidential candidates running in 2016. Yet a founder of the organization was Peggy Goldwater, wife of the 1968 conservative Republican candidate for president Barry Goldwater. General Eisenhower called for massive invenstment in infrastructure, and now nearly all congressional Republicans see such a thing as frightening government overreach. Ronald Reagan raised the national debt and favored gun control, and now the Republican state legislature of Texas authorizes citizens to "open carry" loaded guns into churches and banks. Conservatives of yesterday seem moderate or liberal today. ~ Arlie Russell Hochschild

It's easy to say why I love coming to Chicago for my signings, because I still remember the very first time I came to Chicago, right before 'Shiver' came out. I remember I was so struck by the feel of the city, how wide open it felt, even with these massive buildings all around me. The parks and green spaces are incredible. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

The air was steeped with the heady fragrance of roses, as if the entire hall had been rinsed with expensive perfume.
"Good Lord!" she exclaimed, stopping short at the sight of massive bunches of flowers being brought in from a cart outside. Mountains of white roses, some of them tightly furled buds, some in glorious full bloom. Two footmen had been recruited to assist the driver of the cart, and the three of them kept going outside to fetch bouquet after bouquet wrapped in stiff white lace paper.
"Fifteen dozen of them," Marcus said brusquely. "I doubt there's a single white rose left in London."
Aline could not believe how fast her heart was beating. Slowly she moved forward and drew a single rose from one of the bouquets. Cupping the delicate bowl of the blossom with her fingers, she bent her head to inhale its lavish perfume. Its petals were a cool brush of silk against her cheek.
"There's something else," Marcus said.
Following his gaze, Aline saw the butler directing yet another footman to pry open a huge crate filled with brick-sized parcels wrapped in brown paper. "What are they, Salter?"
"With your permission, my lady, I will find out." The elderly butler unwrapped one of the parcels with great care. He spread the waxed brown paper open to reveal a damply fragrant loaf of gingerbread, its spice adding a pungent note to the smell of the roses.
Aline put her hand over her mouth to contain a bubbling laugh, while some undefinable emotio ~ Lisa Kleypas

Knocking on a massive carved door minutes later, the sigils on it shouting to those literate enough to 'Stay away or else!' he received a nice surprise when the door swung open.
Well, hello there. Reaching only his shoulder, with a wild mop of black hair, bright brown eyes and a rounded body made for worship – by his tongue – Remy wondered if he could convince the servant girl to come around the corner with him for a quickie before he met with this Ysabel person.
Then she opened her luscious mouth. "If you're done gawking, you might want to step back before I smash your nose with the door when I shut it."
Someone got up without sex today. He could fix that. "Hello beautiful, I actually have business with the occupant of this suite. I'm here to meet with Ysabel, the witch."
"Really." Her tone said what she thought of his claim and her brown gaze looked him up and down, then dismissed him. "I don't think so."
The door slammed shut in his face.
What. The. Fuck.
Remy pounded on the door. It immediately opened. The ebony haired vixen, her arms crossed under her bountiful tits, smirked. "Back already. What's wrong? Did I hurt your feelings?"
"Listen woman, I don't know what crawled up your ass and turned you into an uptight bitch, but I'm here to see Ysabel, so get the fuck out of my way before I put you over my knee and –"
"And what? Spank me?" Her eyes actually sparked with challenge, the minx. "I'd like to see you try. But, b ~ Eve Langlais

Slowly, even though I thought it would never happen, New York lost its charm for me. I remember arriving in the city for the first time, passing with my parents through the First World's Club bouncers at Immigration, getting into a massive cab that didn't have a moment to waste, and falling in love as soon as we shot onto the bridge and I saw Manhattan rise up through the looks of parental terror reflected in the window. I lost my virginity in New York, twice (the second one wanted to believe he was the first so badly). I had my mind blown open by the combination of a liberal arts education and a drug-popping international crowd. I became tough. I had fun. I learned so much.
But now New York was starting to feel empty, a great party that had gone on too long and was showing no sign of ending soon. I had a headache, and I was tired. I'd danced enough. I wanted a quiet conversation with someone who knew what load-shedding was. ~ Mohsin Hamid

The trains that travel the Chunnel are massive machines. The Eurostars are bullet-shaped and a quarter-mile long. They are pulled by a 136,000-pound locomotive and move in the open air at 185 m.p.h. and through the tunnel at 100 m.p.h. ~ Peter Landesman

What was funny, going to the gym, you see all these guys who are just massive. There's no way a person can naturally get that way. In the gym, you meet these guys and you talk to them, and everybody's really willing and open to explain to you what cycle they're on and to help you get on it. ~ Anthony Mackie

Dear You, The odds of your reading this are slim to none. Who would choose uncertainty and vaguely worded warnings over a new life of wealth and luxury? I can only assume that you were put under a massive amount of stress, touched someone's skin, and they were paralyzed. Or blinded. Or lost the ability to speak. Or befouled themselves. Or one of several other effects that I won't outline right now. In any case, I know what it's like the first time it happens. It's like a door opening up inside of you, isn't it? Like you've been hit by a truck. It can't be ignored. So even if you would have preferred to open up the other box (which, by the way, would have had you living out the rest of your life as Jeanne Citeaux), I'm glad you made this choice. Take both suitcases with you and go to the address below. The key in this envelope will get you in, and you should be safe there. It has no connection to me, officially. Open the next envelope when you are established. Try not to be followed. ~ Daniel O'Malley

When Surkov finds out about the Night Wolves he is delighted. The country needs new patriotic stars, the great Kremlin reality show is open for auditions, and the Night Wolves are just the type that's needed, helping the Kremlin rewrite the narrative of protesters from political injustice and corruption to one of Holy Russia versus Foreign Devils, deflecting the conversation from the economic slide and how the rate of bribes that bureaucrats demand has shot up from 15 percent to 50 percent of any deal. They will receive Kremlin support for their annual bike show and rock concert in Crimea, the one-time jewel in the Tsarist Empire that ended up as part of Ukraine during Soviet times, and where the Night Wolves use their massive shows to call for retaking the peninsula from Ukraine and restoring the lands of Greater Russia; posing with the President in photo ops in which he wears Ray-Bans and leathers and rides a three-wheel Harley (he can't quite handle a two-wheeler); playing mega-concerts to 250,000 cheering fans celebrating the victory at Stalingrad in World War II and the eternal Holy War Russia is destined to fight against the West, with Cirque du Soleil–like trapeze acts, Spielberg-scale battle reenactments, religious icons, and holy ecstasies - in the middle of which come speeches from Stalin, read aloud to the 250,000 and announcing the holiness of the Soviet warrior - after which come more dancing girls and then the Night Wolves' anthem, "Slavic Skies":
We are be ~ Peter Pomerantsev

In the privacy of my room, armed with a mirror, shaving cream, razor, and bowl of water, I sat on my floor with a towel propped under my bare ass. Leaning back against my bed with my legs wide open as if I were about to give birth, I shaved everything off. My lady parts looked like a barren desert after a massive forest fire. I saw parts of myself that had long vanished beneath pubescent growth.
Suddenly, I felt sexy. There was something about going bare that made me feel sensual and touchable. But that was short lived. I was ill prepared for my skin's reaction to the change. I completely broke out. My pussy flushed as razor bumps shot across my flesh as if I'd had an allergic reaction to my underwear. It took weeks of applying antibiotic ointment to calm my skin. ~ Maggie Young

Raphael pulled out a paperback and handed it to me. The cover, done back in the time when computer-aided imagine manipulation had risen to the level of art, featured an impossibly handsome man, leaning forward, one foot in a huge black boot resting on the carcass of some monstrous sea creature. His hair flowed down to his shoulders in a mane of white gold, in stark contrast to his tanned skin and the rakish black patch hiding his left eye. His white, translucent shirt hung open, revealing abs of steel and a massive, perfectly carved chest graced by erect nipples. His muscled thighs strained the fabric of his pants, which were unbuttoned and sat loosely on his narrow hips, a touch of a strategically positioned shadow hinting at the world's biggest boner.
The cover proclaimed in loud golden letters: The Privateer's Virgin Mistress, by Lorna Sterling.
"Novel number four for Andrea's collection?" I guessed.
Raphael nodded and took the book from my hands. "I've got the other one Andrea wanted, too. Can you explain something to me?"
Oh boy. "I can try."
He tapped the book on his leather-covered knee. "The pirate actually holds this chick's brother for ransom, so she'll sleep with him. These men, they aren't real men. They're pseudo-bad guys just waiting for the love of a 'good' woman."
"You actually read the books?"
He gave me a chiding glance. "Of course I read the books. It's all pirates and the women they steal, apparently so they can enjoy lo ~ Ilona Andrews

Tantrics flow with the rhythm of the universe, treating the universe as a manifestation of Shakti.They open themselves to receive universal energy and become a reservoir of those energies.When a Tantric blesses or curses, it materialises as accumulated energy, which when directed at someone has a massive impact ~ Anupama Garg

The great seats of power tend to be wide and open, not vertical and soaring. Red Square, Tiananmen Square, the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin - all massive but with large open spaces that project an image of might. ~ Gary Ross

Your average genre novel is like a high speed car chase ending in a massive crash, with death, destruction, and balls of flame, from which the main characters (usually) emerge mostly unscathed. Everything builds up to the crash, and it's the anticipation that keeps us turning pages.

Anthony Trollope, by contrast, is like a pleasant Sunday afternoon drive through the countryside in an open carriage behind a pair of matched horses. There's conflict, sure; a herd of sheep blocks the road, two countrymen come to blows outside the pub, the cows in this field are looking daggers at the cows in that field. But the point of the drive is the drive itself, not the destination, because of course you're just going to end up at home anyway. ~ Will Duquette

As we practice implementing this incredible power tool He's placed in our hands, He divinely positions us - even a little life like ours - in His grand purpose for the ages. Through the connective tissue of prayer, He cracks open the door that makes us at least a small part of how these massive plans of His are translated into the lives of people we know. Including ours. ~ Priscilla Shirer

The cart slowed as they came to a place so dark and quiet that it seemed as if they had entered some remote forest. Peeking beneath the hem of the cart's canvas covering, Garrett saw towering gates covered with ivy, and ghostly sculptures of angels, and solemn figures of men, women, and children with their arms crossed in resignation upon their breasts. Graveyard sculptures. A stab of horror went through her, and she crawled to the front of the cart to where West Ravenel was sitting with the driver.
"Where the devil are you taking us, Mr. Ravenel?"
He glanced at her over his shoulder, his brows raised. "I told you before- a private railway station."
"It looks like a cemetery."
"It's a cemetery station," he admitted. "With a dedicated line that runs funeral trains out to the burial grounds. It also happens to connect to the main lines and branches of the London Ironstone Railroad, owned by our mutual friend Tom Severin."
"You told Mr. Severin about all this? Dear God. Can we trust him?"
West grimaced slightly. "One never wants to be in the position of having to trust Severin," he admitted. "But he's the only one who could obtain clearances for a special train so quickly."
They approached a massive brick and stone building housing a railway platform. A ponderous stone sign adorned the top of the carriage entrance: Silent Gardens. Just below it, the shape of an open book emblazoned with words had been carved in the stone. Ad Meliora. "Toward be ~ Lisa Kleypas

She thumped him again.
He looked startled, then caught her flying fist in his hand and gently pried her fingers open. Very carefully he pressed a kiss into the exact center of her palm. 'Savannah? Were you trying to hit me?'
'I didn't hit you
twice, you scum. You didn't even notice the first time.' She sounded very irritated with him.
For some reason it made him want to smile. 'I apologize, mon amour. Next time, I promise I will notice when you strike me.' The hard edge to his mouth softened into a semblance of a smile. 'I will even go so far as to pretend that it hurts, if you wish it. ~ Christine Feehan

The French cook; we open tins. ~ John Galsworthy

Writing is dreaming with your eyes open - and your heart on fire. ~ Don Roff

Lena." Alex's voice is stronger, more forceful now, and it finally stops me.
He turns so that we're face-to-face. At that moment my shoes skim off the sand
bottom, and I realize that the water is lapping up to my neck. The tide is coming
in fast. "Listen to me. I'm not who - I'm not who you think I am."
I have to fight to stand. All of a sudden the currents tug and pull at me. It's
always seemed this way. The tide goes out a slow drain, comes back in a rush.
"What do you mean?"
His eyes - shifting gold, amber, an animal's eyes - search my face, and
without knowing why, I'm scared again. "I was never cured," he says. For a
moment I close my eyes and imagine I've misheard him, imagine I've only
confused the shushing of the waves for his voice. But when I open my eyes he's
still standing there, staring at me, looking guilty and something else - sad,
maybe? - and I know I heard correctly. He says, "I never had the procedure."
"You mean it didn't work?" I say. My body is tingling, going numb, and I
realize then how cold it is. "You had the procedure and it didn't work? Like what
happened to my mom?"
"No, Lena. I - " He looks away, squinting, says under his breath, "I don't
know how to explain. ~ Lauren Oliver

In Charly Cruz's garage there was a mural painted on one of the cement walls. The mural was six feet tall and maybe ten feet long and showed the Virgin of Guadalupe in the middle of a lush landscape of rivers and forests and gold mines and silver mines and oil rigs and giant cornfields and wheat fields and vast meadows where cattle grazed. The Virgin had her arms spread wide, as if offering all of these riches in exchange for nothing. But despite being drunk, Fate noticed right away there was something wrong about her face. One of the Virgin's eyes was open and the other eye was closed. ~ Roberto Bolano

The dispassionate intellect, the open mind, the unprejudiced observer, exist in an exact sense only in a sort of intellectualist folk-lore; states even approaching them cannot be reached without a moral and emotional effort most of us cannot or will not make. ~ Wilfred Trotter

Whether they are part of a home or home is a part of them is not a question children are prepared to answer. Having taken away the dog, take away the kitchen–the smell of something good in the oven for dinner. Also the smell of washing day, of wool drying in the wooden rack. Of ashes. Of soup simmering on the stove. Take away the patient old horse waiting by the pasture fence. Take away the chores that kept him busy from the time he got home from school until they sat down to supper. Take away the early-morning mist, the sound of crows quarreling in the treetops.
His work clothes are still hanging on a nail beside the door of his room, but nobody puts them on or takes them off. Nobody sleeps in his bed. Or reads the broken-back copy of Tom Swift and His Flying Machine. Take that away too, while you are at it.
Take away the pitcher and bowl, both of them dry and dusty. Take away the cow barn where the cats, sitting all in a row, wait with their mouths wide open for somebody to squirt milk down their throats. Take away the horse barn too–the smell of hay and dust and horse piss and old sweat-stained leather, and the rain beating down on the plowed field beyond the door. Take all this away and what have you done to him? In the face of a deprivation so great, what is the use of asking him to go on being the boy he was. He might as well start life over again as some other boy instead. ~ William Maxwell

To win at Augusta and to win The Open Championship at St. Andrews, it's hard to put it into words as a golfer, as an athlete, as a guy - I'm not rich in history, I can tell you that. I'm not a great historian. ~ Zach Johnson

I love your personality, I said with wide eyes and an open smile. I had used this look before when a bank teller at Wells Fargo had threatened to put a ten-day hold on a check from my father because my average balance was $3.56. ~ Chelsea Handler

O LORD, what are human beings that you should notice them, mere mortals that you should think about them? 4 For they are like a breath of air; their days are like a passing shadow. 5 Open the heavens, LORD, and come down. Touch the mountains so they billow smoke. 6 Hurl your lightning bolts and scatter your enemies! Shoot your arrows and confuse them! ~ Anonymous

Something inside me stops the moment I see a mighty mountain. ~ Jasleen Kaur Gumber

Think what you thought you knew, hindsight. Now as much as you think you know, you realize you don't, insight. Take heed to what you're abut to learn.
Foresight seen through the third eye, wide open to the light, the real lies are exposed then you realize you can see with your real eyes. ~ Jose R. Coronado

Maxon wrapped his arms around me, and I laughed as he covered me with kisses.
We were so distracted, we didn't even hear the butler open the door. "Your Majesty, there's a call from - "
Before he could finish, Maxon chucked a pillow at him, and the butler retreated into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him. There was a pause before a muffled voice filtered in. "Sorry, sir. ~ Kiera Cass

When we are too functional, we forget the point of hospitality in the home: fellowship, not entertainment. Don't let pride stop you from opening your home. Ignore the cat hair on the couch (or in the mac and cheese). It likely won't kill anyone as decisively as loneliness will. Add as much water to the pot to stretch the soup. If you run out of food, make pancakes, and put the kids in charge of making that meal. See how much fun that is.

And know that someone is spared from another humiliating fall into internet pornography because he is instead walking with you and your kids and dogs, as you share the Lord's Day, one model of how the Lord gives you daily grace and a way of escape. Know that someone is spared the fear and darkness of depression because she is needed at your house, always on the Lord's Day, the day she is never alone, but instead safely in community, where her place at the table is needed and necessary and relied upon. Know that someone is drawn into Christ's love because the Bible reading and psalm singing that come at the close of the meal include everyone, and that it reminds us that no one is scapegoated in this Christ-bearing community. Know that host and guest are equally precious and fragile, and that you will play both roles throughout the course of this life. The doors here open wide. They must. ~ Rosaria Champagne Butterfield

This time once again it has been my chief aim to make no sacrifice to an appearance of being simple, complete or rounded off, not to disguise problems and not to deny the existence of gaps and uncertainties. In no other scientific field would it be necessary to boast of such modest intentions. They are universally regarded as self-evident; the public expects nothing else. No reader of an account of astronomy will feel disappointed and contemptuous of the science if he is shown the frontiers at which our knowledge of the universe melts into haziness. Only in psychology is it otherwise. There mankind's constitutional unfitness for scientific research comes fully into the open. What people seem to demand of psychology is not progress in knowledge, but satisfactions of some other sort; every unsolved problem, every admitted uncertainty is made into a reproach against it.
Whoever cares for the science of mental life must accept these injustices along with it. ~ Sigmund Freud

Mitt Romney knows America's prosperity didn't happen because our government simply spent more. It happened because our people used their own money to open a business. ~ Marco Rubio

Aunt Petunia burst into tears. Hestia Jones gave her an approving look that changed to outrage as Aunt Petunia ran forward and embraced Dudley rather than Harry.
'S-so sweet, Dudders ... ' she sobbed into his massive chest. 'S-such a lovely b-boy ... s-saying thank you ... '
'But he hadn't said thank you at all!' said Hestia indignantly. 'He only said he didn't think Harry was a waste of space!'
'Yeah, but coming from Dudley that's like I love you. ~ J.K. Rowling

Justin… I know that we do not care for clichés, but this is a rather large can of worms that you are attempting to pry open using a rusty can opener."

"Like one of those old creaky ones you'd find in a summer rental home? With the super skinny handles that hurt?"

Celeste laughed. "Yes. Like that."

"I like worms. You can let the worms out. But only if you want. I won't make you talk about anything you don't want to. ~ Jessica Park

Sometimes when you have a wild dream [massive vision]people intend to run away from you but is not that they hate you or jealous of you. Simply they can't see what you see, they can't hear what you hear and they don't know what you know. The best thing is to love them in spite of their silence. ~ Euginia Herlihy

Your kindness cannot be said.
You open doors in the sky.
You ease the heart and make
God's qualities visible. ~ Rumi

The step that we are on is only a step to the next place, and no step regardless of how massive is ever a destination. ~ Craig D. Lounsbrough

The screen shows me Portugal. The screen shows me Cairo. They have a thing where you can wander the streets. I can go anywhere I want is what the screen keeps telling me. Try this. Try there. Go around here. The world's wide open. You can wander anyplace and you'll be alone there, too. ~ Daniel Handler

The doors to the world have been flung wide open, and the view that's available is staggering. Through technology and innovation, opportunities abound and possibilities seem endless. As inspiring as this can be, it can be equally overwhelming. The unintended consequence of abundance is that we are bombarded with more information and choices in a day than our ancestors received in a lifetime. Harried and hurried, a nagging sense that we attempt too much and accomplish too little haunts our days. ~ Gary Keller

Remember that for all the books we have in print, are as many that have never reached print, have never been written down-even now, in this age of compulsive reverence for the written word, history, even social ethic, are taught by means of stories, and the people who have been conditioned into thinking only in terms of what is written-and unfortunately nearly all the products of our educational system can do no more than this-are missing what is before their eyes. For instance, the real history of Africa is still in the custody of black storytellers and wise men, black historians, medicine men: it is a verbal history, still kept safe from the white man and his predations. Everywhere, if you keep your mind open, you will find the words not written down. So never let the printed page be your master. Above all, you should know that the fact that you have to spend one year, or two years, on one book, or one author means that you are badly taught-you should have been taught to read your way from one sympathy to another, you should be learning to follow you own intuitive feeling about what you need; that is what you should have been developing, not the way to quote from other people. ~ Doris Lessing

Chloe, wake up. I really, really, really need to pee."
I moan and sink deeper into Jorge's arms, pulling my hand back.
"Chloe, wake up. I'm dying here. I have to pee."
Ugh, why won't that voice go away? I crack my eyes open and see Ringo by the bed prancing around doing the doggy version of a potty dance.
Ringo starts prancing toward the bedroom door. "Thank goodness. I've got to go. ~ Katya Armock

Mindfulness practice begins to open up everything. We open our mind to memories, to emotions, to different sensations in the body. In meditation this happens in a very organic way, because we are not searching, we are not pulling or probing, we are just sitting and watching. ~ Joseph Goldstein

Right now, in the amazing moment that to us counts as the present, we are deciding, without quite meaning to, which evolutionary pathways will remain open and which will forever be closed. No other creature has ever managed this and it will, unfortunately, be our most enduring legacy. ~ Elizabeth Kolbert