When You Dont Answer Your Phone Quotes

All right, sweetheart; here's your last question, and it's a real challenge, so don't let yourself get distracted by these jealous women. To make sure all twelve of our future children are going to be legitimate, what New York City football team did Joe Namath play for?"

Gracie's face fell. Lord. Any fool should know the answer to this one. New York City... What football team was from New York City? Her expression brightened. "The New York City YANKEES!"

A roar of laughter went up from the crowd, accompanied by more than a few loud groans. Bobby Tom silenced them all with a glare. At the same time, the glitter in his eyes dared any of them to contradict her. When he was certain everyone understood the message, he turned back to Gracie and gathered her into his arms. With a tender look and a gentle brush of his lips, he said "Exactly right, sweetheart. I had no idea you knew so much about football"

And that was how every last person in Telarosa, Texas, came to understand that Bobby Tom Denton had finally and forever fallen head over heels in love. ~ Susan Elizabeth Phillips

Answer only when asked, otherwise do not say anything. Don't say a thing in this world. To tell [give advice] is the biggest disease. Your beard grows without you saying anything, doesn't it? ~ Dada Bhagwan

Giver expectations

Do you wait for a hug when you give one?
Do you wait for a thank you when you do something for someone?
Do you get sad if they don't answer your call?
You shouldn't, because we shall give without expecting anything back.
But what to do with the emptiness that fills your heart?
The feeling that insists in waiting for that hug, that thank you or that call?
How to reason with your heart when your heart is also in your mind?
How to make someone to understand you when you don't know yourself?
How to make sense when you cant find any sense at all?
How to find balance when you feel like you will fall?

Aline Mattos ~ Aline Mattos

You asked what my intentions are, Mrs. Brenner, and I would like to answer your question." Dibs opened his mouth as if preparing to argue and she glared at him from across the table. Did he really think not to let her state her case in front of his family? He snapped his mouth shut and briskly rubbed a palm across his forehead before tossing that same hand in the air. "My intentions are these." She gathered her thoughts, folding her hands in her lap. "When David is sad, I intend to make him happy. When he is ill, I intend to make him well. When he is angry or upset, I intend to listen and find the words to make him feel better. When he is depressed, I intend to bring him joy, and when he is hurt, I intend to find the source of his pain and take it away from him." She bridged the distance to Dibs's devoted gaze, and radiant love crested the last barricade surrounding her heart. "You see, Mr. and Mrs. Brenner, I'm in love with your son. But I don't want anything from him. You don't need to worry because my only intention is to give to him. That's the way it's supposed to be when you love someone, isn't it? To think only of their needs, instead of your own?" She broke off from Dibs and faced his mother. "Those are my intentions, Mrs. Brenner. I hope you find them satisfactory. ~ A.J. Nuest

He shut the door, and stood looking across the room at her. 'Cressy, what did you mean when you told that harridan that your affections were engaged?'

The colour deepened a little in her cheeks, but she replied lightly: 'Well, she talked so much like someone in a bad play that I became carried away myself! Besides, I had to say something to convince her! I could see she didn't quite believe me when I said I wasn't going to marry your brother.'

He let his breath go in a long sigh, and walked forward, setting his hands on her shoulders, and saying: 'You don't know how much I have wanted to tell you the truth! Cressy, my dear one, forgive me! I've treated you abominably, and I love you so much!'

Miss Stavely, who had developed an interest in the top button of his coat, looked shyly up at this. 'Do you, Kit?' she asked. 'Truly?'

Mr Fancot, preferring actions to words, said nothing whatsoever in answer to this, but took her in his arms and kissed her. Miss Stavely, who had previously thought him unfailingly gentle and courteous, perceived, in the light of this novel experience, that she had been mistaken: there was nothing gentle about Mr Fancot's crushing embrace; and his behaviour in paying no heed at all to her faint protest could only be described as extremely uncivil. She was wholly unused to such treatment, and she had a strong suspicion that her grandmother would condemn her conduct in submitting to it, but as Mr Fancot seemed to ~ Georgette Heyer

I...I'm sorry," Kylie mumbled.
"Don't you even try to talk your way out of me being pissed!" Burnett growled. "Not a word!"
"I just..."
"That's two words and I said not one!" he snapped, and he swiped his hand through the air for emphasis.
Kylie bit down on her lip, and wouldn't you know it that's when the tears started flowing. Big, fat, and fast tears. She sniffled and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her breath caught in her chest. But damn it. Why couldn't this have happened when she was alone?
"Those tears do not affect me, young lady!" He pointed a finger at her. While she couldn't hear his heart beat to the rhythm of a lie, she heard it in his voice.

***

"I just..."
"Did I say you could talk?" he asked. He did three more pacing laps, as if working off steam, before he looked at her again. "Where were you going, Kylie?"
When she just looked at him, he bit out, "Answer me."
"You said I couldn't talk. ~ C.C. Hunter

Why is networking not working? My answer is simple. Many business owners don't have a system in place to leverage their networking. Their time, effort and money spirals down the drain because they lack follow up. Instead of returning to your office, checking the email, and losing that business card in a graveyard box of business cards, continue connecting with your new acquaintance. One basic tip: Connect on social media within two days of meeting them. Personalize your message to them reminding them where you met. When you add this step, watch as your network expands exponentially. ~ Lisa A. Mininni

Junko: That sort of thing happens all the time. You get drunk on your own "correctness," and the more stubborn you get, the further happiness flies away from you. It's a bitter pill to swallow.

Madoka: I wonder if there's any way I can help...

Junko: Even good advice from others won't bring any clear solutions to someone in that frame of mind. ...Even so, you want to find a solution? Then go ahead and screw up. If she's being too correct, then somebody should make mistakes for her.

Madoka: I should screw up...?

Junko: Yep! Tell a really bad lie. Run away in the face of something scary. She may not understand what you're trying to do at first, but there are times when you realize in hindsight that a mistake was the right thing to do... During those times when you're just stuck for an answer, making a mistake is one method of unsticking yourself. Madoka, you've grown up to be a good kid. You don't tell lies, and you don't do bad things. You're a girl who works hard at what she thinks is right. You get an "A" as a child. So before you become an adult, you have to start practicing falling down. You see, we adults have our pride and responsibilities, so it becomes harder and harder to make mistakes. ~ Magica Quartet

Well, sir, do you mean to remain there, commending my father's taste in wine, or do you mean to accompany me to Ashtead?"
"Set off for Ashtead at this hour, when I have been traveling for two days?" said Sir Horace. "Now, do, my boy, have a little common sense! Why should I?"
"I imagine that your parental feeling, sir, must provide you with the answer! If it does not, so be it! I am leaving immediately!"
"What do you mean to do when you reach Lacy Manor?" asked Sir Horace, regarding him in some amusement.
"Wring Sophy's neck!" said Mr. Rivenhall savagely.
"Well, you don't need my help for that, my dear boy!" said Sir Horace, settling himself more comfortably in his chair. ~ Georgette Heyer

Why are you here, Wesley?"
"I told you," he said. "I got worried. You've been avoiding me for the past week at school, and when I called you today, you didn't answer. I thought something might have happened with your dad. So I came to make sure you were okay."
I bit my lower lip, a wave of guilt washing over me. "That's sweet," I murmured. "But I'm fine. Dad apologized for the other night, and he's going to AA meetings now, so…"
"So you weren't going to tell me?"
"Why would I?"
"Because I care!" Wesley yelled. His words crashed into me, stunning me for a second. "I've been worried about you since you left my house a week ago! You didn't even say why you left, Bianca. What was I supposed to do? Just assume you would be all right?"
"God," I whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't-"
"I'm worrying about you, and you're fucking that pretentious little-!"
"Hey!" I shouted. "Don't bring Toby into this. ~ Kody Keplinger

Well,that all worked out nicely," Edward said from my hand.
"Yup." I sat down and propped the postcard upright against my books. "Thanks."
"Whatever for?"
"Being real,I guess. I'm pretty sure this paper about your life will get me into NYU.Which,when you think about it, is a pretty great gift from a guy I've never met who's been dead for a hundred years."
Edward smiled. It was nice to see. "My pleasure,darling girl. I must say, I like this spark of confidence in you."
"About time,huh?"
"Yes,well.Have you forgiven the Bainbridge boy?"
"For...?"
"For hiding you."
"He wasn't.I was hiding me." I gave Edward a look before he could gloat. "Yeah,yeah. You've always been very wise. But this isn't really about my forgiving Alex,is it?"
He had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "I suppose not. So?"
"So.I think you were a good guy, Edward. I think you probably would have told everyone exactly how you felt about Marina of you could have.If she hadn't been married, maybe, or if you'd lived longer. I think maybe all the pictures of you did of her were your public delcaration. Whaddya think? Can I write that? Is it the truth?"
"Oh,Ella." His face was sad again, just the way he'd cast it in bronze. But it was kinda bittersweet now, not as heartbroken. "I would give my right arm to be able to answer that for you.You know I would."
"You don't have a right arm,Mr. Willing. Left,either." I picked up the card again. "Fuhgeddabo ~ Melissa Jensen

Now, about Markham V. Reynolds (Junior). Your questions regarding that gentleman are very delicate, very subtle, very much like being smacked in the head with a mallet. Am I in love with him? What kind of a question is that? It's a tuba among the flutes, and I expect better of you. The first rule of snooping is to come at it sideways - when you began writing me dizzy letters about Alexander, I didn't ask if you were in love with him, I asked what his favorite animal was. And your answer told me everything I needed to know about him - how many men would admit that they loved ducks? (This brings up an important point: I don't know what Mark's favorite animal is. I doubt it's a duck.) ~ Mary Ann Shaffer

I decided to write a myth."
"Have you figured out a topic? A moral conundrum?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
I heard Jack's chair creak.
"It's about how there's no such thing as redemption," I whispered. "How you deserve what you get,and no higher power can save you."
Mrs. Stone didn't answer immediately. The only sound in the room came from my own breathing. "What about heroes?"
I hunched over and scribbled a few lines on my notebook. "There are no heroes." Sure,it wasn't an optimistic paper,but it was the only thing I could write passionately about.
She was quiet for a moment again. When she spoke,her voice was gentle. "Okay. I'm excited to see what you put together."
I nodded.
"And,Mr. Caputo? Everything going well with the personal essay?"
I could only assume he nodded, because Mrs. Stone returned to the front of the classroom. My right hand started to tremble,and I clenched my pencil and began scribbling.
"You don't really believe that, do you?" Jack's voice was soft.
I lifted my head, allowing my eyes to meet his for the first time in weeks. "It doesn't matter what I believe." I looked down at my notebook.
"Wait," he said.
I turned back. "What?"
He shrugged,then spoke in a low murmur. "Just stop hiding behind your hair for a minute."
I closed my eyes,but I didn't turn away. "You're making things difficult, Jack Caputo," I whispered.
"At least you remember my name."
I remembered everyth ~ Brodi Ashton

I once wrote you a letter and you never replied, which makes me wonder if you ever received it. This time it's a more personal delivery - and I need a reply, even if it's not the one I want.

I'm listening to you - I can hear every word, however softly you speak - and I'm half-agony, half-hope. You're saying that men are realists - that, when the woman they love is no longer available, they move on. Well, believe me, I tried - and I thought I had. But seeing you again, after so many years, just proved how little I knew...

You told me to trust myself. So here I am back in Bath, putting everything on the line for a second chance with you. Is that what you want, too? Whatever your answer, remember this: I may not deserve you - when I think of how I've behaved, I know I've shown little self-control and even less forgiveness - but I've never stopped loving you.

You're talking about heartless men... But I have a heart, and it's the same one you almost broke ten years ago, and it belongs to you, and only you, even more than it did then. And yes, I'm a realist: if you no longer love me, I will accept it. But don't say that only a woman can keep on loving someone who's no longer part of her life! Because I will keep on loving you until there are no stars in the sky.

Tell me tonight how you feel. If there's any chance of you loving me back, then I'll wait for you as I should have waited before. If not, say the word and I'll leave you in peace. ~ Juliet Archer

What am I supposed to do with this memory now? I know that the wise answer is that I should let it be, but there's so much shame in having a bright, hopeful start and a heavy, lead-footed, choked-up end. I want to put this moment forth like a picture that you slide across the table and you say, "This was this. I was here." When your life breaks apart it's hard to know if you are allowed to keep little pieces that are still nice-looking, or if you have to crush them up in order to move on. Do I have to ruin everything that survived the blast in order to accept that the blast occurred? That seems like a bit too much. Do we have to live with shards, carry them around, have new little cuts all the time? Or can these moments be rounded and just left floating in the attic of a nice old beach house, the one I don't live in yet, the one where I will live when I am old, the oldest person on the planet, the softest crone. When I asked my father this question, "What am I supposed to do with this moment now?" he told me to be unashamed while mentioning it, and to consider the idea that some people stay with you in a group, while others drift away. But the reliving of that moment causes me sharp pain, and I don't know if I'm allowed to talk about it and my guess is that I'm not, because of the damage I will do or reveal within myself. ~ Jenny Slate

God knows what you're ready for. He knows what your arms are able to carry. He knows what your heart can contain. He knows what's coming, and He knows how and when to prepare you for it. He knows the right time, the right place, the right person, the right answer. He knows, so you don't have to. ~ Mandy Hale

Intellectual freedom begins when one says with Socrates that he knows that he knows nothing, and then goes on to add: Do you know what you don't know and therefore what you should know? If your answer is affirmative and humble, then you are your own teacher, you are making your own assignment, and you will be your own best critic. You will not need externally imposed courses, nor marks, nor diplomas, nor a nod from your boss ... in business or in politics. (from the essay The Last Don Rag) ~ Scott M. Buchanan

You will never get a satisfactory answer, no matter how much effort or reason you expend, to these types of questions. You probably can't even hope to acquire even mildly strong evidence either way. You will never know, beyond doubt, in advance, what is going to happen to you when you die. Never! And really why should you care? Why do you give a rat's ass? You're five years old. Don't worry about what happens when you die, worry about what happens when you live for crying out loud! Christ, if I was your age, I'd be out living it up, hitting on chicks, getting drunk, c'mon. You with me kid? ~ Sergio De La Pava

Imagine my surprise, my ditress, when one of our regular patrons raced screaming into camera range,her Templeton Spa robe flapping open, her eyes wild as she sputtered accusations about being attacked-bodily attacked-by Laura Templeton Ridgeway and her cohorts."
"Oh,Josh,I'm so sorry." Laura turned her head away, hoping he'd take it for shame.It would never,never do to laugh. He showed his teeth. "One snicker,Laura. Just one."
"I'm not snickering." Composed,she turned back."I'm terribly sorry.It must have been very embarrassing for you."
"And don't it just be a laugh riot when they run that little scene?Of course, they'll beep out most of the dialogue to conform to Standards and Practices, but I think the viewing audience, the millions of people who tune into Informed each week will get the gist."
"She started it," Kate said,then winced when he turned flinty eyes on her. "Well,she did."
"I'm sure Mom and Dad will understand that completely." Even the stalwart Kate could be cowed."It was Margo's idea."
Margo hissed through her teeth. "Traitor.She called Kate a lesbian."
Shaking his head,Josh covered his face with his hands and rubbed hard."Oh, well,then, get the rope."
"I suppose you'd have let her get away with it.She's been trying to damage the shop.She said nasty things to Laura," Margo went on,heating up. "And just the other day she came into the shop and called me a slut. A second-class slut."
"And your answer was to gang up on ~ Nora Roberts

Your next step is to identify why you want to live like that. Look back over your notes about the kind of lifestyle you want, and think again. Why do you want to do aromatherapy before bed? Why do you want to listen to classical music while doing yoga? If the answers are "because I want to relax before bed," and "I want to do yoga to lose weight," ask yourself why you want to relax and why you want to lose weight. Maybe your answers will be "I don't want to be tired when I go to work the next day," and "I want to lose weight so that I can be more svelte." Ask yourself "Why?" again, for each answer. Repeat this process three to five times for every item. As you continue to explore the reasons behind your ideal lifestyle, you will come to a simple realization. The whole point in ~ Marie Kondo

The lizard brain is hungry, scared, angry, and horny.

The lizard brain only wants to eat and be safe.

The lizard brain will fight (to the death) if it has to, but would rather run away. It likes a vendetta and has no trouble getting angry.

The lizard brain cares what everyone else thinks, because status in the tribe is essential to its survival.

A squirrel runs around looking for nuts, hiding from foxes, listening for predators, and watching for other squirrels. The squirrel does this because that's all it can do. All the squirrel has is a lizard brain.

The only correct answer to 'Why did the chicken cross the road?' is 'Because it's lizard brain told it to.' Wild animals are wild because the only brain they posses is a lizard brain.

The lizard brain is not merely a concept. It's real, and it's living on the top of your spine, fighting for your survival. But, of course, survival and success are not the same thing.

The lizard brain is the reason you're afraid, the reason you don't do all the art you can, the reason you don't ship when you can. The lizard brain is the source of the resistance. ~ Seth Godin

Why are you doing this? I don't want you. Is that the problem? Is your ego so big you can't handle a woman rejecting you?"
"Oh, you want me alright, my sexy little witch. Want me so bad it scares you. Well, I've got news for you. It scares the fuck out of me, too. But I don't care. When the options are settling down with you for life and popping out little demonlings or watching you walk away, I know what I choose."
For a moment, she couldn't answer, could only gape at him as his words penetrated. Surely, she misunderstood. "What did you say?"
"I want you as my mate."
No misunderstanding that time.
She tamped down her elation by slapping it with the cold, hard truth. "You'll hurt me."
"Trust me."
He asked too much.
"I'm not the right woman."
"You're all I want."
She shook her head lest his words weave a spell around her and make her believe. Yet despite all the warnings in her head, hope blossomed and love warmed her. How nice it would be to allow herself to love him. To trust him.
Sadness entered his expression at her rejection. "I know it's hard for you, little witch, but I promise you've nothing to fear. Unless the thought of too many orgasms in a row freaks you out."
And that quickly, he changed from pensive male to the one she'd grown to love with the mischievous smile. He lunged. She squealed like a little girl and ran. Not far though.
With his ridiculously long stride, he quickly caught her a ~ Eve Langlais

To be fair, if we had married then, who knows what would have become of us? I doubt I would have liked your running about the country as a spy, leaving me alone for weeks at a time. And I daresay you would have had trouble concentrating on your work for worrying about me."
His grateful smile showed that he appreciated her attempt to mitigate his betrayal.
"Of course, later you could have…well…come after me. Once you established your business. While I was still un-betrothed. Why didn't you?"
"I don't suppose you would accept rampant idiocy as a reason?"
"I would…if I really thought it were the reason." When he stiffened, she added archly, "You aren't generally an idiot. Daft and a tad overbearing, yes, but not an idiot."
A sigh escaped him. He leaned past her to pull the curtain open just enough so he could keep an eye on the street.
When it looked as if he might not answer, she added, "Tristan thinks you didn't come after me because you were afraid that I couldn't love you."
He cast her a startled glance. "You told Tristan the truth about us?"
She winced. "And Lisette and Max. Sorry. Tristan sort of…forced it out of me."
"Well, that explains why Max and Lisette were willing to bring you here in the midst of such a crucial investigation. They've been pressing me for a long time to give you another chance. Because they thought you betrayed me."
Grabbing her hands, he gazed down at them with a haunted look. "And I suppose there's ~ Sabrina Jeffries

I wish I could answer your question. All I can say is that all of us, humans, witches, bears, are engaged in a war already, although not all of us know it. Whether you find danger on Svalbard or whether you fly off unharmed, you are a recruit, under arms, a soldier."
"Well, that seems kinda precipitate. Seems to me a man should have a choice whether to take up arms or not."
"We have no more choice in that than in whether or not to be born."
"Oh, I like choice, though," he said. "I like choosing the jobs I take and the places I go and the food I eat and the companions I sit and yarn with. Don't you wish for a choice once in a while ?"
She considered, and then said, "Perhaps we don't mean the same thing by choice, Mr. Scoresby. Witches own nothing, so we're not interested in preserving value or making profits, and as for the choice between one thing and another, when you live for many hundreds of years, you know that every opportunity will come again. We have different needs. You have to repair your balloon and keep it in good condition, and that takes time and trouble, I see that; but for us to fly, all we have to do is tear off a branch of cloud-pine; any will do, and there are plenty more. We don't feel cold, so we need no warm clothes. We have no means of exchange apart from mutual aid. If a witch needs something, another witch will give it to her. If there is a war to be fought, we don't consider cost one of the factors in deciding whether or not it ~ Philip Pullman

Your answer is the logical, coherent answer an absolutely normal person would give: It's a tie! A lunatic, however, would say that what I have around my neck is a ridiculous, useless bit of colored cloth tied in a very complicated way, which makes it harder to get air into your lungs and difficult to turn your neck. I have to be careful when I'm anywhere near a fan, or I could be strangled by this bit of cloth.
If a lunatic were to ask me what this tie is for, I would have to say, absolutely nothing. It's not even purely decorative, since nowadays it's become a symbol of slavery, power, aloofness. The only really useful function a tie serves is the sense of relief when you get home and take it off; you feel as if you've freed yourself from something, though quite what you don't know. ~ Paulo Coelho

I can't get two words out of her, and here you are, turning down what she's offering for free," he lamented flatly. "What did you do, anyway? Save her cat?"

"No. That was Jess," Duane mumbled.

That made me laugh. "Jess was eight, Duane. Eight. All I did was climb a tree and get her cat." And she's yours now in any case.

"That's right!" Hank snapped his fingers then pointed at Duane. "I forgot about that. Didn't Jess have a thing for Beau before you two hooked up?"

"We didn't hookup, Hank," Duane bit back.

Hank lifted a hand, palm out, as though he surrendered. "Fine. Before you twopledged your troth. Is that better?"

Duane grumbled something I didn't catch, then shrugged. "Yeah. So what? The past is in the past." My brother glowered at me as he said this.

"Oh good Lord, Duane. What was I supposed to do? Not get the damn cat? You didn't even like her then. You used to call her freckles, remember that?"

"I still call her freckles."

"No you don't, you call her princess," I said, not about to lose an opportunity to correct my brother about his recent domestication, mostly because I was envious of it.

Hank pointed at me with his beer. "So, let me get this straight. You saved Jess's cat when she was eight, and she had a thing for you after that?" Before I could decide how to answer, he turned to Duane. "And you're okay with that?"

"Hank, let me tell you something ~ Penny Reid

But I'll take you, Don Clown stuffed with garlic," said Don Quixote, "and tie you to a tree as naked as when your mother brought you forth, and give you, not to say three thousand three hundred, but six thousand six hundred lashes, and so well laid on that they won't be got rid of if you try three thousand three hundred times; don't answer me a word or I'll tear your soul out. ~ Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra

When things are serious and either Amy Eleni or I need to beat our personal hysteric, the informal code is to seize your head and twist coils of your hair around your fingers and groan, "I'm not mad! I'm not mad! I don't want to die!" And if you have a friend who knows, then the friend grabs her head too and replies, "There's someone inside of me, and she says I must die!" That way it is stupid, and funny, and serious.

Our hysteric is the revelation that we refuse to be consoled for all this noise, for all this noise and for the attacks on our softnesses, the loss of sensitivity to my scalp with every batch of box braids. Sometimes we cannot see or hear or breathe because of our fright that this is all our bodies will know. We're scared by the happy, hollow disciple that lines our brains and stomachs if we manage to stop after one biscuit. We need some kind of answer. We need to know what that biscuit-tin discipline is, where it comes from. We need to know whether it's a sign that our bones are turning against the rest of us, whether anyone will help us if our bones win out, or whether the people who should help us will say "You look wonderful!" instead. ~ Helen Oyeyemi

Of course, to avoid getting stuck in that convo with someone you dislike or feel uncomfortable around, don't be passive, be proactive. Do not let them direct your interaction on their terms, do it on yours. Ask a Misdirection Question
something too difficult to answer quickly
e.g., 'What's Congress up to?' or 'You ever learn any cool science?' When you ask the question, don't make eye contact, keep moving and get out of there. Do not wait for a response and deny ever asking it. Repeat these actions until you are never again spoken to by that individual (about four times). ~ Eugene Mirman

Imagine, Bishop, that you have a beloved cat, but that your cat is not with you. If you close your eyes and further imagine you are petting your cat, the same neurons in your brains are activated as if you were petting the actual cat. Our minds may know the difference between its models and reality itself, but it prefers its models. So much so that we apprehend reality through our models, rather than directly via the sense. When I'm speaking to you, I have a little bishop in my head, and though I speak out load, I'm speaking to my little bishop. When you answer, I can only perceive you through my model of you.
Mentars also make models, but they don't apprehend reality through them. They end up, not with little people in their minds, but with highly complex rule sets. They relate to their models in the same way we relate to weather models, as things to consult, but not to conflate with external reality. ~ David Marusek

So, my unsolicited advice to women in the workplace is this. When faced with sexism, or ageism, or lookism, or even really aggressive Buddhism, ask yourself the following question: "Is this person in between me and what I want to do?" If the answer is no, ignore it and move on. Your energy is better used doing your work and outpacing people that way. Then, when you're in charge, don't hire the people who were jerky to you. ~ Tina Fey

What do you think of when you think of mourning?' Jenny asks.
The question snaps me back to attention. I answer without really thinking. "I guess 'Funeral Blues' by W.H. Auden. I think it was Auden. I suppose that's not very original.'
'I don't know it.'
'It's a poem.'
'I gathered.'
'I'm just clarifying. It's not a blues album.'
Jenny ignores my swipe at her intelligence.
'Does your response need to be original? Isn't that what poetry is for, for the poet to express something so personal that it ultimately is universal?'
I shrug. Who is Jenny, even new Jenny, to say what poetry is for? Who am I for that matter?
'Why do you thin of that poem in particular?'
"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, / Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, / Silence the pianos and with muffled drum / Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.'
I learned the poem in college and it stuck. ~ Steven Rowley

Do you ever feel that same need? Your life is so very different from my own. The grandness of the world, the real world, the whole world, is a known thing for you. And you have no need of dispatches because you have seen so much of the American galaxy and its inhabitants - their homes, their hobbies - up close. I don't know what it means to grow up with a black president, social networks, omnipresent media, and black women everywhere in their natural hair. What I know is that when they loosed the killer of Michael Brown, you said, "I've got to go." And that cut me because, for all our differing worlds, at your age my feeling was exactly the same. And I recall that even then I had not yet begun to imagine the perils that tangle us. You still believe the injustice was Michael Brown. You have not yet grappled with your own myths and narratives and discovered the plunder everywhere around us.

Before I could discover, before I could escape, I had to survive, and this could only mean a clash with the streets, by which I mean not just physical blocks, nor simply the people packed into them, but the array of lethal puzzles and strange perils that seem to rise up from the asphalt itself. The streets transform every ordinary day into a series of trick questions, and every incorrect answer risks a beat-down, a shooting, or a pregnancy. No one survives unscathed. And yet the heat that springs from the constant danger, from a lifestyle of near-death experience, is thrilling. T ~ Ta-Nehisi Coates

You have no idea when or how God will answer your prayers, but don't stop praying. ~ Nancy Leigh DeMoss

sometimes you have only one momento to get it right and the thing is, you don't always know the momento when it arrives. There's no ticking clock or game show host waiting for your answer; there's no audience watching, hedging bets on what you'll do; in real life the momento suddenly presents itself and either you make the right choice or you blow it. ~ Lynne Branard

While it has been clear that right and wrong is nonexistent, I can't say that the concept of 'right or wrong' isn't needed. Because of ignorance, we still need authorities to set up rules and say 'vandalism is wrong, killing is wrong, et cetera.'

People ask, "So, vandalism isn't wrong? Killing isn't wrong?" I answer, "Uneducated people say that vandalism is wrong. More educated people say that vandalism destroys the things that many people have spent their lives making. Uneducated people say that killing is wrong. More educated people say that killing takes away the only thing that matters which is lives." The more educated people are, the freer they will be, and the words 'right or wrong' won't be needed anymore.

There was a bomb again in Brussels yesterday. I laughed. In the past, we had tyrannies because people didn't know what they could do and what they couldn't do. Now, we have democracy. Do we deserve democracy? Do we deserve freedom? No, we don't deserve freedom. We certainly don't deserve democracy. People are still voting for Donald Trump. And people still bomb other people. And socioeconomic gap is still high. Ignorance is still prevalent, so, if you ask me, "Do we deserve democracy? Do we deserve freedom? Do we deserve the world without authority, the world of truth, the world of peace?" I answer, "No, we don't."

So, when you hear your president shouting 'Peace!', your government speaking 'Freedom!', ask them 'Are you educated?'
Andreas Laurencius

Lord, are these your real terms? Can I meet H. again only if I learn to love you some much that I don't care whether I meet her or not? Consider, Lord, how it looks to us. What would anyone think of me if I said to the boys, 'No toffee now. But when you've grown up and don't really want toffee you shall have as much of it as you choose'?

If I knew that to be eternally divided from H. and eternally forgotten by her would add a greater joy and splendour to her being, of course I'd say 'Fire ahead.' Just as if, on earth, I could have cured her cancer by never seeing her again, I'd have arranged never to see her again. I'd have had to. Any decent person would. But that's quite different. That's not the situation I'm in.

When I lay these questions before God I get no answer. But a rather special sort of 'No answer.' It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, 'Peace, child; you don't understand.'

Can a mortal ask questions which God finds unanswerable? Quite easily, I should think. ~ C.S. Lewis

You certainly don't "need" to evangelize. You can rest assured that God is perfectly capable of bringing people to himself in His own good time and in His own good way. That said, though, it's very likely you will be galvanized by your own joy in the Lord to share that joy with others. It's only natural to want to share something wonderful you've found with everyone around you – and especially with those in your life for whom you have affection or care about. And if that life-enhancing, life-saving something you've found is absolutely free to anyone who will but ask for it, well.. Well then it's a wonder, isn't it, that every bible sold doesn't come with a bullhorn. The question of exactly when and how it's best for you to personally share your faith with others is one that the Holy Spirit stands ever ready to help you answer. Primarily, it's a matter of simply paying attention to the signals you get from non-christians about the degree to which they're ready to have a conversation in which it would be natural to talk about the value and nature of personal beliefs. Forcing that conversation is unlikely to prove productive to you or to the other person. You don't want to alienate someone by too zealously pushing Christ on them before they're optn to that sort of interaction with you.

The best rule of thumb when wondering how and when you should go about evangelizing is to just be yourself and relax about it. When it's time to talk to someone about Jesus, Jesus by H ~ Stephen Arterburn

About once or twice every month I engage in public debates with those whose pressing need it is to woo and to win the approval of supernatural beings. Very often, when I give my view that there is no supernatural dimension, and certainly not one that is only or especially available to the faithful, and that the natural world is wonderful enough - and even miraculous enough if you insist - I attract pitying looks and anxious questions. How, in that case, I am asked, do I find meaning and purpose in life? How does a mere and gross materialist, with no expectation of a life to come, decide what, if anything, is worth caring about?

Depending on my mood, I sometimes but not always refrain from pointing out what a breathtakingly insulting and patronizing question this is. (It is on a par with the equally subtle inquiry: Since you don't believe in our god, what stops you from stealing and lying and raping and killing to your heart's content?) Just as the answer to the latter question is: self-respect and the desire for the respect of others - while in the meantime it is precisely those who think they have divine permission who are truly capable of any atrocity - so the answer to the first question falls into two parts. A life that partakes even a little of friendship, love, irony, humor, parenthood, literature, and music, and the chance to take part in battles for the liberation of others cannot be called 'meaningless' except if the person living it is also an existential ~ Christopher Hitchens

It's normally agreed that the question "How are you?" doesn't put you on your oath to give a full or honest answer. So when asked these days, I tend to say something cryptic like, "A bit early to say." (If it's the wonderful staff at my oncology clinic who inquire, I sometimes go so far as to respond, "I seem to have cancer today.") Nobody wants to be told about the countless minor horrors and humiliations that become facts of "life" when your body turns from being a friend to being a foe: the boring switch from chronic constipation to its sudden dramatic opposite; the equally nasty double cross of feeling acute hunger while fearing even the scent of food; the absolute misery of gut–wringing nausea on an utterly empty stomach; or the pathetic discovery that hair loss extends to the disappearance of the follicles in your nostrils, and thus to the childish and irritating phenomenon of a permanently runny nose. Sorry, but you did ask... It's no fun to appreciate to the full the truth of the materialist proposition that I don't have a body, I am a body. But it's not really possible to adopt a stance of "Don't ask, don't tell," either. Like its original, this is a prescription for hypocrisy and double standards. Friends and relatives, obviously, don't really have the option of not making kind inquiries. One way of trying to put them at their ease is to be as candid as possible and not to adopt any sort of euphemism or denial. The swiftest way of doing this is to note that the thin ~ Christopher Hitchens

Don't worry about whether God is saying 'Yes' or 'No' to your (prayer) request. Don't be downcast when the answer is not in sight. Quick thinking of faith formulas and methods. Just commit every prayer to Jesus and go about your business with confidence that He will not be one moment early or late in answering. And, if the answer you seek is not forthcoming, say to your heart, 'He is all I need. If I need more, He will not withhold it. He will do it in His time, in His way; and, if He does not fulfill my request, He must have a perfect reason for not doing so. No mater what happens, I will always have faith in His faithfulness.' pg. 152. ~ David Wilkerson

Oh, blast, this is all so confusing!" she complained. "How is a woman supposed to figure out what a man really wants?"
"If you learn the answer to that question, do be a dear and tell the rest of us," Minerva quipped. "Though as far as I can tell, men are simple creatures, for all their posturing. They want food, drink, and a wench to bed, not necessarily in that order."
"And love?" Celia asked.
Minerva smiled. "That, too. Some men do, anyway. You'll just have to spend some time with Mr. Pinter and find out if that's what he wants from you."
"And how on earth am I supposed to spend time with him when he's been avoiding me ever since the last time we kissed?"
"Perhaps he's worried about the difference in your stations."
"That didn't keep him from kissing me." She scowled. "Besides, you've heard what he says about our sort. If anything, he thinks himself above us, not below us. He didn't even ask me to dance tonight! He could have. No one would have thought anything of that. Instead, he spent the entire ball standing about, looking disappointed, and talking to servants."
"Perhaps because you spent the entire ball in the company of your suitors."
Celia released an exasperated breath. "What else was I supposed to do? I'm not allowed to ask a man to dance. And at least I know what my suitors want. Lord Devonmont wants to seduce me, the viscount wants peace in his old age, and the duke wants to marry me. I don't have any idea what Jackson wan ~ Sabrina Jeffries

When your mind wants to bolt, but your heart hangs on, it is because you don't know with absolute certainty what the truth is. When you waste so much time on something that you want to believe is true, you begin to overthink things. Eventually, something obvious becomes twisted into something absurd, which keeps us from believing a simpler answer. Over time, you believe your own lies and fantasies to shield yourself from hurt, when following what is logical would have been the quickest way to healing. It is through your own self-imposed delusions that you lose your perspective. The world then becomes different to you when in fact you are different. Why? Because your own ego gets in the way. Everyone wants to feel special. Everyone wants to have faith in others. Everyone wants to believe in fairytales, happy endings and have all bad interactions with others explained. It is easier to sit in denial with your delusions and pray God will intervene, not realizing he has. He gave you commonsense and intuition, but you didn't like how it made you feel. This is what true mental illness really is: Following your gut instinct through hell because you want to prove you are right, either to yourself or others. You sacrifice choosing to do right, in order to avoid pain. However, you don't realize that you have been in pain for a really long time and believed this was how happiness felt. ~ Shannon L. Alder

What is the "it" in "write it down"?
When you don't have an answer to that question, when you don't know what your goals are,
you can use your writing to point you in the right direction. If you don't know what you want,
start writing. Writing makes its own meaning ~ Henriette Anne Klauser

Maybe the answer is: Don't be an asshole, think before you open your trap, take responsibility for your words. Meaning, apologize when you're wrong and correct yourself moving forward - and don't constantly look for reasons to be offended and police well-meaning people's words. We want folks to talk to each other, right? Not just hang out with like-minded people all the time. Everyone is ignorant about something, and everyone is offended by something. If people can't have a calm, respectful dialogue without being hurt by ignorance, or without offending with insensitivity, then what the hell are we supposed to do? Surround ourselves with robots who don't challenge our ideas?" I ~ Penny Reid

Hey,Dad, remember earlier this week, when I got stabbed?"
"I have a hazy recollection, yes."
"Is it worth it? Being head of the Council? I mean, if people are always gunning for you, why not hand it over to someone else? You could go on vacation.Have a life.Date."
I waited for Dad to embrace his inner Mr. Darcy again and get all huffy, but if anything,he just looked rueful. "One,I made a solemn vow to use my powers to help the Council. Two, things are turbulent now, but that won't always be the case. And I have faith that you'll make a wonderful head of the Council someday,Sophie."
Yeah,except for that whole sleeping with enemy part,I thought.Wait, not that I would actually be sleeping with...I mean,it's a metaphor. There would only be metaphorical sleeping.
My face must have reflected some of the weirdness happening in my brain, because Dad narrowed his eyes at me before continuing, "As for dating, theres no point."
"Why?"
"Because I'm still in love with your mother."
Whoa.Okay, not exactly the answer I was expecting.
Before I could even process that, Dad rushed on, saying, "Please don't let that get your hopes up. There is no way your mother and I could or will ever reunite."
I held up my hand. "Dad,relax. I'm not twelve, and this isn't The Parent Trap. ~ Rachel Hawkins