My father died when I was 6. You knew that, right? Yeah. He had Huntington's Disease. It's-- destroys portions of the brain, affects muscle control, leads to dementia. It's just a nasty disease. It's genetic. It terrified my mother that I might have it, so they ran tests on me when I was a kid, but I came up clean. My father fell very ill when I was 4 or 5. He spent a lot of time in the hospital. My-- My mother would tell me so many stories about my father. She would talk about him all the time. I knew about his personality, how he treated people. I even knew how he liked his steaks cooked-- medium rare. Just like you. I knew things about my father. I had a lot of information. It's because people would tell me these things. They would paint this picture of my father for me, and I always pretended that was who I saw, too, who I remembered, but it was a lie. In truth, I only have one real, actual memory of my father. It must've been right before he died. My mother would take me to the hospital to visit him, and I remember the smell in there, the chemicals. It was as if they use up every single cleaning product they could find in a 50-mile radius... like they didn't want you smelling the sick people. Oh, there was this stench of Lysol and bleach. You could just feel it coating your lungs. Anyway, there, lying on the bed, is my father. He's all-- He's all twisted up. And my mom, she puts me on her lap. She's sitting on the bed next to him so I can get a good look at him... but really he just scares me... and he's looking right at me... but I can't even be sure that he knows who I am. And your grandmother is talking, trying to be cheerful, you know, as she does, but the only thing I could remember is him breathing. Oh, th-- this-- this rattling sound, like if you were shaking an empty spray-paint can. Like there was nothing in him. Anyway... that is the only real memory that I have of my father. I don't want you to think of me the way I was last night. I don't want that to be the memory you have of me when I'm gone.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Harry lay flat on his back, breathing hard as though he had been running. He had awoken from a vivid dream with his hands pressed over his face. The old scar on his forehead, which was shaped like a bolt of lightning, was burning beneath his fingers as though someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to his skin. He sat up, one hand still on his scar, the other reaching out in the darkness for his glasses, which were on the bedside table. He put them on and his bedroom came into clearer focus, lit by a faint, misty orange light that was filtering through the curtains from the street lamp outside the window.

The incommodities of such a war. Whatever is the case in a time of war, where every man is an enemy to every man, the same is true when men live without any other security besides what can be gained by their own strength and invention. In such a condition there is no industry, because its fruit would be uncertain. There is no culture of the earth, no navigation, nor use of the commodities that may be imported by sea. There is no commodious building, no instruments of moving and removing those things that require much force. There is no knowledge of the face of the earth, no account of time, no arts, no letters and no society. Worst of all there is continual fear and danger of violent death, and the life of man is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate - we can not consecrate - we can not hallow - this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.

If instead you are processing something that is textual in nature, such as program output, HTML, email content, or CSV or XML files, you'll probably want to use str and text-mode files.

It is difficult to exaggerate the mathematical richness of this idea. It has been convincingly argued by mathematical historians that the ensuing investigation into the validity of Fourier's conjecture was the fundamental catalyst for the pursuit of rigor that characterizes 19th century mathematics. Power series had been in wide use in the 150 years leading up to Fourier's work, largely because they behaved so well under the operations of calculus. A function expressed as a power series is continuous, differentiable an infinite number of times, and can be integrated and differentiated as though it were a polynomial. In the presence of such agreeable behavior, there was no compelling reason for mathematicians to formulate a more precise understanding of "limit" or "convergence" because there were no arguments to resolve. Fourier's successful implementation of trigonometric series to the study of heat flow changed all of this. To understand what the fuss was really about, we need to look more closely at what Fourier was asserting, focusing individually on the terms "function," "express," and "trigonometric series."

Although it is a common practice in calculus courses to discuss continuity before differentiation, historically mathematicians' attention to the concept of continuity came long after the derivative was in wide use. Pierre de Fermat (1601-1665) was using tangent lines to solve optimization problems as early as 1629. On the other hand, it was not until around 1820 that Cauchy, Bolzano, Weierstrass, and others began to characterize continuity in terms more rigorous than prevailing intuitive notions such as "unbroken curves" or "functions which have no jumps or gaps." The basic reason for this two-hundred year waiting period lies in the fact that, for most of this time, the very notion of function did not really permit discontinuities. Functions were entities such as polynomials, sines, and cosines, always smooth and continuous over their relevant domains. The gradual liberation of the term function to its modern understanding-a rule associating a unique output with a given input-was simultaneous with 19th century investigations into the behavior of infinite series. Extensions of the power of calculus were intimately tied to the ability to represent a function f(x) as a limit of polynomials (called a power series) or as a limit of sums of sines and cosines (called a trigonometric or Fourier series). A typical question for Cauchy and his contemporaries was whether the continuity of the limiting polynomials or trigonometric functions necessarily implied that the limit f would also be continuous.

Clearly, at some time in the Long-Ago of human decay the Morlocks' food had run short. Possibly they had lived on rats and such-like vermin. Even now man is far less discriminating and exclusive in his food than he was - far less than any monkey. His prejudice against human flesh is no deep-seated instinct. And so these inhuman sons of men-! I tried to look at the thing in a scientific spirit. After all, they were less human and more remote than our cannibal ancestors of three or four thousand years ago. And the intelligence that would have made this state of things a torment had gone. Why should I trouble myself? These Eloi were mere fatted cattle, which the ant-like Morlocks preserved and preyed upon - probably saw to the breeding of.

The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing; the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only person left outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flower bed outside number four. He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his trainers were peeling away from the uppers. Harry Potter's appearance did not endear him to the neighbors, who were the sort of people who thought scruffiness ought to be punishable by law, but as he had hidden himself behind a large hydrangea bush this evening he was quite invisible to passersby.

It's an old text. The verses are familiar to me, but I don't remember by whom they were written. The language is very old and intricate. The first verse starts by drawing a comparison between the world and a tangled rug. It says that the world is an unfortunate mess. Like a knot, the nature of its existence is the fact that the parts are locking each other, none able to spring free. Then as it goes on the world becomes a furry animal hide, I suppose... because now us living beings are like insects crawling in the fur. And then it's a fishing net, because the more we struggle and squirm, the more entangled we become. It says that only the limp body of the jellyfish cannot be captured in the net. So we should try to be like the jellyfish, because the jellyfish doesn't try. This was an eternal dilemma to them - they were burdened by great ambition, yet deeply convinced that striving in itself was an unforgivable vice. They tried very hard to be effortless. Perhaps that's what we were to them, someone to delegate that unrestrained effort to. I know I have tried very hard.

He leaned over the table to me, with an enormous sorrow in his voice as he spoke. 'Thrice I have had my chance - thrice! If ever that door offers itself to me again, I swore, I will go in out of this dust and heat, out of this dry glitter of vanity, out of these toilsome futilities. I will go and never return. This time I will stay... I swore it and when the time came - I didn't go. 'Three times in one year have I passed that door and failed to enter. Three times in the last year.

Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting - torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks. There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air; and a gigantic black one, more lizard-like than the others, which was nearest to them.

Then I saw another beast that rose out of the earth; it had two horns like a lamb and it spoke like a dragon. It exercises all the authority of the first beast on its behalf, and it makes the earth and its inhabitants worship the first beast, whose mortal wound had been healed. It performs great signs, even making fire come down from heaven to earth in the sight of all; and by the signs that it is allowed to perform on behalf of the beast, it deceives the inhabitants of earth, telling them to make an image for the beast that had been wounded by the sword, and yet lived; and it was allowed to give breath to the image of the beast so that the image of the beast could even speak and cause those who would not worship the image of the beast to be killed. Also it causes all, both small and great, both rich and poor, both free and slave, to be marked on the right hand or the forehead, so that no one can buy or sell who does not have the mark, that is, the name of the beast or the number of its name. This calls for wisdom: let anyone with understanding calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a person. Its number is six hundred sixty-six.

The ascent to the highest story is by stairs, and at their side are water engines, by means of which persons, appointed expressly for the purpose, are continually employed in raising water from the Euphrates into the garden.

I have something to say. So shut the fuck up and listen. I spent thirteen years half-cut up to my eyeballs. Drunk, to put it mildly. Then suddenly I saw it, a streetlight shining in my face. 500 Gigawatts of the power of God. A vision of my bloated body found in some ditch. Scared me straight. So I got a collar shirt, mortgage and a credit card. All the things that make a good man. I hoped I could raise my children to be better than their old man. I wanted to believe I was never one setback away from my worst self. But the truth is. Discipline. Drive. Routine. The endless fucking desperation to get shit done. A loving wife? Great kids? Sobriety? I'm telling you. You. Accomplishments I'd been chasing all my life. Never felt as good as I expected when I crossed the finish line. ... So now that we're at the end. Takin' inventory. Those nights spinning out of my head, sinking into the sofa. Broken glass in my palms. Bleeding dry the funniest thing ever. Old dogs laughing and snarling on a waterbed floor, mocking the moon for daring to show its face. All nausea and wreckage and vomit and ugly cruelty. The only problem in the world an empty bottle. Those were the best days of my life. Yeah. ...Those were the best days of my life. I got nothing to hide. Ready to face the music. I can see myself for what I am. But you? A cowardly, selfish motherfucker and you can't even see it. ...I should've been able to protect the kid. If I could have done one thing right, I wish it had been to give him one small chance off this goddamned rock.

The moon will never lie to anyone. Be like the moon. No one hates the moon or wants to kill it. The moon does not take antidepressants and never gets sent to prison. The moon never shot a guy in the face and ran away. The moon has been around a long time and has never tried to rip anyone off. The moon does not care who you want to touch or what color you are. The moon treats everyone the same. The moon never tries to get in on the guest list or use your name to impress others. Be like the moon. When others insult or belittle in an attempt to elevate themselves, the moon sits passively and watches, never lowering itself to anything that weak. The moon is beautiful and bright. It needs no makeup to look beautiful. The moon never shoves clouds out of its way so it can be seen. The moon needs not fame or money to be powerful. The moon never asks you to go to war to defend it. Be like the moon.

The Harpers are a secret organisation whose main purpose is the preservation of all things good and right in the world. They outfox evil at every turn, with shrewd fighting or cunning political manoeuvre, and though they are not well organised (how could they be, with many members utterly ignorant of the identity of those they might claim as allies?), they are united in purpose and goal. One Harper agent deployed correctly in a conflict often achieves the same results as a loosed army.

Then no matter where you are, in a crowded restaurant or on some desolate street or even in the comforts of your own home, you'll watch yourself dismantle every assurance you ever lived by. You'll stand aside as a great complexity intrudes, tearing apart, piece by piece, all of your carefully conceived denials, whether deliberate or unconscious. And then for better or worse you'll turn, unable to resist, though try to resist you still will, fighting with everything you've got not to face the thing you most dread, what is now, what will be, what has always come before, the creature you truly are, the creature we all are, buried in the nameless black of a name. And then the nightmares will begin.

There comes a point when you just love someone. Not because they're good, or bad, or anything really. You just love them. It doesn't mean you'll be together forever. It doesn't mean you won't hurt each other. It just means you love them. Sometimes in spite of who they are, and sometimes because of who they are. And you know that they love you, sometimes because of who you are, and sometimes in spite of it.

One can't help thinking, Daddy, what a colourless life a man is forced to lead, when one reflects that chiffon and Venetian point and hand embroidery and Irish crochet are to him mere empty words. Whereas a woman- whether she is interested in babies or microbes or husbands or poetry or servants or parallelograms or gardens or Plato or bridge- is fundamentally and always interested in clothes.

I believe in America. America has my fortune. And I raised my daughter in the American freedom. I gave her the freedom, but I taught her never to dishonor her family. She found a boyfriend; not an Italian. She went to the movies with him; she stayed out late. I didn't protest. Two months ago, he took her for a drive, with another boyfriend. They made her drink whiskey. And they tried to take advantage of her. She resisted. She kept her honor. So they beat her, like an animal. When I went to the hospital, her nose was broken. Her jaw was shutted, held together by wire. She couldn't even weep because of the pain. But I wept. Why did I weep? She was the light of my life... beautiful girl. Now she will never be beautiful again.

To make power, people try to put pieces of this metal close enough together that they make heat fast, but not so close that they go out of control and blow up. This is very hard, but there is so much heat and power stored in this metal that some people have wanted to try anyway.

The identification of glacial dispersal landforms and sedimentary deposits formed by fast-flowing glaciers was important to the earliest recognition of paleo-ice streams of the Laurentide Ice Sheet in the 1970s and 1980s. The spectacular continental-scale Dubawnt dispersal train in northern Canada was one of the first to be identified as the product of a high glacial flow rate. Subsequently, dispersal plumes of Paleozoic carbonate rocks imprinted on Precambrian Canadian Shield terrain in northern Canada were interpreted to be products of ice streams. The geomorphic imprint of ice streams over hard-bed, higher relief areas tends to be less obvious because of thinner till cover and an absence of diagnostic geomorphic features such as shear margin moraines. Despite the relatively thin till cover in some regions of the Canadian Shield, the extremely high concentrations of mineralized (exotic) debris within the till 10s of kilometres down-ice from their sources is quite remarkable. Typically, under normal ice-flow conditions in areas of hard-beds on the Canadian Shield, dispersal trains formed by erosive ice are diluted over relatively short distances (<5 km) down-ice. The long (10s of km) dispersal trains of till with distinct chemical and/or mineralogical compositions, coupled with obvious erosive/depositional corridors of streamlined landforms, provide a means of identifying hard-bedded ice streams elsewhere in northern Canada.

Our world requires that decisions be sourced and footnoted, and if we say how we feel, we must also be prepared to elaborate on why we feel that way. I think that approach is a mistake, and if we are to learn to improve the quality of the decisions we make, we need to accept the mysterious nature of our snap judgments. We need to respect the fact that it is possible to know without knowing why we know and accept that - sometimes - we're better off that way.

Part of his brain told him that he knew perfectly well what he was looking at and what the shapes represented whilst another quite sensibly refused to countenance the idea and abdicated responsibility for any further thinking in that direction.

My wife's mother is visiting, Father. And Tuesday night, she's cooking us a carp. It's a tasty fish, I've got nothing against it. But, because it's supposedly filled with impurities, she buys it live and for three days, it's been swimming... up and down... in my bathtub. Up and down... and I hate it. I can't stand the sight of it, moving its gills. Now, you're standing very close to me, Father; have you noticed? Yes. I haven't had a bath for three days. I can't go home until the carp is asleep because if I see it, swimming... I'll kill it.

Broadly speaking, inselbergs are elevated rock outcrops embedded in a lowland habitat matrix. Sometimes the matrix itself may occur at some elevation such as the campos de altitude in Brazil. They have a summit area and flanks that can be barren or vegetated. Typically, a lateral fringe or apron of vegetation is present that extends some distance from the rock into the landscape matrix. Navigating through the intricate and sometimes conflicting nomenclature used to describe different types of rocky outcrops can be challenging. Geomorphologists have coined several different names. Bornhardts or sugarloaves are isolated, steep-sided, dome-shaped outcrops commonly formed in granites and gneisses. They are the archetypical inselbergs and many authors tend to reserve the name inselberg for this specific type only. The South African term koppies or kopjes refers to large accumulations of boulders and rocks forming hills. Among these, castle or castellated koppies have vertical sides covered with large angular blocks, while nubbins are smaller conical hills composed of large blocks and boulders.

To him at least the Door in the Wall was a real door leading through a real wall to immortal realities. Of that I am now quite assured. And it came into his life early, when he was a little fellow between five and six. I remember how, as he sat making his confession to me with a slow gravity, he reasoned and reckoned the date of it. 'There was,' he said, 'a crimson Virginia creeper in it - all one bright uniform crimson in a clear amber sunshine against a white wall. That came into the impression somehow, though I don't clearly remember how, and there were horse-chestnut leaves upon the clean pavement outside the green door. They were blotched yellow and green, you know, not brown nor dirty, so that they must have been new fallen. I take it that means October. I look out for horse-chestnut leaves every year, and I ought to know. 'If I'm right in that, I was about five years and four months old.'

If you don't like the hand that fate's dealt you with, fight for a new one.

Life can get pretty crazy at times. It can be hectic, confusing, stressful, and that's on a good day. Life can be full of happiness and full of sadness. One moment you're on top of the world and nothing can go wrong. The next, it feels as if nothing will ever be right again. I guess it depends where you are right now on your ride through life whether you smile when you read this or fight back tears. No matter where you stand on the long path, right now, try very hard to smile, and be glad you're in the game.

I just want to tell you how I'm feeling. Gotta make you understand. Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you. Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.

Consultations with various specialists are essential for comprehensive care in the management of xanthogranulomatous pyelonephritis.

Don't let fear stop you from doing the thing you love.

I'm afraid I can't explain myself, sir. Because I am not myself, you see?

But that is not the extraordinary - or rather disturbing - part. On the drow's death, a parasitic creature emerged from the corpse and attempted to escape. I managed to capture it, and have the host's cadaver here in my study. I've told no one of my fears. Nettie suspects, but knows better than to ask.

I was leaning over the apron of my hansom smoking a cigarette, and no doubt thinking myself no end of a man of the world, and suddenly there was the door, the wall, the dear sense of unforgettable and still attainable things. We clattered by - I too taken by surprise to stop my cab until we were past a corner. Then I had a queer moment, a double and divergent movement of my will: I tapped the little door in the roof of the cab, and brought my arm down to pull out my watch. "Yes, sir!" said the cabman, smartly. "Er - well - it's nothing," I tried. "My mistake! We haven't much time! Go on!" and he went on....

There were those of us who fought against this. But in the end, we could not keep up with the expense involved in the arms race, the space race, and the peace race. And at the same time, our people grumbled for more nylons and washing machines. Our Doomsday scheme cost us just a small fraction of what we'd been spending on defense in a single year. But the deciding factor was when we learned that your country was working along similar lines, and we were afraid of a Doomsday gap.

Loneliness has followed me all my life. The life of loneliness pursues me wherever I go: in bars, cars, coffee shops, theaters, stores, sidewalks. There is no escape. I am God's lonely man.

I will investigate further before informing the others. Kagha will demand answers I don't yet have. I had better record any further findings in a separate volume and keep them upon my person, lest prying eyes jump to the wrong conclusions.

Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb In the shape of an "L" on her forehead Well, the years start coming and they don't stop coming Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running Didn't make sense not to live for fun Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb So much to do, so much to see So what's wrong with taking the back streets? You'll never know if you don't go (GO!) You'll never shine if you don't glow Hey, now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play Hey, now, you're a rock star, get the show on, get paid And all that glitters is gold Only shooting stars break the mold

Whoo! Oh yeah! Rolling around at the speed of sound. Got places to go, gotta follow my rainbow! Can't stick around, have to keep moving on. Guess what lies ahead, only one way to find out! Must keep on moving ahead. No time for guessing, follow my plan instead. Trusting in what you can't see. Take my lead; I'll set you free. Follow me, set me free. Trust me and we will escape from the city. I'll make it through. Follow me (follow me), set me free.

In wilds beyond they speak your name with reverence and regret, For none could tame our savage souls yet you the challenge met, Under palest watch, you taught, we changed, base instincts were redeemed, A world you gave to bug and beast as they had never dreamed. --The Elegy for Hallownest

Her blood-curdling snoring, with its gargling and squawking and its terrifying pauses is like the sound the devil might make if he were alternately relishing and strangling on a pound of human flesh.

Perhaps I'd been a slow developer, but I was well into my forties before I realized that you don't have to comply with a request just because it's reasonable or reasonably put. Age is the great dis-obliger. You can be yourself and say no.

Why would she? She probably be the odd cookie In the plastic bag 'bout to get crushed by a building I've flushed out the feeling of me being the shit 'Cause I was leaving skid marks on everywhere I sit

Ender thrust his gun between his legs. "I can see fine," he said, and proceeded to flash the boys directly under him.

June twenty-ninth. I gotta get in shape. Too much sitting has ruined my body. Too much abuse has gone on for too long. From now on there will be 50 pushups each morning, 50 pullups. There will be no more pills, no more bad food, no more destroyers of my body. From now on will be total organization. Every muscle must be tight.

There is little evidence regarding Stalin's feelings toward his father, who died young. To all appearances, however, he felt genuine affection for his mother. His letter to her in her later years contain lines such as the following: "Hello Mama dear! How are you getting on, how are you feeling? I haven't had any letters from you in a long time - you must be upset with me, but what can I do? I'm really very busy."

A LONG, LONG TIME AGO... There lived a Civilization of great power. They built a city, and within that city they built a palace. They held sacred the secrets of the Holy Cross, and understood the planar nature of reality. They ventured to the far shore and sought power from the spaces between.

Allheaven, the time has come for our final battle. You've been hiding from me for tens of thousands of years, and I've also been hiding away. It's time to sort things out once and for all.

Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive. Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?

As he leaned over to pick up the desk, he felt a hand jab roughly between his thighs and another hand grab his hair.

It has come to my attention that some have lately called me a collaborator, as if such a term were shameful. I ask you, what greater endeavor exists than that of collaboration? In our current unparalleled enterprise, refusal to collaborate is simply a refusal to grow--an insistence on suicide, if you will. Did the lungfish refuse to breathe air? It did not. It crept forth boldly while its brethren remained in the blackest ocean abyss, with lidless eyes forever staring at the dark, ignorant and doomed despite their eternal vigilance. Would we model ourselves on the trilobite? Are all the accomplishments of humanity fated to be nothing more than a layer of broken plastic shards thinly strewn across a fossil bed, sandwiched between the Burgess shale and an eon's worth of mud? In order to be true to our nature, and our destiny, we must aspire to greater things. We have outgrown our cradle. It is futile to cry for mother's milk, when our true sustenance awaits us among the stars. And only the universal union that small minds call 'The Combine' can carry us there. Therefore I say, yes, I am a collaborator. We must all collaborate, willingly, eagerly, if we expect to reap the benefits of unification. And reap we shall.

Every environment has its rules and customs, and your survival often depends on knowing them. In Russia, you never refuse vodka; in Pakistan, you always clear your dinner plate; and in prison, you're careful about making eye contact. Too little eye contact, and you become a victim. Too much eye contact, and you become a threat. Either way, you're never more than a couple of blinks away from getting a shiv in your back.

Aminoglycosides are relatively underutilized in treating pyelonephritis. A single aminoglycoside dose can improve outcomes and increase survival and should be considered in sicker or higher-risk patients.

We've known each other for many years but this is the first time you've ever come to me for counsel or for help. I can't remember the last time you invited me to your house for a cup of coffee, even though my wife is Godmother to your only child. But, let's be frank here. You never wanted my friendship and you were afraid to be in my debt.

It's an old conversation log. I seem to be in it, but I can't recall much. Let me read it to you: "1650.800 - PRIVATE Five Pebbles, Chasing Wind, Big Sis Moon, No Significant Harassment CW: this is in confidence, but apparently a pseudonym "Erratic Pulse" has appeared on a nearby Sliverist conversation with ideas about personal ascension. Someone here in our vicinity is trying to cross themselves out. FP: Where did you hear this? NSH: I wish them super good luck in that endeavor. How is it going to happen? Have the overseers gnaw through bedrock until their entire can crashes down in the void sea? BSM: Please be respectful when speaking of the Void Sea. Grey Wind, where did you hear this? CW: I really shouldn't say. He's going to attempt some sort of breeding program. Thought you might want to know. NSH: Haha with the slimers, lizards and etceteras? Surely the answer was in a lizard skull all along! CW: Well, he's not looking for the same thing as we anymore, he's changed his task, so who knows really. BSM: I will try to find him and talk to him. Please don't spread this around! NSH: Moon will go get them! Long live the inquisition!"

Toward the end of his distinguished career, the renowned British mathematician G.H. Hardy eloquently laid out a justification for a life of studying mathematics in A Mathematician's Apology, an essay first published in 1940. At the center of Hardy's defense is the thesis that mathematics is an aesthetic discipline. For Hardy, the applied mathematics of engineers and economists held little charm. "Real mathematics," as he referred to it, "must be justified as art if it can be justified at all."

Choose life, choose a job, choose a career, choose a family, choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance, choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home, choose your friends, choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future, choose life.

Yes, indeed. It is called Lothric, where the transitory lands of the Lords of Cinder converge. In venturing north, the pilgrims discover the truth of the old words: "The fire fades and the lords go without thrones." When the link of fire is threatened, the bell tolls, unearthing the old Lords of Cinder from their graves... Aldrich, Saint of the Deep... Farron's Undead Legion, the Abyss Watchers... And the reclusive lord of the Profaned Capital, Yhorm the Giant... Only, in truth... the Lords will abandon their thrones... And the Unkindled will rise. Nameless, accursed Undead, unfit even to be cinder. And so it is, that ash seeketh embers.

One town's very like another when your head's down over your pieces, brother.

I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up, which is a problem when you've already grown up.

I believe we've reached the end of our journey. All that remains is to collapse the innumerable possibilities before us. Are you ready to learn what comes next?

So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.

The past is now part of my future, the present is well out of hand.

By choosing the right words, you can take an idea that's happening in your head and try to make an idea like it happen in someone else's. That's what's happening right now.

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

What if I were to tell you that you could make this picture for nothing, win an Oscar, and gross a hundred million dollars? Is that something you might be interested in?

Although web clients can often parse information in the replies from websites (a technique colorfully known as "screen scraping"), we might go further and provide a more direct way to fetch records on the Web via a web services interface such as SOAP or XML-RPC calls--APIs supported by either Python itself or the third-party open source domain, which generally map data to and from XML format for transmission. To Python scripts, such APIs return data more directly than text embedded in the HTML of a reply page.

You can't use the fire exit because you're not made of fire.

There is an art to flying, or rather a knack. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.

The box is there for a reason. I like thinking inside of it; I feel safe in there.

I have a first place ribbon in doing nothing... it's the same ribbon as last place.

DON'T WRITE BACK THEY'LL PROBLY SIKOWANALIZE YOUR LETTER.

North Korean Leader Kim Jong Un just stated that the 'Nuclear Button is on his desk at all times.' Will someone from his depleted and food starved regime please inform him that I too have a Nuclear Button, but it is a much bigger & more powerful one than his, and my Button works!

SEVEN TWENTY SEVEN, SEVEN TWENTY SEVEN, WHEN YOU SEE IT! WHEN YOU FUCKING SEE IT! SEVEN TWENTY SEVEN, SEVEN TWENTY SEVEN! When you fucking see it, when you fucking, see it! when you see it, when you see it, oh my god. When you see it, when you see it, when you see it.

While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, "This is my Son, my Chosen, listen to him!" When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.

Well, presently dey go back; dey say, "The ants 'ave gone." ... De ants 'aven't gone. Dey try to go in - de son, 'e goes in. De ants fight.'

He was playing games, got you dancing in the middle of the club. Got you dancing in the middle of the club.

So this is permanence, love's shattered pride. What once was innocence, turned on its side. A cloud hangs over me, marks every move. Deep in the memory, what once was love. How I realized how I wanted time, put into perspective, tried so hard to find. Just for one moment, thought I'd found my way. Destiny unfolded, I watched it slip away!

There are tracks on the bloody snow And I wonder how This motherfucker gets out alive of this hole With all these killers all around There are tracks on the bloody snow And I just wonder how This motherfucker gets out alive of this hole With all these killers around All these motherfuckers got out alive of this hole With all these motherfuckers all around There are tracks on the bloody snow And they are surely mine With all these killers all around And they are surely mine With all these killers all around There are tracks on the bloody snow

To realize one's destiny is a person's only obligation.

We lost ourselves, lost our dream. In the pursuit of great, we failed to do good. We have to make it right.

Karkaroff spat onto the ground at Dumbledore's feet. In one swift movement, Hagrid seized the front of Karkaroff's furs, lifted him into the air, and slammed him against a nearby tree.

Acute pyelonephritis will classically present as a triad of fever, flank pain, and nausea or vomiting, but not all symptoms have to be present.

When I almost drowned, I decided I would never again be weaker than water. So I became a lifeguard. On my first day of training, my instructor told me that there are going to be times when you see someone in trouble. You're going to want to rush in there and do whatever you can to save them. But you have to stop yourself. Because there are some people you can't save. Because those people will thrash and struggle and try to take you down with them.

Only godless savages eschew the series comma. No sentence has ever been harmed by a series comma, and many a sentence has been improved by one.

The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't.

Hey, it's dunkey. I've been trapped inside of the game's code for 277 years and I just wanted to say thank you for releasing me from this game. It was a good game, um, I liked the part with the ostrich and the bean monkey is, you know, I love him, and maybe I can go play ANIMAL WELL 2 now by the time you've discovered this.

There are many things that I would like to say to you but I don't know how.

You're right, actually. I am pretty- I'm, I'm pretty troubled and I'm, I'm pretty confused. But I... and I'm afraid. Really, really afraid. Really afraid. But I... I... I think you're the fucking Antichrist.

If you think anyone is sane you just don't know enough about them.

You found paradise in America. You had a good trade, made a good living. The police protected you; and there were courts of law. But, now you come to me and say "Don Corleone give me justice." But you don't ask with respect. You don't even think to call me Godfather. Instead, you come into my house the day my daughter is to be married and you ask me to do murder, for money.

Look around. What do you see? People in costumes, horns, false jewels, adorning themselves in tiny layers of illusion. They stand up straighter, suck in their stomachs, say things they don't mean, indulge in flattery. They commit a thousand small acts of deception, lying to each other, lying to themselves, drinking to the point of delusion to make it easier. This is a night of compacts, between the seers and the seen, a night when people enter false bargains willingly, hoping to be duped and to dupe in turn for the pleasure of feeling brave or sexy or beautiful or simply wanted - no matter how fleetingly.

Although Rome continued fighting wars across the Mediterranean, the first century BC saw tens of thousands of soldiers return as civilians from foreign lands. There was not enough work for the ex-soldiers, especially since Rome was being flooded with slaves from overseas possessions. To be elected consul, Roman politicians had to appease these ex-soldiers, and Roman politics turned increasingly populist, with political infighting becoming increasingly bitter. It was clear that control of Rome would fall to whomever could buy the loyalty of the disaffected army.

You speak in abbreviations because real life conversation moves too slowly. You're the media's creation, yeah, your free will has been taken and you don't know.

Among the Sharrans dwelled the gnome Silouv Yali, whose talents for wizardry were known from Candlekeep to Sorcere. Under his tutelage, the Sharrans built the Great Forge, which could heat mithral with such vigour as to turn it to adamantine. With this astonishing metal, they could mould the finest blades and armour.

In the great grand scheme of things, we're just tiny specks that will one day be forgotten. So, it doesn't matter what we did in the past, or how we'll be remembered. The only thing that matters is right now: this moment, this one spectacular moment we are sharing together.

Although it is a common practice in calculus courses to discuss continuity before differentiation, historically mathematicians' attention to the concept of continuity came long after the derivative was in wide use. Pierre de Fermat (1601-1665) was using tangent lines to solve optimization problems as early as 1629. On the other hand, it was not until around 1820 that Cauchy, Bolzano, Weierstrass, and others began to characterize continuity in terms more rigorous than prevailing intuitive notions such as "unbroken curves" or "functions which have no jumps or gaps." The basic reason for this two-hundred year waiting period lies in the fact that, for most of this time, the very notion of function did not really permit discontinuities. Functions were entities such as polynomials, sines, and cosines, always smooth and continuous over their relevant domains. The gradual liberation of the term function to its modern understanding-a rule associating a unique output with a given input-was simultaneous with 19th century investigations into the behavior of infinite series. Extensions of the power of calculus were intimately tied to the ability to represent a function f(x) as a limit of polynomials (called a power series) or as a limit of sums of sines and cosines (called a trigonometric or Fourier series). A typical question for Cauchy and his contemporaries was whether the continuity of the limiting polynomials or trigonometric functions necessarily implied that the limit f would also be continuous.

Although Rome continued fighting wars across the Mediterranean, the first century BC saw tens of thousands of soldiers return as civilians from foreign lands. There was not enough work for the ex-soldiers, especially since Rome was being flooded with slaves from overseas possessions. To be elected consul, Roman politicians had to appease these ex-soldiers, and Roman politics turned increasingly populist, with political infighting becoming increasingly bitter. It was clear that control of Rome would fall to whomever could buy the loyalty of the disaffected army.

I just want to tell you how I'm feeling. Gotta make you understand. Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you. Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.

You found paradise in America. You had a good trade, made a good living. The police protected you; and there were courts of law. But, now you come to me and say "Don Corleone give me justice." But you don't ask with respect. You don't even think to call me Godfather. Instead, you come into my house the day my daughter is to be married and you ask me to do murder, for money.

Loneliness has followed me all my life. The life of loneliness pursues me wherever I go: in bars, cars, coffee shops, theaters, stores, sidewalks. There is no escape. I am God's lonely man.

What if I were to tell you that you could make this picture for nothing, win an Oscar, and gross a hundred million dollars? Is that something you might be interested in?

I first saw her at Palantine Campaign Headquarters at 58th and Broadway. She was wearing a yellow dress, answering the phone at her desk. She appeared like an angel out of this open sewer. Out of this filthy mass. She is alone: they cannot touch her.

A = \begin{pmatrix} | & | & & | \\ \mathbf v_1 & \mathbf v_2 & \cdots & \mathbf v_n \\ | & | & & | \end{pmatrix} \begin{pmatrix} \lambda_1 & & & \\ & \lambda_2 & & \\ & & \ddots & \\ & & & \lambda_n \end{pmatrix} \begin{pmatrix} | & | & & | \\ \mathbf v_1 & \mathbf v_2 & \cdots & \mathbf v_n \\ | & | & & | \end{pmatrix} ^ {-1}