Our model of Nature should not be like a building-a handsome structure for the populace to admire, until in the course of time some one takes away a corner stone and the edifice comes toppling down. It should be like an engine with movable parts. We need not fix the position of any one lever; that is to be adjusted from time to time as the latest observations indicate. The aim of the theorist is to know the train of wheels which the lever sets in motion-that binding of the parts which is the soul of the engine.
In recent years behavioral scientists have shed some light on why these waiting techniques can be powerful. Let's first look at the notion that texting back right away makes you less appealing. Psychologists have conducted hundreds of studies in which they reward lab animals in different ways under different conditions. One of the most intriguing findings is that 'reward uncertainty'-in which, for instance, animals cannot predict whether pushing a lever will get them food-can dramatically increase their interest in getting a reward, while also enhancing their dopamine levels so that they basically feel coked up. If a text back from someone is considered a 'reward, ' consider the fact that lab animals who get rewarded for pushing a lever every time will eventually slow down because they know that the next time they want a reward, it will be waiting for them. So basically, if you are the guy or girl who texts back immediately, you are taken for granted and ultimately lower your value as a reward. As a result, the person doesn't feel as much of an urge to text you or, in the case of the lab animal, push the lever.
Jim: Green and red. (pulls on green lever which closes a door) Artie: Very impressive. (stops Jim from pulling the red lever). Uh... did it ever occur to you that red might mean danger? Jim: For instance? Artie: For instance, red for fire. Fire of explosion. Jim: What would they want to explode? Artie: Those who fool around with their levers. Wild Wild West Season 4 Night of the Big Blackmail
Wild Wild West TV TV
There's nothing but what's bearable as long as a man can work.... The square o' four is sixteen, and you must lengthen your lever in proportion to your weight, is as true when a man's miserable as when he's happy; and the best o' working is, it gives you a grip hold o' things outside your own lot.
Throughout the history of the United States , war has been the primary impetus behind the growth and development of the central state. It has been the lever by which presidents and other national officials have bolstered the power of the state in the face of tenacious popular resistance.
Bruce D. Porter
Some observers compare elections in some countries with sports events, where people are but spectators. Moreover, elections must not be mere interludes for pushing a lever and then retreating to passivity, for democracy demands committed participation in the daily workings of society.
Alfred-Maurice de Zayas
The more closely [the German army] converged on [Stalingrad], the narrower became their scope for tactical manoeuvre as a lever in loosening resistance. By contrast, the narrowing of the frontage made it easier for the defender to switch his local reserves to any threatened point on the defensive arc.
B. H. Liddell Hart
Our old - fashioned system is better than any new - fangled voting machine. Not only is it guaranteed to work, but there is something I find appealing in putting a mark on a piece of paper for the candidate of your choice, as opposed to pulling a lever as if you were gambling on a slot machine in Las Vegas.
[On marriage and permanent attachment:] Well, well - the prizes all go to the women who 'play their cards well' - but if they can only be won in that way, I would rather lose the game... [C]lever [women] bide their time - make themselves indispensable first, and then se font prier [=play hard to get]. Clever - but I can't do it.
Dorothy L. Sayers
When society involves the anarch in a conflict which in which he does not participate inwardly, it challenges him to launch an opposition. He will try to turn the lever with which society moves him. Society is then at his disposal, say, as a stage for grand spectacles that are devised for him. Everything changes; the fetter becomes fascinating, danger an adventure, a suspenseful task.
But I had come down here for a reason. I was looking for Thor. It was Saturday, so he was most likely relaxing the only way he knows how. I walked over to the third section of books to the left of the door, looked at the third row up, and found the third book from the left: 'The Eternal Golden Braid.' I tipped it toward me and a lever released the bookcase revealing it to be a secret door.
The intentions of a tool are what it does. A hammer intends to strike, a vise intends to hold fast, a lever intends to lift. They are what it is made for. But sometimes a tool may have other uses that you don't know. Sometimes in doing what you intend, you also do what the knife intends, without knowing.
The City is a machine miraculously organised for extracting gold from the seas, airs, clouds, from barren lands, holds of ships, mines, plantations, cottage hearth-stones, trees and rocks; and he, wretchedly waiting in the exterior halls, could not even get his finger on one tiny, tiny lever.
Mind is the great lever of all things; human thought is the process by which human ends are ultimately answered; and the diffusion of knowledge, so astonishing in the last half-century, has rendered innumerable minds, variously gifted by nature, competent to be competitors or fellow-workers on the theatre of intellectual operation.
it occurred to me what a simple thing reality is, how easy it is to make it work. It's just reality. Just housework. Just a home. Like running a simple machine. Once you learn to run it, it's just a matter of repetition. You push this button and pull that lever. You adjust a gauge, put on the lid, set the timer. The same thing, over and over.
To commit herself to becoming "an apostle of Joy" when humanly speaking she might have felt at the brink of despair, was heroic indeed. She could do so because her joy was rooted in the certitude of the ultimate goodness of God's loving plan for her. And though her faith in this truth did not touch her soul with consolation, she ventured to meet the challenges of life with a smile. Her one lever was her blind trust in God.
No Zionist can forgo the smallest portion of the Land Of Israel. [A] Jewishstate in part [of Palestine] is not an end, but a beginning ..... Our possessionis important not only for itself ... through this we increase our power,and every increase in power facilitates getting hold of the country in itsentirety. Establishing a [small] state .... will serve as a very potent lever inour historical effort to redeem the whole country.
Men do change, and change comes like a little wind that ruffles the curtains at dawn, and it comes like the stealthy perfume of wildflowers hidden in the grass. Change may be announced by a small ache, so that you think you're catching cold. Or you may feel a faint disgust for something you loved yesterday. It may even take the form of a hunger that peanuts won't satisfy. Isn't overeating said to be one of the strongest symptoms of discontent. And isn't discontent the lever of change?
Richard Nixon has never been one of my favorite people anyway. For years I've regarded his existence as a monument to all the rancid genes and broken chromosones that corrupt the possibilities of the American Dream; he was a foul caricature of himself, a man with no soul, no inner convictions, with the integrity of a hyena and the style of a poison toad. The Nixon I remembered was absolutely humorless; I couldn't imagine him laughing at anything except maybe a paraplegic who wanted to vote Democratic but couldn't quite reach the lever on the voting machine.
Hunter S. Thompson
Simon blinked himself awake, confused, for a moment, why he was in a dungeon that smelled of dung rather than his Brooklyn bedroom - then, once he got his bearings, confused all over again about why he was being awoken in the middle of the night by a wide-eyed Scotsman. "Is there a fire?" Simon asked. "There better be a fire. Or a demon attack. And I'm not talking about some puny lower-lever demon, mind you. You want to wake me up in the middle of a dream about rock superstardom, it better be a Greater Demon.
Democracy doesn't mean much if people have to confront concentrated systems of economic power as isolated individuals. Democracy means something if people can organize to gain information, to have thoughts for that matter, to make plans, to enter into the political system in some active way, to put forth programs and so on. If organizations of that kind exist, then democracy can exist too. Otherwise it's a matter of pushing a lever every couple of years; it's like having the choice between Coca-Cola and Pepsi-Cola.
I am a political recidivist. An incorrigible, repeat voter. A career lever-pusher. My electoral rap sheet is as long as your arm. Over the course of three decades, I have voted for presidents and school board members. I have voted in high hopes and high dudgeon. I have voted in favor of candidates and merely against their opponents. I have voted for propositions written with such complexity that I needed Noam Chomsky to deconstruct their meaning. I have been a single-issue voter and a marginal voter. I have even voted for people who ran unopposed. Hold an election and I'll be there.
One would never defeat one's circumstances by working and saving one's pennies; one would never, by working, acquire that many pennies, and, besides, the social treatment accorded even the most successful Negroes proved that one needed, in order to be free, something more than a bank account. One needed a handle, a lever, a means of inspiring fear. It was absolutely clear that the police would whip you and take you in as long as they could get away with it, and that everyone else-housewives, taxi-drivers, elevator boys, dishwashers, bartenders, lawyers, judges, doctors, and grocers-would never, by the operation of any generous human feeling, cease to use you as an outlet for his frustrations and hostilities.
If you could choose to master a single ingredient, no choice would teach you more about cooking than the egg. It is an end in itself; it's a multipurpose ingredient; it's an all-purpose garnish; it's an invaluable tool. The egg teaches your hands finesse and delicacy. It helps your arms develop strength and stamina. It instructs in the way proteins behave in heat and in the powerful ways we can change food mechanically. It's a lever for getting other foods to behave in great ways. Learn to take the egg to its many differing ends, and you've enlarged your culinary repertoire by a factor of ten.
I noticed some scratch marks and faded blood stains high up on a wall. 'What happened there?' 'An inmate must have tried to escape. I saw a guy use two suction devices like the ones used to carry glass sheets to help lever himself up. He reached half way before being spotted by a blue shirt.' 'What happened to him?' 'The blue shirt called a guard. He was ordered to come down, but didn't. They shot him in the leg, he fell and later in the cell, he removed a blade from a disposable razor, slashed his left wrist then wrote a suicide note on the wall with his right hand - in his own blood. Suicide is really common in here and nobody bats an eyelid.
Why has pachinko swept Japan? It can hardly be the excitement of gambling, since the risks and rewards are so small. During the hours spent in front of a pachinko machine, there is an almost total lack of stimulation other than the occasional rush of ball bearings. There is no thought, no movement; you have no control over the flow of balls, apart from holding a little lever which shoots them up to the top of the machine; you sit there enveloped in a cloud of heavy cigarette smoke, semi-dazed by the racket of millions of ball bearings falling through machines around you. Pachinko verges on sensory deprivation. It is the ultimate mental numbing, the final victory of the educational system." - Lost Japan, Eng. vers., 1996
As a young man, he had instinctively husbanded the freshness of his powers. At the time, it was too soon to see that this freshness was giving birth to vivacity and gaiety, and shape to the courage needed to forge a soul that does not pale, no matter what life brings, regards life not as a heavy burden, a cross, but merely as a duty, and does battle with it with dignity. He had devoted much mental care to his heart and its wise laws. Observing the reflection of beauty on the imagination, both consciously and unconsciously, then the transition from impression to emotion, its symptoms, play, and outcome and looking around himself, advancing into life, he derived for himself the conviction that love moves the world like Archimede's lever, that it holds as much universal and irrefutable truth and good as misunderstanding and misuse do hypocrisy and ugliness. p. 494
Se¤jer att jag rymt hit fe¶r din skull men ljuger fe¶rste¥s det le¥ter vackrare de¥ ville bara att du skulle ta bort ne¥ldynan fre¥n badrummet ste¤lla in kanske mje¶lk i kylen le¥tsas att vi lever lika mycket be¥da tve¥ ste¤ngde de¶rren fe¶r le¤ngesen om mej och du be¤nder loss bre¤dorna men kommer inte in du fe¶rste¥r e¤lskling jag har kilat fast alla e¶ppningar med frusna te¥rar avbrutna morrhe¥r de¶d hud och blodiga kre¤kningar har byggt berg utanfe¶r av uppspre¤ttade dre¶mmar och kle¤tt in hela trappuppge¥ngen i tomhet och du kommer aldrig igenom man kommer aldrig igenom men inimej kom inimej och de¤r ne¥nstans le¥t mej liksom leva bara
e... sa Ericsdotter
Before he went away, he had heard all about the self-made girl, and there was something in the picture that strongly impressed him. She was possible doutbless only in America; American life had smoothed the way for her. She was not fast, nor emancipated, nor crude, nor loud, and there wasn't in her, of necessity at least, a grain of the stuff of which the adventuress is made. She was simply very successful, and her success was entirely personal. She hadn't been born with the silver spoon of social opportunity, she had grasped it by honest exertion. You knew her by many different signs, but chiefly, infallibly, by the appearance of her parents. It was her parents who told her story; you always saw how little her parents could have made her. Her attitude with regard to them might vary in different ways. As the great fact on her own side was that she had lifted herself from a lower social plane, done it all herself, and done it by the simple lever of her personality, it was naturally to be expected that she would leave the authors of her mere material being in the shade. (...) But the general characteristic of the self-made girl was that, though it was frequently understood that she was privately devoted to her kindred, she never attempted to impose them on society, and it was striking that, though in some of her manifestations a bore, she was at her worst less of a bore than they. They were almost always solemn and portentous, and they were for the most part of a deathly respectability. She wasn't necessarily snobbish, unless it was snobbish to want the best. She didn't cringe, she didn't make herself smaller than she was, she took on the contrary a stand of her own and attracted things to herself. Naturally she was possible only in America, only in a country where whole ranges of competition and comparison were absent.
Jag skriver inte fe¶r alla Jag skriver fe¶r dej Du som fyller huvudet med dre¶mmar och fantasi Och som krockar med verklighetens lyktstolpar om och om igen Jag skriver fe¶r dej Du som te¤nker pe¥ livet, hur det e¤r och hur det kunde vara Du som te¤nker pe¥ de¶den Jag skriver fe¶r dej Du som ge¶r listor med viktiga saker Du som fe¶rse¶ker fe¶rste¥ hur allt he¤nger ihop Du som funderar pe¥ tiden vi lever i Och varfe¶r ve¤rlden ser ut som den ge¶r Och pe¥ hur allt ska bli och hur allt skulle kunna vara Jag skriver fe¶r dej Du som vet att du inte e¤r som de andra Och fe¶r dej, du som ke¤nner igen dej Jag skriver fe¶r dej Du som gre¥ter i nattsvart hopple¶shet Och fe¶r dej Du som skrattar, Som vet att ve¤rlden e¤r vacker Och att livet e¤r ett spe¤nnande e¤ventyr Jag skriver inte fe¶r alla Jag skriver fe¶r dej
Hij genoot van de verschillende afvalcontainers die overal stonden, van de ingeblikte groenten in de ziekenhuiskoele winkels - supermarkten werden ze genoemd -, hij genoot van de trams en hun heupdans die de passagiers heen en weer schudde wanneer zij klingelend een bocht maakten, hij genoot van de bomen die overal voor schaduw zorgden, compleet met een kroost van groene houten banken en een vuilnisbak, hij genoot van de grachten, die rimpelend een wiegenlied voor hem zongen, hij genoot van de vooroverhellende en schuine grachtenpanden, hij genoot van de standbeelden bedekt met patina en duivenuitwerpselen, hij genoot van het bruisen van zo veel mensenlevens, hij genoot van de pleinen en de onberispelijke kantoorgebouwen met ramen waarin het universum weerkaatste, van de vele straatbelichting, de neonreclames - de stad was 's nachts een ware boomgaard van kleurig neon -, hij genoot van de markten waar het rook naar gezouten vis, gebrande noten en kaas, van de vele eethuizen die met de mensen mee waren gee«migreerd, hij genoot van de fietsers die elke verkeersregel overtraden, hij genoot van het stille lawaai en de zinderende sensualiteit die de meisjes uitwasemden en van verliefde stellen die hun liefde op straat uitstalden voor voorbijgangers, hij genoot van het wolkenheer, van de regens en de buien, van de natte zonnen op regendagen als beslagen brillenglazen, van de regenplassen en hun weerspiegelingen, hij genoot van de chaos, van de beierd ver weg tussen het hooi van zijn doofheid, hij genoot van de duiven, van de zwervers met hun winkelwagentjes vol onbegrijpelijke huisraad, van de drankschuiten die over de effen straten kapseisden, zijwaarts hellend door een overbelaste lever, hij genoot van de sissende venters van genotsmiddelen, hij genoot van de drukke winkelstraten waar alles wat men nodig had te koop was en alles wat men niet nodig had, hij genoot van de rosse buurten en de uitstalling van vrouwelijk vlees, dat niet aan duitloze hem besteed was, van de vele kroegen en bars waarin klanten dronken en kwetterden en zich ontlastten zoals de vogels in de johannesbroodboom van Cheira en Heira, hij genoot van de welvaart die de mensen zichtbaar goeddeed, vooral de vrouwen met hun papieren tassen vol nieuwe aankopen in de weekeinden en hun ontspannen roddels en koetjes en kalfjes op terrassen, op vensterbanken achter de geraniums, hij genoot van de broeders die steeds in aantal toenamen en hem eerbiedig bejegenden wanneer hij hun bedwelmende koopwaar weigerde, met eerbied want hij was een van hem en het deed hem goed om te zien dat ze hoe dan ook werk hadden gevonden, hij genoot van de levendige rusteloosheid van dit alles, van de Amstel die voor verfrissing zorgde en het land bevloeide en het meest genoot hij van de ultieme wonderen in het park, dat hij nu betrad.