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Quote by Ziad K. Abdelnour

Work

Economic Warfare: Secrets of Wealth Creation in the Age of Welfare Politics

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Author

Ziad K. Abdelnour
Ziad K. Abdelnour

Ziad K. Abdelnour is a professional in an unknown field, born on December 3, 1960. His biography and contributions are limited by available information. more

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“Majority of people entering your life only come to distract you. They ain't there to be with you, support you or love you. They come to get something or stop you from the progress you are making. They are priks for your life. Don't let them in. Or if happened to do so, make sure they understand that they don't matter to you. Tell them, "you are a nobody, you can't hurt me because I don't see you, you don't exist, you are just a bad dream. I am waking up now and you are not there anymore.”

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“After lunch four of us have our picture taken. Regn, myself, Fernus, and Sharon. I grip my brown lunch bag in hand, Fernus holds her soda can, Regn makes a funny expression. But what strikes me about this photograph is the shadow. We are standing in Group Reservations, the sun streaming in from above, through the skylight, and directly behind my head a giant starred reflection is cast on the wall. It is cast there as a pointed halo of sorts. I am next to Regn, she wears her sunglasses though we are still indoors. My face looks so young, my eyes do not betray any weariness. The pain is gradual. The pain is two years and more ahead. Is the star the crest of my youth? Does it suggest what I’ve always known—that something more, something far greater was in store for me? Looking back and all that’s come to pass, I can tell you yes. With a full and tired heart, I can tell you yes. I am not inclined to whimsy or overly-superstitious; however, there are signs and sometimes they must be noticed or you are a fool to dismiss them. I knew from an early age I was different. I saw the world from a distance. I was born to suffer and endure, but in so doing, if I succeeded, I was born for distinction. It was not conceit, but the knowing of Self and sometimes the frustration, the tedious ache of patience, rendered me doubtful.”

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“Welcome home,” Crighton said, standing before him: black hair, dark eyes, and black gothic fashion—the true prince of Hell. He was grinning from ear to ear with his vampire teeth, reveling in his victory. Then, his smile vanished and his green eyes returned, delivering Poe another glimpse at pure, unadulterated evil. “Poor Ben,” he lamented, “you didn’t honestly think He would actually forgive you . . .”

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