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“Time for Pestcontrol (Naskaristana 2624) It's a sad state of affairs when the geopolitical jungle of our world makes me wish as a biologist, that politics were a genetic characteristic, then we could engineer a virus to wipe out every single politician from the face of earth - and the beauty of it is that, you won't even notice their absence, because every democratic nation has a capable body of civil servants, though partially lazy and corrupt, who would keep the wheel of democracy turning, with the guidance of scholars and scientists, like it's just another Tuesday, because these people are the real engine of democracy. Let's call it "Operation Pestcontrol". But alas, politics is not a genetic trait, and killing the fascist doesn't end fascism, only delays it, so we'd have to take the only other, more tedious but actually lasting alternative, which is, no more compromise with fascism - either be the human citizen of planet earth and confront the authoritarian elements of your part of the world, or do not call yourself human!”

“Time. For some it was a great healer, the ultimate fixer of bad break-ups, shake-ups, and heartache… For others, Time was an insidious stealer of all things they want most in life, stripping it away from them by sneakily changing the rules of obtaining it… For all the joyful wishes and hopeful desires held near and dear to our hearts, Time was the one element most likely to keep it from our reach. To me, Time was all of these, and none. Time simply is. It’s the framework in which we play out the games of our lives, but the secret is not to control it. It is not to master it. It is simply to learn to exist fully within the moment, to be aware of every facet of our being, and to wring every ounce of joy from it. Perhaps we were our own thieves, lamenting the absence of even a spare moment to enjoy life, when all it really takes is to stop the complaints, take the moment firmly in hand, and make it our own. Because the secret is that Time passes, and if you let it, it will leave you in its wake, aching with every beat of your heart and in every fiber of your being for what you have missed.”

Author:Madelyn Alt

“Time for Wine Tasting 101. “So here’s how this works. When tasting a wine, as opposed to casual drinking, there are four basic steps you need to remember: sight, smell, taste, then spit or swallow.” Nick paused at that last part and cocked his head. “And your personal preference on the latter would be…?” “Only lightweights spit.” His right eye twitched.”

“Time for your bath," Leo said, coming to pull her chair back. Wondering if he intended to stay in the room, Catherine ventured, "Perhaps you might allow me some privacy." "I wouldn't dream of it," he said. "You may need assistance." "I can bathe myself. And I would prefer not to be watched." "My interest is purely aesthetic. I'll imagine you as Rembrandt's Hendrickje Bathina, wading in the waters of innocence." "Purely?" she asked doubtfully. "Oh, I have a very pure soul. It's only my private parts that have gotten me into trouble.”

“Time goes on, and your life is still there, and you have to live it. After a while you remember the good things more often than the bad. Then, gradually, the empty silent parts of you fill up with sounds of talking and laughter again, and the jagged edges of sadness are softened by memories.”

“Time goes too quickly. This is the advice that my mother should have given me from her hospital bed. Instead of vague, unknowable quips like "Be careful what you wish for," she should have told me time slides away on a hillside of loose shale and takes everything in its path - dreams, opportunities, hopes. And youth. It takes that fastest of all.”

“Time had not faded my memories (as I had prayed to God it might), nor had it healed my wounds as it is said always to do. I began each day with the hope that the next day would be better, my recollections a little less pointed, but I would awake to the same pain, as if a black lamp were burning eternally inside me, radiating darkness.”