Best 70 quotes in «introduction quotes» category

The introduction of heartache began as a child.

The Music is the only corporeal introduction to the superior world of Knowledge.

There are various non-statistical tools that have been typically developed by lean companies, notably by Toyota for minimizing variability in production, such as standardization, introduction of takt time, synchronization, shortening the total production lead time which I am fond of referring to as non statistical tools.

There is no letter of the law to follow in Zen. There is a lot of etiquette, but there are no rules.

The sense of self is one of the obscurations that prevents us from seeing clearly, the idea that there is a self or that we are anyone in particular.

We are focusing Philip Morris organization much more on the new business. We will have very few new traditional product introductions, and as markets switch to IQOS we would remove resources from the old business completely.Next year IQOS becomes profitable, so even the financing from these traditional businesses isn't necessary anymore, because it becomes fully self-sustaining.

The way of nothingness is the way of Zen. It is just a term. The contemplation of nothingness or everythingness is where everything starts.

Zen was an attempt to get back to the purest teachings of the Buddha -enlightenment without strings.

Adversity does not just introduce a man to himself. It also introduces, to him, his family, his friends, and his partner.

All these uses a valid; all these reading of the book are "correct". For all these readers have placed themselves inside this story, not as spectators, but as participants, and so have looked at the world of Ender's Game, not with my eyes only, but also with their own.

A man that knows your worth doesn't need to be told how to treat you. That's a given! You won't have to question his feelings, his motives, nor his intentions. How will I know? You ask. See, he will freely show you how he feels and prove it consistently. If you're settling for anything less than what you deserve. Then, maybe you don't even know your worth.

But as we all know, rock ‘n’ roll will never die, and education too, as Henry Adams always sez, keeps going on forever.

Zen has lost its zip, if you will, or its nothingness and has become ritualistic Its established in monastaries with strict codes of koan study.

Each one of us in America could have grown up someone else had the universe's mysterious finger touched a different key.

Zen is the path that focuses the most upon meditation. It is almost exclusively a path of meditation.

Do you prefer Mitch? Or is Mitchell better?'.. .. Mitch, I say. Mitch is what my friends called me. 'Well, Mitch it is then,' Morrie says, as if closing a deal. 'And, Mitch?' Yes? 'I hope one day you will think of me as your friend.

Call me Ishmael.

Finally she spoke with a forced scepticism, “So… if those girls are witches, and I was the sacrifice - what does that make you?” “A witch-hunter.” She raised a brow, “A witch-hunter named ‘Hunter’? How very original.” Hunter sighed, “You’re a very pleasant , friendly character, aren’t you?

If you are looking for a great life in this life and beyond, you need to be introduced to a man who needs no introduction. His name is Jesus Christ. He has the sole ability to introduce people, to an everlasting life.

Is truth something that in fact we do—and should—especially care about? Or is the love of truth, as professed by so many distinguished thinkers and writers, itself merely another example of bullshit?

Hello, my name is Albany, and I have a telepathic connection with my twin sister, along with the ability to read minds.

I have this idea that writing is all about divergent thinking colliding with a hurricane of emotions.

I struggle with words. Never could express myself the way I wanted. My mind fights my mouth, and thoughts get stuck in my throat. Sometimes they stay stuck for seconds or even minutes. Some thoughts stay for years; some have stayed hidden all my life. As a child, I stuttered. What was inside couldn't get out. I'm still not real fluent. I don't know a lot of good words. If I were wrongfully accused of a crime, I'd have a tough time explaining my innocence. I'd stammer and stumble and choke up until the judge would throw me in jail. Words aren't my friends. Music is. Sounds, notes, rhythms. I talk through music. Maybe that's why I became a loner, someone who loves privacy and doesn't reveal himself too easily. My friendliness might fool you. Come into my dressing room and I'll shake your hand, pose for a picture, make polite small talk. I'll be as nice as I can, hoping you'll be nice to me. I'm genuinely happy to meet you and exchange a little warmth. I have pleasant acquaintances with thousands of people the world over. But few, if any, really know me. And that includes my own family. It's not that they don't want to; it's because I keep my feelings to myself. If you hurt me, chances are I won't tell you. I'll just move on. Moving on is my method of healing my hurt and, man, I've been moving on all my life. Now it's time to stop. This book is a place for me to pause and look back at who I was and what I became. As I write, I'm seventy hears old, and all the joy and hurts, small and large, that I've stored up inside me...well, I want to pull 'em out and put 'em on the page. When I've been described on other people's pages, I don't recognize myself. In my mind, no one has painted the real me. Writers have done their best, but writers have missed the nitty-gritty. Maybe because I've hidden myself, maybe because I'm not an easy guy to understand. Either way, I want to open up and leave a true account of who I am. When it comes to my own life, others may know the cold facts better than me. Scholars have told me to my face that I'm mixed up. I smile but don't argue. Truth is, cold facts don't tell the whole story. Reading this, some may accuse me of remembering wrong. That's okay, because I'm not writing a cold-blooded history. I'm writing a memory of my heart. That's the truth I'm after - following my feelings, no matter where they lead. I want to try to understand myself, hoping that you - my family, my friends, my fans - will understand me as well. This is a blues story. The blues are a simple music, and I'm a simple man. But the blues aren't a science; the blues can't be broken down like mathematics. The blues are a mystery, and mysteries are never as simple as they look.

Majina ya vitabu yanapaswa kuchaguliwa kwa mantiki na kwa makini ya hali ya juu mno, kwa sababu ni miongoni mwa vitu vya kwanza watu wanavyoviona na kuvisoma. Watu wakivutiwa na jina la kitabu, au mwandishi; kitu cha pili watakachovutiwa kuangalia ni dibaji, kusudi wasome muhtasari wa kitabu kizima. Kwa hiyo dibaji inapaswa iandikwe kwa mantiki na kwa makini ileile iliyotumika katika kuchagua jina la kitabu. Lengo la jina la kitabu na dibaji ni kuishawishi hadhira kusoma kitabu na kukifurahia.

Metal business cards are a good investment. Especially if you were to meet Magneto. He would have no other choice but to be attracted to you.

So long as there shall exist, by reason of law and custom, a social condemnation, which, in the face of civilisation, artificially creates hells on earth, and complicates a destiny that is divine, with human fatality; so long as the three problems of the age — the degradation of man by poverty, the ruin of woman by starvation, and the dwarfing of childhood by physical and spiritual night — are not solved; so long as, in certain regions, social asphyxia shall be possible; in other words, and from a yet more extended point of view, so long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, books like this cannot be useless.

Pilot scripts are particularly difficult to write because you have to introduce all the characters without it feeling like a series of introductions.

Study of the past often turns into love of the past and a desire to keep it.

Temperee, riante, (comme le sont celles d'automne dans la tres gracieuse ville de Buenos Aires) resplendissait la matinee de ce 28 avril: dix heures venait de sonner aux horloges et, a cet instant, eveillee, gesticulant sous le soleil matinal, la Grande Capitale du Sud etait un epi d'hommes qui se disputaient a grands cris la possession du jour et de la terre.

old books -- little tombstones of ideas and history

The careful reader, and even the careless reader who's had a few too many drinks, will notice that the Point of View is not all male. You'll see plenty of male nakedness here, and the women are not the rocket-breasted, uber-sexualized portrayals of women that comics often offer.

The average introduction to almost any book is somewhat of a bore

The desperate piercing scream of horror echoed far above the sharpened tops of the trees wrapped in thin obsidian-transparent mist, and I startled jerkily, tripping again, and almost collapsed onto the cold moist ground.

There is no need to boast of your accomplishments and what you can do. A great man is known, he needs no introduction.

The universe is amply supplied with night.

This is a story about understanding overcoming compulsion, love overcoming revulsion; and oneness overcoming abuse. About the rare sort of kind-geniality, and brave-morality; which we all possess but seldom use. A story about detractors who will be defeated, challenges which will be completed; and principles which will be proclaimed. About acts of persecution, and threats of execution; which will all be constrained. This is the beginning of Alfred Freeman's story, the beginning of a life full of glory; and the beginning of Alfred himself. Because Alfred is being born, in his human form; with peaceful-eyes and perfect-health.

This is why introductions are important--because in the beginning, despite the fact that we already believe we know what it means, there's a chance that over time the definition will change from one thing to another.

Saying that you do not remember something or someone is a less embarrassing or hurtful way of saying that you do not know it or them anymore.

The poor man retains the prejudices of his forefathers without their faith, and their ignorance without their virtues; he has adopted the doctrine of self-interest as the rule of his actions, without understanding the science which puts it to use; and his selfishness is no less blind than was formerly his devotedness to others. If society is tranquil, it is not because it is conscious of its strength and its well-being, but because it fears its weakness and its infirmities; a single effort may cost it its life. Everybody feels the evil, but no one has courage or energy enough to seek the cure. The desires, the repinings, the sorrows, and the joys of the present time lead to no visible or permanent result, like the passions of old men, which terminate in impotence.

There's a lot of sex. But it isn't about sex.

Today I introduced myself to my very own Heart, In silent agony, after all these years it bled apart.

We are not strangers, only the introduction is missing.

We can say that Faustus makes a choice, and that he is responsible for his choice, but there is in the play a suggestion—sometimes explicit, sometimes only dimly implicit—that Faustus comes to destruction not merely through his own actions but through the actions of a hostile cosmos that entraps him. In this sense, too, there is something of Everyman in Faustus. The story of Adam, for instance, insists on Adam's culpability; Adam, like Faustus, made himself, rather than God, the center of his existence. And yet, despite the traditional expositions, one cannot entirely suppress the commonsense response that if the Creator knew Adam would fall, the Creator rather than Adam is responsible for the fall; Adam ought to have been created of better stuff.

The upper management team had informed me that an employee that worked for me was a poor performer and would be terminated soon. This employee was clearly displaying mental health issues that were causing problems in the workplace. When I followed the company procedures and reported this to human resources, their response was to inform me that my contract would not be renewed and I would be immediately fired if anyone complained about me. This was my introduction to how mental health issues are handled in the USA.

Welcome," Vassily said, and smiled. He showed teeth. "To Immortal Battles. We don't fight to the death -- we fight beyond death, in the world's most dangerous sport.

We sometimes try to impress people we just met by not trying to impress them.

You can call me Boss though, seeing as though you're only the assistant.

We are good at stories. We hoard them, like an old woman in a room full of boxes, but now and then we pull out our best, and spread them out. We talk of the bad years when the cotton didn't open, and the day my cousin Wanda was washed in the Blood. We buff our beloved ancestors until they are smooth of sin, and give our scoundrels a hard shake, although sometimes we can't remember exactly which is who.

What is a “woman”? Who gets to be one? Who gets to decide who “counts”? In our quest for equality, should feminists strive for the right to embody even the toxic aspects of masculinity, or should we focus on dismantling it before reaching for equality at all? Why should women who have traditionally been underserved or exploited by mainstream feminism (women of colour, trans women, sex workers) have that label foisted upon them? What do we do with the uncomfortable truth that many women’s rights pioneers were explicitly, actively racist? How do we honour their contributions without erasing the oppression of women of colour that still taints feminism today? How do we reconcile the tension between celebrating womanhood and rejecting gender essentialism? How do we reconcile the tension between fighting oppressive beauty standards and wanting to express ourselves through makeup and clothes?

Whether or not the fame of Gilgamesh of Uruk had reached the Aegean – and the idea is attractive – there can be no doubt that it was as great as that of any other hero. In time his name became so much a household word that jokes and forgeries were fathered onto it, as in a popular fraud that survives on eighth-century B.C. tablets which perhaps themselves copy an older text. This is a letter supposed to be written by Gilgamesh to some other king, with commands that he should send improbable quantities of livestock and metals, along with gold and precious stones for an amulet for Enkidu, which would weigh no less that thirty pounds. The joke must have been well received, for it survives in four copies, all from Sultantepe.