my computer

1:I (…) am rarely happier than when spending an entire day programming my computer to perform automatically a task that would otherwise take me a good ten seconds to do by hand. ~ Douglas Adams, Last Chance to See,

* WISDOM TROVE *

1:One good thing about my computer: it never asks why. ~ ashleigh-brilliant, @wisdomtrove

2:My worst personal problem is that my computer doesn't understand me. ~ ashleigh-brilliant, @wisdomtrove

3:I am rarely happier than when spending an entire day programming my computer. ~ douglas-adams, @wisdomtrove

4:My computer must be broken: whenever I ask a wrong question, it gives a wrong answer. ~ ashleigh-brilliant, @wisdomtrove

5:I am rarely happier than when spending entire day programming my computer to perform automatically a task that it would otherwise take me a good ten seconds to do by hand. ~ douglas-adams, @wisdomtrove

6:I used to have a sign over my computer that read OLD DOGS CAN LEARN NEW TRICKS, but lately I sometimes ask myself how many more new tricks I want to learn. Wouldnt it be easier just to be outdated? ~ ram-das, @wisdomtrove

7:By using money as the scapegoat and work as our all-consuming routine, we are able to conveniently disallow ourselves to do otherwise: &

* NEWFULLDB 2.4M *

1:I use a really simple calendar program on my computer. ~ Jamie Zawinski,

2:If you ever touch my computer again I will seriously kill you. ~ Inio Asano,

3:my computer screen. A scruffy man in his mid-thirties ~ Denise Grover Swank,

4:The damned cats like pushing the reset button on my computer. ~ Adam Rifkin,

5:I definitely have a piece of tape over my computer at home. ~ Scott Eastwood,

6:If I had a spreadsheet on my computer, it looked like I was busy. ~ Nate Silver,

7:At least my computer allows flexibility in type size; most do not. ~ Donald A Norman,

8:Please leave my computer alone.. I only like cookies when I can eat them. ~ Heather Wolf,

9:I also love a good cheesy movie, and I'm kind of addicted to my computer. ~ Behati Prinsloo,

10:I am rarely happier than when spending an entire day programming my computer. ~ Douglas Adams,

11:I log out of Twitter on my computer so I have to log in and then I log back out. ~ Jen Kirkman,

12:My computer tells me that in twenty-five years there will be no more computers. ~ Edward Abbey,

13:I don't understand the world of the Internet. I just type up on my computer. ~ Andre Leon Talley,

14:During the downtime on tour, I simply walk from room to room, staring into my computer. ~ Mark Hoppus,

15:Please leave my computer alone.. The only cookies I want to get are the ones I can eat. ~ Heather Wolf,

16:I like my computer. But I don't know how to use it as well as the 10-year-old daughter. ~ David Duchovny,

17:My favorite travel pastime is writing music, either with my guitar or on my computer. ~ Alexander Ludwig,

18:As the people grow colder, I turn to my computer and spend my evenings with it like a friend. ~ Kate Bush,

19:I’ve wondered if I could take my computer programming skills and apply them to learning math. ~ Anonymous,

20:I have a television, but it's not connected to anything. I watch everything on my computer. ~ Natasha Lyonne,

21:I am a plodder, I make an appointment with my computer everyday and I have no idea where I am going. ~ Wally Lamb,

22:It doesn't make me very happy to be on my computer all the time. I've never been drawn to that world. ~ Lily Cole,

23:The imperfect book that gets published is better than the perfect book that never leaves my computer. ~ Bren Brown,

24:My computer made a funny sound the other day. Of course, I've never heard it get thrown out a window before. ~ Various,

25:The imperfect book that gets published is better than the perfect book that never leaves my computer. ~ Gretchen Rubin,

26:I don't have a formal home recording studio, but I can record tracks on my computer upstairs in my office. ~ Huey Lewis,

27:if anyone ever uses lol with me, i rip my computer right out of the wall and smash it over the nearest head. ~ John Green,

28:I have brainpower for miles, sweetie, don't you worry. It's my computer i'm worried about". - Boyboy ~ Natalie C Anderson,

29:Whenever I'm on my computer, I don't type 'lol'. I type 'lqtm' - laugh quietly to myself. It's more honest. ~ Demetri Martin,

30:When I was nine, ten, I was super young, but I installed a program on my computer so I could start producing music. ~ Martin Garrix,

31:I look at prom dresses on my computer, and I laugh out loud every time I think about Daddy calling Peter my “hot boyfriend. ~ Jenny Han,

32:I used to sit home with my computer and write. After the Newbery, I probably spend more than half my time on the road. ~ Linda Sue Park,

33:Try this New Year's resolution: I won't check my phone, my tablet, or my computer until I've first read a chapter in my Bible. ~ Kevin DeYoung,

34:I had the perfect accident for the perfect idea. I was rendered immobile where the only thing I could do is mess with my computer. ~ Harry Knowles,

35:I really like to write, so I can just relax and think about things and realize things and then try to express it on my computer. ~ Krist Novoselic,

36:I love making music, I love composing on my computer, just making crazy ethnic slack orchestral tracks, that's one of my fun things. ~ Casey Abrams,

37:I just got a fortune cookie that says "Turn off your computer and read a book" which is odd because I'm WRITING a book...on my computer! ~ Meg Cabot,

38:A good day's writing, when I turn off my computer after I know that I've written okay, or as well as I can write, that's a day well spent. ~ James Lipton,

39:I want to be sitting in front of my computer, where you can press a button to block out your junk mail.
These two are my junk mail. ~ Melina Marchetta,

40:The experience of writing something in Java and then trying to figure out—I myself have trouble installing Java on my computer—it's horrible. ~ Peter Seibel,

41:I like reading. I prefer not reading on my computer, because that makes whatever I am reading feel like work. I do not mind reading on my iPad. ~ Neil Gaiman,

42:I was planning on starting a new file on my computer with the title "Phrases That Sound One Way to Witches but Mean Something Else to Vampires. ~ Deborah Harkness,

43:I don't need a hard disk in my computer if I can get to the server faster... carrying around these non-connected computers is byzantine by comparison. ~ Steve Jobs,

44:I wish I knew how to sleep late! I generally wake horribly early, often with a head full of thoughts and deadlines that propel me to my computer. ~ Catherine Mayer,

45:I'll never retire. They'll have to take my computer out of my cold, dead hands. I'm addicted to writing. I feel physically unwell if I'm not doing it. ~ Russell Hoban,

46:I was too emotional to say anything. I was experiencing many “feels” as the kids on Tumblr—my computer-savvy friend CeeCee has told me about it—often say. ~ Meg Cabot,

47:KRS-One is one of my favorite rappers ever. I actually don't even know why I have this on my computer, but I do. I really like this album, Criminal Minded. ~ Girl Talk,

48:Ive never really been anywhere, and now I get to go everywhere. I just have to make sure theres enough memory on my computer to hold all my pictures. ~ Carrie Underwood,

49:As I was typing this last sentence, somewhat hastily, my computer’s spellcheck offered ‘Brutish’ as an acceptable substitute for ‘British’ rule in India! ~ Shashi Tharoor,

50:I noticed things in my computer music that were getting old, and I started to figure out that this has to do with the way the listener interacts with music. ~ Paul Lansky,

51:My computer is a very complex gadget and it was designed by many designers, so why must the universe have only a single designer and not many designers? ~ Richard Dawkins,

52:I don't have time, I watch movies, or shows people are talking about. Television is the medium I use the least; I'd rather use my computer, iPhone or iPad. ~ Franca Sozzani,

53:To my surprise, a friend request popped up from Pepe Sullivan. “Pepe, have you been messing with my computer?” “Do you not want to be my friend?” he asked. ~ Waverly Curtis,

54:But perhaps Kira Dallaire wasn't exactly what she seemed to be. I sat down at my desk and turned on my computer to google her. One good turn deserved another. ~ Mia Sheridan,

55:encounter a multitude of other agents. My keyboard, the words unfolding on the Microsoft Word interface, the books piled beside my computer, the flashing cursor, ~ Anonymous,

56:I have always wished for my computer to be as easy to use as my telephone; my wish has come true because I can no longer figure out how to use my telephone. ~ Bjarne Stroustrup,

57:Whether I'm in front of the camera, behind the camera, at my computer writing a novel or a screenplay, as long as I get to entertain someone out there, I'm happy. ~ Chris Colfer,

58:You're gonna check my computer records? Is that important? I don't think the government needs to know how I feel about teen Asian sluts in order to fight terrorism. ~ Greg Giraldo,

59:Aim for a million bucks, you suddenly need a billion. I upgraded my computer, but it wasn't enough. No matter what, it ain't fucken enough in life, that's what I learned ~ D B C Pierre,

60:The world is on fire! Why am I sitting in front of my computer? It is because I don’t have a fire extinguisher for the world, and there isn’t a global 911 to call. ~ Charles Eisenstein,

61:I am rarely happier than when spending entire day programming my computer to perform automatically a task that it would otherwise take me a good ten seconds to do by hand. ~ Douglas Adams,

62:The only thing I can count on daily is the unexpected. I usually try to start my day with a run before I even turn on my computer and clog my head with things to be done. ~ Jo Dee Messina,

63:You remember my roommate, Brad, right?”
Since he made a nightly appearance in my dreams and was plastered all over my computer screen at home, yeah, I remembered him. ~ Rachel Hawthorne,

64:For the first month of school, writing is its own upper. Pounding on my computer keys feels like playing the piano, like arranging words into harmony that sings back to me. ~ Koren Zailckas,

65:I wish I could have 25,000 years of my personal family history documented in a very powerful computer or a CD-ROM that I could just pop in and my computer would never crash ~ Brendan Fraser,

66:I got my computer. The great thing about the computer is that you only need enough money to buy a computer and some food, and you're all right. I don't have to go to premières. ~ Norm MacDonald,

67:If I leave my computer, I'm probably not going to get back for hours. If I take a few minutes to answer questions and go web surfing, then guilt kicks in and I get back to work. ~ Raymond E Feist,

68:My Computer Language is Better than Yours” by Scott Rosenberg (@scottros) That post is a look at the new languages Go (from Google) and Swift (from Apple) and it is an interesting read. ~ Anonymous,

69:When I'm not writing or tweaking my computer, I do embroidery. When I'm not plunging into the past, tweaking, or embroidering, I'm reading books about history, computers, or embroidery ~ Lynn Abbey,

70:if anyone ever uses lol with me, i rip my computer right out off the wall and smash it over the nearest head. i mean, it's not like anyone's laughing loud about the things they lol. ~ David Levithan,

71:I’m proud of those words and denying the competition is like denying part of me. In front of my computer, there were no secrets, no complications – just a world that I could control. ~ Katie McGarry,

72:I've never had so much fun being back at my job sitting in front of my computer. Compared to 10 months on the road, going home and sleeping in my own bed every night is really nice. ~ Matt Berninger,

73:I used to go online all the time, and then I had to stop myself... because I'm a writer, and it's like: to have a procrastination tool, like, within my computer... it was just getting too hairy. ~ Mike White,

74:The paintings are transferred from my computer to a disk, and I can hand it to the printer this way; or I can modem the painting to the printer over the phone lines from my house in Hawaii. ~ Buffy Sainte Marie,

75:My computer terminal whistles at me: YOU HAVE MAIL. No shit, Sherlock, I always have mail. It's an existential thing: if I don't have mail it would mean that something is very wrong with the world ~ Charles Stross,

76:I write all the time. The wonderful thing about having a cell phone is that if I get an idea, I knock it out and it's in my phone and I can transfer it to my computer and go into the studio and bring it up. ~ Ian Astbury,

77:I need electricity to charge my computer, which is, by the way, an Apple Macintosh, which I chose initially because the Bible proclaims that “those who look through the windows see dimly” (Eccl. 12:3). ~ John Dominic Crossan,

78:Thank God for my computer. Sometimes when there is no one to talk to, I talk aloud so that I can get all my thoughts out and try to figure out the issues that I'm having and try, I'm trying to find the answers. ~ Beyonce Knowles,

79:In early high school years, I was pretty chubby, and I spent a lot of time on my computer, before it was cool to have a computer - because there was a time that was true. So that's where I developed my personality. ~ Rashida Jones,

80:11 a.m.: Sitting in front of my computer and drinking coffee, I spot an email from my accountant stating, ‘Dear Madam, My sister very dangerous. I want to saw her. Please give leave three days! Good day, Srinivasan ~ Twinkle Khanna,

81:Being so alone and so silent for so long gave me the opportunity to see how our brains actually work. I think of that so often in my regular life, as I'm always interacting with people or with my computer or phone. ~ Cheryl Strayed,

82:Given that I have to share my computer with my three children, it's not usually a site that I get to spend that much time on. I'm usually on the Nickelodeon site, coloring with my little five year old or something. ~ Todd McFarlane,

83:needed to get a new laptop. The damn thing ran so slow at the most crucial times. I was trying to submit my paper to the teacher’s website when my computer decided to take a break instead. I decided to call the one person ~ E L Todd,

84:If there's a will, there's a way!

I feel larger than LIFE--and look up to the stars who shine down on me and have become my own personal cheerleaders....as my fingers tap on my computer late into the night.. ~ Donna Scrima Black,

85:Every time a reader leaves a review, an aspiring author gets a new pencil. Yeah, I know that line sucks but I’ve been in front of my computer proofreading for something like fourteen hours straight trying to get this book published ~ Bobby Adair,

86:I am really chained to my computer these days so I work in my bedroom, which is a room I have worked in for years and years. It is just as much an office as a bedroom, and during the day, my bed is rather like an extension of my desk. ~ Margaret Mahy,

87:Luckily, I didn’t find much at home except for some well-worn copies of Playboy that seem positively charming compared to the up-close butt fisting that pops up on my computer these days when I am trying to order salad tongs from Target. ~ Amy Poehler,

88:I'm not a Luddite, but I'm outside more than I'm on my computer. We have a micro-farm - it's a step up from a garden. We have a pretty extensive vineyard. We grow about 60 percent of our own food, make our own wine, have chickens for eggs. ~ Emilio Estevez,

89:DEDICATION To my computer: I couldn’t have written this without you To the software developers responsible for spellcheck: You are my everyday heroes To Karen: I hope this makes you laugh and makes you proud. To my readers (all 3 of you): Thank you ~ Penny Reid,

90:I have a well-deserved reputation for being something of a gadget freak, and am rarely happier than when spending an entire day programming my computer to perform automatically a task that would otherwise take me a good ten seconds to do by hand. ~ Douglas Adams,

91:I've always been a bit of a mix between art and technology. I used to paint a lot, but I'm not very good with my hands. It has always been a fusion between my computer gaming interests and being exposed to the rich data of society that we live in. ~ Aaron Koblin,

92:She cleared her throat. “Um, are you…here for me?” His face showed nothing. No twitch of those full lips, just an impassive mask. She resisted squirming under his gaze. “Um, to help me with my computer?” Or to help me with my orgasm? she thought. ~ Megan Erickson,

93:I've got a song on One Direction's album called 'Tell Me A Lie'. It's a really cute song - I love it. I loved that they liked it. They sound really great on it. I already have it - I'm so VIP with my copy on my computer! It does sound really good. ~ Kelly Clarkson,

94:As much as I loved my computer, I wondered if I would ever know the joy of getting a letter from someone I loved, being able to pour over its contents time and time again, to feel the paper that he touched, and to know he took the time to share his day. ~ Lynn Cahoon,

95:I ride my bike for transportation a great deal - occasionally I ride it for fun. But I also have a generator bike that's hooked up to my solar battery pack, so if I ride 15 minutes hard on my bike, that's enough energy to toast toast, or power my computer. ~ Ed Begley Jr,

96:We’re going to die, aren’t we?” – Abigail
“Hope not. I still have another episode of No Ordinary Family downloaded on my computer that I haven’t had a chance to watch yet. Be a damn shame to miss it. Might have to hurt them if that happens.” – Sasha ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,

97:My kids watch everything downloaded; they have no idea what the numbers or the names of the channels mean, except "FX makes the show that I see on my computer." So it's harder to get a show on the air, but at the same time, there are a lot of terrific shows. ~ Denis Leary,

98:But then I see his face. See the words he wrote. See them on my computer screen. See them etched into my brain. Feel them etched into my heart. Know them deep in my soul. Remembering. Don’t want to remember. Don’t want to live. Tear rolls down my cheek. ~ Sarah Darer Littman,

99:Five days a week I drive from our home to the Episcopal Cathedral Center of Los Angeles where I have an office, my computer, and a wonderful sense of community - especially nurtured by the presence of several younger gay men and women who are good friends. ~ Reverend Malcolm Boyd,

100:Last night, we IM'd so late, I fell asleep with my computer on my lap and woke to his words dinging on my screen. Three things, he said: (1) good morning, (2) I have keybord marks on my face. slept on the "sdfg." (3) you leave in 24 hours, and I'm going to miss you. ~ Julie Buxbaum,

101:A track on iTunes costs next to zero to store on Apple’s server, and next to zero to transmit to my computer. Whatever it cost the record company to produce (in terms of artist fees and marketing costs) it costs me 99p simply because it’s unlawful to copy it for free. The ~ Paul Mason,

102:For personal reasons, I do not browse the web from my computer. (I also have not net connection much of the time.) To look at page I send mail to a demon which runs wget and mails the page back to me. It is very efficient use of my time, but it is slow in real time. ~ Richard Stallman,

103:Enough.” I rolled my eyes and would’ve smacked him with my laptop if I wasn’t worried his hard head would break my computer. “Please don’t make me throw up.”

He finally glanced my way, the corner of his mouth quirked up into a crooked smile. “God, I’ve missed you. ~ Lisa Kessler,

104:I had so many songs that were actually sort of finished. And I deleted them. I wrote on my website that I'd put them on the shelf, but that wasn't true. I actually deleted them from my computer. I got sort of trigger-happy and I think I deleted about 200 songs from my computer. ~ Jens Lekman,

105:I send him an email back informing him that since this is his nineteenth relative in grave danger, he needs to either consult a tantric to remove a curse on his family or to simply stop lying to take extra days off. I shut my computer and hurriedly get ready to reach the office. ~ Twinkle Khanna,

106:I put Post-It notes everywhere to remind me of everything. I stick a ton of them on my computer monitor, telephone, and wallet. The problem now is that there are so many of them that my mind has blocked them all out. So I now need Post-It notes to remind me to look at my Post-It notes. ~ Stephan Pastis,

107:It just wasn't enough, in the end, I guess. The day he got his first thousand dollars, the neighbors must've got ten. Aim for a million bucks, you suddenly need a billion. I upgraded my computer, but it wasn't enough. No matter what, it ain't fucken enough in life, that's what I learned. ~ D B C Pierre,

108:Getting tired of sitting, staring at my computer screen, day after day, where everyone is two-dimensional, reduced to an avatar photo, status updates, or maybe some carefully curated vacation photos. There's something exhausting about that after a while. I found myself wanting to hear voices. ~ Brad Listi,

109:I definitely prefer directing, hands down. I'm a lazy writer and it wasn't until I got into directing that I now have a real impetus when I'm sitting at my computer. Now that I know what it's like to get to bring characters and their stories to fruition, I'm addicted. I'm a junkie. I want more. ~ Coley Sohn,

110:I started trying to do my own music at home, and I was like, 'You know what, I can play the guitar, sort of. And I can do these things, sort of. And I can make these crazy noises on my computer, sort of. But I need a ridiculously good drummer. I need someone to help me with string arrangements. ~ Steve Burns,

111:I could go play some songs for two hours every week - play whatever I wanted to - and then also spend that time putting more music on my computer and getting into more things. It definitely informs the way that I think about music and I think in general, made me a more open-minded consumer of music. ~ Chris Baio,

112:Most of the poems I write go through forty versions and then stay in a file on my computer. I'm not very good at sending stuff out or feeling that something is ready to send out and I never have been. Part of the problem is that as soon as a poem is finished, it stops being all that interesting to me. ~ Nick Laird,

113:I feel, holding books, accommodating their weight and breathing their dust, an abiding love. I trust them, in a way that I can't trust my computer, though I couldn't do without it. Books are matter. My books matter. What would I have done through these years without the library and all its lovely books? ~ Lori Lansens,

114:Only in Southern California do camping grounds actually have wifi, so I was sitting in my tent and I started reading it on my computer, and I couldn't put it down. More importantly, I kept getting up in the middle of the night going, "Oh, this is cool," so I pitched them an idea that they seemed to like. ~ Remi Aubuchon,

115:What will NY152 say today, I wonder. I turn on my computer. I wait impatiently as it connects. I go online, and my breath catches in my chest until I hear three little words: You've got mail. I hear nothing. Not even a sound on the streets of New York, just the beating of my own heart. I have mail. From you. ~ Nora Ephron,

116:I have a group of cafes and coffee shops that I go to regularly. They usually have an area where I can plug in my computer and have a corner seat where I can do a couple hours of writing or whatever, even the noise of the surrounding people walking by. Those things are the things that stimulate me into writing. ~ Bong Joon ho,

117:When I write, I lose time. I'm happy in a way that I have a hard time finding in real life. The intimacy between my brain and my fingers and my computer... Yet knowing that that intimacy will find an audience... It's very satisfying. It's like having the safety of being alone with the ego reward of being known. ~ Jill Soloway,

118:Creating the characters is the most creative part of the novel except for the language itself. There I am, sitting in front of my computer in right-brain mode, typing the things that come to mind - which become the seeds of plot. It's scary, though, because I always wonder: Is it going to be there this time? ~ Elizabeth George,

119:For me, form is something I locate in the process of writing the poems. What I mean is, I start scribbling, and then try to form the poem - on a typewriter or on my computer - and, by trial and error, try to find the right shape. I just try to keep forming the poem in different ways until it feels right to me. ~ Matthew Zapruder,

120:Inside the envelope with the letter was a little Princess Leia action figure USB flash drive. For me to store my novel on, since he was right - I never back up my computer's hard drive. The sight of it - it's Princess Leia in her Hoth outfit, my favorite of her costumes (how had he remembered?) brought tears to my eyes. ~ Meg Cabot,

121:In the end it never works out. You are who you are, no matter what you pretend at the beginning. So I’m not pretending. I drink to ignore my problems. I spend more time with my computer than with my friends. I am angry and lonely, but I can wash dishes just fine. I’m being honest. Please don’t be an asshole about this. ~ Joey Comeau,

122:I always want my mouth to be like two steps ahead of my brain and I want my hands to move without thinking. I want to be able to dive into my computer or use my controllers without having to be, like, "Hmm, what would be a good choice here?" You just want music to happen like the same way the sweat's rolling off my face. ~ Dan Deacon,

123:I have a little office in my house and it is an absolute pigsty but I know exactly where everything is and there are little things stuck all over the walls, and papers in in-trays and files I have saved on my computer and playlists I have made on my iTunes - things that take me to a place that I think is appropriate. ~ Tom Hiddleston,

124:As an artist, I move along in my life, into whatever things I'm doing, and I hear things where it's like, "Oh, that'd be a great [song] title! I'll use that!" So I keep a running list of titles on my computer. I've got these words and phrases that just sustained my interest. So I'm a step ahead, really, with the titling! ~ Andy Summers,

125:I should do three things every day, but instead I sit, paralyzed in front of my computer, beating myself up for not doing three things every day like I promised myself I would. I’ve determined this is more time-consuming and stressful than actually doing the three goddamn things a day, and, therefore, I’m entitled to my fury. ~ Jessica Knoll,

126:She seemed pleasantly surprised that I’d read the homework assignment the night before, despite being somewhat distracted by the thoughts of gremlins lurking around my computer. Apparently satisfied that I could listen and stare out the window at the same time, Miss Singer finally left me alone, and I went back to brooding in peace. ~ Julie Kagawa,

127:Inside the envelope with the letter was a little Princess Leia action figure USB flash drive. (they make these?) For me to store my novel on, since he was right-I never back up my computer's hard drive.
The sight of it-it's Princess Leia in her Hoth outfit, my favorite of her costumes (how had he remembered?) brought tears to my eyes. ~ Meg Cabot,

128:I'm miserable, Ridge. I hate it. I work on it for hours every day, and I just want to take a bat to my computer and go all Office Space on it. If this thesis were a child, I'd put it up for adoption and not think twice about it. If this thesis were a cute, fuzzy puppy, I'd drop it off in the middle of a busy intersection and speed away. ~ Colleen Hoover,

129:I remain fearless of airplanes after 9/11. But during a trip to Los Angeles on a Boeing 767, I couldn't keep my mind from drifting: What's the largest piece of this airplane that could crash into the World Trade Center, explode out the other side, and survive intact? The landing gear? My computer battery? My belt buckle? My wedding ring? ~ Neil deGrasse Tyson,

130:Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good.” (Cribbed from Voltaire.) A twenty-minute walk that I do is better than the four-mile run that I don’t do. The imperfect book that gets published is better than the perfect book that never leaves my computer. The dinner party of take-out Chinese food is better than the elegant dinner that I never host. ~ Bren Brown,

131:A few months back, I upgraded my system. I had just downloaded a new MMORPG game and I had to buy an entirely separate processor because I had modified my game so much (plus I have multiple games on my system). I’ll admit right here and now: I had done some dark things to get my computer to where it was then. Nothing evil or inhumane. Just illegal. Okay? ~ Anonymous,

132:And these years later, when I think of that essay, what I remember most is not the moment I saw my work in New Yorker font, not when I saw the illustration of my father, not the congratulatory phone calls and notes that followed, but that predawn morning in my bedroom, at my desk, the lights of cars below on Broadway, my computer screen glowing in the dark. ~ Dani Shapiro,

133:I hide my documents in many different places on my computer, because I often write things that I would never want anybody to read, at least unedited, and I'm paranoid that someone might figure out what the password to my computer is and maliciously read my Word documents. So a lot of the time I lose things I've written and/or completely forget about them. ~ Chelsea Martin,

134:I actually remember very specifically the night that I launched Facebook at Harvard. I used to go out to get pizza with a friend who I did all my computer science homework with. And I remember talking to him and saying I am so happy we have this at Harvard because now our community can be connected but one day someone is going to build this for the world. ~ Mark Zuckerberg,

135:I remind myself, “Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good.” (Cribbed from Voltaire.) A twenty-minute walk that I do is better than the four-mile run that I don’t do. The imperfect book that gets published is better than the perfect book that never leaves my computer. The dinner party of take-out Chinese food is better than the elegant dinner that I never host. ~ Bren Brown,

136:Get out of my computer immediately. I’m willing to move past the fact that you hacked me, but it ends now.”
“No more backdoor?”
“No more backdoor.”
He appeared crestfallen. “Ever?”
“Never,” Kate said firmly.
“Not even on my birthday or like a special occasion?”
“Are we still talking about my computer?” she asked.
“You probably are. ~ Tracey Garvis Graves,

137:You put what?” “Itching powder I took from Gabe’s prank box! It was just supposed to be a stupid joke. A payback for the porn bombing he pulled on my computer,” I say as my eyes start filling with tears. “You mean after you put a laxative in his Coke?” “Kaleigh, not now, for the love of God. You are on my side always. Blood thicker than asshat boss,” I remind her. ~ Natasha Madison,

138:First of all, I was running scams when you were at keggers at Kappa Kappa Werewolf. You don’t know much about me but I am way smarter than Gabriel was. I’m a consummate liar. I can street fight with the best of them and I can cheat at cards like nobody’s business. This on top of my computer skills. I may not howl at the moon and have superhuman strength but I can hold my own. ~ Lauren Dane,

139:You’ve obviously hacked into my computer. How did you do it?”
“I came in your backdoor.”
“I’m certain you did not.”
“I assure you that I did.”
“Without even discussing it with me first? No preparation? No warning? Don’t you think that’s incredibly bad form?”
Ian grinned. “Are we still talking about your computer? Because I find you utterly delightful right now. ~ Tracey Garvis Graves,

140:If I'm writing a novel, I'll probably get up in the morning, do email, perhaps blog, deal with emergencies, and then be off novel-writing around 1.00pm and stop around 6.00pm. And I'll be writing in longhand, a safe distance from my computer. If I'm not writing a novel, there is no schedule, and scripts and introductions and whatnot can find themselves being written at any time and on anything. ~ Neil Gaiman,

141:But at least he thinks I have a boyfriend, I tell myself. It could be worse. If he thought I was interested in him for real then I would have to dig a hole and bury myself in it because the smug would be too much to bear.

I reach automatically for my computer and open it up. I need some music to drown my shame in. Some people have tequila to send them into catatonic oblivion, I have music. ~ Sarah Alderson,

142:Actually, I caught myself thinking that I was hoping for someone to break into my apartment and steal my computer, or a big fire would take place in my apartment, or thinking of uninstalling my firewall so someone could hack into my computer. I just had all these dreams and eventually realized what I needed to do was delete the songs because I really wasn't happy with them. I needed a fresh beginning. ~ Jens Lekman,

143:Because computers have memories, we imagine that they must be something like our human memories, but that is simply not true. Computer memories work in a manner alien to human memories. My memory lets me recognize the faces of my friends, whereas my own computer never even recognizes me. My computer's memory stores a million phone numbers with perfect accuracy, but I have to stop and think to recall my own. ~ Alan Cooper,

144:Then, life went back to normal.
That’s what people say when nothing happens, right?
When you forget your New Year’s resolutions, when you abandon your dreams of freedom (why leave when my room was just repaired?) and greatness (why resume my studies when my computer’s raking in money for me like a one-armed bandit?), and when you drink like a fish and run around making comedies that aren’t romantic at all. ~ Anna Gavalda,

145:I recheck my inbox. Everything’s up to date. I check the clock. Three fifteen P.M. I check my lipstick in the reflection of the shiny wall tile near my computer monitor. I check Joshua, who is glowering at me with contempt. I stare back. Now we are playing the Staring Game.

I should mention that the ultimate aim of all our games is to make the other smile, or cry. It’s something like that. I’ll know when I win. ~ Sally Thorne,

146:Where are you going?” I demanded.
He looked over his shoulder at me with an exasperated sigh. “To my room, of course.”
“Can’t we write the paper down here?” I asked.
The corners of Wesley’s mouth turned slightly upward as he hooked a finger over his belt. “We could, Duffy, but the writing will go much faster if I’m typing, and my computer’s upstairs. You’re the one who said you wanted to get this over with. ~ Kody Keplinger,

147:I feel drawn to the word "unmoored" during this time. I look it up a few times a week. I stare at the definition on my computer screen. I love the example sentence Wikipedia uses, which says, Left unmoored, the boat gradually drifts out to sea. It pops into my head when I wake in the mornings, while I walk the streets, wait for the bus, the train, get into cabs, eat lunch alone, and browse the shelves at the library. ~ Chloe Caldwell,

148:He’s there for good, Steven. Stone is there for good.” He stays silent yet close, as we walk into my foyer and into my office. Ignoring him to the best of my ability, mostly out of shame, I turn on my computer and kick off my red-bottomed heels. “I’m not asking for him not to be,” he rasps. I let my gaze flick up to meet his as he looms over my desk, his large hands splayed on the dark, polished wood. “I’m demanding what’s left. ~ Rachel Robinson,

149:Under the pretense of wanting to record the history of my brother’s year at college, I’d asked to take a picture of Sam with his roommate. Unfortunately, the zoom on my digital camera had somehow been pressed—by a renegade finger, I assumed—and I’d only been able to get a really good close-up shot of Brad. No evidence of Sam in sight. Gosh, darn. What a shame!
The photo was now the background wallpaper on my computer desktop. ~ Rachel Hawthorne,

150:Nya sought to explain. “He was to ensorcell my computer back to functionality. Even in the Maelstrom, we did not have the blue screen of death. Was his job not information technology? Was his task not to fix such issues so I could return to selling paper, as is my task?” “But, madness and pain beyond comprehension?” Bob did not meet Nya’s eyes. “NOT EVEN THE CHAOS LORDS OF THE MAELSTROM USE MICROSOFT WORD. WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS PLACE? ~ L Ron Hubbard,

151:After we got back to the office, I wanted to show you his picture, and I had one on my phone, but it was so small, so I downloaded it onto my computer. Or was that your computer? Wasn’t that when you just got your Mac?” During the past year, Lindsey had become one of those obnoxious PowerBook users. Anytime anyone had trouble opening or downloading a file using their PC, Lindsey would nod and say, “That wouldn’t happen with my computer. ~ Suzanne Brockmann,

152:Who is Baine?” Nella asked.
“My computer,” Dr. Laas said. “A man I had an affair with programmed the voice in before he left. I told him to go, you see, and this was his revenge. Baine sounds just like him.”
“Do not insult me,” Baine answered. “ I am a thousand times superior to your fly-by-night lover. He is now in jail on Station 1217, by the way, for indecent exposure.”
“Really?” Dr. Laas brightened. “How delightful. ~ Allyson James,

153:By using money as the scapegoat and work as our all-consuming routine, we are able to conveniently disallow ourselves to do otherwise: 'John, I'd love to talk about the gaping void I feel in my life, the hopelessness that hits me like a punch in the eye every time I start my computer in the morning, but I have so much work to do! I've got at least three hours of unimportant email to reply to before calling prospects who said 'no' yesterday. Gotta run! ~ Tim Ferriss,

154:By using money as the scapegoat and work as our all-consuming routine, we are able to conveniently disallow ourselves to do otherwise: 'John, I'd love to talk about the gaping void I feel in my life, the hopelessness that hits me like a punch in the eye every time I start my computer in the morning, but I have so much work to do! I've got at least three hours of unimportant email to reply to before calling prospects who said 'no' yesterday. Gotta run! ~ Timothy Ferriss,

155:I met designers that are in the business for ten years in the movies, and their biggest complaint is things don't look anything like they were designed. Look at my drawing! But nobody ever sees the drawing, that's the thing. So I knew right from the beginning that I would design everything in 3D on my computer, and those models literally went to the machines. So every little radius on most of the vehicles you see there, I built with my mouse and keyboard. ~ Daniel Simon,

156:I prefer reading novels. Short stories are too much like daggers. And now that I'm done with my collection I'm more interested in different forms of writing and other kinds of narrative art. I'm working on a screenplay. But when I was working on Eileen, I definitely felt like I was taking a piss. Like, here I am, typing on my computer, writing the "novel." It wasn't that it was insincere, but there was a kind of farcical feeling I had when I was writing. ~ Ottessa Moshfegh,

157:isaac knows how stupid i find these things, and he finds them just as stupid as i do. like lol. now, if there's anything stupider than buddy lists, it's lol. if anyone ever uses lol with me, i rip my computer right out of the wall and smash it over the nearest head. i mean, it's not like anyone's laughing out loud about the things they lol. i think it should be spelled loll, like what a lobotomized person's tongue does. loll. loll. i can't think any more. loll. loll! ~ David Levithan,

158:Partible K.J. Zimring | 4849 words “Congratulations on your impending fatherhood.” Eileen grinned as she waltzed into our office. “Very funny.” I didn’t even look up from my computer. “You’re late. We have that trend analysis meeting in fifteen minutes.” “Seriously.” She waggled an official-looking document in front of me. “You got mail from the Bureau of Immigration and Naturalization.” I took the envelope from her and stared at the return address. “What’s the Minor Emigration Division? ~ Anonymous,

159:And out of the blue, I got a call from an editor friend at Knopf and she said that they were interested in putting out an update for their vintage paperback line. So I was more than thrilled and it was suggested that perhaps I could do a 1,000 word new introduction covering what's happened with the whole Warhol thing since 1990 when the first edition hardcover came out and, uh, that was about August 1st and I sat down at my computer here in East Hampton and on on August 30th I'd written almost 10,000 words! ~ Bob Colacello,

160:Billy's one and only moment of candor was when I parked him in front of my computer to play a game. He took one look at the Noah's Ark display and his whole face flinched like someone had hit him. He told me that the snow leopard is extinct. The last surviving specimen died in a zoo a few weeks back. "The snow leopard was my favorite," he said. Then he sat down at the computer and within about 30 seconds he was lost in a realistic prison interior, shooting the guards' heads off, blowing doors open, getting killed. ~ Michel Faber,

161:It seemed to take the most colossal effort to do simple things. I remember bursting into tears because I had used up the cake of soap that was in the shower. I cried because one of the keys stuck for a second on my computer. I found everything excruciatingly difficult, and so, for example, the prospect of lifting the telephone receiver seemed to me like bench-pressing four hundred pounds. The reality that I had to put on not just one but two socks and then two shoes so overwhelmed me that I wanted to go back to bed. ~ Andrew Solomon,

162:I turn on my computer to search Craigslist for apartment listings. The wireless window pops up, and I realize with some regret that all I know about my neighbours is their wireless network names: Krypton, Space balls, Couscous, and Scarlet. From this I can tell little else than that they're fans of Superman, Mel Brooks, Middle Eastern cuisine, and the colour red. I look out my window, wondering whose house is whose and what private food and entertainment consumption occurs in each and how I will never get to know. ~ Jonathan Goldstein,

163:When the crowd thins a little, I rotate in a circle, taking a 360-degree panoramic. Darren ducks out of my way, so I make him pose for me to get a shot of him alone with the brick ruins in the background.
I preview it on the little screen. His hair is magically controlled today, every curl falling perfectly in place around his head, though his facial hair is the scruffiest I’ve seen yet. His smile is more of a smirk, mischievous. Like he knows I have every intention of making this the background picture on my computer. ~ Kristin Rae,

164:I woke up with a start, a little after 5:30 in the morning, to that wonderful feeling that lasts only a fraction of a second, when you don’t know where you are—not even what continent you’re on! I jumped up from the futon and went over to my computer to make a note of the few fragments of the dream I could still hold on to before they completely melted away in the mind’s morning fog. The complexity and the confusion of the adventure put me in a good mood: I take such dreams as a sign that my brain is in good working order. ~ C dric Villani,

165:The work saved me. I clung to it like flotsam in a boiling sea. It was the only solitary sport that I ever played, or was any good at. It felt natural to sit at my computer and type and type some more. For entire minutes, while writing, I could forget the godawful thing that had happened. I could forget that nothing really mattered anymore. Perhaps, if I set my sights low, I could care again about some small thing. I would type a word. One word. Then another. I started to care about the words, then entire sentences. ~ Rheta Grimsley Johnson,

166:The study showed that chronic loneliness impacts out bodies as negatively as smoking two packs of cigarettes a day. Not the same way, of course, just the life risk part. And there's more bad news. The article went on to say that lonely people had worse reactions to flu shots that non-lonelies (I think I just made up that word; my computer put a red squiggly line under it) and that loneliness depresses the immune system. On other words, if you're lonely, not even your body wants to be around you, so it tries to off itself. ~ Richard Paul Evans,

167:Writing helped to have jobs that involved running around, pushing things like dish carts and wheelbarrows. It would be hard to sit at a desk all day, and then come to sit at another desk. Also, it helps to abandon hope. If I sit at my computer, determined to write a New Yorker story I won't get beyond the first sentence. It's better to put no pressure on it. What would happen if I followed the previous sentence with this one, I'll think. If the eighth draft is torture, the first should be fun. At least if you're writing humor. ~ David Sedaris,

168:I once thought of habits as things I do without thinking. Like stealing candy out of my kid’s Halloween bucket on November 1. A minute ago, I was at my computer, and now I’m standing in a different room stuffing my face with Skittles. I don’t even know how I got here. Bad habits. I have lots of those. I assumed when people talked about cleaning habits they would work the same way, but they don’t. They so don’t. I have never once found myself dusting and thought, “How in the world did I get here? I don’t even remember grabbing the duster! ~ Dana K White,

169:My own feeling is this: mathematics and computer science are the two unnatural sciences, the things that are man-made. We get to set up the rules so it doesn't matter the way the universe works – we create our own universe... And I feel strongly that they are different, but I tried to convince Bill Thurston and he disagreed with me. My opinion though is I can feel rather strongly when I am wearing my mathematician's cloak versus when I am wearing my computer scientist's cap. ~ Donald Knuth (May 29, 2011). "All Questions Answered" by Donald Knuth. GoogleTechTalks. YouTube.,

170:He auditioned with Lily, and he and Lily had incredible chemistry that sort of blazed off the scene. I’m just sitting here watching this on my computer, and you know, he was not the only person they’ve ever sent me to look at. I’ve gotten lots of headshots and this and that, and I’m watching the audition and I literally started crying because that was my Jace and Clary on the screen. And it’s an incredible feeling to see that even as an audition. This is amazing. He was snarky funny where he needed to be snarky funny, and he was badass where he needed to be badass. And he and Lily were incredible together ~ Cassandra Clare,

171:Me: Morning. How’s the thesis coming along?

Maggie: Do you want me to sugar-coat it, or are you honestly giving me an opening to vent?

Me: Wide open. Vent away.

Maggie: I’m miserable, Ridge. I hate it. I work on it for hours every day, and I just want to take a bat to my computer and go all Office Space on it. If this thesis were a child, I’d put it up for adoption and not even think twice about it. If this thesis were a cute, fuzzy puppy, I’d drop it off in the middle of a busy intersection and speed away.

Me: And then you would do a U-turn and go back and pick it up and play with it all night. ~ Colleen Hoover,

172:My Research Bible Routine At some point during my quest, I started what I came to call my research bible, which is, in reality, a document I keep on my computer. Here’s the routine: Once a week I require myself to summarize in my “bible” a paper I think might be relevant to my research. This summary must include a description of the result, how it compares to previous work, and the main strategies used to obtain it. These summaries are less involved than the step-by-step deconstruction I did on my original test-case paper—which is what allows me to do them on a weekly basis—but they still induce the strain of deliberate practice. My ~ Cal Newport,

173:Lately, I usually write at the desk in my living-room or bedroom. From time to time, our red and stripy cat named Foxy decides to be my companion, poking his curious caramel-colored nose to the screen, watching me typing, and making attempts to put his paws on the keyboard despite the fact that he knows he is not allowed to; he also loves to arrange “sunbathing sessions for himself, purring joyfully while lying with his belly up under the lamp placed to the left of my computer; and, of course, the cat can’t wait for when I happen to have a snack, to beg for some treats that seem to him tastiest if eaten from a caring human’s hand. ~ Sahara Sanders,

174:I think God allows all of us to go missing a time or two. He doesn’t lose us like I did my computer when my van was broken into, but He lets us get lost for a while if it’s what we really want. When we do, He doesn’t pout or withhold His love the way I probably would if someone completely ignored me or walked away from me. Instead, He pursues us in love. He’s not trying to find us; He always knows where we are. Rather, He goes with us as we find ourselves again. In this way, we have both a little sheep and some shepherd in us too. God isn’t constantly telling us what to do as we search for ourselves either. He gently reminds us who we are. ~ Bob Goff,

175:First they came for the hackers. But I never did anything illegal with my computer, so I didn’t speak up. Then they came for the pornographers. But I thought there was too much smut on the Internet anyway, so I didn’t speak up. Then they came for the anonymous remailers. But a lot of nasty stuff gets sent from anon.penet.fi, so I didn’t speak up. Then they came for the encryption users. But I could never figure out how to work PGP anyway, so I didn’t speak up. Then they came for me. And by that time there was no one left to speak up. WIDELY COPIED INTERNET APHORISM, A PARAPHRASE OF PROTESTANT MINISTER MARTIN NIEMOLLER‘S STATEMENT ABOUT LIFE IN NAZI GERMANY ~ David Brin,

176:now, if there's anything stupider than buddy lists, its lol. if anyone ever uses lol with me, i rip my computer right out of the wall and smash it over the nearest head. i mean, it's not like anyone is laughing out loud about the things they lol. i think it should be spelled loll. like what a lobotomized person's tongue does. loll. loll. i can't think anymore. loll. loll! or ttyl. bitch, you're not actually talking. that would require actual vocal contact or <3. you honestly think that looks like a heart? if you do, that's only because you'v never seen scrotum. (rofl! what? are you really rolling on the floor laughing? well, please stay down there a sec while i KICK YOUR ASS) ~ David Levithan,

177:The rationalist likes to plan everything in advance before making the first move. The empiricist prefers to try things and see how they turn out. I don’t know if there’s a gene for rationalism or one for empiricism, but looking at my computer scientist colleagues, I’ve observed time and again that they are almost like personality traits: some people are rationalistic to the core and could never have been otherwise; and others are empiricist through and through, and that’s what they’ll always be. The two sides can converse with each other and sometimes draw on each other’s results, but they can understand each other only so much. Deep down each believes that what the other does is secondary, and not very interesting. ~ Pedro Domingos,

178:I’d asked Tink about good fae when I got home. He’d been busy on my computer, creating If Daryl Dies We Riot memes. He’d genuinely appeared confused by my line of questioning. According to my pint-sized roommate, all fae were bad. There was no such thing as a good fae. Something had occurred to me while I’d watched him concentrate, the white glare from my computer lighting up his face. “Do you ever leave this house, Tink? Go anywhere?” He’d frowned up at me like I’d asked him why I should watch The Walking Dead. “Why would I leave? This place has everything I need, and if it doesn’t, I can order it from Amazon.” He’d paused. “Though, on second thought, we could use a live-in chef, because you can’t cook for shit. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,

179:The human mind is itself a miraculous machine. I am writing right now, but I have no idea how this is happening. I know that my brain is composed of a cerebrum, a cerebellum, and a medulla oblongata, but these are just words. I know that electrical impulses are involved somehow, but that is about the extent of my understanding of the mechanics. And while I at least have an intuition as to how an airplane works, I really have none with respect to my brain. Frankly, lots of what appears on my computer screen is as much a surprise to me as it is to you. I certainly never expected over my oatmeal and English muffin this morning to be writing about Bernoulli's principle today. For that matter, I have no idea why I like English muffins. But I do. ~ Evan Mandery,

180:So . . . how are we getting out of here? Do I still have to?"
"Yes. That thing over there"-he points as he unhooks my coat from the hanger-"is an elevator. You've been in it before. With me, in fact. I'll step you through the process."
"What if someone sees us?"
"You say that now? Lucinda, you're priceless."
I slap my keyboard to lock my computer, snatch my handbag and clatter after him. I try to tug my coat from his arm but he shakes his head and tuts. The elevator doors open and he tugs me in, his hand at my waist.
I turn to see Helene, leaning on her doorframe, her posture one of casual amusement. She then throws her head back and laughs in delight, clapping her hands together. He waves to Helene as the doors close. ~ Sally Thorne,

181:the Feds had also found Netcom’s customer database that contained more than 20,000 credit card numbers on my computer, but I had never attempted to use any of them; no prosecutor would ever be able to make a case against me on that score. I have to admit, I had liked the idea that I could use a different credit card every day for the rest of my life without ever running out. But I’d never had any intention of running up charges on them, and never did. That would be wrong. My trophy was a copy of Netcom’s customer database. Why is that so hard to understand? Hackers and gamers get it instinctively. Anyone who loves to play chess knows that it’s enough to defeat your opponent. You don’t have to loot his kingdom or seize his assets to make it worthwhile. ~ Kevin D Mitnick,

182:Kyler half-jumped half-threw himself toward my open window. I was wussy. Closing my eyes, I balled my hands up near my chest and let out a little shriek. There was a sound of flesh hitting wood and my eyes flew open. He came through the open window, landing on his feet like a damn cat. He stumbled though and banged into my desk, causing books and my computer to shake.
He held his hands out to his sides and looked around slowly before his gaze settled on me. “I am awesome.” I could barely breathe. “Yeah.” A knock sounded on my bedroom door a second before it opened. Dad popped his head in, eyes wide. “I’m just making sure he made it up here alive.” I nodded and Kyler flashed a grin. “I’m in one piece.” “That’s good to see.” Dad started to close the door, but stopped. “Next time, use the front door, Kyler.” “Yes, sir,” Kyler said. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,

183:At some point during my research, I came across the term "gender fluid." Reading those words was a revelation. It was like someone tore a layer of gauze off the mirror, and I could see myself clearly for the first time. There was a name for what I was. It was a thing. Gender fluid.

Sitting there in front of my computer--like I am right now--I knew I would never be the same. I could never go back to seeing it the old way; I could never go back to not knowing what I was.

But did that glorious moment of revelation really change anything? I don't know. Sometimes, I don't think so. I may have a name for what I am now--but I'm just as confused and out of place as I was before. And if today is any indication, I'm still playing out that scene in the toy store--trying to pick the thing that will cause the least amount of drama. And not having much success. ~ Jeff Garvin,

184:One image that doesn’t exist in my computer but that I will always remember is the view from the Soyuz window as Sergey, Misha, and I backed away from the International Space Station. As well as I know the inside of the station, I’ve only seen the outside a handful of times. It’s a strange sight, glinting in the reflected sunlight, as long as a football field, its solar arrays spread out more than half an acre. It’s a completely unique structure, assembled by spacewalkers flying around the Earth at 17,500 miles per hour in a vacuum, in extremes of temperature of plus and minus 270 degrees, the work of fifteen different nations over eighteen years, thousands of people speaking different languages and using different engineering methods and standards. In some cases the station’s modules never touched one another while on Earth, but they all fit together perfectly in space. ~ Scott Kelly,

185:I sit here before my computer, Amiguita, my altar on top of the monitor with the Virgen de Coatlalopeuh candle and copal incense burning. My companion, a wooden serpent staff with feathers, is to my right while I ponder the ways metaphor and symbol concretize the spirit and etherealize the body. The Writing is my whole life, it is my obsession. This vampire which is my talent does not suffer other suitors. Daily I court it, offer my neck to its teeth. This is the sacrifice that the act of creation requires, a blood sacrifice. For only through the body, through the pulling of flesh, can the human soul be transformed. And for images, words, stories to have this transformative power, they must arise from the human body--flesh and bone--and from the Earth's body--stone, sky, liquid, soil. This work, these images, piercing tongue or ear lobes with cactus needle, are my offerings, are my Aztecan blood sacrifices. ~ Gloria E Anzald a,

186:I made the mistake of snooping and reading the model’s journal. We finished having medium-to-boring sex and I rifled through his things while he took a shower. I am pretty good at snooping around. It started in my own house, where I would go through every drawer and every pocket in my parents’ room. Luckily, I didn’t find much at home except for some well-worn copies of Playboy that seem positively charming compared to the up-close butt fisting that pops up on my computer these days when I am trying to order salad tongs from Target. I honed my snooping skills when I babysat. It was then that I saw my first diaphragm, laxatives, and stacks of cash in an underwear drawer. I have basically ransacked every house I have been allowed into. My snooping tendencies have now abated somewhat, but I still have to fight the urge to immediately go through people’s shit. I am not proud of this and I realize that by admitting this I am limiting future opportunities to be a houseguest. ~ Amy Poehler,

187:Pages later- hearing and exposed- Whitman starts to write about all the travel he can do by imagining, and lists all the places he can visit while loafing on the grass. "My palms cover continents," he writes.

I kept thinking about maps, like the way sometimes when I was kid and I would look at atlases, and just the looking was kind of like being somewhere else. This is what I had to do.I had to hear and imagine my way into her map.

But hadn't I been trying to do that? I looked up at the maps above my computer. I had tried to plot her possible travels, but just as the grass stood for too much so Margo stood for too much. It seemed impossible to pin her down with maps. She was too small and the space covered by the maps too big. They were more than a waste of time- they were the physical representation of the total fruitlessness of all of it, my absolute inability to develop the kinds of palms that cover continents, to have the kind of mind that correctly imagines. ~ John Green,

188:Miss Probert?” “Yes.” “I don’t really need a technology lesson.” “Wonderful, because I have neither the time nor inclination to give you one. My point is, such requests are fairly routine at Interpol. I put the photograph into the system before I left for the day, figuring the computer would work on it overnight and spew out an answer. Is that simplifying matters enough for you?” I nodded, realizing that I’d be wrong to interrupt. She was clearly agitated and I hadn’t helped. “So when I arrived at work this morning, I expected to have an identity to report back to you. But that wasn’t the case. Instead—how shall I put this politely?—all forms of intestinal waste hit the proverbial fan. Someone had gone through my desk. My computer had been accessed and searched. Don’t ask me how I know—I know.” She stopped and started searching through her bag. She found a cigarette and put it in her mouth. “You damn Americans and your antismoking crusade. If one of you says anything about no-smoking rules . . .” Neither ~ Harlan Coben,

189:I love my job. I love the pay! ~ Dr SeussI love it more and more each day. ~ Dr SeussI love my boss, he is the best! ~ Dr SeussI love his boss and all the rest.
~ Dr SeussI love my office and its location. I hate to have to go on vacation. ~ Dr SeussI love my furniture, drab and grey, and piles of paper that grow each day! ~ Dr SeussI think my job is swell, there's nothing else I love so well. ~ Dr SeussI love to work among my peers, I love their leers, and jeers, and sneers. ~ Dr SeussI love my computer and its software; I hug it often though it won't care. ~ Dr SeussI love each program and every file, I'd love them more if they worked a while.
~ Dr SeussI'm happy to be here. I am. I am. ~ Dr SeussI'm the happiest slave of the Firm, I am. ~ Dr SeussI love this work. I love these chores. ~ Dr SeussI love the meetings with deadly bores. ~ Dr SeussI love my job - I'll say it again - I even love those friendly men. ~ Dr SeussThose friendly men who've come today, in clean white coats to take me away!!!!! ~ Dr Seuss,

190:The problem was that this sort of training took weeks, if not months—and we still had to go through the door in the meantime. We tried to do the exercises. We gave it our best shot. Or to be honest, we gave it our best shot for a while. But it was exhausting, for us and for Oliver. He was so finely attuned to the various stages Jude and I had for getting ready to leave that as soon as we tried to decouple one cue from his “they are leaving me” anxiety, picking up our keys, for example, Oliver would figure out another, such as making our lunches or putting on our work clothes. He may have been dysfunctional and disturbed, but he wasn’t stupid. Sometimes I stored my computer bag in our building’s shared hallway because even the sight of it would make Oliver start vigilantly watching for our departure, panting heavily and pacing. He also reacted to the sight of suitcases. And the putting on of shoes. And the opening of the coat closet. Possibly, if Jude and I had left for work naked, through a window, with no lunches, no keys, no bags, no shoes, and at odd hours, we could have avoided triggering Oliver’s anxiety. ~ Laurel Braitman,

191:Tool 1: Evernote I’ve already mentioned Evernote, but it’s worth bringing up again. I use Evernote as my personal “ubiquitous idea capture device.” Not only is it good for recording messages and ideas, it also fully syncs between mobile and desktop devices. This means I can record an idea in my car and have it accessible when I’m in front of my computer. How is Evernote helpful for streamlining your inbox efforts? It can handle email services, collaboration ideas, reminders and anything that might be important for your job. If you’re running errands and suddenly remember that you have to email someone, then you can create an “Email Reminders” folder on Evernote and have the list ready to go when processing your inbox. Tool 2: Sanebox Sanebox is a third-party program that works with all email clients. Its purpose is to only allow important messages to show up in your inbox. The rest are sent to a separate folder. Then at the end of the day (or a time that you specify), it will send you a message that contains everything in the “separate” folder. The main point behind this tool is to rate the emails you receive based on your personal reads, replies and when you mark things “up” as important. Therefore, the more you use the system, the more accurate it becomes. ~ S J Scott,

192:The shimmering tarmac of the deserted basketball court, a line of industrial-sized garbage cans, and beyond the electrified perimeter fence a vista that twangs a country and western chord of self-pity in me. For a brief moment, when I first arrived, I thought of putting a photo of Alex - Laughing Alpha Male at Roulette Wheel - next to my computer, alongside my family collection: Late Mother Squinting Into Sun on Pebbled Beach, Brother Pierre with Postpartum Wife and Male Twins, and Compos Mentis Father Fighting Daily Telegraph Crossword. But I stopped myself. Why give myself a daily reminder of what I have in every other way laid to rest? Besides, there would be curiosity from colleagues, and my responses to their questions would seem either morbid or tasteless or brutal depending on the pitch and role of my mood. Memories of my past existence, and the future that came with it, can start as benign, Vaselined nostalgia vignettes. But they’ll quickly ghost train into Malevolent noir shorts backlit by that great worst enemy of all victims of circumstance, hindsight. So for the sake of my own sanity, I apologize silently to Alex before burying him in the desk alongside my emergency bottle of Lauphroaig and a little homemade flower press given to me by a former patient who hanged himself with a clothesline.
The happy drawer. ~ Liz Jensen,

193:Then I see the Christmas presents still in the Nordstrom bags. I immediately pick them up and throw them against the wall, screaming my lungs out. Some smash like broken glasses, others land with a thud. I kick them and kick them and kick them until I’m sweating and the bags are torn and the boxes are all bent inside. I kick and stomp until they feel like my heart. Then I fall to the ground among the carnage and I cry. And I cry. As the world that I loved slips past, right out of my fingers. *** The next few days I do something I have never done before. I don’t open the shop. On day one I don’t even drag myself out of the apartment. I don’t shower, I don’t get dressed, I don’t eat. I don’t even charge my phone or turn on my computer or my TV. I just lie there on the couch, on the bed, on the floor. I lie there and I cry. I am ruined with debilitating sorrow, a loss that’s pulled straight from my chest until I feel like I must be concave, that I could never straighten again. Then I scream and I kick and I yell and curse the world. I am anger reborn and frustration unjustified. I am brutal hate and cold, dead winter. I am turning, tumbling in despair and there is no light, no warmth, no world, no heart. I feel like I’ve died. But death should bring peace. I have no peace. I am not even numb. I am just stuck in this life that wasn’t the one I was living a few days before. In this life I’ve lost everything. ~ Anonymous,

194:I think we're all just doing our best to survive the inevitable pain and suffering that walks alongside us through life. Long ago, it was wild animals and deadly poxes and harsh terrain. I learned about it playing The Oregon Trail on an old IBM in my computer class in the fourth grade. The nature of the trail has changed, but we keep trekking along. We trek through the death of a sibling, a child, a parent, a partner, a spouse; the failed marriage, the crippling debt, the necessary abortion, the paralyzing infertility, the permanent disability, the job you can't seem to land; the assault, the robbery, the break-in, the accident, the flood, the fire; the sickness, the anxiety, the depression, the loneliness, the betrayal, the disappointment, and the heartbreak.
There are these moments in life where you change instantly.
In one moment, you're the way you were, and in the next, you're someone else. Like becoming a parent: you're adding, of course, instead of subtracting, as it is when someone dies, and the tone of the occasion is obviously different, but the principal is the same. Birth is an inciting incident, a point of no return, that changes one's circumstances forever. The second that beautiful baby onto whom you have projected all your hopes and dreams comes out of your body, you will never again do anything for yourself. It changes you suddenly and entirely.
Birth and death are the same in that way. ~ Stephanie Wittels Wachs,

195:Every day, sometimes when I am doing my meditation practice and sometimes when I am working at my computer or sitting in my car waiting for a traffic light to change or sharing a meal with friends, I turn my attention to my breath and visualize myself on some inner plane of the imagination turning my face toward that which is larger than myself—the Great Mystery. I only have to turn my face toward it. I become aware of the temperature of the air touching my cheek. I imagine the molecules of oxygen and hydrogen and carbon dioxide colliding in exuberant activity, caressing the skin of my face. And I become aware that these molecules are alive with a vibration, a presence that is there also in the cells of my skin and in the molecules of those cells and in the atoms and subatomic particles of those. Slowly I turn my attention to an inner view of the landscape around and within me, and I become aware of this presence, like the hum of a great song constantly reverberating throughout and emanating from my body, the chair supporting me, the ground beneath me, and the people around me. And I know this presence as a whole that is larger than the sum of the parts and yet inseparable from the parts—including me—which are in a state of constant change. And I experience this presence, this bloodred thread of being that runs through the dark tapestry of daily life, as that which gives me the ability to truly know each other as another myself—as compassion. ~ Oriah Mountain Dreamer,

196:From then on, my computer monitored my vital signs and kept track of exactly how many calories I burned during the course of each day. If I didn’t meet my daily exercise requirements, the system prevented me from logging into my OASIS account. This meant that I couldn’t go to work, continue my quest, or, in effect, live my life. Once the lockout was engaged, you couldn’t disable it for two months. And the software was bound to my OASIS account, so I couldn’t just buy a new computer or go rent a booth in some public OASIS café. If I wanted to log in, I had no choice but to exercise first. This proved to be the only motivation I needed. The lockout software also monitored my dietary intake. Each day I was allowed to select meals from a preset menu of healthy, low-calorie foods. The software would order the food for me online and it would be delivered to my door. Since I never left my apartment, it was easy for the program to keep track of everything I ate. If I ordered additional food on my own, it would increase the amount of exercise I had to do each day, to offset my additional calorie intake. This was some sadistic software. But it worked. The pounds began to melt off, and after a few months, I was in near-perfect health. For the first time in my life I had a flat stomach, and muscles. I also had twice the energy, and I got sick a lot less frequently. When the two months ended and I was finally given the option to disable the fitness lockout, I decided to keep it in place. Now, exercising was a part of my daily ritual. ~ Ernest Cline,

197:Internet had been around for years at that point, but I’d been at school in Bumblefuck, Iowa, where I barely had phone service, let alone Internet, and as I stated above, I was not a computer nerd (just a regular nerd), so I didn’t know what the hell AOL was exactly. I read the description and decided I should try it. For someone like me, who really couldn’t comprehend the Internet, it sounded like the perfect introduction. I hooked up my computer, plugged it into a phone jack, and went online for the first time. These were the days of dial-up, so I’d log in and send AOL off to find an open line, and then I’d have time to get some dinner, put on my jammies, and maybe even throw in a load of laundry before I’d hear: “You’ve got mail!” AOL was so smart. Even the first time I logged in I had mail. It was just a welcome letter from them, but it was still mail and I loved to hear that voice announce every time I logged on. It was like crack for me. I was hooked. So long, social life! Ha! As if I really had a social life to lose! In those days, I was living on my own and working at a shitty job. Most of my friends were married at that point and I didn’t feel like being a third wheel. My life was pretty much: get up, go to work, come home, watch whatever crappy show was on TV (this was before DVRs, so you had to watch whatever was on plus the commercials—it totally sucked balls), and go to bed. Get up the next day and repeat. I quickly discovered that many people went on AOL to “chat.” There were tons of chat rooms to choose from based on your interests. Everything from dog grooming to knitting to S&M. You ~ Jen Mann,

198:p2 I'd seen a photo of the actual red and white checked notebook that was Anne [Frank]'s first diary. I longed to own a similar notebook. Stationery was pretty dire back in the late fifties and early sixties. There was no such thing as Paperchase. I walked round and round the stationery counter in Woolworths and spent most of my pocket money on notebooks, but they weren't strong on variety. You could have shiny red sixpenny notebooks, lined inside, with strange maths details about rods and poles and perches on the back. (I never found out what they were!) Then you could have shiny blue sixpenny notebooks. That was your lot.
I was enchanted to read in Dodie Smith's novel I Capture The Castle that the heroine, Cassandra, was writing her diary in a similar sixpenny notebook. She eventually progressed to a shilling notebook. My Woolworths rarely stocked such expensive luxuries. Then, two thirds of the way through the book, Cassandra is given a two-guinea red leather manuscript book. I lusted after that fictional notebook for years.
I told my mother, Biddy. She rolled her eyes. It could have cost two hundred guineas - both were way out of our league... My dad, Harry, was a civil servant. One of the few perks of his job was that he had an unlimited illegal supply of notepads watermarked SO - Stationery Office. I'd drawn on these pads for years, I'd scribbled stories, I'd written letters. They were serviceable but unexciting: thin cream paper unreliably bound with glue at the top. You couldn't write a journal with these notepads; it would fall apart in days... My spelling wasn't too hot. It still isn't. Thank goodness for the spellcheck on my computer! ~ Jacqueline Wilson,

199:I am in this same river. I can't much help it. I admit it: I'm racist. The other night I saw a group (or maybe a pack?) or white teenagers standing in a vacant lot, clustered around a 4x4, and I crossed the street to avoid them; had they been black, I probably would have taken another street entirely. And I'm misogynistic. I admit that, too. I'm a shitty cook, and a worse house cleaner, probably in great measure because I've internalized the notion that these are woman's work. Of course, I never admit that's why I don't do them: I always say I just don't much enjoy those activities (which is true enough; and it's true enough also that many women don't enjoy them either), and in any case, I've got better things to do, like write books and teach classes where I feel morally superior to pimps. And naturally I value money over life. Why else would I own a computer with a hard drive put together in Thailand by women dying of job-induced cancer? Why else would I own shirts mad in a sweatshop in Bangladesh, and shoes put together in Mexico? The truth is that, although many of my best friends are people of color (as the cliche goes), and other of my best friends are women, I am part of this river: I benefit from the exploitation of others, and I do not much want to sacrifice this privilege. I am, after all, civilized, and have gained a taste for "comforts and elegancies" which can be gained only through the coercion of slavery. The truth is that like most others who benefit from this deep and broad river, I would probably rather die (and maybe even kill, or better, have someone kill for me) than trade places with the men, women, and children who made my computer, my shirt, my shoes. ~ Derrick Jensen,

200:What’s going on, chick?” she asks, taking a drink. She knows that when Johnnie comes out, something bad has happened.

I suck on my teeth and shake my head.

She cringes at the burn of whiskey, waiting for me to say more.

I glance down at my bracelet. “My past caught up with me.”

She slides the bottle back my way. “Need me to hurt someone?” she asks, dead serious.

She and I are as close as friends come, and we have been since senior year of high school. And at the core of our friendship is a pact of sorts: nothing’s going to drag her towards the future she doesn’t want, and nothing’s going drag me back into the past I’ve worked to forget.

Nothing.

I huff out a laugh. “Eli’s already beaten you to it.”

“Eli?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Girl, I’m hurt. Hoes before bros, remember?”

“I didn’t ask him to get involved. I broke up with him, and then he got involve—”

“What!” She grabs the table. “You broke up with him? When were you going to tell me?”

“Today. I was going to tell you today.”

She’s shaking her head. “Bitch, you should’ve called me.”

“I was busy ending a relationship.”

She falls back into her seat. “Shit girl, Eli’s going to stop giving us a discount.”

“That’s what your most upset by?” I say, taking another swig of whiskey.

“No,” she says. “I’m happy you grew a vagina and broke up with him. He deserves better.”

“I’m going to throw this bottle of whiskey at you.”

She holds her hands up to placate me. “I’m kidding. But seriously, are you okay?”

I barely stop myself from looking at my computer screen again.

I exhale. “Honestly? I have no fucking clue. ~ Laura Thalassa,

201:But what about the things that you CANNOT do with the electronic version [of a book]?

You cannot drop the computer on the floor in a fit of pique, or slam it shut. You cannot leave a bookmark with a note on it in a computer and then come upon it after several years and feel happy you've found something you thought you had lost. You cannot get any sort of tactile pleasure from rubbing the pages of a computer. (Maybe some people do get a tactile pleasure from rubbing their computers, but they are not people I have any interest in knowing anything about.)

Reading on a computer screen gives you no sense of time or investment. The page always looks the same, and everything else is always in the same exact spot. When reading a book, no matter how large or small it is, a tension builds, concurrent with your progress through its pages. I get a nervous excitement as I see the number of pages that remain to be read draining inexorably from the right to the left...

I've never sat down at a new computer and, prior to using it, felt a deep and abiding need to open it up and sniff it as deeply as I can, the way I have with my a book...and though a computer will inarguably hold far more information than even the largest of books, sitting down at a computer has never provided me with that delicious anticipatory sense that I am about to be utterly and rhapsodically transported by the words within it.

I've never looked across the room at my computer and fondly remembered things that I once read in it. I can while away hours at a time just standing in front of my books and relive my favourite passages by merely gazing at their spines. I have never walked into a room full of computers, far from home, and immediately felt a warm familiarity come over me, the way I have with every library I've ever set foot in.

It is not so much that I am anti-computer; I am resolutely and stubbornly pro-book. ~ Ammon Shea,

202:Raquel? You coming?”
“I honestly never thought I would see the light of day again.”
“Aww, come on. With me on your side? Of course things worked out.”
She tried to smile, but her eyes filled with tears. Thank you, Evie.”
I threw my arms around her in a hug. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I really do. You wonderful girl. I’ve missed you so much.”
“Well, now that we’re both unemployed fugitives, think of how much time we’ll have to hang out!”
She laughed drily, and we walked with our arms around each other to the house. I opened the door and yelled, “Evie alert! Coming into the family room!”
“You made it!” Lend shouted back. “Just a sex, I’ll go to the kitchen. Raquel’s with you?”
“Yup!”
“Good job! Jack and Arianna got back a couple of minutes ago.”
I walked into the family room to find Arianna and Jack sitting on the couch, arguing. “But here would have been no point to you being there if it hadn’t been for my computer prowess.”
“But your computer prowess wouldn’t have mattered if you couldn’t have gotten into the Center in the first place.”
“Being a glorified taxi does not make you the bigger hero.”
“Being a nerd who can tap on a keyboard or being able to navigate the dark eternities of the Faerie Paths . . . hmmm . . . which is a rarer and more valuable skill . . .”
I put my hands on my hips. “Okay, kids, take it elsewhere. Raquel and I have work to do.”
“Evie,” Raquel said. She was staring at Jack in horror.
“Oh, that.” I waved a hand dismissively. “It’s all good. Jack’s been helping us.”
“Don’t you remember how he tried to kill you?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Boring. We’ve all moved on.”
“Really?”
“Not really,” I said. “But he’s behaving. And everyone needs a glorified taxi now and then.”
“Admit it: you all adore me.” Jack bowed dramatically as he left the room. Arianna smiled tightly at Raquel and left after him.
Raquel collapsed onto the couch and closed her eyes. “You’re working with Reth and Jack? Have you lost your mind?”
“Oh, that happened ages ago. But I’ve had to do a lot of rescuing lately, and those two come in handy.”
“Do you trust them?”
“No, we don’t,” Lend called from the kitchen. ~ Kiersten White,

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