There should be two main objectives in ordinary prose writing: to convey a message and to include in it nothing that will distract the reader's attention or check his habitual pace of reading - he should feel that he is seated at ease in a taxi, not riding a temperamental horse through traffic.
If you make more roads, you will have more traffic.
When I hear what we call music, it seems to me that someone is talking. And talking about his feelings, or about his ideas of relationships. But when I hear traffic, the sound of traffic - here on Sixth Avenue, for instance - I don’t have the feeling that anyone is talking. I have the feeling that sound is acting. And I love the activity of sound... I don’t need sound to talk to me.
All things issue from it; all things return to it. To find the origin, trace back the manifestations. When you recognize the children and find the mother, you will be free of sorrow. If you close your mind in judgements and traffic with desires, your heart will be troubled. If you keep your mind from judging and aren't led by the senses, your heart will find peace. Seeing into darkness is clarity. Knowing how to yield is strength. Use your own light and return to the source of light. This is called practicing eternity.
When you go through enough dark places, you don't complain about little things. You don't lose your joy because you got stuck in traffic; you don't get offended because a coworker was rude to you. You've been through too much to let that sour you.
The point is that petty, frustrating crap like this is exactly where the work of choosing comes in. Because the traffic jams and crowded aisles and long checkout lines give me time to think, and if I don't make a conscious decision about how to think and what to pay attention to, I'm going to be pissed and miserable every time I have to food-shop, because my natural default-setting is the certainty that situations like this are really all about me, about my hungriness and my fatigue and my desire to just get home.
I've found my calling with Twitter. It's all about the amount of interaction you do, and the traffic you move, and I'm really good at that. I keep going and going and going, and no one can believe that I can keep it up.
I was stuck in traffic one day and just kinda thought it would be funny to masturbate. It was sunny and clear out, so I was worried one of the other drivers would see me, but my jeep is pretty high off the ground, so I think no one noticed. I busted a nut and aimed it down, ruining my tweety bird floor mat. I felt kinda stupid after and my mom kept silent the rest of the drive home. It was awkward and I regret it.
There was too much noise. Sirens from police cars and ambulances. Shouts from the crowd on the street eighteen floors below. Traffic from other streets and all of the noises of San Francisco. Mostly, though, there were the voices. Whispering to him. Reminding him of the dark things he had done - all of the little things he had forgotten, all of the big things he had tried to forget. Mostly they reminded him of his biggest secret, a betrayal of trust and friendship long ago. He squeezed his eyes shut as if that could somehow keep the voices away.
Complainin' to my lawyer how this rookie tried to frisk me... Jealous of my jeep, I gave his badge to the chief, And got his ass directin' traffic in the heat for a week.
The reality is that we do not have an air traffic control system that is smart enough and technologically capable enough to be able to handle that kind of demand.
The car crash that took the lives of these two lovely people has been portrayed as a traffic accident caused by a drunk driving at high speed. The reality is that it was murder.
Where once such devices were relegated to appropriate times, now they've become necessities. The other day I watched a kid come off the school bus listening to music on his headphones, oblivious to the traffic zooming past him. And I can't even begin to count the times I've thought pet owners were talking to their dogs while taking them for a walk when, in reality, they were blabbing on their cell phones. It's a different level of use than we've seen in the past, ... It's becoming more of a full-day listening experience as opposed to just when you're jogging.
Hi, Boston Center, TMU [traffic management unit], we have ah a problem here, we have a hijacked aircraft headed towards New - New York and we need you guys to, we need someone to scramble some F-16s or something up there to help us out.
Everything is happening faster on the Internet, so advertisers have to be able to respond quickly. If there is a pop-culture topic, a celebrity, event, some amazing viral video, a news story - how do advertisers get close to that so they can take advantage of traffic jumps?
Women get consumed. Not surprising, considering the sheer amount of traffic a woman's body experiences. Tampons and speculums. Cocks, fingers, vibrators and more, between the legs, from behind, in the mouth.
The international community faces ever growing phenomena that transcend borders. I am specifically referring to terrorism, transnational organized crime, the global drug problem, corruption, traffic in persons, sexual exploitation, trafficking of children and adolescents, and smuggling of arms, among others.
The truly erotic sensibility, in evoking the image of woman, never omits to clothe it. The robing and disrobing: that is the true traffic of love.
One expect summed it up by saying: "Trying to cure traffic congestion by building more roads is like trying to cure obesity by loosening your belt." One study of 30 California counties over several decades found that, for every 10% increase in road capacity, traffic increased by 9% within four years.
Listening. Nice idea but difficult to do with constant road and air traffic all around all the time. Please consider getting around by quieter means. Feet, bicycle, horse, it's up to you
To defeat evil, we may have to traffic in evils: indefinite detention of suspects, coercive interrogations, targeted assassinations, even pre-emptive war.
The Negro cannot count forever on the kind of restraint that's thus far left him free to clog the streets, disrupt traffic, and interfere with other men's rights.
If you had a daily printout from the brain of an average twenty-four-year-old male, it would probably go like this: sex, need coffee, sex, traffic, sex, sex, what an asshole, sex, ham sandwich, sex, sex, etc
The sound of a small bell during a dark night, is louder than the din of traffic outside your window during rush hour. Surprise and differentiation have far more impact than noise does.
There are times I might coach one or two workouts a year when the regular coach gets caught in traffic
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