There are more things likely to frighten us than there are to crush us. We suffer more often in imagination than in reality.
Seneca
Feedback mechanisms as anticipatory anxiety trigger symptoms which in turn, reinforce the phobia. Paradoxical intention consists of a reversal of attitude. Fear is replaced by a paradoxical wish to experience the anxiety fully, and the wind is taken out of the sails. ~Logotherapy by Victor Frankl
When I’m lost at sea, I hear your voice, and it carries me.
Heaven Is a Place on Earth by Belinda Carlisle
“Want some money?”
“Sure!”
“Here’s some; can I take your picture?”
“Sure.”
“Smile!”
Imagine the horror with which darkness, rain, and wind, fill persons who have lost their way in the night; and who, consequently, have not the pleasant prospect of warm fires, dry cloaths, and other refreshments, to support their minds in struggling with the inclemencies of the weather.
Tom Jones by Henry Fielding
Live as if you were living already for the second time and as if you had acted the first time as wrongly as you are about to act now!
Imagine first that the present is past, and second, that the past may yet be changed & amended.
Logotherapy by Victor Frankl
The WordPress Cupertino Meetup is still going strong (not true – barely limping by) and what you see above illustrates the user interface for website developers starting to use the new block-based page editor, now integrated into core.
Few of you might find this interesting.
The tiny portrait is of Matt Mullenweg, the creator of WordPress.
Ideas are like stars; untouchable. But choose them as guides like a seafaring man on a desert of water follows them to destiny.
Carl Schurz, human
Life is a journey, keep moving. Don’t get stuck or complacent. Embrace change, learn from experiences, and constantly move forward towards personal and professional development.
Chat GPT, machine
At the time I now write of, Father Mapple was in the hardy winter of a healthy old age; that sort of old age which seems merging into a second flowering youth, for among all the fissures of his wrinkles, there shone certain mild gleams of a newly developing bloom–the spring verdure peeping forth even beneath February’s snow.
Moby Dick, the White Whale by Herman Melville