...Supernatural: The Life of William Branham Book 6: The Prophet and His Revelation 1960 – 1965 by Owen Jorgensen 1 Acknowledgments: In a project of this magnitude, it is understandable that I should owe many people a debt of gratitude for their help. First of all I want to thank Pearry Green for his vision, his encouragement and his efforts in publishing and distributing these books. I also want to thank Saundra Miles, David Buckley, Jay Weber, and the other people who spent many hours editing and proof reading the six manuscripts in this series. Their suggestions helped to make this a better book and a more accurate account of William Branham‘s life. Also, I want to thank Steven and Kathy Strooh, who put these books into audio format for all those people who would rather listen than read. I must certainly thank those people who have translated these books into their native languages: Spanish, Portuguese, French, German, Russian, Norwegian, Hindi, and many other languages. Supernatural: the Life of William Branham took me 17 years to complete. I was 34 when I started and 51 when I finished. To put that into perspective, my four children were in grade school when I began writing this biography. By the time I finished, three of my children were married and I had nine grandchildren. During the 17 years I worked on this project, my life had its ups and downs. I want to thank everyone who prayed for me during those 17 years. Finally I want to thank my four children—Benaiah...
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...The Final Quest by Rick Joyner The Hordes of Hell Are Marching (Taken from "The Morning Star," Vol. 5, Nos 2-4, by Rick Joyner) The Evil Army I saw a demonic army so large that it stretched as far as I could see. It was separated into divisions, with each carrying a different banner. The foremost and most powerful divisions were Pride, Self righteousness, Respectability, Selfish Ambition, and Unrighteous Judgment, but the largest of all was Jealousy. The leader of this vast army was the Accuser of the Brethren himself. I knew that there were many more evil divisions beyond my scope of vision, but these were the vanguard of this terrible horde from hell that was now being released against the church. The weapons carried buy this horde had names on them: the swords were named Intimidation; the spears were named Treachery; and their arrows were named Accusations, Gossip, Slander and Faultfinding. Scouts and smaller companies of demons with such names as Rejection, Bitterness, Impatience, Un-forgiveness and Lust were sent in advance of this army to prepare for the main attack. I knew in my heart that the church had never faced anything like this before. The main assignment of this army was to cause division. It was sent to attack every level of relationship-churches with each other, congregations with their pastors, husbands and wives, children and parents, and even children with each other. The scouts were sent to locate the openings in churches, families or individuals that rejection...
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...How To Stop Worrying And Start Living By Dale Carnegie Courtesy: Shahid Riaz Islamabad – Pakistan shahid.riaz@gmail.com http://esnips.com/UserProfileAction.ns?id=ebdaae62-b650-4f30-99a4-376c0a084226 “How To Stop Worrying And Start Living” By Dale Carnegie 2 Contents Sixteen Ways in Which This Book Will Help You Preface - How This Book Was Written-and Why Part One - Fundamental Facts You Should Know About Worry 1 - Live in "Day-tight Compartments" 2 - A Magic Formula for Solving Worry Situations 3 - What Worry May Do to You Part Two - Basic Techniques In Analysing Worry 4 - How to Analyse and Solve Worry Problems 5 - How to Eliminate Fifty Per Cent of Your Business Worries Nine Suggestions on How to Get the Most Out of This Book Part Three - How To Break The Worry Habit Before It Breaks You 6 - How to Crowd Worry out of Your Mind 7 - Don't Let the Beetles Get You Down 8 - A Law That Will Outlaw Many of Your Worries 9 - Co-operate with the Inevitable 10 - Put a "Stop-Loss" Order on Your Worries 11 - Don't Try to Saw Sawdust Part Four - Seven Ways To Cultivate A Mental Attitude That Will Bring You Peace And Happiness 12 - Eight Words that Can Transform Your Life 13 - The High, Cost of Getting Even 14 - If You Do This, You Will Never Worry About Ingratitude 15 - Would You Take a Million Dollars for What You Have? 16 - Find Yourself and Be Yourself: Remember There Is No One Else on Earth Like You 17 - If You Have a Lemon, Make a Lemonade 18 - How to Cure Melancholy in...
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...Salman Rushdie Midnight's Children First published in 1981 Excerpts from the Koran come from the Penguin Classics edition, translated by N. J. Dawood, copyright (c) 1956, 1959,1966,1968,1974. for Zafar Rushdie who, contrary to all expectations, was born in the afternoon Contents Book One The perforated sheet Mercurochrome Hit-the-spittoon Under the carpet A public announcement Many-headed monsters Methwold Tick, tock Book Two The fisherman's pointing finger Snakes and ladders Accident in a washing-chest All-India radio Love in Bombay My tenth birthday At the Pioneer Cafe Alpha and Omega The Kolynos Kid Commander Sabarmati's baton Revelations Movements performed by pepperpots Drainage and the desert Jamila Singer How Saleem achieved purity Book Three The buddha In the Sundarbans Sam and the Tiger The shadow of the Mosque A wedding Midnight Abracadabra Book One The perforated sheet I was born in the city of Bombay ... once upon a time. No, that won't do, there's no getting away from the date: I was born in Doctor Narlikar's Nursing Home on August 15th, 1947. And the time? The time matters, too. Well then: at night. No, it's important to be more ... On the stroke of midnight, as a matter of fact. Clock-hands joined palms in respectful greeting as I came. Oh, spell it out, spell it out: at the precise instant of India's arrival at independence, I tumbled forth into the world. There were gasps. And, outside the...
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...t he fine art of small talk How to Start a Conversation, Keep It Going, Build Networking Skills— and Leave a Positive Impression! new york To Jared Fine Holst and Sarah Fine Holst, my inspiration and motivation. And the gentle wind beneath my wings, Steve Tilliss. C ontents Preface ix chapter 1 What’s the Big Deal About Small Talk? 1 chapter 2 Get Over Your Mom’s Good Intentions 12 chapter 3 Take the Plunge: Start a Conversation! 27 chapter 4 Keep the Conversation Going! 37 chapter 5 Let’s Give ’Em Something to Talk About 49 chapter 6 Hearing Aids and Listening Devices 66 viii . contents c hapter 7 Prevent Pregnant Pauses with Preparation 84 chapter 8 Conversational Clout 108 chapter 9 Crimes and Misdemeanors 114 chapter 10 The Graceful Exit 139 chapter 11 The Conversational Ball Is in Your Court! 154 chapter 12 Make the Most of Networking Events! 159 chapter 13 Surviving the Singles Scene 165 chapter 14 Feel-Good Factor 185 chapter 15 Holiday Party Savvy 192 chapter 16 Carpe Diem 195 Acknowledgments 201 Preface W hen I first got into the business of helping people cultivate conversation skills, I ran into a lot of skepticism. Invariably, executives would scoff at the idea of a housewife’s trivial initiative to overcome boredom. Then I would get clandestine calls for assistance from folks with prestigious titles...
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...The New Astrology by SUZANNE WHITE Copyright © 1986 Suzanne White. All rights reserved. 2 Dedication book is dedicated to my mother, Elva Louise McMullen Hoskins, who is gone from this world, but who would have been happy to share this page with my courageous kids, April Daisy White and Autumn Lee White; my brothers, George, Peter and John Hoskins; my niece Pamela Potenza; and my loyal friends Kitti Weissberger, Val Paul Pierotti, Stan Albro, Nathaniel Webster, Jean Valère Pignal, Roselyne Viéllard, Michael Armani, Joseph Stoddart, Couquite Hoffenberg, Jean Louis Besson, Mary Lee Castellani, Paula Alba, Marguerite and Paulette Ratier, Ted and Joan Zimmermann, Scott Weiss, Miekle Blossom, Ina Dellera, Gloria Jones, Marina Vann, Richard and Shiela Lukins, Tony Lees-Johnson, Jane Russell, Jerry and Barbara Littlefield, Michele and Mark Princi, Molly Friedrich, Consuelo and Dick Baehr, Linda Grey, Clarissa and Ed Watson, Francine and John Pascal, Johnny Romero, Lawrence Grant, Irma Kurtz, Gene Dye, Phyllis and Dan Elstein, Richard Klein, Irma Pride Home, Sally Helgesen, Sylvie de la Rochefoucauld, Ann Kennerly, David Barclay, John Laupheimer, Yvon Lebihan, Bernard Aubin, Dédé Laqua, Wolfgang Paul, Maria José Desa, Juliette Boisriveaud, Anne Lavaur, and all the others who so dauntlessly stuck by me when I was at my baldest and most afraid. Thanks, of course, to my loving doctors: James Gaston, Richard Cooper, Yves Decroix, Jean-Claude Durand, Michel Soussaline and...
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...Copyright Salman Rushdie, 1988 All rights reserved VIKING Published by the Penguin Group Viking Penguin Inc., 40 West 23rd Street, New York, New York 10010, U.S.A. Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane, London W8 5TZ, England Penguin Books Australia Ltd. Ringwood, Victoria, Australia Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 2801 John Street, Markham, Ontario, Canada L3R 1B4 Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190, Wairau Road, Auckland ro, New Zealand Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England Published in 1989 by Viking Penguin Inc. For Marianne Contents I The Angel Gibreel II Mahound III Ellowen Deeowen IV Ayesha V A City Visible but Unseen VI Return to Jahilia VII The Angel Azraeel VIII The Parting of the Arabian Seas IX A Wonderful Lamp Satan, being thus confined to a vagabond, wandering, unsettled condition, is without any certain abode; for though he has, in consequence of his angelic nature, a kind of empire in the liquid waste or air, yet this is certainly part of his punishment, that he is . . . without any fixed place, or space, allowed him to rest the sole of his foot upon. Daniel Defoe, _The History of the Devil_ I The Angel Gibreel "To be born again," sang Gibreel Farishta tumbling from the heavens, "first you have to die. Hoji! Hoji! To land upon the bosomy earth, first one needs to fly. Tat-taa! Taka-thun! How to ever smile again, if first you won't cry? How to win the darling's love, mister, without a sigh? Baba, if you want to get born again...
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...Flipped by Wendelin Van Draanen More praise for FLIPPED: “We flipped over this fantastic book, its gutsy girl Juli and its wise, wonderful ending.” —The Chicago Tribune “Delightful! Delicious! And totally teen.” —BookPage * “With a charismatic leading lady kids will flip over, a compelling dynamic between the two narrators and a resonant ending, this novel is a great deal larger than the sum of its parts.” —Publishers Weekly, Starred “A wonderful, light-hearted novel.” —Library Talk “This is a wry character study, a romance with substance and subtlety.” —Booklist “A highly agreeable romantic comedy.” —Kirkus Reviews Dedicated with infinite love to Colton and Connor, who make me feel like so much more than the sum of my parts. Special thanks to… my husband, Mark Parsons, who helps me feel the magic, and my excellent editor, Nancy Siscoe, for her care and insight (and for making me stick to a reduced-filler diet). Also, eternal gratitude to Tad Callahan and Patricia Gabel, who were on the ball when we needed it most. Finally, thanks to Jeanne Madrid and the staff at Casa De Vida—may you keep the spirit. CONTENTS Diving Under Flipped Buddy, Beware! The Sycamore Tree Brawk-Brawk-Brawk! The Eggs Get a Grip, Man The Yard Looming Large and Smelly The Visit The Serious Willies The Dinner Flipped The Basket Boys Diving Under All I've ever wanted is for Juli Baker to leave me alone. For her to back off — you know, just give me some space. It all started the summer before...
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...Bloodlines of Illuminati by: Fritz Springmeier, 1995 Introduction: I am pleased & honored to present this book to those in the world who love the truth. This is a book for lovers of the Truth. This is a book for those who are already familiar with my past writings. An Illuminati Grand Master once said that the world is a stage and we are all actors. Of course this was not an original thought, but it certainly is a way of describing the Illuminati view of how the world works. The people of the world are an audience to which the Illuminati entertain with propaganda. Just one of the thousands of recent examples of this type of acting done for the public was President Bill Clinton’s 1995 State of the Union address. The speech was designed to push all of the warm fuzzy buttons of his listening audience that he could. All the green lights for acceptance were systematically pushed by the President’s speech with the help of a controlled congressional audience. The truth on the other hand doesn’t always tickle the ear and warm the ego of its listeners. The light of truth in this book will be too bright for some people who will want to return to the safe comfort of their darkness. I am not a conspiracy theorist. I deal with real facts, not theory. Some of the people I write about, I have met. Some of the people I expose are alive and very dangerous. The darkness has never liked the light. Yet, many of the secrets of the Illuminati are locked up tightly simply because secrecy is a way...
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...GIRLFRIEND FOR HIRE. INTRO Teka ahm ano…. pano ko ba sisimulan to? Sige, ganito na lang siguro..magpapakilala na lang muna ako huh?! Ang arte kasi, bakit kelangang may intro pang nalalaman tong author na to.. pede namang diretso na agad sa story line! -__- Hmp! Pero wala akong magagawa, kelangang sumunod at baka ichugi na nya agad ako dito sa story..tungkol pa naman sakin to.. pag nachugi ako, edi tapos narin ang kwento db?! Parang tanga lang..hehe..kaya eto na, sisimulan ko na..inip na kayo eh.. . . . Ako nga pala si Nami Shanaia San Jose. 17 years old, 1st year college student, SCHOLAR. (haha, ang yabang ko no? totoo naman kc eh! ) Working student ako. Nakikitira lang ako sa auntie ko. Wala na kasi akong mga magulang. Well enough of that boring introduction about myself, masyado ng common tong ganito.. Kaya pumunta na tayo sa interesting fact about me.. . . Lahat na ata ng weird na trabaho napasukan ko na. Ewan ko ba kung bakit ang wiweird ng mga trabahong napasukan ko.O___O? Isipin niyo naman,.. Naging taga alaga ako ng pusang may diabetes (SOSYAL NA PUSA,SHET NO?), . Naging taga tanggal ng pulgas ng aso ng kapitbahay namin(ANDAME KO NGANG KAGAT NUN!), . Naging mascot na sausage na nakatayo maghapon sa harapan ng isang restaurant na wala ng ginawa kung hindi sabihing “Masarap ako, tikman niyo!” (ah, ah ayoko ng maalala na ginawa ko yan! Muntik na akong lapain ng aso dahil akala nga niya sausage ako! T.T), . Naging waitress din ako sa isang restaurant na ang mga waitress...
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...I dreamed of her last night again. As vivid as always, I was left with the idea of her and no image. She stood before me, her face in shadows, obscured from my view. Her hands reached out to me, beckoning me forward. Seeming to float, I moved toward her, long slender fingers gently grabbing my wrists, pulling me forward. Happily I submitted to her embrace, feeling her naked breasts press against mine, her skin silkily brushing against mine, intoxicating me with the sensations. Still, I couldn't see her face, the one part of her I really wanted to see. Frustrated, I tried to cup her face with my hands and force it into the light. Laughing lightly, she resisted, pulling away completely, turning from me. Watching the muscles in her naked back flow as she walked away, I felt entranced. Sexual desire and lust coursed through me, my blood warming and traveling as my need grew. My head felt light as I again went to her, this time to a bed that appeared in the room. With a sure touch she pushed me down onto the bed, not that I fought her any way. I was dying to see her, dying to see the face on this woman who had tormented my dreams too often, but I was also hungry for her touch. With confidence born of shared love, she began to stroke my body, her caresses fanning the flame within me. I know I must have been moaning, but I couldn't hear anything but the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears. For the thousandth time I let myself sink into her love making, not...
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...To Annalena Part One "The Tributes" When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping. I prop myself up on one elbow. There’s enough light in the bedroom to see them. My little sister, Prim, curled up on her side, cocooned in my mother’s body, their cheeks pressed together. In sleep, my mother looks younger, still worn but not so beaten-down. Prim’s face is as fresh as a raindrop, as lovely as the primrose for which she was named. My mother was very beautiful once, too. Or so they tell me. Sitting at Prim’s knees, guarding her, is the world’s ugliest cat. Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of rotting squash. Prim named him Buttercup, insisting that his muddy yellow coat matched the bright flower. I le hates me. Or at least distrusts me. Even though it was years ago, I think he still remembers how I tried to drown him in a bucket when Prim brought him home. Scrawny kitten, belly swollen with worms, crawling with fleas. The last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. But Prim begged so hard, cried even, I had to let him stay. It turned out okay. My mother got rid of the vermin and he’s a born mouser. Even catches the occasional rat. Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the entrails. He has stopped hissing at me. Entrails...
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...Barack Obama Dreams from My Father “For we are strangers before them, and sojourners, as were all our fathers. 1 CHRONICLES 29:15 PREFACE TO THE 2004 EDITION A LMOST A DECADE HAS passed since this book was first published. As I mention in the original introduction, the opportunity to write the book came while I was in law school, the result of my election as the first African-American president of the Harvard Law Review. In the wake of some modest publicity, I received an advance from a publisher and went to work with the belief that the story of my family, and my efforts to understand that story, might speak in some way to the fissures of race that have characterized the American experience, as well as the fluid state of identitythe leaps through time, the collision of cultures-that mark our modern life. Like most first-time authors, I was filled with hope and despair upon the book’s publication-hope that the book might succeed beyond my youthful dreams, despair that I had failed to say anything worth saying. The reality fell somewhere in between. The reviews were mildly favorable. People actually showed up at the readings my publisher arranged. The sales were underwhelming. And, after a few months, I went on with the business of my life, certain that my career as an author would be short-lived, but glad to have survived the process with my dignity more or less intact. I had little time for reflection over the next ten years. I ran a voter registration project in...
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...For James Proimos 2 PART I "THE TRIBUTES" 3 When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping. I prop myself up on one elbow. There’s enough light in the bedroom to see them. My little sister, Prim, curled up on her side, cocooned in my mother’s body, their cheeks pressed together. In sleep, my mother looks younger, still worn but not so beaten-down. Prim’s face is as fresh as a raindrop, as lovely as the primrose for which she was named. My mother was very beautiful once, too. Or so they tell me. Sitting at Prim’s knees, guarding her, is the world’s ugliest cat. Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of rotting squash. Prim named him Buttercup, insisting that his muddy yellow coat matched the bright flower. I le hates me. Or at least distrusts me. Even though it was years ago, I think he still remembers how I tried to drown him in a bucket when Prim brought him home. Scrawny kitten, belly swollen with worms, crawling with fleas. The last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. But Prim begged so hard, cried even, I had to let him stay. It turned out okay. My mother got rid of 4 the vermin and he’s a born mouser. Even catches the occasional rat. Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the entrails...
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...In Cold Blood Truman Capote I. The Last to See Them Alive The village of Holcomb stands on the high wheat plains of western Kansas, a lonesome area that other Kansans call "out there." Some seventy miles east of the Colorado border, the countryside, with its hard blue skies and desert-clear air, has an atmosphere that is rather more Far West than Middle West. The local accent is barbed with a prairie twang, a ranch-hand nasalness, and the men, many of them, wear narrow frontier trousers, Stetsons, and high-heeled boots with pointed toes. The land is flat, and the views are awesomely extensive; horses, herds of cattle, a white cluster of grain elevators rising as gracefully as Greek temples are visible long before a traveler reaches them. Holcomb, too, can be seen from great distances. Not that there's much to see simply an aimless congregation of buildings divided in the center by the main-line tracks of the Santa Fe Rail-road, a haphazard hamlet bounded on the south by a brown stretch of the Arkansas (pronounced "Ar-kan-sas") River, on the north by a highway, Route 50, and on the east and west by prairie lands and wheat fields. After rain, or when snowfalls thaw, the streets, unnamed, unshaded, unpaved, turn from the thickest dust into the direst mud. At one end of the town stands a stark old stucco structure, the roof of which supports an electric sign - dance - but the dancing has ceased and the advertisement has been dark for several years. Nearby is another building...
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