Bharani's

Little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth. For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love.

Negotiation is such a fundamental “threshold” skill that it’s nearly impossible for you to succeed long-term without developing skills in this area. Unfortunately, many people get the wrong idea about what negotiation is and how works.

There’s the infamous story about the guy who accidentally dropped a quarter in an outhouse, so he pulled out a $20 bill and threw it in afterward. When asked why, he said, “If I’ve got to go down there, it had better be worth my while.”

In a 1994 study, 37 psychology students were asked to estimate how long it would take to finish their senior theses. The average estimate was 33.9 days. They also estimated how long it would take "if everything went as well as it possibly could" (averaging 27.4 days) and "if everything went as poorly as it possibly could" (averaging 48.6 days). The average actual completion time was 55.5 days, with only about 30% of the students completing their thesis in the amount of time they predicted. The researchers asked their students for estimates of when they (the students) thought they would complete their personal academic projects, with 50%, 75%, and 99% confidence. • 13% of subjects finished their project by the time they had assigned a 50% probability level; • 19% finished by the time assigned a 75% probability level; • 45% (less than half) finished by the time of their 99% probability level. In project management, this is sometimes referred to as...

Alone From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone. Then- in my childhood, in the dawn Of a most stormy life- was drawn From every depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still: From the torrent, or the fountain, From the red cliff of the mountain, From the sun that round me rolled In its autumn tint of gold, From the lightning in the sky As it passed me flying by, From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view.

She lit the gas. The blue flame gave out a soothing warm heat. The kettle was placed on it. It had been seven years since her husband died. She used to prepare his tea at six o' clock. He would sneak in, kiss her and smile and she would listen happily to his daily news. The kettle was boiling. She used to love to pour out his tea, while he was talking to her. The world had always been outside. They had been one; united body and soul. It had smashed. The cup broke. The noise frightened her. Each piece spread in different directions. She had forgiven her son. He promised that it would never happen again. He had promised that he would never leave her, "All sons say the same thing," she thought. She picked up the pieces and put them in the old box. She poured out the tea for herself and himself. Three lumps of sugar were put into his cup; he always had a sweet tooth. "How was your day at work ?" There was no answer. She stared at the empty chair and the steaming ...

"I don't know what I may seem to the world, but as to myself, I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea shore and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me".