This symbol means that you want to discuss a point with your teacher. If you are working on your ... more This symbol means that you want to discuss a point with your teacher. If you are working on your own there are answers in the back of the book. It is important, however, that you have a go at answering the questions before looking up the answers if you are to understand the mathematics fully. This symbol invites you to join in a discussion about proof. The answers to these questions are given in the back of the book. This is a warning sign. It is used where a common mistake, misunderstanding or tricky point is being described. This is the ICT icon. It indicates where you could use a graphic calculator or a computer. Graphical calculators and computers are not permitted in any of the examinations for the Cambridge International A & AS Level Mathematics 9709 syllabus, however, so these activities are optional. This symbol and a dotted line down the right-hand side of the page indicates material that you are likely to have met before. You need to be familiar with the material before you move on to develop it further. e This symbol and a dotted line down the right-hand side of the page indicates material which is beyond the syllabus for the unit but which is included for completeness.
The Uncomfortable Truth On a small plot of land in the monotonous countryside of central Europe, ... more The Uncomfortable Truth On a small plot of land in the monotonous countryside of central Europe, amid the warehouses of a former military barracks, a nexus of geographically concentrated evil would arise, denser and darker than anything the world had ever seen. Over the span of four years, more than 1.3 million people would be systematically sorted, enslaved, tortured, and murdered here, and it would all happen in an area slightly larger than Central Park in Manhattan. And no one would do anything to stop it. Except for one man. It is the stuff of fairy tales and comic books: a hero marches headlong into the fiery jaws of hell to confront some great manifestation of evil. The odds are impossible. The rationale is laughable. Yet our fantastical hero never hesitates, never flinches. He stands tall and slays the dragon, crushes the demon invaders, saves the planet and maybe even a princess or two. And for a brief time, there is hope. But this is not a story of hope. This is a story of everything being completely and utterly fucked. Fucked in proportions and on scales that today, with the comfort of our free Wi-Fi and oversize Snuggie blankets, you and I can hardly imagine. Witold Pilecki was already a war hero before he decided to sneak into Auschwitz. As a young man, Pilecki had been a decorated officer in the Polish-Soviet War of 1918. He had kicked the Communists in the nuts before most people even knew what a pinko Commie bastard was. After the war, Pilecki moved to the Polish countryside, married a schoolteacher, and had two kids. He enjoyed We are a culture in need not of peace or prosperity or new hood ornaments for our electric cars. We have all that. We are a culture in need of something far more precarious. We are a culture and a people in need of hope. After witnessing years of war, torture, death, and genocide, Pilecki never lost hope. Despite losing his country, his family, his friends, and nearly his own life, he never lost hope. Even after the war, while enduring Soviet domination, he never lost the hope of a free and independent Poland. He never lost the hope of a quiet and happy life for his children. He never lost the hope of being able to save a few more lives, of helping a few more people. After the war, Pilecki returned to Warsaw and continued spying, this time on the Communist Party, which had just come to power there. Again, he would be the first person to notify the West of an ongoing evil, in this case that the Soviets had infiltrated the Polish government and rigged its elections. He would also be the first to document the Soviet atrocities committed in the east during the war. This time, though, he was discovered. He was warned that he was about to be arrested, and he had a chance to flee to Italy. Yet, Pilecki declined-he would rather stay and die Polish than run and live as something he didn't recognize. A free and independent Poland, by then, was his only source of hope. Without it, he was nothing. And thus, his hope would also be his undoing. The Communists captured Pilecki in 1947, and they didn't go easy on him. He was tortured for almost a year, so harshly and consistently that he told his wife that "Auschwitz was just a trifle" by comparison. Still, he never cooperated with his interrogators. Eventually, realizing they could get no information from him, the Communists decided to make an example of him. In 1948, they held a show trial and charged Pilecki with everything from falsifying documents and violating curfew to engaging in espionage and treason. A month later, he was found guilty and sentenced to death. On the final day of the trial, Pilecki was allowed to speak. He stated that his allegiance had always been to Poland and its people, that he had never harmed or betrayed any Polish citizen, and that he regretted nothing. He concluded his statement with "I have tried to live my life such that in the hour of my death I would feel joy rather than fear." And if that's not the most hardcore thing you've ever heard, then I want some of what you're having. How May I Help You? If I worked at Starbucks, instead of writing people's names on their coffee cup, I'd write the following: One day, you and everyone you love will die. And beyond a small group of people for an extremely brief period of time, little of what you say or do will ever matter. This is the Uncomfortable Truth of life. And everything you think or do is but an elaborate avoidance of it. We are inconsequential cosmic dust, bumping and milling about on a tiny blue speck. We imagine our own importance. We invent our purpose-we are nothing. Enjoy your fucking coffee.
My parents, who teach me. Gretchen, who guides me. Miles and Reese, who inspire me. I SPENT MY CO... more My parents, who teach me. Gretchen, who guides me. Miles and Reese, who inspire me. I SPENT MY COLLEGE years working as a valet at a nice hotel in Los Angeles. One frequent guest was a technology executive. He was a genius, having designed and patented a key component in Wi-Fi routers in his 20s. He had started and sold several companies. He was wildly successful. He also had a relationship with money I'd describe as a mix of insecurity and childish stupidity. He carried a stack of hundred dollar bills several inches thick. He showed it to everyone who wanted to see it and many who didn't. He bragged openly and loudly about his wealth, often while drunk and always apropos of nothing. One day he handed one of my colleagues several thousand dollars of cash and said, "Go to the jewelry store down the street and get me a few $1,000 gold coins." An hour later, gold coins in hand, the tech executive and his buddies gathered around by a dock overlooking the Pacific Ocean. They then proceeded to throw the coins into the sea, skipping them like rocks, cackling as they argued whose went furthest. Just for fun. Days later he shattered a lamp in the hotel's restaurant. A manager told him it was a $500 lamp and he'd have to replace it. "You want five hundred dollars?" the executive asked incredulously, while pulling a brick of cash from his pocket and handing it to the manager. "Here's five thousand dollars. Now get out of my face. And don't ever insult me like that again." You may wonder how long this behavior could last, and the answer was "not long." I learned years later that he went broke. 65 and over was above 50% until the 1940s: much attention that would receive-and it would not offset the number of annual lives saved by the decline in heart disease in the last 50 years. Like all books, The Psychology of Money wouldn't have been possible without the help of countless people who helped me along the way. There are too many to list them all. But a few who have been particularly supportive: Brian Richards, who bet on me before anyone else. Craig Shapiro, who bet on me when he didn't have to. Gretchen Housel, whose support is unwavering. Jenna Abdou, who helps while asking for nothing in return. Craig Pearce, who encourages, guides, and grounds me.
Don't Try Charles Bukowski was an alcoholic, a womanizer, a chronic gambler, a lout, a cheapskate... more Don't Try Charles Bukowski was an alcoholic, a womanizer, a chronic gambler, a lout, a cheapskate, a deadbeat, and on his worst days, a poet. He's probably the last person on earth you would ever look to for life advice or expect to see in any sort of self-help book. Which is why he's the perfect place to start. Bukowski wanted to be a writer. But for decades his work was rejected by almost every magazine, newspaper, journal, agent, and publisher he submitted to. His work was horrible, they said. Crude. Disgusting. Depraved. And as the stacks of rejection slips piled up, the weight of his failures pushed him deep into an alcohol-fueled depression that would follow him for most of his life. Bukowski had a day job as a letter-filer at a post office. He got paid shit money and spent most of it on booze. He gambled away the rest at the racetrack. At night, he would drink alone and sometimes hammer out poetry on his beat-up old typewriter. Often, he'd wake up on the floor, having passed out the night before. Thirty years went by like this, most of it a meaningless blur of alcohol, drugs, gambling, and prostitutes. Then, when Bukowski was fifty, after a lifetime of failure and self-loathing, an editor at a small independent publishing house took a strange interest in him. The editor couldn't offer Bukowski much money or much promise of sales. But he had a weird affection for the drunk loser, so he decided to take a chance on him. It was the first real shot Bukowski had ever gotten, and, he realized, probably the only one he would ever get. Bukowski wrote back to the editor: "I have one of two choices-stay in the post office and go crazy. .. or stay out here and play at writer and starve. I have decided to starve." Upon signing the contract, Bukowski wrote his first novel in three weeks. It was called simply Post Office. In the dedication, he wrote, "Dedicated to nobody." Bukowski would make it as a novelist and poet. He would go on and publish six novels and hundreds of poems, selling over two million copies of his books. His popularity defied everyone's expectations, particularly his own. Stories like Bukowski's are the bread and butter of our cultural narrative. Bukowski's life embodies the American Dream: a man fights for what he wants, never gives up, and eventually achieves his wildest dreams. It's practically a movie waiting to happen. We all look at stories like Bukowski's and say, "See? He never gave up. He never stopped trying. He always believed in himself. He persisted against all the odds and made something of himself!" It is then strange that on Bukowski's tombstone, the epitaph reads: "Don't try." See, despite the book sales and the fame, Bukowski was a loser. He knew it. And his success stemmed not from some determination to be a winner, but from the fact that he knew he was a loser, accepted it, and then wrote honestly about it. He never tried to be anything other than what he was. The genius in Bukowski's work was not in overcoming unbelievable odds or developing himself into a shining literary light. It was the opposite. It was his simple ability to be completely, unflinchingly honest with himself-especially the worst parts of himself-and to share his failings without hesitation or doubt. This is the real story of Bukowski's success: his comfort with himself as a failure. Bukowski didn't give a fuck about success. Even after his fame, he still showed up to poetry readings hammered and verbally abused people in his audience. He still exposed himself in public and tried to sleep with every woman he could find. Fame and success didn't make him a better person. Nor was it by becoming a better person that he became famous and successful. Self-improvement and success often occur together. But that doesn't necessarily mean they're the same thing. Our culture today is obsessively focused on unrealistically positive expectations: Be happier. Be healthier. Be the best, better
An upper intermediate course in spoken egyptian arabic 3.
Audio tracks available at: https://so... more An upper intermediate course in spoken egyptian arabic 3.
A beginner's course in spoken egyptian arabic 1.
Audio tracks available at: https://soundcloud.... more A beginner's course in spoken egyptian arabic 1.
Featuring a simplified presentation of Spanish grammar and small vocabulary of high frequency wor... more Featuring a simplified presentation of Spanish grammar and small vocabulary of high frequency words in the context of interesting stories with ample translation exercises to develop oral and written fluency. First
This symbol means that you want to discuss a point with your teacher. If you are working on your ... more This symbol means that you want to discuss a point with your teacher. If you are working on your own there are answers in the back of the book. It is important, however, that you have a go at answering the questions before looking up the answers if you are to understand the mathematics fully. This symbol invites you to join in a discussion about proof. The answers to these questions are given in the back of the book. This is a warning sign. It is used where a common mistake, misunderstanding or tricky point is being described. This is the ICT icon. It indicates where you could use a graphic calculator or a computer. Graphical calculators and computers are not permitted in any of the examinations for the Cambridge International A & AS Level Mathematics 9709 syllabus, however, so these activities are optional. This symbol and a dotted line down the right-hand side of the page indicates material that you are likely to have met before. You need to be familiar with the material before you move on to develop it further. e This symbol and a dotted line down the right-hand side of the page indicates material which is beyond the syllabus for the unit but which is included for completeness.
The Uncomfortable Truth On a small plot of land in the monotonous countryside of central Europe, ... more The Uncomfortable Truth On a small plot of land in the monotonous countryside of central Europe, amid the warehouses of a former military barracks, a nexus of geographically concentrated evil would arise, denser and darker than anything the world had ever seen. Over the span of four years, more than 1.3 million people would be systematically sorted, enslaved, tortured, and murdered here, and it would all happen in an area slightly larger than Central Park in Manhattan. And no one would do anything to stop it. Except for one man. It is the stuff of fairy tales and comic books: a hero marches headlong into the fiery jaws of hell to confront some great manifestation of evil. The odds are impossible. The rationale is laughable. Yet our fantastical hero never hesitates, never flinches. He stands tall and slays the dragon, crushes the demon invaders, saves the planet and maybe even a princess or two. And for a brief time, there is hope. But this is not a story of hope. This is a story of everything being completely and utterly fucked. Fucked in proportions and on scales that today, with the comfort of our free Wi-Fi and oversize Snuggie blankets, you and I can hardly imagine. Witold Pilecki was already a war hero before he decided to sneak into Auschwitz. As a young man, Pilecki had been a decorated officer in the Polish-Soviet War of 1918. He had kicked the Communists in the nuts before most people even knew what a pinko Commie bastard was. After the war, Pilecki moved to the Polish countryside, married a schoolteacher, and had two kids. He enjoyed We are a culture in need not of peace or prosperity or new hood ornaments for our electric cars. We have all that. We are a culture in need of something far more precarious. We are a culture and a people in need of hope. After witnessing years of war, torture, death, and genocide, Pilecki never lost hope. Despite losing his country, his family, his friends, and nearly his own life, he never lost hope. Even after the war, while enduring Soviet domination, he never lost the hope of a free and independent Poland. He never lost the hope of a quiet and happy life for his children. He never lost the hope of being able to save a few more lives, of helping a few more people. After the war, Pilecki returned to Warsaw and continued spying, this time on the Communist Party, which had just come to power there. Again, he would be the first person to notify the West of an ongoing evil, in this case that the Soviets had infiltrated the Polish government and rigged its elections. He would also be the first to document the Soviet atrocities committed in the east during the war. This time, though, he was discovered. He was warned that he was about to be arrested, and he had a chance to flee to Italy. Yet, Pilecki declined-he would rather stay and die Polish than run and live as something he didn't recognize. A free and independent Poland, by then, was his only source of hope. Without it, he was nothing. And thus, his hope would also be his undoing. The Communists captured Pilecki in 1947, and they didn't go easy on him. He was tortured for almost a year, so harshly and consistently that he told his wife that "Auschwitz was just a trifle" by comparison. Still, he never cooperated with his interrogators. Eventually, realizing they could get no information from him, the Communists decided to make an example of him. In 1948, they held a show trial and charged Pilecki with everything from falsifying documents and violating curfew to engaging in espionage and treason. A month later, he was found guilty and sentenced to death. On the final day of the trial, Pilecki was allowed to speak. He stated that his allegiance had always been to Poland and its people, that he had never harmed or betrayed any Polish citizen, and that he regretted nothing. He concluded his statement with "I have tried to live my life such that in the hour of my death I would feel joy rather than fear." And if that's not the most hardcore thing you've ever heard, then I want some of what you're having. How May I Help You? If I worked at Starbucks, instead of writing people's names on their coffee cup, I'd write the following: One day, you and everyone you love will die. And beyond a small group of people for an extremely brief period of time, little of what you say or do will ever matter. This is the Uncomfortable Truth of life. And everything you think or do is but an elaborate avoidance of it. We are inconsequential cosmic dust, bumping and milling about on a tiny blue speck. We imagine our own importance. We invent our purpose-we are nothing. Enjoy your fucking coffee.
My parents, who teach me. Gretchen, who guides me. Miles and Reese, who inspire me. I SPENT MY CO... more My parents, who teach me. Gretchen, who guides me. Miles and Reese, who inspire me. I SPENT MY COLLEGE years working as a valet at a nice hotel in Los Angeles. One frequent guest was a technology executive. He was a genius, having designed and patented a key component in Wi-Fi routers in his 20s. He had started and sold several companies. He was wildly successful. He also had a relationship with money I'd describe as a mix of insecurity and childish stupidity. He carried a stack of hundred dollar bills several inches thick. He showed it to everyone who wanted to see it and many who didn't. He bragged openly and loudly about his wealth, often while drunk and always apropos of nothing. One day he handed one of my colleagues several thousand dollars of cash and said, "Go to the jewelry store down the street and get me a few $1,000 gold coins." An hour later, gold coins in hand, the tech executive and his buddies gathered around by a dock overlooking the Pacific Ocean. They then proceeded to throw the coins into the sea, skipping them like rocks, cackling as they argued whose went furthest. Just for fun. Days later he shattered a lamp in the hotel's restaurant. A manager told him it was a $500 lamp and he'd have to replace it. "You want five hundred dollars?" the executive asked incredulously, while pulling a brick of cash from his pocket and handing it to the manager. "Here's five thousand dollars. Now get out of my face. And don't ever insult me like that again." You may wonder how long this behavior could last, and the answer was "not long." I learned years later that he went broke. 65 and over was above 50% until the 1940s: much attention that would receive-and it would not offset the number of annual lives saved by the decline in heart disease in the last 50 years. Like all books, The Psychology of Money wouldn't have been possible without the help of countless people who helped me along the way. There are too many to list them all. But a few who have been particularly supportive: Brian Richards, who bet on me before anyone else. Craig Shapiro, who bet on me when he didn't have to. Gretchen Housel, whose support is unwavering. Jenna Abdou, who helps while asking for nothing in return. Craig Pearce, who encourages, guides, and grounds me.
Don't Try Charles Bukowski was an alcoholic, a womanizer, a chronic gambler, a lout, a cheapskate... more Don't Try Charles Bukowski was an alcoholic, a womanizer, a chronic gambler, a lout, a cheapskate, a deadbeat, and on his worst days, a poet. He's probably the last person on earth you would ever look to for life advice or expect to see in any sort of self-help book. Which is why he's the perfect place to start. Bukowski wanted to be a writer. But for decades his work was rejected by almost every magazine, newspaper, journal, agent, and publisher he submitted to. His work was horrible, they said. Crude. Disgusting. Depraved. And as the stacks of rejection slips piled up, the weight of his failures pushed him deep into an alcohol-fueled depression that would follow him for most of his life. Bukowski had a day job as a letter-filer at a post office. He got paid shit money and spent most of it on booze. He gambled away the rest at the racetrack. At night, he would drink alone and sometimes hammer out poetry on his beat-up old typewriter. Often, he'd wake up on the floor, having passed out the night before. Thirty years went by like this, most of it a meaningless blur of alcohol, drugs, gambling, and prostitutes. Then, when Bukowski was fifty, after a lifetime of failure and self-loathing, an editor at a small independent publishing house took a strange interest in him. The editor couldn't offer Bukowski much money or much promise of sales. But he had a weird affection for the drunk loser, so he decided to take a chance on him. It was the first real shot Bukowski had ever gotten, and, he realized, probably the only one he would ever get. Bukowski wrote back to the editor: "I have one of two choices-stay in the post office and go crazy. .. or stay out here and play at writer and starve. I have decided to starve." Upon signing the contract, Bukowski wrote his first novel in three weeks. It was called simply Post Office. In the dedication, he wrote, "Dedicated to nobody." Bukowski would make it as a novelist and poet. He would go on and publish six novels and hundreds of poems, selling over two million copies of his books. His popularity defied everyone's expectations, particularly his own. Stories like Bukowski's are the bread and butter of our cultural narrative. Bukowski's life embodies the American Dream: a man fights for what he wants, never gives up, and eventually achieves his wildest dreams. It's practically a movie waiting to happen. We all look at stories like Bukowski's and say, "See? He never gave up. He never stopped trying. He always believed in himself. He persisted against all the odds and made something of himself!" It is then strange that on Bukowski's tombstone, the epitaph reads: "Don't try." See, despite the book sales and the fame, Bukowski was a loser. He knew it. And his success stemmed not from some determination to be a winner, but from the fact that he knew he was a loser, accepted it, and then wrote honestly about it. He never tried to be anything other than what he was. The genius in Bukowski's work was not in overcoming unbelievable odds or developing himself into a shining literary light. It was the opposite. It was his simple ability to be completely, unflinchingly honest with himself-especially the worst parts of himself-and to share his failings without hesitation or doubt. This is the real story of Bukowski's success: his comfort with himself as a failure. Bukowski didn't give a fuck about success. Even after his fame, he still showed up to poetry readings hammered and verbally abused people in his audience. He still exposed himself in public and tried to sleep with every woman he could find. Fame and success didn't make him a better person. Nor was it by becoming a better person that he became famous and successful. Self-improvement and success often occur together. But that doesn't necessarily mean they're the same thing. Our culture today is obsessively focused on unrealistically positive expectations: Be happier. Be healthier. Be the best, better
An upper intermediate course in spoken egyptian arabic 3.
Audio tracks available at: https://so... more An upper intermediate course in spoken egyptian arabic 3.
A beginner's course in spoken egyptian arabic 1.
Audio tracks available at: https://soundcloud.... more A beginner's course in spoken egyptian arabic 1.
Featuring a simplified presentation of Spanish grammar and small vocabulary of high frequency wor... more Featuring a simplified presentation of Spanish grammar and small vocabulary of high frequency words in the context of interesting stories with ample translation exercises to develop oral and written fluency. First
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Audio tracks available at: https://soundcloud.com/aucpress/sets/kallimni-arabi-1-module-1