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“At the wooden counters up front, laden with thick catalogues in tattered binders, people would haggle for switches, resistors, capacitors, and sometimes the latest memory chips. His father used to do that for auto parts, and he succeeded because he knew the value of each better than the clerks. Jobs followed suit. He developed a knowledge of electronic parts that was honed by his love of negotiating and turning a profit. He would go to electronic flea markets, such as the San Jose swap meet, haggle for a used circuit board that contained some valuable chips or components, and then sell those to his manager at Haltek.”
― Walter Isaacson, Steve Jobs

“and”
― Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are

“She shrugged. “I never liked the stories. Too gruesome for a kid. I used to tell him so. All the time. But he made me listen to them.” “I’m sorry. That must have been hard for you. But I’m sure he meant well.” “Right. And he means well, now, too, I suppose. When I was young, he told me the monsters in the stories weren’t real, and if I was going to fear anything, it should be the monsters in real life. I’m pretty sure he gave me the book as a reminder of that.” “But you aren’t a kid anymore.” The leer Scott gave her was purely predatory, his smile a wolfish grin. She felt his gaze rake over her body as sure as she’d feel his hands. Her face flamed under his attention, and she opened her coat and flapped the lapels to fan her burning cheeks. “Yes, well … No. No, I’m not a child. Dad still wants me to see the world his way, though. And the stories in that book are his way of making his point. They’re the original versions, a lot more violent than the Disney versions we get today. Dad knows them all by heart. Tried to make sure I did, too, though I’ve blocked some of the more gruesome details from memory.” “Sounds like his experience could be beneficial to your investigation. Have you spoken to him about the case?” Chelsea nodded. “I have. A little. When he’s not lecturing me, we’ve discussed it. In fact, it was something he said that led me here.” “Yeah,” McPherson said, “that was helpful. But it was a little too late. By the time you played his message this morning, we had already been called to the scene.” One of Scott’s eyebrows arched. “What time did you start work today?” Chelsea’s cheeks were still burning from earlier. Now they practically flamed.”
― Nolon King, Once Upon a Crime

“family,”
― Oxford University Press, The New Oxford American Dictionary