Monday, 31 March 2014

Microsoft Office Is Finally Here For Ipad

At a press conference on Thursday morning, Microsoft announced that Word, Excel, and PowerPoint would become available as iPad apps for the first time.
The apps will be available for free if you want to open and view documents, spreadsheets, and presentations. You will need a subscription to Microsoft’s Office 365 service if you want to create or edit. 
Microsoft PowerPoint for iPad. Image: Microsoft
Like Google’s Drive service, Microsoft can store and sync documents in the cloud, so that you can access the most up-to-date versions of the files on multiple devices. This means that if, say, you add a funny cat video to a PowerPoint presentation on your laptop, that cat video will show up in the presentation that’s on your tablet after you connect the iPad to the Internet. 
The arrival of Microsoft Office for iPad had been the subject of much debate in the years leading up to this day. Under former CEO Steve Ballmer, Microsoft had refused to bring Office to Apple’s tablet, instead creating a mobile-friendly operating system (Windows 8) and its own line of tablets (the Surface) for business use. This release could be seen as an admission that those efforts came up short: The iPad remains dominant, and competing productivity services like Google Drive and Apple’s iWork have become more popular, as business workers increasingly rely on tablets and smartphones over laptops and PCs.

Home Quote Of The Day

Welcome!!!

may all who enter as GUESTS leave as FRIENDS

Thursday, 27 March 2014

Home Quote Of The Day

“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.” 
― Edith Sitwell

Wednesday, 26 March 2014

Home Quote Of The Day

For the two of us, home isn't a place. It is a person. And we are finally home.

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Tuesday, 25 March 2014

Home Quote Of The Day

For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.

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