200 Overprotective Quotes - Niche Quotes 💬 (2023)

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Letting go doesn't mean you don't care about someone. It's just realizing that the only person you really have control over is yourself.

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The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline and effort and the ability to truly care and sacrifice for other people, over and over again, in countless small, unsexy ways, every day.

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After all, karma comes after everyone. You can't get away from pranking people your whole life, I don't care who you are. What goes around comes around. That's how it works. Sooner or later, the universe will serve you the revenge you deserve.

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Don't waste your energy trying to educate or change opinions; Go over, under, through, and opinions will change organically when you're the boss. Or they won't. Who cares? Do your thing and don't care if they like it.

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we are so important So arrogant. Everyone will save now. Save the trees, save the bees, save the whales, save the snails. And the highest arrogance? Save the planet! Are these people joking? Save the planet? We don't even know how to take care of ourselves; we haven't learned to take care of each other. We're gonna save the damn planet? . . . By the way, there is nothing wrong with the planet at all. The planet is fine. People are screwed! Compared to humans, the planet is doing great. It's been here for over four billion years. . . The planet isn't going anywhere, folks. We are! We go away. Pack your shit, we're going away. And we will hardly leave any traces. Thank god for that. nothing left Maybe some styrofoam. The planet will be here and we will be gone. Another failed mutation; another closed-ended biological bug.

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Everyone knows that when you're too careful, you get so busy being careful that you're bound to trip over something.

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You speak of sacrifice, but it is not my sacrifice that I offer. I ask of you,” he continued. “I can offer you my life, but it is a short life; I can offer you my heart, although I have no idea how many more beats it will take. But I love you enough to hope that you don't care that I'm being selfish in trying to make the rest of my life - however long - happy by spending it with you. I want to be married to you, Tessa. I want it more than I've ever wanted anything else in my life.” He looked up at her through the veil of silvery hair that fell over his eyes. "That is," he said shyly, "if you love me too.

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Even if I relieve, I'll take care of it. You can be apart of one thing and still care about it. If I wanted to completely detach, I would move my body away. I would end the conversation mid-sentence. I would get out of bed. Instead, I hover over it for a second. I look in a different direction. But I keep looking back to you.

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Who hasn't killed an hour? Not casually or thoughtlessly, but carefully: a deliberate minute-murder. The violence comes from a combination of giving up, indifference, and a resignation that getting over it is all you can achieve. So kill the hour. You don't work, you don't read, you don't dream. When you sleep, it's not because you need to sleep. And when it's finally over, there's no evidence: no gun, no blood, and no body. The only clue might be the shadows under your eyes or an awfully thin line near the corner of your mouth, indicating that something has been suffered, that you have lost something in the privacy of your life and the loss is too empty to accept split.

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When friends keep disappointing you, it's largely your own fault. Once someone has shown a tendency to be self-centered, you need to recognize it and take care of yourself; People will not change just because they want to.

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I always wonder about raindrops. I marvel at how they keep falling, tripping over their own feet, breaking their legs and forgetting their parachutes as they plummet straight from the sky toward an uncertain end. It's as if someone empties their pockets on the ground and doesn't seem to care where the contents fall, doesn't seem to care that the raindrops burst when they hit the ground, that they shatter when they hit the ground fall to the ground, these people curse the days when the drops dare to knock on their doors. i am a raindrop My parents emptied their pockets of me and vaporized me on a concrete slab.

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After getting over my Latin teacher being a horse we had a nice tour although I was careful not to walk behind him. I'd patrolled the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and I'm sorry, I didn't trust Chiron's back as much as I trusted his front.

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When a hiker gets lost in the mountains, people coordinate a search. When a train crashes, people line up to donate blood. When an earthquake razes a city, people around the world send relief supplies. This is so fundamentally human that it is found in every culture without exception. Yes, there are assholes who just don't care, but they are vastly outnumbered by those who do.

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It's simple male logic: is a woman angry? It means she cares. When you are in a relationship and a chick doesn't even bother to yell at you? you're screwed Indifference is a woman's kiss of death. It's the equivalent of a man not interested in sex. In any case, it's over. You're done.

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Once a little boy sent me an adorable card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children's letters - sometimes very hastily - but I lingered on this one. I sent him a card and drew a picture of a wild thing on it. I wrote, "Dear Jim, I loved your card." Then I got a letter back from his mom and she said, "Jim loved your card so much he ate it." That was one of the greatest compliments I've ever received I have ever received. He didn't care that it was an original drawing by Maurice Sendak or something. He saw it, loved it, ate it.

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I missed you,” he said softly, his gaze darting between her mouth and her eyes. "When I was in Wendlyn. I lied when I said I didn't do it. From the moment you left I missed you so much I went insane. I was glad of the pretense of following Lorcan here just to see you again. And tonight, with that knife at your throat…” The warmth of his calloused finger flooded through her as he traced a path across the cut in her neck. "I've been thinking the whole time about how you might never know I missed you if there's just an ocean between us. But if death did us part... I would find you. I don't care how many rules it would break. Even if I had to get all three keys myself and open a gate, I would find you again. Always.

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Grinning is something you do when you're being entertained in some way, like reading a good book or watching someone you don't care about spill orange soda all over themselves.

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GIRL, write YOUR book, dammit. Who cares what people think? If writers in the past had cared what other people thought, we'd still be glossing over "inappropriate" kissing scenes. Break the damn rules of what YOU can do. This is YOUR book. YOUR blood and your guts. AND, NEVER, EVER write a single line for ANYONE ELSE.

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I'm not one of those dopey, cheesy Americans who want to be liked by everyone around them. I don't care if people hate my belly; I suppose most do. The important question is whether they are able to do something about it. My affections, concentrated on a few people, don't spread across Hell in a vile attempt to placate grumpy, worthless shit.

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I knew I had to be careful. I had to keep my distance. If she knew how much I still cared, it would all be over. I couldn't go away anymore. The first time was hard enough.

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Take good care of my babies,” Jesper said as he handed them to Dirix. "If I see a single scratch or nick on these, I spell forgive me in bullet holes on your chest."

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Really, I'm trying to take care of it, Artemis, really. But I thought it would all be over when the fat lady sings. Well she sings but it doesn't seem to be over yet

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If it had been easy for Romeo to get to Juliet, no one would have cared. The same goes for Cyrano and Don Quixote and Gatsby and their respective lovers. What captures the imagination is watching men throw themselves against a brick wall over and over again, wondering if this is the time when they won't be able to get back up.

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And Harry saw very clearly as he sat there under the hot sun how people who cared for him had stood before him one by one, his mother, his father, his godfather and finally Dumbledore, all determined to love him to protect; but now it was over. He couldn't let anyone else come between him and Voldemort; he must forever shed the illusion he should have lost at the age of one, that the protection of a parent's arms meant nothing could hurt him. There was no awakening from this nightmare, no comforting whisper in the dark that he was really sure it was all in his imagination; the last and greatest of his protectors had died and he was lonelier than ever.

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no no it's not all random, if it really was all random the universe would let us down completely. and not the universe. it takes care of his most fragile creations in ways we can't see. as with parents who worship you blindly. and a big sister who feels guilty about being human to you. and a raspy-voiced little child whose friends chose him over you. and even a pink haired girl carrying your picture in her wallet. Maybe it's a lottery, but the universe evens it all out in the end. The universe takes care of all its birds.

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You don't deserve me," he agreed. "They deserve better. But you're stuck with me, and you might as well get over it." He pulled me under him in one agile motion and rolled on top of me, his black eyes quite like pirates. "I have no intention of just letting you go something to keep in mind i don't care if it's another man your mother or the forces of hell trying to tear us apart i won't loosen up and i say not goodbye

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We spend too much time teaching girls to care about what boys think of them. But the opposite is not the case. We don't teach boys to care about being personable. We spend too much time telling girls they can't be angry or aggressive or tough, which is bad enough, but then we turn around and praise or excuse men for the same reasons. There are so many magazine articles and books around the world telling women what to do, how to be and not to be to attract or please men. There are far fewer guides for men on how to please women.

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There are times when friendship feels like running down a hill together as fast as you can, jumping over things, spinning around, and not caring where you go and not caring where you're from, because everything , what matters is speed and the hands that hold your hands.

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There's a reason we talk about "leaps of faith" — because deciding to agree to any notion of divinity is a giant leap from the rational to the unknowable, and I don't care how diligent scholars of any religion will try to sit you down with their stacks of books, proving to you by Scripture that their faith is indeed reasonable; it is not. If belief were rational, by definition it would not be belief. Faith is believing in what cannot be seen, proven or touched. Faith runs face first and at full speed into the darkness. If we really knew in advance all the answers about the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our faith would not be a leap of faith and a courageous act of humanity; it would just be... a prudent insurance policy.

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Your soul doesn't care what you do for a living - and when your life is over, you won't care either. Your soul only cares about what you are while you do whatever you do.

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Octavia was the only person in the world who really knew him. There was no one else he really cared about ever seeing again. But then he glanced over Clarke, who was leaning in to inhale the scent of a bright pink flower, the sun catching the golden strands in her hair, and suddenly he wasn't so sure.

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I still don't find it pathetic to cry over someone. It just means that you care deeply about them and you are sad.

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Do not exist. Live. Get Out, Explore. Thrive. Challenge Authority. Challenge yourself. develop yourself change forever Become who you say you always will be. keep moving Do not stop. Start the revolution. Become a freedom fighter. Become a superhero. Just because nobody knows your name doesn't mean you don't matter. Are you happy? have you ever been happy What did you do today to be important? Did you exist or did you live? How did you become successful? Become a chameleon everywhere. Be a rock star and stand out wherever you go. do nothing, do everything. Forget everything, remember everyone. Attention, don't just pretend. Listen to everyone. Love everyone and nothing at the same time. It's impossible to be everything, but you can't stop trying. All I know is that I have no idea where I am right now. I feel like I'm training for something and making progress with every step I take. I'm afraid to stop. This is my greatest weakness. I talk big, but often don't follow through. That's my biggest problem. I don't even know what to think now. It's time I took a leap. Damn, I'm starting to take. Just skip everything. Leap. It's time to be aggressive. You've started speaking your mind, now move on, but not with the intention of sparking controversy or starting a serious argument. Put on your gloves, it's time for rebirth. There's no place in the history books for the nice guys. THIS IS THE START OF A REVOLUTION. THE REVOLUTION IS YOUR LIFE. THE GOAL IS IMMORTALITY. LET'S LIVE BABY. WE FEEL ALIVE AT ALL TIMES. DO NOT TAKE PRISONERS. DO NOT HOLD ANY SOUL RESPONSIBILITY, ESPECIALLY YOUR OWN. IF SOMETHING DOESN'T HAPPEN, IT'S YOUR FAULT. Make this moment your reckoning. Your head has been submerged for too long and now it's time to get up and take your first real breath. Do everything with exact calculation, nothing without meaning. Don't watch your words, but don't apologize for what you say. fuck them all Set a goal for each day and never get tired.

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Disappointments in love, even betrayals and losses serve the soul at the very moment when they appear in life as tragedies. The soul is partly in time and partly in eternity. We may remember the part that dwells in eternity when we despair of the part that is in life.

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That's the big picture, your happiness. And health. You shouldn't care what a man thinks of you until he shows you that he cares about making you happy. If he's not trying to make you happy, then send him back "where" he came from, because there's no benefit in winning him over. At the end of the day, happiness, joy... and yes... your emotional stability... that's the only metric you really need.

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The books we read should be chosen with great care so that, as one Egyptian king wrote of his library, they are "the medicine of the soul."

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There is a difference between caring for someone because you love them and caring for someone because you want them to love you.

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Wait a minute,” says Four. I turn to him, wondering which version of Four I'm going to see now - the one scolding me or the one climbing the Ferris wheel with me. He smiles a little, but the smile doesn't. it doesn't spread in his eyes, which look less strained and concerned. "You belong here, you know that?" he says. "You belong to us. It'll be over soon, so just wait, okay?” He scratches behind his ear and looks away, as if embarrassed by what he said. I stare at him. I can feel my heartbeat everywhere, even in my toes. I feel like I'd like to do something bold, but I might as well walk away. I'm not sure which option is smarter or better. I'm not sure if I'm interested. I reach out and take his hand. His fingers slide between mine. I can't breathe I stare up at him and he stares down at me. We stay like this for a long moment. Then I pull my hand away and run after Uriah and Lynn and Marlene. Maybe he thinks I'm stupid now, or weird. Maybe it was worth it.

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When a Satanist makes a mistake, he realizes that it's natural to make a mistake - and if he's really sorry for what he did, he'll learn from it and be careful not to do the same thing again. Unless he is genuinely sorry for what he has done and knows he will do the same thing over and over again, he has no right to confess and ask for forgiveness at all.

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As his raft glided across the water and brought him back to the mortal world, he understood a line from the prophecy better—an oath to be kept with one last breath. He understood how dangerous oaths could be. But Leo didn't care. "I'm coming back for you, Calypso," he said to the Night Wind. "I swear it by the River Styx.

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No problem,” Gale replies. "I wake up ten times a night anyway." "To make sure Katniss is still here?" Peeta asks. “Something like that.” … “That was funny what Tigris said. About anyone who knows what to do with her.” “Well, WE never did.” … “She loves you, you know,” says Peeta. "She pretty much told me after they whipped you." I can't believe it," Gale replies. "The way she kissed you in the Quarter Quell...well, she never kissed me like that." "It was just part of the show," Peeta tells him, though there's a slight doubt in his voice. "No, you won it. All given up for her. Maybe that's the only way to convince her that you love her.” There is a long pause. "I should have volunteered to take your place in the early games. Protected her then.” “You can't,” says Peeta. "She would never have forgiven you. You had to take care of her family. You're more important to her than her life.” … “I wonder how she'll decide.” “Oh, I know that.” I can just hear Gale's last words through the layer of fur. “Katniss will choose who she feels she cannot survive without

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She's under duress," Peaseblossom said. "I don't care if she's under duress, over it, or off it," Moth said. “Nothing in this world replaces cake.

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Brigan,” she said, annoyed that he hadn't understood. "I will always be beautiful. Look at me. I have one hundred and sixty two bug bites, and has that made me any less beautiful? I'm missing two fingers and I have scars all over, but who cares? NO! It just makes me more interesting! I'll always be like this, trapped in this beautiful form, and you'll have to deal with it.” He seemed to sense that she expected a serious answer, but he wasn't able to at the moment. "I suppose it's a burden I have to carry," he said, grinning.

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I prayed over and over that God would spare me, not because I cared so much about my own life - but because I cared about hers.

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He's sensitive and I don't want him to break his heart for someone who doesn't care about him.

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Nevertheless, traveling is the great true love of my life. Ever since I was sixteen and went to Russia with my savings to babysit, I've always felt that travel is worth any cost or sacrifice. I am faithful and consistent in my love of travel as I have not always been faithful and consistent in my other loves. I feel like traveling is like a happy new mom to her impossible, colicky, restless newborn baby - I just don't care what it puts me through. Because I adore it. 'Cause it's mine Because it looks just like me. It can puke all over me if it wants to - I just don't care.

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I turn and wrap my arms around his neck. "Whoa, girl," he says, amazed. "I thought we were going to keep this thing a secret between us. I hate to tell you, but there's a bunch of Northsiders from Fairfield right over there. And they stare at us." "I don't care anymore""Why""You only live once

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Because I don't care what anyone says, or how often or winningly they say it: no one will ever convince me that life is a great, rewarding indulgence. Because here's the truth: Life is a disaster. The basic fact of existence - walking around trying to support ourselves and make friends and whatever else we do - is a disaster. Forget all that ridiculous "Our City" nonsense everyone talks about: the wonder of a newborn baby, the joy of a simple blossom, the life you too wonderfully comprehend, &c. For me - and I will doggedly repeat it until I die, until I fall on my ungrateful nihilistic face and am too weak to say it: Better never born than born into this sewer. Sinkhole of hospital beds, coffins and broken hearts. No release, no appeal, no "overhauls," to use a favorite Xandra phrase, no way forward but old age and loss, and no way out but death.

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Would you like to see your room?' -BonesLet me guess - that's that broken car over there.' -Cat

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Treat your body with care. Take care of it. Do not let anyone abuse it, and do not abuse it yourself. I have diligently done every inch of your skin; I have been slaves to you for months. you are my masterpiece

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I was suddenly very aware that it was me standing in that tunnel with the wind in my face. I don't care if I've seen downtown. Don't even think about it. Because I was in the tunnel. And I was really there. And that was enough to make me feel infinite.

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Yes, you are," Chubs agreed. "But you're our idiot, so be more careful next time." "Cosigned," Liam said, hooking his fingers over mine on the armrest.

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The pessimist is like a man who observes with fear and melancholy that his wall calendar, from which he tears a page every day, is getting thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the man who actively confronts life's problems is like a man who, having first jotted down a few diary notes on the back cover, removes each successive sheet from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully with his predecessors. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the riches recorded in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. What does he care when he realizes he's getting old? Does he have any reason to envy the young people he sees or to become nostalgic for his own lost youth? What reasons does he have to envy a young person? For the opportunities that a young person has, the future that awaits them? No thanks,” he will think. “Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not just the reality of work done and love loved, but also of suffering bravely endured. In fact, these sufferings are the things I am most proud of, although they are things that cannot arouse envy.

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Nick immediately froze. "You're not mocking my mother. You only speak of her in the most reverential tones. I don't care if you're death, I'll do a can of Cajun whup-ass over you boy.

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I think if you don't really like a girl you shouldn't mess with her at all and if you like her then you should like her face and if you like her face then you should be careful if you crumbly Doing things with it like splashing water everywhere. It's a shame that so much crumb stuff is sometimes really fun.

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Yes. What's that, guilt, revenge, love, what?” I swallowed. “I live alone.” “And what do you want to say?” “You have the pack. You are surrounded by people who would fall over themselves for the pleasure of your company. I have no one. My parents are dead, my whole family is gone. I have no friends. Except for Jim, and that's more of a working relationship than anything. i have no lover I can't even have a pet because I'm not in the house often enough to keep it from starving. When I crawl home, bleeding and dirty and exhausted, the house is dark and empty. No one keeps the porch light on for me. Nobody hugs me and says, 'Hey, I'm glad you made it. I'm glad you're okay. I was worried.” No one cares if I live or die. Nobody makes me coffee, nobody holds me before I go to bed, nobody fixes my meds when I'm sick. I'm alone.

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A nearby girl murmured, "If that's a lady, I'm a cat." Sandry reached out and picked up the milk jug from the table. She cradled it in both hands and walked over to the mumbling man. I am Sandrilene fa Toren, daughter of Count Mattin fer Toren and his Countess Amiliane fa Landreg. I am the great-niece of His Grace, Duke Vedris of this Empire of Emelan, and cousin of Her Imperial Highness, Empress Berenene of the Empire of Namorn. You are Esmelle ei Pragin, daughter of Baron Witten en Pragin and his Lady Colledia of the merchant house House Wheelwright. If I tell you that my friend is a lady, then you should”—carefully pouring milk into Esmelle's plate—“start licking, kitty.” She put down the pitcher and returned to her chair.

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Wonderful," she said. "Tell me about that tapestry." Arachne's lips curled over her mandibles. "Why do you care? You're about to die." "Well," Annabeth said. "But the way you captured the light is amazing. Did you use actual gold thread for the sun's rays?

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Before I moved here, I never saw the whole love triangle. You know, in movies or romance novels or whatever, where there's a chick all the guys drool over even though you can't see anything special about her. But oh no, you must have them both. And she's like, oh dear, but will I choose? William is so sensitive he understands me he blew my mind oh misery tran tran but how can I go on without Rafe and his easygoing ways and his dark and just a little abusive love? upchuck

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I'm not thrilled. And I fully reserve the right to tease about it later. But honestly mom? Right now I'm so happy to see you I wouldn't care if you were secretly a ninja sent from the future to destroy kittens and rainbows.

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Because the terrible thing about growing up is the realization that absolutely no one cares about us, we now have to take care of everything ourselves, find out how the whole world works. Work and pay bills, floss and show up to meetings on time, stand in line and fill out forms, troubleshoot cords and assemble furniture, change tires on the car and charge the phone and turn off the coffee maker and don't forget to sign the kids up for swimming lessons. We open our eyes in the morning and life is just waiting to pour a new avalanche of "Don't forget!" and "Remember!" over us. We don't have time to think or breathe, we just wake up and start digging through the pile because tomorrow another one is going to be thrown on us. We occasionally look around, at our workplace or at parents' evening or out on the street, and are horrified to realize that everyone else seems to know exactly what they're doing. We're the only ones who have to pretend. Everyone else can afford things and have other things under control and enough energy to deal with even more things. And everyone else's kids can swim.

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I've seen women insist on cleaning everything in the house before they could sit down to write... and you know, it's a funny thing about house cleaning... it never ends. The perfect way to stop a woman. A woman must be careful not to let too much responsibility (or too much respectability) steal her necessary creative breaks, riffs, and raptures. She just has to step on the gas and refuse half of what she thinks she "should" be doing. Art should not only be created in stolen moments.

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The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline and effort and the ability to truly care and sacrifice for other people, over and over again, in countless small, unsexy ways, every day. This is real freedom. He is taught to think. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default, the "rat race" - the constant, nagging feeling of having had and lost something infinite.

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I figured I could get a job at a gas station somewhere, putting gas and oil in people's cars. I didn't care what kind of job it was. Just so people didn't know me and I didn't know anyone. I thought I'd pretend to be one of those deaf mutes. That way I wouldn't have to have any goddamn pointless conversations with anyone. If someone wanted to tell me something, they had to write it down on a piece of paper and hand it to me. You'd get bored as hell after a while, and then I'd be done talking for the rest of my life. Everyone would think I was a poor deaf bastard and leave me alone.

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Over the years I'd lodged him in the eternal past, my plus-perfect lover, put him on hold, stuffed him with memories and mothballs like a hunted trinket confabulating with the spirit of all my evenings. I would dust it off from time to time and then put it back on the mantelpiece. He no longer belonged to the earth or to life. All I was likely to discover at this point was not just how far the paths we had taken were, but the magnitude of the loss that would strike me - a loss I liked to think of in abstract terms, but what would hurt staring him in the face, how nostalgia hurts long after we've stopped thinking about things we've lost that may never have cared for us.

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When I'm dead and bright April shakes out her rain-soaked hair above me, when you lean over me heartbroken, I won't care. 'Cause I'll have peace Be quieter and cold hearted than you are now

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I thought of the explorers who had sailed their ships to the ends of the earth. How terrified they must have been as they risked falling over the edge; astonished to discover instead places they had only seen in their dreams.

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I wish I was away in Ingo, far across the salty sea, sailing across the deepest waters where neither worries nor worries bother me.

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I suddenly understood that even love and care were not always enough. They were the concrete blocks of our relationship, but unstable without the mortar of time spent together, time without the threat of an impending breakup hanging over us.

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She was starting to think there might be such a thing as karma — that repetition — maybe you've been going through the same thing over and over until you don't care anymore. Maybe at some point it became less intense, until it just wasn't anymore.

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Don't you know that love doesn't just go to bed? Love is not an act, it is a whole life. It stays with her now because she needs you; It's knowing that when it's sex and daydreams, fights and futures, you and her will still care about each other — when all of that is on the shelf and done. Love – why, I'll tell you what love is: it's you at seventy-five and her at seventy-one, each of you listening to the other's footsteps in the next room, each fearing that sudden silence, a sudden scream, could mean that the conversation of a lifetime is over.

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Was it birth that made you a mother? Did you lose this label when you handed in your child? If people were judged by their actions, on the one hand I had a woman who decided to give up on me; on the other hand, I had a woman who had sat with me at night when I was sick as a child, who had cried with me for my friends, who had gossiped loudly after my law school. What actions have made you more of a mother? Both, I realized. Being a parent wasn't just about giving birth to a child. It was about witnessing his life.

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And just as it only takes a moment to die, it only takes a moment to live. You just close your eyes and let any futile fear melt away. And then, in this new state, free from fear, you ask yourself: Who am I? If I could live without doubt what would I do? If I could be nice without being afraid of being screwed? If I could love without fear of getting hurt? If I could taste the sweetness of today without thinking how I'll miss that taste tomorrow? If I could not fear the passage of time and the people who will steal it? Yes. what would i do Who would I care about? What battle would I fight? Which way would I go? What pleasures would I allow myself? What inner mysteries would I solve? In short, how would I live?

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Ladies and gentlemen of the Class of '97: Put on sunscreen. If I could only give you one tip for the future, it would be sunscreen. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proven by scientists, while the rest of my advice is based on no more reliable basis than my own meandering experience. I will give that advice now. Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Forget it. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But believe me, 20 years from now you'll be looking back at photos of yourself and remembering in a way you can't now comprehend how many opportunities lay ahead of you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you think you are. Don't worry about the future. Or worrying, but knowing that worrying is just as effective as trying to solve an algebraic equation by chewing gum. The real problems in your life are probably things that have never crossed your mind, the kind that catch you off guard at 4pm on an idle Tuesday. Do one thing every day that scares you. To sing. Do not be reckless with the hearts of others. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours. dental floss. Don't waste your time with jealousy. Sometimes you're in front, sometimes behind. The race is long and in the end it's all about yourself. Remember compliments you get. Forget the insults. If you succeed, tell me how. Save your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements. Stretch. Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know what they wanted to do with their lives at 22. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't. Get plenty of calcium. Be nice to your knees. You will miss them when they are gone. Maybe you will marry, maybe not. Maybe you will have children, maybe not. Maybe you'll get divorced at 40, maybe you'll be dancing the Funky Chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, and don't berate yourself either. Your decisions are half a coincidence. So are everyone else. enjoy your body Use it in every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or what other people think about it. It's the greatest instrument you will ever own. Dance even when you have nothing else to do but your living room. Read the instructions even if you don't follow them. Don't read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly. Get to know your parents. You never know when they will be gone forever. Be nice to your siblings. They are your best link to your past and to the people who are most likely to stay with you in the future. Understand that friends come and go, but with a few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the differences in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young. Live in New York City for once, but go before it gets hard on you. Live in Northern California for once, but leave before it softens you. Travel. Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will go up. Politicians become philanderers. You too are getting old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their parents. Respect your elders. Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Perhaps you have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when one will assume it. Don't mess with your hair too much or by 40 it will look like 85. Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Counseling is a form of nostalgia. Spending is a way to fish the past out of disposal, wipe it clean, paint over the ugly bits, and recycle it for more than it's worth. But trust me on the sunscreen.

”

”

„

All her life she had learned that passion, like fire, was a dangerous thing. It got out of control so easily. It climbed walls and jumped over ditches. Sparks jumped like fleas and spread just as quickly; a breeze could carry embers for miles. It is better to control that spark and carefully pass it on from one generation to the next, like an Olympic torch. Or perhaps to tend it carefully like an eternal flame: a reminder of light and goodness that would never set anything on fire - never could. Carefully controlled. Domesticated. Happy in captivity. The key, she thought, was to avoid a conflagration.

”

”

„

Breeze sauntered over to the table and chose a seat with his characteristic decency. The burly man raised his dueling stick and pointed it at Ham. "I see my period of intellectual rest is up." Ham smiled. "I thought up some nasty questions while I was away, and I saved them just for you, Breeze." "I'm dying of anticipation," Breeze said. He pointed his cane at Lestibournes. "Spook, drink." Spook rushed over and got Breeze a mug of wine. "He's such a fine boy," Breeze remarked, accepting the drink. "I hardly have to nudge him allomanic. If only all the other bullies were so accommodating.” Spook frowned. "Glad you can't play without it." "I have no idea what you just said, kid," Breeze said. 'So I'll just pretend everything's right and then carry on.' Kelsier rolled his eyes. "Lose the tension on the nip," he said. "Not without care." "Ride right on the Rile of Horses," Spook said with a nod. "What are you two talking about?" Breeze said irritably. "That was the brightness," said Spook. 'Stop having that or wanting that.' 'It always has been,' agreed Kelsier. "Makes you want to waste the nothing." Desperate, Breeze turned to Dockson. "I believe our companions have finally lost their minds, dear friend." Dockson shrugged. Then he said with a completely impassive expression: “Wasing is not Wasing.

”

”

„

I was down by the creek collecting berries. Would you like some?” Actually, I would, but I don't want to give in too soon. I go over and look at them. I have never seen this species before. No, I have arena. These are not Rues berries, although they resemble them. They also don't match the ones I learned in training. I bend down, pick up a few, and roll them between my fingers. My father's voice comes back to me. "Not this one, Katniss. Never this one. You are Nightlock. You'll be dead before they reach your stomach.” At that very moment, the cannon fires. I whirl around, expecting Peeta to fall to the ground, but he just raises an eyebrow. The Hoovercraft will appear about a hundred yards away. What is left of Foxface The emaciated body is lifted into the air.

”

”

„

I am a modern man, a man for the millennium. Digital and smoke free. A varied, multicultural, postmodern deconstruction that is anatomically and ecologically wrong. I've been uplinked and downloaded, I've been entered and swapped out, I know the pros of downsizing, I know the cons of upgrading. I'm high tech low life. A state-of-the-art, state-of-the-art multitasker for bi-coasts and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond! I'm new wave but I'm old school and my inner child is outward bound. I'm a hot-wired, heat-seeking, warm-hearted, cool customer, voice-activated and biodegradable. I interact with my database, my database is in cyberspace, so I'm interactive, I'm hyperactive, and from time to time I'm radioactive. After the figure eight, before the corner, ride the wave, dodge the bullet and push the envelope. I'm on point, on task, on message and off drugs. I don't need coke and speed. I have no urge to binge and purge. I'm in the moment, on the pulse, over the top and under the radar. A high-class, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A smart bomb for road traffic. A top gun bottom feeder. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps and do laps of honor. I'm an absolute big foot slam dunk rainmaker with a proactive reach. A frenzied workaholic. A working rageaholic. Out of rehab and in denial! I have a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant and a personal agenda. You can't shut me up You can't dumb me down for being tireless and wireless, I'm an alpha male on beta blockers. I'm a non-believer and a high achiever, laid back but fashion forward. Up-front, down-home, low rent, high maintenance. Super large, durable, high definition, fast acting, oven ready and built to last! I'm a practical, footless, knee-jerk headfall, fairly mature post-traumatic, and I have a love child who sends me hate mail. But I feel, I care, I heal, I share - a supportive, binding, nurturing primary caregiver. My output has gone down, but my income has gone up. I took a short position on the long bond and my source of income has its own cash flow. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds and I watch junk sports! I'm gender biased, capital intensive, user friendly and lactose intolerant. I like rough sex. i like hard love I use the "F" word in my emails and the software on my hard drive is hardcore - not soft porn. I bought a microwave at a mini mall; I bought a mini van from a mega store. I eat fast food on the slow lane. I am royalty free, bite sized, ready to use and available in all sizes. A full-featured, factory-approved, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically-formulated medical marvel. I've been pre-washed, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packed, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-bagged, vacuum-packed and have unlimited broadband capacity. I'm a rude guy, but I'm the real deal. Slim and mean! Cocked, locked and ready-to-rock. Rough, tough and difficult to bluff. I'm taking it slow, I'm going with the flow, I'm riding with the tide. I have slip in my crotch. Ride and move, sail and turn, jiving and groove, wailin and winnin. I don't sleep, so I don't lose. I keep the pedal on the metal and the rubber on the road. I celebrate heartily and lunchtime is crunch time. I'm persevering, there's no doubt and I'm persevering!

”

”

„

You must always see with both eyes and hear with both ears. He says this is a very big world and there are many, many things that you could miss if you're not careful. There are remarkable things right in front of us all the time, but our eyes are like the clouds above the sun and our lives are paler and poorer when we don't see them for what they are. If no one speaks of remarkable things, how can they be called remarkable?

”

”

„

I have known many gods. He who denies them is just as blind as he who trusts them too much. I am not looking beyond death. It may be the blackness claimed by the Nemedian skeptics, or Crom's realm of ice and cloud, or the snowy plains and vaulted halls of Valhalla of the Nordheimers. I don't know, I don't care either. let me live deep while i live; Let me know the rich juices of red meat and pungent wine on my palate, the hot embrace of white arms, the mad jubilation of battle when the blue blades blaze and crimson, and I am content. Let teachers and philosophers ponder questions of reality and illusion. I know that if life is an illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and since this is so, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I kill and am content.

”

”

„

20th November. Andrius' birthday. I counted the days carefully. I wished him a happy birthday when I woke up thinking about him hauling wood during the day. At night I sat by the stove light and read Dombey and Son. Krasivaya. I still hadn't found the word. Maybe if I jumped forward I would find it. I flipped through a few pages. A mark caught my eye. I scrolled backwards. There was something written in pencil in the margin of 278. Hello Lina. You have reached page 278. That is really good! I gasped and then pretended to be absorbed in the book. I looked at Andrius' handwriting. I ran my finger over those elongated letters in my name. Was there more? I knew I should keep reading. I could not wait for it. I carefully flipped through the pages, skimming the margins. Page 300: Are you really on page 300 or are you going to skip ahead? I had to suppress my laughter. Page 322: Dombey and Son is boring. Admit it. Page 364: Thinking of you. Page 412: Are you perhaps thinking of me? I closed my eyes. Yes I think about you. Happy birthday Andrius.

”

”

„

You told me that this was not a formal date when you invited me. Why should I care if you have a girlfriend?” “Absolutely,” he said, giving me a mock serious look. "Yeah, you and I are just friends . . . for a leisurely stroll. No more, no less.” “Exactly!” I agreed, my heart beating painfully. He grinned widely and leaned down and kissed my cheek. "Kate," he whispered, "you're so gullible too.

”

”

„

She looked up at him and at that moment he pulled his wet shirt over his head. She forced her mind to go blank. Empty as a new sheet of paper, empty as a starless sky. He came to the fire and squatted in front of it. He rubbed the water from his bare arms and flicked it into the flames. She stared at the goose and carefully sliced ​​open its leg, thinking of the most expressionless expression on the most expressionless face she could imagine. It was a chilly evening; she thought about it. The goose would be delicious, they must eat as much of it as possible, they must not waste it; she thought about it.

”

”

„

Love is a risk worth taking. I had waited an eternity for this. I would have waited again if it had been necessary. I was meant to kiss this boy, designed to be held by him. All the cautious stances I had taken melted away and I pulled him closer. we were stars We were music. We were time.

”

”

„

Some cataclysmic moments invite clarity, exploding in fractions of moments: you smash your hand through a window pane and then there's blood and broken glass stained red; You fall out of a window and break some bones and scrape some skin. Stitches and bandages and bandages and disinfectants loosen and heal the wounds. But depression is not a sudden disaster. It's more like a crab: at first, its tumor-like mass is imperceptible to the observant eye, and then, one day - boom! -- there's a giant, deadly 7-pound lump stuck in your brain, your stomach, or your shoulder blade, and this thing your own body made is actually trying to kill you. Depression is like this: Slowly, over the years, the data will accumulate in your heart and mind, a computer program for total negativity will build itself into your system, making life feel increasingly unbearable. But you won't even realize it because you think it's kind of normal, something that comes with getting older, at eight or twelve or fifteen, and then one day you realize your whole life is just horrible, not worth living, a horror and a black speck on the white terrain of human existence. One morning you wake up and you are afraid that you will live. In my case, I wasn't the least bit scared at the thought that I might be alive because I was sure, fairly sure, that I was already dead. The actual dying, the dying of my physical body, was a mere formality. My spirit, my emotional being, whatever you want to call all this inner turmoil that has nothing to do with physical existence, was long gone, dead and gone, and just a mass of the most goddamn god-awful, horrific pain like a pair of ones scalding hot tongs, which clamped tightly around my spine and pressed on all my nerves, stayed behind. That's what I want to get clear about depression: It has nothing to do with life at all. Throughout life there is sadness and pain and heartache, all of which are normal in their proper time and season - uncomfortable but normal. Depression is a completely different zone because it involves a total absence: absence of affect, absence of feeling, absence of reaction, absence of interest. The pain you feel in the course of major clinical depression is nature's attempt (nature abhors a vacuum, after all) to fill the empty space. But by any measure, the deeply depressed are just the walking, waking dead. And the scariest part is that if you ask someone in the throes of depression how they got there to set the tipping point, they'll never know. There's a classic moment in The Sun Also Rises when someone asks Mike Campbell how he went bankrupt and all he can answer is, "gradually and then suddenly." If someone asks me how much I love my mind, that's all I can say

”

”

„

So tonight I'll go back to my diary. This is the first time I've done this since I came to Italy. What I write in my journal is that I am weak and full of fear. I explain that depression and loneliness have appeared, and I'm afraid they will never go. I say I don't want to take the meds anymore but I'm afraid I have to. I'm afraid I'll never really get my life under control. In response, a now-familiar presence arises somewhere within me, offering me all the certainties I've always wished another person would tell me when I was in trouble. That's what I write on the page: I'm here. I love you. I don't care if you have to cry all night. i will stay with you If you need the medicine again, just take it - I'll love you for that too. If you don't need the meds, I'll love you too. There's nothing you can ever do to lose my love. I will protect you until you die and I will still protect you after you die. I am stronger than depression and braver than loneliness and nothing will ever wear me out. Tonight, this strange inner gesture of friendship—the reaching out of a hand of mine to myself when no one else is around to offer comfort—reminds me of something that happened to me once in New York City. I walked into an office building in a hurry one afternoon and ran into the waiting elevator. As I burst in, I caught an unexpected glimpse of myself reflected in a security mirror. At that moment, my brain did something weird — it fired out this split-second message: "Hey! You know her! That's a friend of yours!” And I actually ran towards my own reflection with a smile, ready to welcome this girl whose name I had lost but whose face was so familiar. Of course, in a flash I realized my mistake and laughed sheepishly at my almost dog-like confusion about how a mirror works. But for some reason this incident comes back to me tonight during my sadness in Rome and I am writing this comforting reminder at the bottom of the page. Never forget that once, in an unguarded moment, you recognized yourself as a FRIEND... I fell asleep, clutching my notebook to my chest, open to this latest reassurance. In the morning when I wake up I can still smell a faint trace of the lingering smoke of depression, but he himself is nowhere to be seen. Sometime during the night he got up and left. And his sidekick Loneliness hit it too.

”

”

„

See!” said a strained voice. Tonks glared at Lupin. "She still wants to marry him even though he was bitten! "It's different," Lupine said, barely moving his lips and suddenly looking tense. “Bill will not be a full werewolf. The cases are complete-” “But I don't care either, I don't care!” Tonks said, grabbing the front of Lupin's robes and shaking it. "I've told you a million times..." And the meaning of Tonks Patronus and her mousy hair and the reason she had come running to find Dumbledore when she heard a rumor that someone had been attacked by Greyback, everything suddenly became clear to Harry; it wasn't Sirius whom Tonks had fallen in love after all." "And I've told you a million times," said Lupin, refusing to meet her eyes as she stared at the floor, "that I was too old for you, too poor… too dangerous…” “I've been saying all along that you're being ridiculous about that, Remus,” Mrs. Weasley said over Fleur's shoulder while patting her on the back. "I'm not being ridiculous," said Lupin, "Tonks deserves someone young and healthy." "But she wants you," Mr. Weasley said with a small smile, "and after all, Remus, young and healthy men must don't necessarily stay.” He gestured sadly at his son who was lying between them. "This is...not the time to discuss this," Lupine said, avoiding everyone's eyes as he looked around absently. "Dumbledore is dead..." "Dumbledore would have been happier than anyone to believe there was a little more love in the world," Professor McGonagall said shortly...

”

”

„

Well, I've been calling myself Scarlet Pattinson for a few weeks now. Have you seen Robert Pattinson? Hottest. Man. Always. And no, I don't care if that makes me a couger. He sings with the voice of an angel. Gods I love it when a man sings to me. You never did because your voice is terrible.” She shuddered in disgust. "I swear it's like a demon running its claws over lemongrass.

”

”

„

The bed below me tilted as Cole approached. I felt him lean over me. His breath, warm and measured, hit my cheek. Two breaths. Three. Four. I didn't know what I wanted. Then I heard him stop breathing and a second later I felt his lips on my mouth. It wasn't the kind of kiss I'd had with anyone before. That kiss was so soft, it was like a memory of a kiss, so gentle on my lips it was like someone's fingers were running across it. My mouth opened and calmed down; it was so quiet, a whisper, not a scream. Cole's hand touched my neck, thumb pressing into the skin next to my jaw. It wasn't a touch that said I need more. It was a touch that said I want this. It was all completely silent. I didn't think either of us were breathing. Cole slowly sat up again and I opened my eyes. His expression was blank as always, the face he wore when something was important. He said, "This is how I would kiss you if I loved you.

”

”

„

My brand of loyalty was loyalty to one's own country, not to its institutions or its officials. The land is the real, the essential, the eternal; it is the thing to watch over, care for and be faithful to; Institutions are alien, they are his mere clothes, and clothes can wear out, become ragged, no longer comfortable, no longer protect the body from winter, disease and death.

”

”

„

I'm not laughing." I actually cried. "And please don't laugh at me now, but I think the reason I'm having such a hard time getting over this guy is because I genuinely believed David was my soulmate. "He probably was. Your problem is that you don't understand what that word means. People think that a soulmate is a perfect match for you, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soulmate is a mirror that." Person who will show you everything that is holding you back, the person who will draw your attention to yourself so that you can change your life A true soulmate is probably the most important person you will ever meet as they break down your walls and knocks you awake. But living forever with a soulmate? Nope. Too painful. Soulmates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of you to you and then they leave. And thank God for that. Your problem Is that you just can't let it go It's over, groceries. David's goal was to shake you up, to throw you out of the marriage you had to leave, to tear your ego apart a little, to show you your obstacles and dependencies, to open your heart to allow new light to come in, you so desperate to do and out of control that you had to change your life, then present yourself to your spiritual master and defeat him. That was his job and he did a great job, but it's over now. Trouble is, you can't accept that his relationship had a really short lifespan. You're like a dog in a dump, baby - you just lick the empty tin can and try to get more food out of it. And if you're not careful, the can will stick to your snout forever and make your life miserable. So leave it. “But I love him.” “So love him.” “But I miss him.” “So miss him. Send him some love and light every time you think of him and then leave it. You're just scared to let go of the last bits of David because then you'll really be alone, and Liz Gilbert is scared to death of what will happen when she's really alone. But here's what you need to understand, food. If you clear all that space in your head that you're currently using to obsess over this guy, you'll have a vacuum there, an opening - a door. And guess what the universe will do with the door? It will rush in - God will rush in - and fill you with more love than you ever dreamed of. So stop using David to block that door. Let it go.

”

”

„

His breath hitched so hard that she looked over her shoulder. But his eyes didn't rest on her face. Or the water. They lay on her bare back. Curled up as she lay on her knees, he could see the full expanse of destroyed flesh, every scar from the lashes. "Who did this to you?" It would have been easy to lie, but she was so tired and he had saved her useless fur. So she said, "A lot of people. I've spent some time in the salt mines of Endovier.” He was so quiet she wondered if he'd stopped breathing. "How long?" he asked after a moment. She braced herself against pity, but his face was so carefully blank—no, not blank. Calm from deadly rage. "A year. I was there a year ago...that's a long story." She was too exhausted, her throat too sore to say the rest. Then she noticed that his arms were bandaged and more bandages peeked out from under his shirt over his broad chest. She had burned him again. And yet he'd held her - ran all the way here and never let go. "You were a slave." She gave him a slow nod. He opened his mouth but closed it and swallowed, that deadly rage flashing out. As if he remembered who he was talking to and that it was the least punishment she deserved. He turned on his heel and closed the door behind him. She wished he'd slammed it - wished he'd smashed it. But he closed it with little more than a click and didn't return.

”

”

„

So Angel?” I said looking over at her. She glided through the night, her eight-foot wings like those of a dove. "Have you heard from Anne, about anything? Anything off?" Not really." angel thought. "As far as I can tell, she works for the FBI. She cares about us and wants us to be happy. She thinks the boys are slobs. I'm blind,” Iggy said testily. "How am I supposed to clean everything?" Yes, because you are so disabled, I said sarcastically. "For example - you can't build bombs or cook or win at Monopoly. They cannot tell us apart by the feel of our skin or feathers.

”

”

„

It's hard to secure a real resume when love veers from lovable nurturing into boredom, through lack of imagination or disinterest, and the plot becomes dreary and dreary, tastelessly boring and morphs into a flimsy plot with the same hackneyed approach. "Same procedure as every year, James!" ("Things need to change")

”

”

„

And I'm sure I've never read a memorable piece of news in a newspaper. When we read of a man robbed or murdered or accidentally killed, or a house burned down, or a ship wrecked, or a steamer blown up, or a cow , run over on the Western Railroad, or by a dead dog, or a multitude of locusts in the winter,—we need never read of another. one is enough. If you are familiar with the principle, then what do you care about countless instances and applications?

”

”

„

And yes, I came here to seduce you.” He lifted his head and whispered in my ear, “I'm good at that. Just like you're good at dodging demons and kicking ass.” “Kicking ass?” I asked as he let his head fall back on the arm of the couch. Yes,” he said, and I winced when he found a ticklish spot. "I like a woman who takes care of herself." "Not a big white knight on a horse, huh?" He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I could," he said. 'But I'm a lazy son of a bitch.

”

”

„

First, it's okay to be sad. It's okay to feel things. Remember it. Second, be a kid for as long as possible. Play games, Travis. Be silly” – her eyes glittered – “and you and your brothers take care of each other and your father. Even when you're an adult and you're moving away, it's still important to come home. Okay?” My head was bobbing up and down, desperate to please her. "One day you will fall in love, son. Don't settle for just anyone. Choose the girl who isn't easy, the one you have to fight for, and then never stop fighting. Never” – she took a deep breath – “stop fighting for what you want. And never forget” – she raised an eyebrow – “that Mommy loves you. Even if you can't see me.” A tear ran down her cheek. "I will always, always love you.

”

”

„

Shahrzad, I have failed you several times. But there was a moment when I disappointed you beyond measure. It was the day we met. The moment I took your hand and you looked at me with the glory of hate in your eyes. I should have sent you home to your family. But I didn't. In your hate there was honesty. fearlessness in your pain. To be honest I saw a reflection of myself. Or rather, the man I wanted to be. So I let you down. I didn't stay away. Later I thought that if I had answers, that would be enough. It would not matter to me. You wouldn't matter. So I kept letting you down Still wanted more. And now I can't find the words to say what needs to be said. To pay you the least of what I owe. When I think of you I can't find air to breathe. And now, even though you're gone, there's no pain or fear. All I have left is gratitude. When I was a boy, my mother told me that one of the best things in life is knowing that your story isn't over yet. Our story may have ended, but your story has yet to be told. Make it a story worthy of yours. I let you down on one last thing. Here's my chance to fix it. It never was because I didn't feel it. It was because I swore never to say it, and a man is nothing if he can't keep his promises. So I'll write it in the sky - I love you a thousand times over. And I will never apologize for it. Khaled

”

”

„

I wanted to go there. I wanted to snuggle up next to him, lean against him, talk to him. I wanted to know what he was thinking. I wanted to tell him that everything would be fine. And I wanted him to tell me the same thing. I didn't care if it was true or not - I just wanted to say it. Hearing it, feeling his arms around me, hearing the rumble of his words, that deep chuckle that made my pulse race

”

”

„

When my son James was doing his schoolwork, he would have five or six windows open on his computer, instant messengers constantly flashing, his cell phone constantly ringing, and he was downloading music and watching TV over his shoulder. I don't know if he did his homework, but from what I could see he ran an empire, so I didn't care.

”

”

„

I know you've been here for a year, you think these people are normal. Well, they aren't. Were not. I look in the library, I pull up books on my desk. Old ones because they don't give us anything new, but I have a pretty good idea of ​​what children are and we are not children. Kids can lose sometimes and no one cares. Children are not in armies, they are not COMMANDERS, they are not ruling over forty other children, that is more than anyone can take without going insane.

”

”

„

You saved the world," Annabeth said. "We saved the world." "And Rachel is the new Oracle, which means she won't be dating anyone." "You don't sound disappointed," I remarked. Annabeth shrugged. "Oh, I don't care." "Uh-huh." She raised an eyebrow. "You got something to say to me, Seaweed Brain?" "You'd probably kick my ass." "You know that, kick your ass." I brushed the cake from my hands. 'When I was by the River Styx and became invulnerable . . . Nico said I needed to focus on one thing that keeps me grounded in the world, that keeps me mortal.” Annabeth kept her eyes on the horizon. 'Yes?' 'Then up on Olympus,' I said, 'when you wanted to make a god out of me and all, I kept thinking – 'Oh, that's what you wanted.' 'Well, maybe a little bit. But I didn't do it because I thought - I didn't want things to stay like this forever because things could always get better. And I thought. . .” My throat felt really dry. "Specify someone?" Annabeth asked in a soft voice. I looked over and saw that she was trying not to smile. "You're laughing at me," I complained!" "You're not making it easy on yourself." Then she genuinely laughed and wrapped her hands around my neck. Get used to it.” As she kissed me, I felt my brain melt through my body. I could have stayed like that forever except for a voice behind us growling, "Well, it's about time!" Suddenly the pavilion was filled with torchlights and RVs. Clarisse led the way as the eavesdroppers charged, lifting us both onto their shoulders. "Oh, come on!" I complained. "Isn't there privacy?" "The lovebirds need to cool down!" Clarisse said happily: "The canoe lake!" cried Connor Stoll, and they threw us into the water.

”

”

„

This way," he murmurs and suddenly he's inside me again, but he doesn't start his usual punishment rhythm right away. He leans forward, releases my hands, and pulls me up so I'm practically sitting on top of him. His hands move to my breasts and he cups them both, gently tugging at my nipples. I groan and throw my head against his shoulder. He sniffs my neck, biting it as he flexes his hips, deliciously slowly, filling me up again and again. "Do you know how much you mean to me?" he breathes on my ear. "No," I gasp. He smiles against my neck and his fingers wrap around my jaw and neck, holding me for a moment. "Yes you are. I won't let you go." I groan as he picks up speed. "You're mine, Anastasia." "Yes, yours," I gasp. "I'll take care of what's mine," he hisses, biting my ear.

”

”

„

Hello? This is Clary Fairchild." "Clary? It's Emma.” “Oh, Emma, ​​hello! I haven't heard from you in forever. By the way, my mother thanks me for the wedding flowers. She wanted to send a message, but Luke took her to Tahiti on his honeymoon.” “Tahiti sounds nice.” “It's probably – Jace, what are you doing with that thing? It's not going to fit.” “Is this a bad time?” “What? NO! Jace tries to lug a trebuchet into the workout room. Alec, stop helping him." "What's a trebuchet?" "It's a giant catapult." "What are they going to use it for?" "I have no idea. Alec, you activate! You are a trailblazer!' 'Maybe it's a bad time.' 'I doubt there will be a better time. Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do?” “I think we have your cat.” “What?” “Your cat. Big fluffy blue persian? Always looking angry? Julian says it's your cat. He says he saw it at the New York Institute. Well, saw him. It's a kitten.” “Church? you have church But I thought - well, we knew he was gone. We thought Brother Zachariah took him. Isabelle was annoyed, but they seemed to know each other. I've never seen Church like that.” “I don't know if he likes anyone around here. He bit Julian twice. Oh wait a minute. Julian says he likes Ty. He's sleeping on Ty's bed.' 'How did you get to him?' 'Someone rang our front doorbell. Diana, she's our tutor, went down to see what it was. Church was in a cage on the front steps with a note pinned to it. It stood for Emma. This is Church, a longtime friend of the Carstairs. Take care of this cat and he will take care of you. – J.” “Brother Zachariah left you a cat.” “But I don't even really know him. And he's not a Silent Brother anymore.” “You may not know him, but he definitely knows you.” “What do you think the J stands for?” “His real name. Look Emma, ​​if he wants you to have Church and you want Church, then you should keep him." "Are you sure? The Lightwoods - "'They both stand here and nod. Well, Alec is partially trapped under a trebuchet, but he seems to be nodding." "Jules says we'd like to keep him. We used to have a cat named Oscar, but he died, and Church seems to be good with Ty's nightmares." "Oh, honey. I really think he's Brother Zachariah's cat. And if he wants you to have him, then you should.” “Why does Brother Zachariah want to protect me? It's like he knows me, but I don't know why he knows me." "I don't know exactly... But I know Tessa. She's his - well, girlfriend doesn't seem like the right word for it. They've known each other for a long, long time. I have a feeling they're both looking out for you." "That's good. I have a feeling we're going to need it.” “Emma – oh my god. The trebuchet just crashed through the floor. I have to go. Call me later." "But we can keep the cat?" "You can keep the cat.

”

”

„

I'm always so overwhelmed with trying to make everything perfect. I can't do a job and not put everything I have into it. I have to be the best employee, the best colleague, the best whatever. I need everyone to like me and I just burn out bending over backwards to make that happen. My biggest fear is that people will be mad at me. I can not stand. There's this crazy fear of being rejected by anyone - even people I don't really care about. It's always better to leave them first, cut all ties and disappear. You can't hurt me like that - no one can.

”

”

„

On reflection, I decided I had three main weaknesses: I was confused (evidenced by a lack of facts, an inability to coordinate my thoughts, and an inability to verbalize my ideas); I had a lack of self-confidence which caused me to withdraw from strongly held positions; and I was overly emotional at the expense of careful, "scientific" work. I was thirty-seven years old and still discovering who I was.

”

”

„

Patience never wants Wonder in the house because Wonder is a miserable guest. It takes advantage of you all, but pays no heed to what is most fragile or irreplaceable. If it breaks you, it shrugs and moves on. Without asking, Wonder often brings dubious friends: doubt, jealousy, greed. Together they take over; Rearrange the furniture in each of your rooms for their own comfort. They speak strange languages ​​but don't try to translate for you. They cook strange meals in your heart that leave strange tastes and smells. When they finally leave, will you be happy or unhappy? Patience always remains in holding the broom.

”

”

„

How much evil in history could have been avoided if people had exercised their moral acumen with convincing courage and said to those in power, “No, I won't. This is wrong and I don't care if you fire me, shoot me, hand me over for promotion or call my mother, I will not engage in this unsavory activity.' Wouldn't world history be rewritten if few people actually behaved like individual free agents rather than mindless lemmings?

”

”

„

Getting over it doesn't mean forgetting it, it just means reducing the pain to a tolerable level, a level that won't destroy you. I know right now the idea of ​​getting over it is unthinkable. It's impossible, unimaginable, unthinkable. You don't want to get over it. why should you It's all you got You don't want kind words, you don't care what other people think or say, you don't want to know how they felt losing someone, they're not you, are there! They can't feel what you feel. The only things you want are the things you can't have. It's gone. never come back Nobody knows how that feels. No one knows what it's like to reach out and touch someone who isn't there and will never be there again. Nobody knows the compatible void. Nobody but you. You and I love. We don't want anything. We want to die, but life won't let us. We are all it has.

”

”

„

Life is a wonderful, fascinating, magical, funny, silly thing. And people are amazing. We all know we're going to die, and yet we're still alive. We scream and swear and worry when the full garbage bag breaks, but with every minute that passes, we're getting closer to the end. We marvel at a nectarine sunset over the M25, or the smell of a baby's head, or the efficiency of flat-pack furniture, even though we know that everyone we love will one day cease to exist. I don't know how we do this.

”

”

„

Don't waste the precious moments of this, your present reality, trying to unveil all of life's mysteries. These secrets are secret for a reason. Grant your God the benefit of the doubt. Use your NOW moment for the highest purpose - the creation and expression of WHO YOU REALLY ARE. Decide who you are - who you want to be - and then do everything in your power to become it. It's not nearly as important how well a message is received as how well it's sent. You cannot take responsibility for how well another accepts your truth; You can only ensure how well it is communicated. And by how good I don't just mean how clear; I mean how loving, how compassionate, how empathetic, how brave and how complete. If you think your life is about DOING, then you don't understand what you are about. Your soul doesn't care what you do for a living - and when your life is over, you won't care either. Your soul only cares about what you are while you do whatever you do. It is a state of BEING that the soul aspires to, not a state of doing.

”

”

„

Son, are you gay?” I spat out the cognac and choked on the earthy liquid. Dad stayed calm and crossed one leg over the other. "Be honest. You know we don't care, and we will support you no matter what. There's nothing wrong with being gay." "There's nothing wrong with that, okay, but I'm not gay." He blinked and said nothing "Why the hell would you think that?" "You're not a big fan of the opposite sex." "I'm not a big fan of humanity." But then there's your mother. I'm a bloody big fan of hers.

”

”

„

If we really saw war, what war does to young minds and bodies, it would be impossible to embrace the myth of war. If we had to stand over the mangled bodies of schoolchildren killed in Afghanistan and listen to their parents lament, we would not be able to repeat the clichés we use to justify war. For this reason, the war is carefully sanitized. Because of this, we experience the perverse and dark thrills of war but are spared from seeing the aftermath of war. The mythical visions of war make it heroic and entertaining... The wounded, the crippled and the dead are quickly carted off the stage in this grand charade. They are war waste. We don't see them. We don't hear them. They are doomed to hover like wandering ghosts at the fringes of our consciousness, ignored, even reviled. The message they proclaim is too painful for us to hear. We prefer to celebrate ourselves and our nation by imbibing the myths of glory, honor, patriotism and heroism, words that become empty and meaningless in battle.

”

”

„

While it's all very amusing, the kiss that will set the girl free is the kiss she desires the most," she said. "Just that and nothing more." Jace's heart began to race. He met the queen's eyes with his own. "Why are you doing this?"... "Desire is not always tempered by disgust... And while my words bind my magic, you may learn the truth. If she doesn't want your kiss, she won't be free.” “You don't have to do this, Clary, it's a trick—” (Simon) … Isabelle sounded annoyed. "Who cares? It's just a kiss.” “That's right,” Jace said. Clary looked up, then finally, and her wide green eyes rested on him. He walked towards her...and put his hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him...He could feel the tension in his own body, the effort to hold himself back, not to pull her to him and to take this one dangerous and stupid and unwise, and he kissed her the way he thought he'd never be able to kiss her again in his life. "It's just a kiss," he said, hearing the roughness in his own voice and wondering if she heard it too. Not that it mattered - there was no way to hide it. It was too much. He'd never wanted to be like this before... She understood him, laughed when he laughed, saw through the defenses he was putting up against what was underneath. There was no more real Jace Wayland than the one he saw in her eyes when she looked at him... All he knew was that whatever he owed to Hell or Heaven, he would use that chance. He... whispered in her ear. "You can close your eyes and think about England if you want," he said. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lashes making copper-colored lines against her pale, fragile skin. "I've never been to England," she said, and the softness, the fear in her voice almost let him go. He had never kissed a girl without knowing that she wanted it too, usually more than he did and that was Clary and he didn't know what she wanted. Her eyes were still closed, but she trembled and leaned into him - hardly, but it was permission enough. His mouth touched hers. And that was it. All the self-control he'd exercised over the past few weeks went away like water rushing through a broken dam. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he pulled her to him... His hands came flat on her back... and she stood on tiptoe and kissed him as hard as he kissed her... He clung He held her tighter, lacing his hands in her hair and with the pressure of his mouth on hers trying to tell her all the things he could never say out loud... His hands slid down to her waist... he had no idea what he was going to do next or would have said if it had been something he could never have put away or taken back, but he heard a soft chuckle – the fairy queen – in his ears, and it snapped him back to reality. He pulled away from Clary before it was too late, unhooked her hands from his neck and stepped back... Clary stared at him. Her lips were parted, her hands still open. Her eyes were wide open. Behind her, Alec and Isabelle stared at her; Simon looked like he was about to throw up... If there had ever been any hope that he could have thought of Clary as just his sister, then what had just happened between them had blown her into a thousand pieces... He tried to read Clary's face - did she feel the same way? … I know you felt it, he said to her with his eyes, and it was half bitter triumph and half pleading. I know you felt it too... She looked away from him... He whirled on the queen. "Was that good enough?" he demanded. "Did that entertain you?" The Queen shot him a look: special and mysterious and shared between the two of them. "We're quite amused," she said. "But I don't think as much as you two do.

”

”

„

I thought about how my great-grandparents had starved to death. I thought about their wasted bodies being sent to incinerators because people who didn't know them hated them. I thought about how the kids who lived in that house had been burned and blown up because a pilot who didn't care pushed a button. I thought about how my grandfather's family had been taken away from him and how my father grew up feeling like he didn't have a father. And how I had acute stress and nightmares and sat alone in a collapsing house and cried hot stupid tears down my shirt. All because of a seventy-year-old injury that had somehow been passed down to me like a poisonous heirloom.

”

”

„

Masquerades reveal the reality of souls. As long as nobody sees who we are, we can tell the most intimate details of our lives. I sometimes think about this sketch of a story, about a man who was struck by one of those personal tragedies that stems from extreme shyness and one day while he was wearing a mask, I don't know where, another mask's most personal, most secret , Most of them told unthinkable things that could be told about his tragic and quiet life. And since no outward detail would give him away, since he had even disguised his voice, and since he did not pay close attention to who had been listening to him, he could enjoy the full feeling of knowing that somewhere in the world there was someone who it did not even know him as his closest and best friend. As he walked down the street, he wondered if this person or that person over there might not be the one to whom he had once told his private life in a mask. Thus a new interest in each person would be born in him, as each person could be his only, unknown confidante.

”

”

„

This conversation”—Dez rapped his knuckles on the Formica table—“is over.” “Be careful, Dez,” Jimmy said seriously. "And don't sleep with him the first night," Vinny warned. "We know what a bitch you can be." Dez turned to Sal. "Got anything to add to this bullshit?" "Yeah." Sal looked down from the ceiling he'd been staring at. "Judging by the structure of this building, if we removed that pillar back there, we could destroy the whole block." Dez sighed.

”

”

„

He could tell right away that they were carrying different types of bubble bath mixed in with the water, although it wasn't a bubble bath like Harry had ever experienced. A tap ejected pink and blue bubbles the size of soccer balls; another poured ice-white foam so thick Harry thought it would have supported his weight if he wanted to test it; a third sent heavily perfumed violet clouds hovering above the water's surface. Harry amused himself for a while turning the faucets on and off, particularly enjoying the effect of a faucet bouncing off the surface of the water in great arcs.

”

”

„

bingo puppy. It's a lesson best learned early. They're all scared of us.” He sauntered over to Derek. "You're trying to be a good boy, aren't you? You think that would show them they're wrong. So how did that work out for you? Guess what? They do not care. You're a monster to them, and nothing you do - or don't do - will change their mind. My advice? Give them what they want. It's a short, brutal life.” He smiled. "Live it out." Derek stared straight ahead and waited patiently. "He can't hear a word I'm saying, can he?" Liam said. "No.

”

”

„

I shouldn't have lost my composure like that. It only hurts his pride, makes him dig in his heels.” “And why did you?” I asked genuinely curious. It was seldom that Nikolai's feelings got the better of him. "I don't know," he said, shredding the sheet. "You got angry. I became angry. The room was too damn hot.” ​​“I don't think it's that.” “Indigestion?” he offered. "Because you really care what happens to this country," I said. “The throne is just a prize for Vasily, something he wants to quarrel about like a favorite toy. You are not like that. You will make a good king.” Nikolai froze. "I..." For once, he seemed to have run out of words. Then a crooked, embarrassed smile crept across his face. It was a far cry from his usual confident grin. "Thanks," he said. I sighed as we walked on. "You're getting unbearable now, aren't you?" Nikolai laughed. "I'm already unbearable.

”

”

„

Well, here you go,” Harry said, lifting the small bottle and taking a carefully measured sip. "How does it feel?" Hermione whispered. Harry didn't answer for a moment. Then, slowly but surely, an intoxicating sense of infinite possibility stole through him; he felt like he could have done anything, anything at all... and suddenly it seemed not only possible to get the memory of Slughorn, but absolutely easy.... He stood up, smiling, full of confidence. "Excellent," he said. "Really excellent. Right…I'm going down to Hagrid's.” “What?” said Ron and Hermione together, looking horrified. "No, Harry - you must go and see Slughorn, remember?" Hermione said. ' said Harry confidently. 'I'm going to Hagrid, I feel good about going to Hagrid.' 'Feeling good about burying a giant spider?' asked Ron, looking stunned. 'Yes,' said Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak from his pocket."I have a feeling it's the right place tonight, you know what I'm saying?""No," Ron and Hermione said together, both looking positively worried now. " That's Felix Felicis, I assume?" said Hermione anxiously, holding the bottle up to the light. "You don't have another small bottle full – I don't know –” “Essence of Madness?” Ron suggested, as Harry his cloak swung over his shoulders.

”

”

„

Today I slept until 10am, cleaned every dish I own, fought the bank, took care of the paperwork. You and I may have different definitions of adulthood. I don't work for a salary, I don't have a college degree. But I don't speak for others anymore, and I don't have any regrets that I can't really apologize for. And my mom is proud of me. It was hard to rewrite my life into a life I wanted to live, but today I want to live. called my brother. Told him, "It was a good day.

”

”

„

Do you think man can destroy the planet? What intoxicating vanity. Let me tell you about our planet. The earth is four and a half billion years old. Life has existed on it for almost that long, namely 3.8 billion years. bacteria first; later the first multicellular life, then the first complex creatures in the sea, on land. Then finally the great ages of animals, of amphibians, of dinosaurs, finally of mammals, each lasting for millions and millions of years, great dynasties of creatures rising, thriving, dying - all against a backdrop of permanence and violent upheaval . Mountain ranges soared, eroded, comet impacts, volcanic eruptions, oceans rose and fell, entire continents moved, endless, constant, violent change, colliding, buckling to form mountains over millions of years. The earth survived everything in its time. It will surely outlive us. If all the nuclear weapons in the world exploded at once, and all the plants, all the animals died, and the earth sizzled for a hundred thousand years, life would survive somewhere: underground, frozen in the arctic ice. Sooner or later, when the planet was no longer inhospitable, life would thrive again. The evolutionary process would begin again. It could take a few billion years for life to regain its current diversity. Of course it would be very different than it is now, but the earth would survive our folly, only we would not. As the ozone layer depletes, ultraviolet radiation will scorch the earth, so what? UV radiation is good for life. It's powerful energy. It encourages mutation, change. Many life forms thrive with more UV radiation. Many others will die out. Do you think this is the first time this has happened? Think of oxygen. Essential today, but actually oxygen is a metabolic toxin, a corrosive glass, like fluorine. When oxygen was first produced as a waste product by certain plant cells about three billion years ago, it created a crisis for all other life on Earth. These plants polluted the environment and exhaled a deadly gas. The earth, after all, had an atmosphere incompatible with life. Even so, life on earth took care of itself. A hundred years is a long time in human thinking. A hundred years ago we didn't have cars, planes, computers or vaccines. It was a completely different world, but a hundred years is nothing for the earth. A million years is nothing. This planet lives and breathes on a much larger scale. We can't imagine its slow and powerful rhythms, and we don't have the humility to try. We've been residents here for the blink of an eye. When we're gone tomorrow, the earth won't miss us.

”

”

„

Tam's shadow fell over hers and he whispered, "I trust you. I don't care, but if anything happens to Linh…” “I promise we're just trying to help.” Sophie transmitted. Keefe let out a sigh that sounded more like a groan. "And I thought secret talks with telepaths were the worst. Just so we're clear," he told Tam. "I AM the President of the Foster Fan Club. And we're closed to new members.” Tam's cheeks flushed. "Uh...I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean, but...don't worry - no offense!" he said to Sophie. She noticed that he gave Biana a quick look after saying it. Sophie couldn't decide whether to be relieved or offended.

”

”

„

Pamela, I'm in love with you. Yes, it's that bad. you are so beautiful to me Keep your mouth shut! let me tell you Leave me. Every time I look at your face or remember it, it breaks me - and the way you treat me - and you're just kidding and you shit all over me and you make fun of me and you are Really. I never have enough time in a day to think about you enough. I feel like I'm going to live a thousand years because that's how long it's going to take me to have just one thought about you, which is that I'm crazy about you, Pamela. I don't want to be with anyone else. I don't I really don't. I don't think about women anymore. I think of you. I had a dream the other night that you and I were on a train. We were on this train and you held my hand. That's the whole dream. You held my hand and I felt you hold my hand. I woke up and couldn't believe it wasn't real. I'm sick of you, Pamela. It's like a condition. It's like polio. I feel like I'm dying if I can't be with you. And I can't be with you So I'm going to die - and I don't care because I was created to know you and that's enough. The idea that you want me back is how greedy.

”

”

„

He blinks. Touches the side of my face, near my eyes. My eyes, which are now blue, are no longer green. With oval iris. "I'm still me," I say, because my biggest fear now is that he doesn't want a hybrid Amy. He raises an eyebrow. "Do you think I care if your eyes are blue or green? His hand slides down my arm and he wraps his pinky around mine. "You came back to me," I say, my voice breaking with tears of joy. "I'll always come back to you," he tells me, pulling me against him. Always.

”

”

„

I know how much you grieve for those in your care: those you try and fail to help, those you cannot help. Believe in God and remember that He will do it His way and in His own time will accomplish what we are trying so ill to do. Often we do not achieve for others the good that we intend, but rather achieve something, something that comes from our effort. Overflow is good. Where we intend generously and sincerely, we are involved in a work of creation that may be mysterious even to ourselves - and because it is mysterious we can fear it. But that shouldn't make us shy away. God can always show us a higher and better way if we will; and we can only learn to love by loving. Remember that all of our mistakes are ultimately mistakes in love. Imperfect love is not to be judged and rejected, but made perfect. The way is always forward, never backward.

”

”

„

William leaned forward and pointed to the river. "I don't know why you rolled in spaghetti sauce," he said in a confidential voice. "Actually I do not care. But that water over there won't hurt you. Try washing it off.” She stuck out her tongue. "Maybe after you're clean," he said. Her eyes widened. She stared at him for a long time. A small, crazy twinkle lit up in her dark iris. She lifted her finger and licked it, rubbing some dirt from her forehead. What now? The girl showed him her stained finger and slowly reached out for him, aiming for his face. "No," said William. "Bad tramp.

”

”

„

What are my options?" "You could read obscure poetry while I play the triangle, I suppose. Or we can smother ourselves in peanut butter and howl at the moon. Use your imagination.” “Good,” I said. "You take my hand and go back to the bed." What then?” “You sit down and pull me down with you.” “Where are you?” he asked. "You're pulling me onto your lap." "Where are your legs?" "Around your waist." "Well," said Noah, his voice a little harsh. "That will be interesting. So I'm on the edge of the bed. I hold you on my lap while you spread me. My arms are around you and support you there so you don't fall. What do I wear?” … “What do you usually wear to bed?” I asked. Noah said nothing. I opened my eyes to a raised eyebrow and a devious grin. Your. he said. I did. "Well, where were we?" "I was straddling you," I said. "Correct. And I'm wearing—” “Drawstring pants.” “They're pretty skinny, you know.” “I'm aware—” “Right,” he said. “So what are you wearing?” “I'm putting it on I don't know. A space suit. Who cares?” “I think that should be as descriptive as possible,” he said. "For you," he clarified, and I chuckled. "Eyes closed," he reminded me. "I have to take punishment for every time I have to tell you." "What were you up to?" So what are you wearing?” “A hoodie and drawstring pants, I guess.” “Anything underneath?” “I don't usually go without underwear.” “Usually?” “Only on special occasions.” “Heaven . I meant under your hoodie.” “A tank top, I guess.” “What color?” “White tank top. Black hoodie. Gray pants. I'm ready to move on now.” I felt him closer, his words close to my ear. "To the part where I lean back and pull you down with me?" Yes. "About me," he said. Damned. "The part where I tell you I want to feel the softness of the curls on the back of your neck? Knowing how your hip bone would feel against my mouth?” he murmured against my skin.

”

”

„

Hey!” I shout. Everyone turns and looks at us. I look at Six and her eyes are wide. I take a deep breath and then turn back to the table. Specifically to Holder. "She punched me with her fist," I say, pointing to six. "It's not my fault. She hates purses and she punched me, then made me push her on the damn carousel. After that, she demanded to see where I was having sex in the park, then forced me to sneak into my own bedroom. She's weird and I can't keep up with her most of the time, but she thinks I'm damn funny. And Chunk asked me this morning if I would like to love her one day, and I realized that I never hoped to love anyone more than I want to love them. So every single one of you that has a problem with us dating needs to get over it because…” I pause and turn to Six. "Because you punched me with your fist and I don't care who knows we're together . I'm not going anywhere and I don't want to go anywhere, so stop thinking that I'm into you because I shouldn't be into you.” I raise my hands and tilt her face towards me. "That's me in you because you're awesome. And because you accidentally let me touch your breasts.” She smiles wider than I've ever seen her. "Daniel Wesley, where did you learn those smooth moves?" I laugh. "Not movements, Six. Charisma.

”

”

„

Professor Langdon,' cried a curly-haired young man in the back row, 'if Freemasonry isn't a secret society, corporation or religion, what is it?' 'Well, if you were to ask a Mason, he would say this Offer definition: Freemasonry is a system of morality veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbols. "Freaky you say?" "Damn it, yes!" said the boy, standing up. "I heard what they do in those secret buildings! Strange candlelight rituals involving coffins and nooses and drinking wine from skulls. That's awesome!” Langdon looked around the class. "Does that sound crazy to anyone?" "Yes!" they all agreed. Langdon faked a sad sigh. 'A pity. If that's too crazy for you, then I know you never want to join my cult.” Silence fell over the room. The student from the women's center looked uncomfortable. "You're in a cult?" Langdon nodded, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't tell anyone, but on the pagan day of the sun god Ra, I kneel at the foot of an ancient instrument of torture and consume ritual symbols of blood and flesh." The class looked horrified. Langdon shrugged. "And if any of you would like to join me, come to Harvard Chapel on Sunday, kneel under the crucifix, and take Holy Communion." The classroom was silent. Langdon winked. "Open your mind, my friends. We all fear what we don't understand.

”

”

„

Because we've been lied to and lied to, and it hurts to be lied to. Ultimately, it's just as complicated: It hurts. It denies you respect for yourself, for the liar, for the world. Especially when the lies are chronic and systemic, when hard experience seems to teach that all you are meant to believe is really a lie-based game. Young voters were well and thoroughly informed. You may not remember Vietnam or Watergate personally, but it's a good bet you remember "No New Taxes" and "Outside Loop" and "No Direct Knowledge of Impropriety at this Time" and "Haven't Breathed In" and "Didn't remember sex with this woman" and so on etc. It's depressing and painful to think that the wannabe "government servants" you have to choose between are all swindlers whose only real concern is their own grooming and Nutrition is and those who lie like that get rude with a face so straight you just know they have to think you're an idiot. So who wouldn't fall in love with a top politician who actually seemed to be speaking to you as if you were a person, an intelligent adult, worthy of respect?

”

”

„

Cricket walks several paces behind me. It's a cautious distance. I wonder if he's looking at my butt. WHY DID I JUST THINK THAT? Now my butt feels HUGE. Maybe he's looking at my legs. That is better? Or worse? Do I want him to look at me? I hold on to the bottom of my dress as I climb into the back seat and crawl to the other side. I'm sure he's looking at my butt. He must be. It's huge, and it's right there, and it's huge. No. I'm acting crazy I look over and he smiles at me as he buckles his seat belt. My cheeks are getting warm. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

”

”

„

... What do you want, Ash?” “Your head,” Ash answered softly. "On a skewer. But what I want doesn't matter this time.” He leveled his sword at me. "I came for her." I gasped as my heart and stomach started racing around my chest. He is here for me, to kill me as he promised in Elysium. "Over my dead body." Puck smiled as if this were friendly conversation on the street, but I felt muscles clench under his skin. "It was part of the plan." The prince raised his sword, the icy blade in mist wrapped. "I will avenge her today and put her memory to rest." For a moment a shadow of agony crossed his face and he closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were cold and glittered with malice. "Get ready." "Stay back, princess," Puck warned, pushing me out of the way. He reached into his boot and pulled out a dagger, the curved blade crystal clear. "That might be a little rough." "Puck, no." I grabbed his sleeve. 'Don't fight him. Someone could die.” “Duels to the death usually end like this.” Puck grinned, but it was a wild thing, fierce and frightening. “But I'm touched you're interested. One moment, prince,” he called to Ash, who bowed his head. Puck took my wrist, led me behind the fountain and leaned towards me, his breath warm on my face. "I have to do this, Princess," he said firmly, "Ash won't let us go without a fight, and it's been a long time." A shadow of regret flickered across his face for a moment, but then it was gone. "So," he murmured, grinning as he lifted my chin, "before I march into battle, how about a kiss for good luck?" I hesitated, wondering why he was asking for a kiss now of all times would of me that way...did he?

”

”

„

Summerset, don't you ever sleep?” “It's Lieutenant Dallas. She's…” Roarke dropped his briefcase and grabbed Summerset's lapel. 'Has she been hurt? Where is she?' 'A nightmare. She screamed.” Summerset lost his usual composure and ran a hand through his hair. "She won't cooperate. I was just about to call your doctor. I left her in her private suite.” As Roarke pushed him aside, Summerset grabbed his arm. "Roarke, you should have told me what was done to her." Roarke just shook his head and walked on. "I take care of her.

”

”

„

Suicide is just a moment, Lexy told me. That's how she described it to me. For a moment it doesn't matter that you have people you love, the sun is shining and a movie comes out this weekend that you've always wanted to see. It suddenly hits you that nothing will ever be okay, ever, and you kind of dare yourself. You take a knife and gently press it to your skin, you look out a nineteenth floor window and you think I might just do it . I could just do it. And most of the time you look up and get scared, or you think about the poor folks on the sidewalk below - what if kids come home from school and have to spend the rest of their lives forgetting this awful thing that you did let her see? And the moment is over. You think about how sad it would have been if you had never seen that movie and you look at your dog and wonder who would have taken care of him if you had left. And you return to normal. But you keep it in your head. Even if you never commit to it, there is some comfort in knowing that you can choose the day. You tuck it in your brain like a sour candy in your cheek, and the rippling memory it leaves behind, the raw pleasure of running your tongue over its strange terrain, is exactly the same... The day was her choice, and maybe in that treetop moment, looking down and seeing the yard, the world, her life spread out beneath her, maybe she decided to throw herself headfirst into it. Perhaps she envisioned a lifetime walking the shattered earth and instead chose a single moment in the air

”

”

„

What do you care?” I barked, and his grip on my wrists tightened so tight I knew my bones would snap with any more pressure. glorious wings - flared from his back, crafted from the shadows behind him. "What do I care?" But before he could continue, his head snapped to the door and then back to my face. The wings vanished as quickly as they did had appeared, and then his lips pressed onto mine. His tongue pushed my mouth open, forcing itself into me, into the room where I could still taste Tamlin. I pushed and punched, but he held on, his tongue sliding across the roof of My mouth, against my teeth, claiming me- The door flew open wide and Amarantha's curved form filled its space Tamlin- ​​Tamlin was beside her, his eyes Slightly splayed, shoulders tense as Rhys's lips still pressed mine, a mask of stone slammed onto Tamlin's face, empty of emotion, empty of anything vague like the Tamlin I'd been entangled with moments before.

”

”

„

The perpetrator's mood swings are particularly confusing. He can be a different person from day to day or even hour to hour. At times he is aggressive and intimidating, his tone harsh, insults gushing from his mouth, mockery dripping from him like oil from a keg. When in this mode, nothing she says seems to have any effect on him but him to make even angrier. Her side of the argument doesn't count in his eyes, and it's all her fault. He twists her words in such a way that she always ends up on the defensive. As so many of my clients' partners have said to me, "I just can't do anything right." At other moments, he sounds wounded and lost, hungry for love and someone to care for him. When that side of him comes out, he appears open and ready to heal. He seems to lose his alertness, his tough exterior softening and he can take on the quality of a hurt child, difficult and frustrating but endearing. Looking at him in this deflated state, his partner has a hard time imagining that the abuser in him will ever come back. The beast that takes over at other times looks completely separate from the delicate person she sees now. Sooner or later, however, the shadow will come over him again, as if he had a life of his own. Weeks of peace may pass, but eventually she is attacked again. Then her head spins in the arduous effort of untangling the many threads of his character until she begins to wonder if she's the one whose head isn't quite right.

”

”

„

The problem is that when racism is greater than that, whites see racism as conscious hatred. Racism is a complex system of social and political levers and roles set up generations ago to continue working for whites at the expense of other people, whether whites know/want it or not. Racism is an insidious cultural disease. It's so insidious that it doesn't matter if you're a white person who likes black people; it will still find a way for you to deal with people who don't look like you. Yes, racism looks like hate, but hate is just one manifestation. Privilege is another. Access is different. ignorance is another. Apathy is another. Etc. While I agree with people who say that no one is born racist, it remains a powerful system that we are immediately born into. It's like being born into the air: you absorb it as soon as you breathe. It's not a cold you can get over. There is no anti-racist certification class. It's a set of socioeconomic traps and cultural values ​​that are triggered every time we interact with the world. It's one thing you have to pull out of the boat of your life in order not to drown in it. I know it's hard work, but it's the price you pay to own it all.

”

”

„

In all your love affairs you should prefer old women to young ones. You call that a paradox and demand my reasons. They are these: 1. Because they have more knowledge about the world and their thoughts are better stored with observations, their conversation improves better and is more consistently enjoyable.2. Because when women stop being beautiful, they learn to be good. To maintain their hold on people, they deliver the diminution of beauty through an increase in utility. You learn to perform 1000 small and large services and are the most tender and helpful of all friends when you are ill. So they graciously carry on. And therefore there is hardly an old woman who is not a good woman.3. Because there is no danger to children, which can be produced irregularly and cause many inconveniences.4. Because more experience makes them more circumspect and discreet in conducting an intrigue to avoid suspicion. Trading with them is therefore safer in terms of your reputation. And as for theirs, if the affair should become known, considerate people might be more apt to pardon an old woman who looks after a young man kindly, molds his manners by her good advice, and prevents his ruin his health and his Fortune among mercenary prostitutes.5. For in every animal that walks erect, the lack of fluids to fill the muscles shows itself first in the highest part: the face first becomes gaunt and wrinkled; then the neck; then chest and arms; the lower parts as plump as ever to the last: so that it is impossible for two women to tell an old one from a young one by covering the top with a basket and only looking at what is below the belt. And since all cats are gray in the dark, the enjoyment of physical pleasure with an old woman is at least equal and often superior, as every skill is improvable with practice.6. Because sin is less. A Virgo's debauchery can be her ruin and make her miserable for life.7. Because the regrets are less. Having made a young girl miserable may often give you bitter thoughts; none of them can partake in making an old woman happy. 8. and last but not least, they are so grateful!!

”

”

„

Once upon a time," I began. “In a small town a little boy was born. He was perfect, at least that's what his mother thought. But one thing was different about him. He had a gold screw in his belly button. Only the head sticks out. "Now his mother was just glad he had all his fingers and toes to count with. But as the boy grew up, he realized that not everyone had screws in their belly buttons, let alone golden ones. He asked his mother what it was for, but she didn't know. Next he asked his father, but his father didn't know. He asked his grandparents, but they didn't know either. "That sorted itself out for a while, but it kept bugging him. Finally, when he was old enough, he packed a bag and set off, hoping to find someone who knew the truth.” He went from place to place questioning anyone who claimed to know anything about anything . He asked midwives and physicists, but they didn't get it. The boy asked arcanists, tinkers, and old hermits who lived in the woods, but no one had ever seen anything like it. "He went to the Cealdim traders to ask them, thinking that if anyone knew anything about gold, they would. But the Cealdim traders did not know. He joined the arcanists at the university, thinking that if anyone knew anything about bolts and how they worked, they would. But the arcanists didn't know. The boy followed the road across the Stormwal to ask the Tahl witch women, but none of them could give him an answer. “Eventually he went to the King of Vint, the richest king in the world. But the king did not know. He went to the Emperor of Atur, but even with all his power, the Emperor knew nothing about it. He went to each of the small kingdoms, one by one, but no one could tell him anything. "Finally the boy went to the High King of Modeg, the wisest of all kings in the world. The High King studied the head of the golden screw protruding from the boy's belly button. Then the High King made a gesture, and his seneschal produced a cushion of golden silk. On this pillow was a gold box. The High King took a gold key from his neck, opened the chest and inside was a gold screwdriver. The High King took the screwdriver and gestured for the boy to come closer. Trembling with excitement, the boy did. Then the High King took the gold screwdriver and stuck it in the boy's belly button.” I paused to take a long drink of water. I could feel my small audience leaning toward me. "Then the High King carefully turned the golden screw. Once: nothing. Twice: nothing. Then he twisted it a third time and the boy's ass fell off.” There was a moment of stunned silence. "What?" Hespe asked incredulously. "His ass fell off.

”

”

„

For as long as humans have existed, they have done all the things that we call "codependent." They took care of other people when they were sick. They tried to help in ways that didn't help. They said yes when they meant no. They tried to get others to see things their way. You bent backwards to avoid hurting people's feelings and hurt yourself in the process. They were afraid to trust their feelings. You believed lies and then felt betrayed. They wanted revenge and punish others. They were so angry they wanted to kill. They fought for their rights when other people said they didn't have them. They wore burlap because they felt they didn't deserve silk.

”

”

„

Today we'll earn everything again”, I say and we both shovel into our plates. Even cold it's one of the things I've tried. I leave my fork and scrape off the last globs of sauce with my fingers. "I can feel Effie Trinket cringe at my manners." "Hey, Effie, look out!" Peeta says, blowing her a kiss and shouting : "We miss you, Effie!" I cover his hand with my mouth. But I'm laughing. "Stop! Cato could be right in front of our cave.” He takes my hand away. "What do I care. You have to protect me now,” Peeta says, pulling me towards him. "Come on," I say angrily, breaking free of his grip, but not before he gets another kiss.

”

”

„

We found that trees can communicate through the air and through their roots. Common sense has roared us down. We have found that trees take care of each other. The collective science rejected the idea. Outsiders discovered how seeds remember the seasons of their childhood and set buds accordingly. Outsiders discovered that trees sense the presence of other creatures nearby. That a tree learns to save water. That trees feed their young and synchronize their poles and bank resources and warn relatives and send signals to wasps to come and save them from attack. "Here's some information from outsiders and you can wait for it to be confirmed. A forest knows things. They wire underground. Down there are brains that our own brains are not designed to see. Root plasticity, problem solving and decision making. fungal synapses. What else do you want to call it? Connect enough trees with each other and a forest grows consciously.

”

”

„

Variation on the word sleep I want to watch you sleep, which might not happen. I want to watch you sleep. I would like to sleep with you, enter your sleep as its gentle dark waves glide over my head, and walk with you through that luminous, swaying forest of blue-green leaves, with its watery sun and three moons, to the cave where you have to descend to your worst fear i would like to give you the silver branch the little white flower the one word that will protect you from the sorrow in the center of your dream, from the sorrow in the center. I would love to follow you back up the long flight of stairs and become the boat that would gently row you back, a flame in two cupped hands where your body lies beside mine and you step into it as easily as inhaling. I want to be the air that inhabits you for just a moment. I want to be so unnoticed and necessary.

”

”

„

I would ask you to remember the prostitutes, the homeless, the abused, the raped, the tortured, the murdered, the raped and then murdered, the murdered and then raped; and I will ask you to remember those who were photographed, those to whom any or all of the above happened and who were photographed and now the photographs are for sale in our free lands. I want you to think of those who have been hurt because of the fun, the entertainment, the so-called speech of others; those injured for profit, for the financial benefit of pimps and entrepreneurs. I want you to remember the perpetrator and I will ask you to remember the victims: not just tonight, but tomorrow and the day after. I want you to find a way to involve them—the perpetrators and the victims—in what you do, how you think, how you act, what matters to you, what your life means to you. In this room are some of you the women I spoke of. I know that. People around you might not. I'm going to ask you to use whatever you can remember about what was done to you—how it was done, where, by who, when, and if you know—why—to begin disrupting male dominance tearing it apart, tearing it apart, destroying it, destabilizing it, messing it up, getting in its way, screwing it up. I must ask you to resist, not comply, destroy men's power over women, refuse to accept them, loathe them and do whatever it takes, despite the cost to you, to do so to change them.

”

”

„

Nobody feels like you, so every touch of your skin is a cruel reminder of what I lost. I can hardly bear the sight of you because you are more beautiful than I have allowed myself to remember and when I cut Maximus' wire and smelled you all over him I wanted to kill him more than I could I wouldn't kill anyone in my life, but I couldn't because I promised you.” Slow tears continued to trickle down my cheeks, but this time for a different reason. "You worry." The words were whispered with a desperate wonder. He obviously wasn't about to go back on his unloving vow, but I was wrong about the apathy I think he felt. That he admitted all this was surprising enough; The fact that he'd done it within earshot of his pilots was nothing short of shocking. Vlad grunted. "Don't worry. I intend to kill them as soon as we land.

”

”

„

I do not believe in god. Can you understand this? look around man Can not you see? The cries and noise of the tormented must be the sound most pleasing to his ear. And I hate these discussions. The argument of the village atheist whose only passion is to endlessly denigrate that whose existence he a priori denies. Your community is a community of pain and nothing more. And if that pain were indeed collective, rather than simply repetitive, then its sheer weight would rip the world from the walls of the universe, shattering it and burning it through every night it could still create until it was not even ash. And justice? Brotherhood? Eternal life? Good god man. Show me a religion that prepares you for death. For nothing. There's a church I might enter. Yours only prepares you for more life. For dreams and illusions and lies. If you could banish the fear of death from people's hearts, they would not live a day. Who would want this nightmare if not for fear of the next? The shadow of the ax hangs over every joy. Every path ends in death. Or worse. Any friendship. every love Torment, betrayal, loss, sorrow, pain, old age, humiliation and hideous enduring illness. All with a single conclusion. For you and for everything and everyone you have chosen. There is true brotherhood. The real community. And everyone is a lifetime member. You tell me that my brother is my saviour? my salvation? Well then damn him. Damn him in every shape and shape and form. do I see myself in him? Yes. I do. And what I see makes me sick. Do you understand me? Can you understand me?

”

”

„

November - with eerie witchcraft in its altered trees. With dull red sunsets blazing smoky purple behind the hills to the west. With dear days, when the austere woods were fair and graceful in a dignified serenity of folded hands and closed eyes--days full of a fine sallow sunshine penetrating through the late, leafless gold of the juniper trees, and shimmering between the gray beech trees, illuminating evergreen banks of moss and washes the colonnades of the pines. Days with towering skies of flawless turquoise. Days when an exquisite melancholy seemed to hover over the landscape and seemed to dream of the lake. But also days of the wild blackness of great autumn storms, followed by damp, wet, torrential nights when there were witches' laughter in the pines and uneasy moans among the trees of the mainland. What did she care? Old Tom had his roof well built and his chimney was drafting.

”

”

„

And Harry remembered his first nightmarish trip into the forest, the first time he had ever met the thing that was then Voldemort and how he had faced it and how he and Dumbledore had discussed it not long after, a hopeless one to fight. It was important, said Dumbledore, to fight and fight again and keep fighting, for only then could evil be contained, if never entirely eradicated. . . .And Harry saw very clearly as he sat there under the hot sun how people who cared for him had stood before him one by one, his mother, his father, his godfather and finally Dumbledore, all determined to support him to protect but now it was over. He couldn't let anyone else come between him and Voldemort; He had to give up forever the illusion, which he should have lost at the age of one, that the protection of a parent's arms meant nothing could hurt him. There was no awakening from his nightmare, no comforting whisper in the dark that he was truly safe, that it was all in his imagination; the last and greatest of his protectors had died, and he was lonelier than ever.

”

”

„

Dear goat, how do you fall in love? do you stumble Do you trip, lose your balance and fall on the sidewalk, scrape your knee, scrape your heart? Do you fall on the rocky ground? Is there an abyss you float from forever? I know I'm in love when I see you, I know when I long to see you. Not a muscle moved. Leaves hang unperturbed by every breeze. The air is still. I fell in love without taking a step. When did that happen? I didn't even blink. I burn. Is that too banal for you? It's not, you know. You'll see. Something happened. That's what matters. I burn. I don't eat anymore, I forget to eat. Food looks silly to me, irrelevant. If I even notice. But I don't notice anything. My mind is full and raging, a house full of brothers, blood relatives, blood feuds: "I'm in love." "Typically stupid choice." was pain.” “Come on. screw up your life It's all wrong and you know it. Wake up. Face it.” “There's only one face, it's all I see, awake or asleep.” Window last night. I tried to forget You're wrong for me, I know that, but I don't care about my thoughts anymore unless they're thoughts of you. When I'm close to you, in your presence, I feel your hair brush my cheek, when not. I look away from you sometimes Then I look back. When I tie my shoes, when I peel an orange, when I drive, when I lay down every night without you, I stay, As always, Ram

”

”

„

Then he growled at her. "You won't leave me." It was an order, and she didn't have to follow anyone's orders. That was part of being an omega and not a regular werewolf - who might have had a snowball chance in hell of being a real partner. "You need someone stronger," Anna told him again. "So you don't have to hide when you're hurt. So instead of having to protect me from what you're hiding, you could trust your mate to take care of herself and help the fuck out.” She hated crying. Tears were weaknesses to be exploited, and they didn't fucking solve anything. Sobs pooled in her chest like a rushing tide and she had to get away from him before she collapsed. Instead of struggling against his grip, she tried to twist away from him. "I have to go," she said to his chest. "I need-" His mouth closed over hers, hot and hungry, warming her mouth as his body warmed her body. his eyes a bright gold. "You need me.

”

”

„

Cole," I said, "do you think I'm lovable?" "As in 'cuddly and'?" "As in 'be lovable,'" I said. Cole's gaze was imperturbable. Just for a moment I had the odd notion that I could see exactly how he looked when he was younger and exactly how he would look when he was older. It was piercing, a secret glimpse into his future. "Maybe," he said. "But you won't let anyone try." I closed my eyes and swallowed. "I can't tell if I'm not fighting," I said, "and giving up." Though my eyelids were shut tight, a single hot tear trickled from my left eye. I was so angry that it escaped. I was so angry. The bed below me tilted as Cole approached. I felt him lean over me. His breath, warm and measured, hit my cheek. Two breaths. Three. Four. I didn't know what I wanted. Then I heard him stop breathing and a second later I felt his lips on my mouth. It wasn't the kind of kiss I'd had with him before, hungry, longing, desperate. It wasn't the kind of kiss I'd had with anyone before. That kiss was so soft, it was like a kiss memory, so gentle on my lips, it was like a kiss memory, so gentle on my lips, like someone was stroking their fingers. My mouth opened and calmed down; it was so quiet, a whisper, not a scream. Cole's hand touched my neck, thumb pressing into the skin next to my jaw. It wasn't a touch that said "I need more". It was a touch that said, "I want this." It was all completely silent. I didn't think either of us were breathing. Cole slowly sat up again and I opened my eyes. His expression was blank as ever, the face he wore when something was important. He said, "This is how I would kiss you if I loved you.

”

”

„

Death is a fascinating thing. The human spirit returns and returns to death, mortality, immortality, damnation, redemption. Some fear death, others seek it, but it is human nature to at least be concerned about the limits of human life. When you're that sick, you start worrying too much. Death is on your shoulder, death is your shadow, your smell, your waking and dreaming companion. When sleep begins to touch your eyes, you can't help but wonder: What if? What if? And there is a longing in that question, too much like the longing of a young girl in love. The sickness occupies your every thought, breathe like a lover by your ear; The disease stands next to your shoulder in the mirror, absorbed into your body, every inch of skin and flesh, and you let it sink in, touching you with rough hands that arouse you. Nothing will ever be that close to you again. You will never find a lover who is so careful, so attentive, so unconditionally present and only concerned about you. Some of us use the body to convey things we can't find words for. Some of us choose a shortcut, decide the world is too much or too little, death is so easy, so smiling, so easy; and death is dramatic, one last fuck you for the world.

”

”

„

What struck me - about her and many other American girlfriends I have - is how anxious they are to be "liked." How they were raised to believe that being likeable is very important and that "likeable" trait is a specific thing. And this particular thing doesn't involve showing anger or being aggressive or contradicting too loudly. We spend too much time teaching girls to care about what boys think of them. But the opposite is not the case. We don't teach boys to care about being personable. We spend too much time telling girls they can't be angry or aggressive or tough, which is bad enough, but then we turn around and praise or excuse men for the same reasons. There are so many magazine articles and books around the world telling women what to do, how to be and not to be to attract or please men. There are far fewer guides for men on how to please women.

”

”

„

Shepley left his bedroom and pulled a t-shirt over his head. His eyebrows drew together. "Did you just leave?" "Yeah," I said absently, rinsing out my cereal bowl and pouring Abby's leftover porridge into the sink. She had barely touched it. "Well, what the hell? Mare didn't even say goodbye." "You knew that she would go to class. Stop being a cry baby.” Shepley gestured to his chest. "Am I the typist? Do you remember last night?” “Shut up.” "That's what I thought." He sat down on the couch and slipped his sneakers on. "Did you ask Abby about her birthday?" "She didn't say much except that she doesn't like birthdays." "So what do we do?" "We're throwing her a party." Shepley nodded, waiting for me to explain. "I thought we were going to surprise them. Invite some of our friends over and let America take them out for a while.” Shepley put on his white ball cap and pulled it so low over his brows that I couldn't see his eyes. "She can do that. Anything else?" "How do you feel about a puppy?" Shepley laughed once. "It's not my birthday, bro." I walked around the breakfast counter and leaned my hip against the stool. "I know, but she lives in the dorms "Stay here? Seriously? What do we do with a dog?" "A what?" “Pidge is from Kansas. It's the same kind of dog Dorothy had in The Wizard of Oz.” Shepley's face was blank. "The Wizard of Oz." "What? I liked the scarecrow when I was a little kid, shut up." "It's going to shit everywhere, Travis. It's going to bark and whine and...I don't know." "America too...minus the crap." Shepley wasn't amused. "I'll take it out and clean up afterwards. I'll keep it in my room. You won't even know it's here." You have to admit it will convince her.” Shepley smiled. "Is that just about it? You're trying to win Abby over?” My brow furrowed. "Finish it." His smile widened. "You can have the damn dog..." I grinned victoriously. "... if you admit that you have feelings for Abby." I frowned in defeat. "Come on dude!" "Admit it," Shepley said, crossing his arms. What a tool. He actually wanted to get me to say it. I looked down and everywhere except at Shepley's smug smile. I fought this for a while but the pup was bloody brilliant. Abby would freak out (in a good way for once), and I could keep it in the apartment. She wants to be there every day. "I like her," I said through my teeth. Shepley put her hand to his ear. "What? I couldn't quite understand you." "You're an asshole! Did you hear that?" Shepley crossed his arms. "Say it." "I like her, okay?" "Not good enough." "I have feelings for her. I care for her. A lot. I can't endure when she's not around. Happy?" "For now," he said, picking up his backpack from the floor.

”

”

„

The wise do not expose themselves to danger unnecessarily, since there are few things that they care enough about; but he is willing to even give his life in great crises - knowing full well that it may not be worth living. He is inclined to render human service, although he is ashamed to be rendered a service. Bestowing kindness is a sign of superiority; receiving one is a sign of submission... He does not participate in public displays... He is open in his dislikes and likes; He speaks and acts openly because he despises people and things... He is never fired by admiration as there is nothing great in his eyes. He cannot live in favor with others unless he is a friend; Kindness is the essence of a slave... He never feels malice and always forgets and ignores hurt... He doesn't like to talk... He doesn't care if he is praised or others are blamed. He does not speak ill of others, not even of his enemies, except of himself. His demeanor is calm, his voice deep, his speech measured; he is in no hurry, because he only cares about a few things; he doesn't tend to be violent, for he doesn't think anything very important. A shrill voice and hasty steps come to a man through care... He bears life's accidents with dignity and grace, and makes the best of his circumstances, like a skillful general ordering his limited forces with the strategy of war.. He is his own best friend and enjoys privacy, while the man without virtue or ability is his own worst enemy and fears loneliness.

”

”

„

Good. Point seven. That had and had the problem. Lady Cavendish, haven't you been working on it?' Lady Cavendish stood and collected her thoughts. 'As a matter of fact. The use of had had and that that must be strictly controlled; they can interrupt the transmission of imagination quite dramatically, causing readers to repeat the sentence in confusion, something we try to avoid." "Continue." "It's mainly an unlicensed use problem. At last count, David Copperfield alone had had sixty-three times, all but ten without permission. Pilgrim's Progress can also be a problem because it had/had that ratio." "So what's the problem with Progress?" "It had that ten times, but only had three times. Increased usage had to be overlooked, but not when numbers exceeded that usage." "Hmm," said the bellhop, "I thought I had TGC's approval for use in Dickens? What's the problem?' 'Take the example of the first had and the one in the book,' said Lady Cavendish. "You would have thought that that first one had had a good chance of being seen like that, didn't you? Had consented but hadn't; it's also true to say that the one agreed, but the other didn't." "So the problem with the other, that that was...?" "That the other - the other agreed." "Okay," said the bellhop, whose head was about to fall apart like a chocolate orange, "Let me get one thing straight: Unlike Pilgrim's Progress, David Copperfield had, had, had. Did he have TGC's approval?” There was a very long pause. "Right," said the bellhop with a sigh, "that's it for now. I'll assign tasks in ten minutes. The session is over - and let's be careful out there.

”

”

„

Jaime," I said softly, "are you happy about that? Outlawed in Scotland, barred from his own home and with only vague prospects in France, he could, forgivably, have been less than thrilled to take on an extra commitment. He was silent for a moment, then just hugged me tighter and sighed briefly before answering. "Aye, Sassenach." His hand stayed down, gently rubbing my stomach. "I am happy. And proud as a stallion. But I'm also terribly afraid." "For the birth? I'm fine.” I could hardly blame him because his own mother had died in childbirth and childbirth and its complications were the leading cause of death for women in those times. Still, I knew a thing or two myself, and I had no intention of exposing myself to what passed here as medical care. "Aye, that - and everything," he said quietly, body." His voice was soft and hoarse, with a slight hook in it. "I would do anything for you... and yet... there is nothing I can do. It doesn't matter how strong I am or how willing; I can't go with you where you need to go... and not even help you. And to think of the things that might happen, and I'm helpless to stop them... yes, I'm afraid Sassenach, when I think of you with my child on your chest... it's like I'm empty as a soap bubble , and maybe I'm bursting with joy.

”

”

„

I mean it. I can't walk alone And I really can't go with Levana." "Well, there's about 200,000 single girls in this town who would fall over themselves to have the privilege." There was silence between them... "Cinder." She couldn't help him . She looked at him... "200,000 single girls," he said. "Why not you?" cyborg Lunar. Mechanic. She was the last thing he wanted. She parted her lips and the elevator stopped. "I'm sorry. But trust me – you don't want to go with me." The doors opened and the tension released from her. She rushed out of the elevator, head down, trying to look at the small group of people who were climbing up waited for the elevator. "Come with me to the ball." She froze. Everyone in the hallway froze. Cinder turned around. Kai was still in Elevator B, holding the door open with one hand. Her nerves crumbled, and all the emotions of the past hour flowed together into one sickening emotion - despair. The hall was filled with doctors, nurses, androids, officers, technicians, and they all fell into an awkward silence, staring at the prince and the girl in the baggy cargo pants, to whom he flirted, "Flirting. Straightening her shoulders, she pulled back into the elevator and pushed it inside, not caring that it was her metal hand. "Hold the elevator," he said to the android as the doors closed behind him. He smiled.” That got your attention.

”

”

„

Here's the thing about people with good hearts: they'll make excuses for you if you don't explain yourself. You accept the excuses you don't give. They see the best in you. They always lift you up, even if it means putting their own priorities aside. They will never be too "busy" for you. You take your time even if you don't. And you wonder why they are the most sensitive people, the most caring people, why they are willing to give so much of themselves without expecting anything in return. You wonder why they exist not so important to your well-being. That's because they don't make you work hard for the attention they give you. They accept the love they think they deserve - and you've accepted the love you think you deserve. Don't take them for granted. Fear the day a good heart gives up on you. Our skies don't turn gray out of nowhere, our sunshine doesn't endure the darkness for no reason. A heart grows cold unless it has been treated with cold for a while

”

”

„

I believe the universe formed about 15 billion years ago and that humans evolved from their ape-like ancestors in the last million years. I believe we are more likely to lead a good life if all people try to work together in a world community and preserve planet earth. When decisions are made for groups in this world, I believe that the democratic process should be used. To protect individuals, I believe in freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of religion, freedom of religion, freedom of inquiry, and a barrier between church and state. When making decisions about what is right or wrong, I believe I should use my intelligence to consider the likely consequences of my actions. I believe that I should try to increase everyone's happiness by caring for other people and finding ways to work together. My actions must never discriminate against people based solely on their race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, age or national origin. I believe that ideas about what is right and what is wrong will change with education, so I am willing to constantly challenge ideas using evidence from experience and science. I believe there is no solid evidence to support claims about the existence of supernatural beings and deities. I will use these beliefs to guide my thoughts and actions until I find good reason to revise them or replace them with other beliefs that are more valid.

”

”

„

Like most of you, I grew up among people who knew - who were sure. They did not reason or investigate. They had no doubts. They knew they had the truth. There was no guesswork in their creed—no, maybe. They had a revelation from God. They knew the beginning of things. They knew that God began creation on a Monday morning four thousand and four years before Christ. They knew that in eternity - back then that morning - he had done nothing. They knew that it took him six days to create the earth - all plants, all animals, all life and all the spheres that orbit in space. They knew exactly what he did every day and when he rested. They knew the origin, the cause of evil, all crime, all sickness and death. At the same time, they knew that God created man in his own image and was perfectly satisfied with his work... They knew all about the Flood - knew that God drowned all but eight of his children - the old and the young - the bowed patriarch and the dimpled child - the young man and the cheerful girl - the loving mother and the laughing child - - because his mercy endures forever. They also knew that he drowned the beasts and birds—everything that walked or crawled or flew—because his loving-kindness is over all his works. They knew that in order to civilize His children, God had devoured some with earthquakes, destroyed some with firestorms, killed some with his lightning, slain millions with famine and plague, and sacrificed untold thousands on the battlefields. They knew it was necessary to believe in these things and to love God. They knew there could be no salvation except through faith and the atoning blood of Jesus Christ. Then I asked myself: Is there a supernatural power - an arbitrary mind - a God enthroned - a supreme will that sways the tides and currents of the world - to which all causes bow? I do not deny. I don't know - but I don't believe it. I believe that the natural is supreme - that of the infinite chain no link can be lost or broken - that there is no supernatural force that can answer prayer - no force that can convince or change worship - no force that can change cares about people. is there a god I don't know it. Are humans immortal? I don't know it. One thing I know, and that is that neither hope nor fear, faith nor denial can change the fact. It is what it is and it will be what it has to be. We can be as honest as we are ignorant. When we are asked what lies beyond the horizon of the known, we must say we do not know. We can speak the truth and enjoy the blessed freedom won by the brave. We can destroy the monsters of superstition, the hissing serpents of ignorance and fear. We can banish from our minds the terrible things that tear and hurt with beaks and fangs. We can civilize our fellow human beings. We can fill our lives with acts of generosity, with loving words, with art and song, and all the ecstasies of love. We can flood our years with sunshine - with the divine climate of kindness, and we can drink the golden cup of joy to the last drop.

”

”

„

A moment later Helen had returned; she walked slowly and carefully now, her hand on the back of a thin boy with wavy brown hair. He couldn't have been more than twelve and Clary recognized him immediately. Helen, her hand gripped tightly around the wrist of a younger boy whose hands were covered in blue wax. He must have played with the candles in the huge candelabras that adorned the sides of the nave. He looked about twelve, with a mischievous grin and the same wavy dark chocolate hair as his sister. Jules, Helen had called him. your little brother The mischievous grin was gone now. He looked tired and dirty and scared. Skinny wrists protruded from the cuffs of a white mourning jacket whose sleeves were too long for him. In his arms he carried a little boy, probably no more than two years old, with the same wavy brown hair as he did; it seemed to be a family trait. The rest of his family wore the same borrowed mourning clothes: behind Julian followed a brunette girl of about ten, her hand firmly in the grip of a boy of the same age: the boy had a messy black hair almost obscuring his face. Fraternal twins, Clary guessed. After them came a girl who was maybe eight or nine years old, her face round and very pale between brown braids. The misery on their faces cut Clary to the heart. Thinking of her power with runes, she wished she could create one that would soften the blow of loss. There were mourning runes, but only to honor the dead, just as there were love runes, like wedding rings, to symbolize the bond of love. You couldn't make someone love you with a rune, and you couldn't assuage grief with it. So much magic, Clary thought, and nothing to mend a broken heart. "Julian Blackthorn," Jia Penhallow said softly. "Please step forward." Julian swallowed and handed the little boy he was holding to his sister. He stepped forward, his eyes darting around the room. He was clearly scanning the crowd for someone. His shoulders were just beginning to sag when another figure shot onto the stage. A girl, also about twelve, with blond strands that hung over her shoulders, she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that didn't quite fit, and her head was bowed as if she couldn't stand so many people around her view. It was clear she didn't want to be there - on stage, or maybe even in Idris - but the moment he saw her, Julian seemed to relax. The frightened look faded from his expression as she came to stand next to him, her face drooping and turning away from the crowd. "Julian," Jia said in the same soft voice, "would you do something for us? would you take the mortal sword

”

”

„

Intimate areaThe first love of my life never saw me naked - a parent always came home within half an hour - always a little brother in the next room. Always too much body and not enough time to show it. Instead I gave him my shoulder, my elbow, my squat - I lent him my corners, my edges, the parts of me I could afford to offer - the parts I had long since given up hiding. He never asked for more. He gave me back his eyelashes, his neck, his palms - we held every bit we got like a nectarine that might bruise if we're not careful. We collected them like we were trying to build an orchid. And the spaces he never saw, which my parents semi-called "private areas" when I was small enough to soak myself and my worries in a bathtub I made up for it by giving up all my private parts. There wasn't a secret I didn't tell him, there wasn't a moment I didn't share - and we haven't grown up, we've grown in, like ivy We wrapped each other and formed each other into perfect yings and yangs. We kissed open-mouthed, breathing his exhalation into my inhalation—we could have survived underwater or in space. We just breathed the breath we exchanged we spelled love g-i-v-e I never wanted to hide my body from him - if I could I would have given it all away with the rest of me - I didn't know it was possible. to save something for me. Some nights I wake up knowing he's scared he's on the other side of the world in another woman's arms - the years have spread us like dandelion seeds - grinding down the edges of our puzzle pieces that used to only fit together. He drinks from the jug on the bedside table, looks at the digital clock, it's 5am - he throws sheets into the covers and tries to calm down, I wait for him to sleep.

”

”

„

You see, the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they are evil or sinful; it is that they are unconscious. They are default settings. They're the kind of worship you gradually slip into day by day, becoming more and more selective about what you see and how you measure the value, without ever being fully aware that you're doing it. And the world won't stop you from operating with your default attitudes, for the world of people, money and power buzzes pretty well with the fuel of fear and contempt and frustration and desire and self-adoration. Our own contemporary culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have resulted in extraordinary wealth, comfort, and personal freedom. The freedom to be lords of our own tiny, skull-sized kingdoms alone at the center of all creation. This kind of freedom has a lot to recommend it. But of course there are all kinds of freedoms, and the kind that is most valuable will not be heard much in the big outside world of winning, reaching and showing. The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline and effort and the ability to truly care and sacrifice for other people, over and over again, in countless small, unsexy ways, every day. This is true freedom. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default, the "rat race" - the constant nagging feeling of having had and lost something infinite.

”

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But her attention was on the prince facing her, who seemed completely ignored by his father and his own court, and was pushed down with her and Aedion towards the end. He ate so beautifully, she thought as she watched him carve his fried chicken. Not a drop moved, not a scrap fell on the table. She had decent manners while Aedion was hopeless, his plate littered with bones and crumbs strewn everywhere, even some on her own dress. She'd kicked him for it, but his attention was too focused on the royals at the table next to him. So both she and the Crown Prince were to be ignored. She looked back at the boy, who was about her own age, she assumed. His skin was winter, his blue-black hair neatly trimmed; His sapphire eyes lifted from his plate and met hers. "You eat like a fine lady," she told him. His lips thinned and color stained his ivory cheeks. Across from her, Quinn, the captain of her uncle's guard, choked on his water. The prince looked at his father, who was still busy with her uncle, before answering. Not out of consent, but out of fear. "I eat like a prince," said Dorian quietly. "You don't need to cut your bread with a fork and knife," she said. A faint pounding began in her head, followed by a flickering warmth, but she ignored it. The hall was hot because for some reason they had all the windows closed. "Here in the North," she continued as the Prince's knife and fork stayed where they were on his bun, "you don't need to be so formal. We don't play airs.” Hen, one of Quinn's men, coughed demonstratively from a few seats down. She could almost hear him say, Says the little lady with her hair carefully combed into curls and in her new dress that she threatened to skin us if we got dirty. She gave Hen an equally sharp look, then turned her attention back to the strange prince. He'd been looking down at his food again, as if he expected to be neglected for the rest of the night. And he looked so lonely that she said, "If you want, you could be my boyfriend." None of the men around her said anything or coughed. Dorian lifted his chin. "I have a friend. He shall one day be Lord of Anielle and the fiercest warrior in the land.

”

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„

To protect Velaris, to protect Mor and Amren and Cassian and Azriel and... Rhys. Softly and quietly, and as vicious as the claws forming on my fingertips, as vicious as the wondrous weight between my shoulder blades, I said to Lucien, "If you've been trapped in darkness for so long, Lucien, you'll find the darkness begins Stare back.” A pulse of surprise, of wicked delight against my mental shields, at the dark, membranous wings I knew hung over my shoulders now. Every icy downpour chased cold through me. Sensitive - so sensitive, those Ilryan wings. Lucien took a step back. "What have you done to yourself?" I gave him a small smile. "The human girl you knew died under the mountain. I have no interest in spending immortality as a High Lord's pet.” Lucien started to shake his head. 'Feyre…' 'Tell Tamlin,' I said, choking on his name at the thought of what he'd done to Rhys and his family, 'if he sends anyone else to these lands, I'll hunt every one of you off . And I will demonstrate exactly what the darkness has taught me.” There was something like real pain on his face. I didn't care. I just watched him, unyielding and cold and dark. The creature I might have become one day if I'd stayed at Spring Court, if I'd remained broken for decades, centuries...until I learned to channel those shards of pain quietly outward, learned to enjoy the pain of others .

”

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„

To get some distance from it, you must first get some perspective. On a clear night, go outside and just look up at the sky. You're sitting on a planet spinning in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Although you can only see a few thousand stars, there are hundreds of billions of stars in our Milky Way alone. In fact, it is estimated that there are over a trillion stars in the spiral galaxy. And this galaxy would look like a single star to us if we could see it at all. You're just standing on a small globe and spinning around one of the stars. From that perspective, do you really care what people think of your clothes or your car? Do you really need to be embarrassed if you forget someone's name? How can you allow these meaningless things to cause pain? If you want out, if you want a decent life, you better not dedicate your life to avoiding mental pain. You better not spend your life worrying about whether people like you or whether your car impresses people. What kind of life is this? It's a life of pain. You may not think you're in pain that often, but you really are. Spending your life avoiding pain means it's always right behind you.

”

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„

With each passing day, he felt the barriers melt away. He melted her. Because of her genuine laugh because he caught her sleeping with her face in the middle of a book one afternoon because he knew she was going to win. She was a criminal - a child prodigy at killing, a queen of the underworld - and yet... . . And yet she was just a girl sent to Endovier at seventeen. Every time he thought about it, he felt sick. He'd trained with the guards when he was seventeen, but he'd still lived here, still had a roof over his head and good food and friends. Dorian, at that age, had just been courting Rosamund without caring about anything. But she - at seventeen - had gone to an extermination camp. And survived. He wasn't sure he would survive Endovier, let alone the winter months. He had never been flogged, had never seen anyone die. He had never frozen and starved. Celaena laughed at something Dorian said. She had outlived Endovier and was still able to laugh. It frightened him to see her down there, a hand's breadth from Dorian's exposed throat, but what frightened him even more was that he trusted her. And he didn't know what that meant about him.

”

”

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Do you know what happens when someone dies?' Delia said suddenly, startling me a little. However, I continued to assemble my sandwich and didn't answer: I knew there was more. "It's like, everything and everyone breaks, each person has a different reaction" ... "When Wish died, it just took my breath away. Really. It's like that stupid thing that Bert and Wes do, the thing about jumping out and trying to scare each other: It was the biggest pitfall in the world. She looked down at the sandwiches. "I just assumed she would be fine. It had never occurred to me that she might actually just be... gone. You know?” … “And then it was her,” said Delia, her hand on the bread bag. 'Went. Caught. And suddenly I had these two boys to take care of, plus a newborn of my own. It was just this huge loss, this huge chasm, you know... "Some people... they can just move on, you know, grieve and cry and be done with it. Or at least it seems to be. But for me... I don't know. I didn't want to fix it, forget. It wasn't anything broken. It's just... something that happened. And like this hole, I find ways around it every day. Respect and remember and move forward at the same time.” I envied Delia. At least she knew what she was dealing with. Maybe that's what you got when you got above your grief and finally looked it in the face. A sense of its depth, its area, the distance above it, and the path above or around it, whichever you end up choosing.

”

”

„

She stared at him steadily as she let go of his face and slowly, making sure he understood every step, tilted her head back until her throat was arched and exposed to him. "Aelin," he breathed. Not as an admonition or warning, but... as a request. It sounded like a request. He lowered his head to her exposed neck and hovered a breath away. She arched her neck further, a silent invitation. Rowan let out a low moan and brushed his teeth against her skin. One bite, one move, everything it took for him to rip open her throat. Its long canines slid over her flesh—smoothly, precisely. She knotted the sheets to keep her fingers from running down his bare back and pulling him closer. He put a hand next to her head, his fingers tangled in her hair. "No one else," she whispered. "I would never let anyone else at my throat." Showing him was the only way he would understand that trust, in a way that only the predatory fae side of him would understand. "No one else," she said again. He let out another low moan, answer and acknowledgment and request, and the rumble echoed within her. He carefully closed his teeth over where her heart was pounding and pounding, his breath hot on her skin. She closed her eyes, all senses narrowing to the feeling, to the teeth and mouth at her throat, to the powerful body that trembled with restraint above her. His tongue brushed her skin. She made a small sound that could have been a moan or a word or his name. He shuddered and pulled away, the cool air kissing her neck. Wildness - pure wildness sparkled in those eyes.

”

”

„

Mom.” I couldn't believe she was doing this again. She took that moment away from me, this time when I was at my strongest. "I don't care what I have to do," she said, her voice low and even. "I don't care if I have to send you away or change schools. I don't care if I have to follow you twenty-four hours a day, you won't see him, Halley. You won't self-destruct that way.” “Why do you just assume I'll go back to him?” I asked her just as she took a breath to make another point. 'Why don't you ask me what I 'What?' 'Why don't you ever wait a second and see what I'm up to or what I'm thinking before you burst in with your opinions and ideas? ? You don't even give me a chance.' 'Yes, I do,' she said indignantly. "No," I said. "You do not do that. And then you wonder why I never tell anyone or share anything with you. I can never confide in you or share anything with you. "That's not true," she said slowly, but it just hit her, I could see. "Halley, you don't always know what's at stake, and I do." "I'll never learn," I said slowly to her, "until you let me." And so we stood in the kitchen, mine Mother and I, facing each other away from everything that had been piling up since June when I was ready to throw up free and pure, now I needed her to give it all back to me with the belief that I could go my own way .

”

”

„

My name... my name is Mary. I'm here with a friend.” Rhage stopped breathing. His heart skipped a beat, then slowed. "Say that again," he whispered. "Ah, my name is Mary Luce. I'm a friend of Bella's... We came here with a boy with John Matthew blooming all over his skin. The musical sound of her voice, the rhythm of her speech, the sound of her words, all spread through him, calming him, comforting him. Tied him up sweetly. He closed his eyes. "Say something else. "What?" she asked, puzzled. "Speak. Talk to me. I want to hear your voice.” She was silent, and he was about to invite her to speak when she said, “You don't look well.” He swayed. The words didn't matter. It was her tone: deep, soft, a soft one Caressing in his ears He felt like he was being caressed here on the inside of his skin "More," he said He rotated his palm around her neck so he could better feel the vibrations in her throat. 'Could you... could you please let go of me?' 'No.' He raised his other arm. She was wearing some kind of fleece and he pushed the collar aside and put his hand on her shoulder to keep her from pulling away. "Talk." She started struggling. "You." "I know. Talk." I'll walk, or I'll kneel you where it matters." He laughed. Then he sank his lower body into her and held her with his thighs and hips. She stiffened against him, but he felt her clearly. She was "She was slim, though there was no mistaking she was female. Her breasts brushed his chest, her hips padded his, her stomach was soft. "Go on," he said in her ear. God, she smelled nice. Clean. She was snuggly." "Fresh. Like lemon. As she pressed against him, he leaned against her with all his weight. Her breath came in gasps. "Please," he murmured. Her chest heaved against his as if she were inhaling. "I... uh, nothing to say get off me." He smiled, careful to keep his mouth shut. There was no point in showing his fangs, especially when she didn't know what he was. "So say that. ' 'What?' 'Nothing. Don't say anything. Over and over again. Do it.' She balked, the smell of fear replaced by a hot spice, like fresh, hot mint from a garden She was annoyed now "Say it." "Good. Nothing. Nothing." right through his spine and burned him."Nothing, nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nooooooooh. So, is that good enough for you? Are you letting go of me now?"

”

”

„

When you were captured, I didn't know…” He trailed off, swallowing whiskey before he could continue. 'If it were...' 'What?' 'Like it was with Clotile.' 'Oh Jackson, no. I was fine. I'm unharmed.” “Didn't know if I'd be late,” he said, shuddering. Then he walked over to me until we were neck and neck. "Evie, if you ever come. If you've been taken from me again, you better know I'm coming for you." He cupped my face in a bloodstained hand. "So stay the fuck alive! You don't like Clotile, you don't take that way out. You and I can get through anything, just give me one chance.” – his voice cracked lower, “just give me one chance to come to you.” He buried his face in my hair and took a deep breath. "There's nothing that can happen that we can't come by."... "If you say we...?" He pulled away and looked down at me, his eyes twinkling at you. Laugh in my face - I don't care. But I want to get this out there.” “I'm not going to laugh. I'm listening.” “Evie, I've wanted you since the first time I saw you. Even when I hated you, I wanted you.” He ran his fingers through his hair. "I got it bad, I." My heart felt like it stopped - so I could hear him better." For so long While you looked down on me I've longed for you, an envy, like I never knew.” “I don't look down on you! I'm too busy looking up at you.” … “The corners of his mouth curled up for a moment before he turned serious again. "You asked me if I had the phone with your pictures, if I had looked at it. Damn right I did! I saw you playing with a dog on the beach and doing crazy somersaults and making faces for the camera. I found out about you” – his voice grew hoarse – “and I wanted more from you. To see you every day." With a humorless laugh, he admitted, "After the Flash, I kept looking for ways to charge a goddamn phone—that would never make a call." I muttered, "I didn't know...I couldn't be sure.” “It's you to me, peep.

”

”

„

Something is wrong with Bunce. She collapsed in the back seat like a dead rabbit. But I can't really focus on it because of the sun and also the wind and because I'm very busy making a list. Things I hate, a list: 1. The sun.2. The wind.3. Penelope Bunce when she has no plan.4. American sandwiches.5. America.6. The Band, America. What I didn't know an hour ago.7. Kansas, also a band I recently got to know.8. Kansas, the state. That's not far from Illinois, so it must be miserable. 9. The state of Illinois, for sure.10. The sun. In my eyes.11. The Wind In My Hair.12. Convertibles.13. Especially myself.14. My soft heart.15. My stupid optimism. 16. The words "road" and "journey" when pronounced together with enthusiasm. 17. Being a vampire, if we're being honest. 18. Being a vampire in a fucking convertible. 19. An insanely thirsty vampire in a convertible at lunchtime. In Illinois, apparently the brightest place on earth. 20. The sun. That hangs miles closer to Minooka, Illinois than over London, blessed England.21. Minooka, Illinois. Which seems terrible.22. Those sunglasses. trash.23. The damn sun! We get it - you're damn smart!24. Penelope Bunce, who came up with this idea. An idea without a plan. Because all she cared about was seeing her shitty boyfriend who clearly screwed everything up. What we should all expect from someone from Illinois, the land of the damned - a place that manages to be both hot and muggy at the same time. You might expect hell to be hot, but you don't expect it to be muggy. That's what makes it hell, the surprise twist! The devil is clever!

”

”

„

The daylight fades as I watch you. Darkness is taking over the sky and I wish you knew that nothing you can do can keep me from you. But I stay out of sight and just whisper to you. Words I can't say Words you don't need to hear. Words I can't help Now I can't stand alone. Now I'm under your influence. You took me over and now I can't ignore what I've been shown. You claimed me and I don't care who knows. You claimed me and I don't care if it shows. I am weakened and strengthened in your arms. You have laid claim to me and I need to feel your nearness.” “You stand there wanting more than you could ever understand. I stand there helpless and must obey your every command. Wanting to see you smile consumed me and bound both my hands. Nothing I offer could ever be worthy of your love spend my whole life trying to be the man you think I am. Well I can't stand alone Now I'm under your influence. You took me over and now I can't ignore what I've been shown. You claimed me and I don't care who knows. You claimed me and I don't care if it shows. I am weakened and strengthened in your arms. You claimed me and I need to feel your nearness.” “You hold fire in your gaze. It hypnotizes everyone you let into your maze. I don't know about your thoughts, but I need to bask in the warmth of your rays. Nothing you do could ever be wrong. You are forever perfectly alone in every way. Now I'm under your influence. You took me over and now I can't ignore what I've been shown. You claimed me and I don't care who knows. You claimed me and I don't care if it shows. I am weakened and strengthened in your arms. You claimed me and I need to feel your closeness.” ~ Thank you

”

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But there is a reason. There's a reason. There's a reason, there's a reason education sucks, and it's the same reason it will never, ever, ever be fixed. It never gets better. Don't look for it. Be happy with what you have. Because that's not what the owners of this land want. I'm talking now about the real owners, the real owners, the big wealthy business interests that control things and make all the important decisions. Forget the politicians. Politicians are there to give you the idea that you have free choice. Not you. You have no choice. You have owners. they own you You own everything. They own all the important lands. They own and control the companies. They've already bought and paid for the Senate, Congress, State Houses, City Halls, they have the judges in their back pocket, and they own all the major media outlets, so they control pretty much all the news and information you get to hear. They caught you by the balls. They spend billions of dollars lobbying every year to get what they want. Well we know what they want. They want more for themselves and less for everyone else, but I'll tell you what they don't want: They don't want a population of citizens capable of critical thinking. They don't want well-informed, well-educated people who can think critically. She doesn't care. That doesn't help them. It's against their interests. That's right. They don't want people smart enough to sit around a kitchen table to find out how fucked up they are by a system that threw them overboard 30 frigging years ago. They don't want that. Do you know what they want? They want obedient workers. Obedient workers. People just smart enough to operate the machines and do the paperwork, and just dumb enough, all these increasingly crappy jobs with the lower pay, the longer hours, the reduced benefits, the end of overtime and the disappearance of pensions, who disappear, passively accept it the moment you pick it up, and now they're coming for your Social Security money. They want your retirement money. They want it back so they can give it to their crime buddies on Wall Street, and you know something? you will get it. Sooner or later they will get everything from you because they own this damn place. It's a big club and you're not in it. You and I are not in the big club. And by the way, it's the same big club they hit you on the head with all day when they tell you what to believe. All day long they beat you over the head in their media and tell you what to believe, what to think and what to buy. The table has tilted, folks. The game is rigged and nobody seems to notice, nobody seems to care. Good honest hard working people - white collar, blue collar, it doesn't matter what color shirt you wear - good honest hard working people keep going - these are people of modest means - keep voting these rich cocksuckers who don't care take care of. They don't care about you. They don't care about you. They don't care about you at all - at all - at all. And nobody seems to notice, nobody seems to care. That's what the owners rely on; the fact that Americans will probably willfully ignore the big red, white, and blue cock that gets shoved up their asshole every day. Because the owners of this land know the truth: It's called the American Dream because you have to sleep to believe it.

”

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She said, "See how I'm wearing this apron? It means I'm working. For a living.” The carefree expression didn't fade. He said, "I'll take care of it." She repeated, "Take care of it?" How much do you earn in an hour? I'll take care of it. And I'll talk to your manager.” For a moment, Blue was actually at a loss for words. She had never believed people who claimed to be speechless, but she was. She opened her mouth and at first only air came out. Then something like the beginning of a laugh. Then she finally managed to stutter, "I'm not a prostitute." The Aglionby boy looked confused for a long moment, then realization dawned on him. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that. I didn't say that." "You said that! Do you think you can just pay me to talk to your boyfriend? Of course you pay most of your female companions by the hour and don't know how it works in the real world, but . . . But . . .” Blue recalled working to a point, but now what that point was. Outrage had eliminated all higher functions and only the desire to smack him remained. The boy opened his mouth to protest, and her thought quickly came back to her. "Most girls sit with them for free if they're interested in a boy." To his credit, the Aglionby boy didn't speak immediately. Instead, he thought for a moment and then said without excitement, "You said you work to live. I thought it rude not to take that into account. sorry that you are offended. I understand where you're from, but I find it a bit inappropriate that you don't do the same for me.' 'I get the feeling you're being condescending,' said Blue. In the background she caught a glimpse of Soldier Boy making a plane out of his hand. It crashed and squirmed toward the tabletop as Smudgy Boy gulped, laughing. The elegant boy covered his face with his palm in exaggerated horror, fingers spread just enough for her to see him flinch. "Good God," remarked the cell phone boy. "I don't know what else to say." "Sorry," she recommended. "I already said that." Blue considered. "Bye then." He made a small gesture to his chest that she figured meant he curtsied or bowed or something sarcastically gentlemanly.

”

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Dear Camryn, I never wanted it to be like this. I wanted to tell you these things myself, but I was afraid. I was afraid that if I told you out loud that I love you, what we had together would die with me. The truth is, back in Kansas, I knew you were the one. I've loved you since that day I first looked into your eyes, staring down at me from the top of that bus seat. Maybe I didn't know it then, but I knew that something happened to me in that moment and I could never let you go. I've never lived like I lived during my short time with you. For the first time in my life I felt whole, alive and free. You were the missing piece of my soul, the breath in my lungs, the blood in my veins. I think if past lives are real, then in every single one of them we were lovers. I've only known you for a short time, but I feel like I've known you forever. I want you to know that even in death I will always remember you. I will Always Love You. I wish things could have turned out differently. I thought of you many nights along the way. I would stare at the ceilings in the motels and imagine what our life together would be like if I had lived. I even got all muddy and thought about you in a wedding dress and even with a mini me in your stomach. You know, I've always heard that sex is great when you're pregnant. ;-) But I'm sorry I had to leave you, Camryn. I'm so sorry... I wish the story of Orpheus and Eurydice was real because then you could come down to the underworld and sing me back into your life. I wouldn't look back. I wouldn't screw it up like Orpheus. I'm so sorry baby... I want you to promise me that you'll stay strong and beautiful and sweet and caring. I want you to be happy and find someone who loves you as much as I do. I want you to get married and have babies and live your life. Just remember to always be yourself and don't be afraid to speak your mind or dream out loud. I hope you never forget me One more thing: don't feel bad for not telling me you love me. You didn't have to say it. I knew all along that you do. Love, Andrew Parrish

”

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<…>Tate fell silent. don't. "You've blown yourself away since the day I got fired. You had my back, you looked after Lexie when we had our thing, then you did what you could to help me sort that out. It's important to me that you know I'm grateful. I've been trying to figure out how to show how much, but keep thinking about it, I can't think of anything and I know why. I understand. You are a man who has everything so there is nothing I can give you what you want or need. And that's what I get because I'm the same man now. So all I can give you are words, and I suppose that will do. If it's not, you name it and it's yours." "Friends do what I did for friends," Tate retorted. "No, they don't, Tate. You did what you did for me , because you are you. Tate was silent for a moment, then he said, "Well, you guessed right then. Ty nodded. Tate cocked his head to the side and jokingly asked, "We're done with the almost midnight in the middle of the friggin' nowhere from Heart to heart?" Not in the mood for a joke, Ty replied, "No." "Then what-?" "I love you, man," Ty interrupted quietly. "I've learned the hard way not to delay this feeling , so I won't hesitate You call me brother and I have one whose blood means nothing to me and today, done all this shit, rejoicing and reflecting, it hit me that I have two who are not blood, but mean something. And you're one of those two. "Ty-" Tate murmured. "I'll never forget, until I die, what you meant to me and my wife did, and to this day I'll never stop being grateful." "Shit man," Tate whispered. "Well, do these words work to make you understand what you meant to me?" Silence then, "Yes, they work." "Well then we're done with our heart-to-heart at midnight in the middle of nowhere," Ty explained, turning around, opening the door to the Viper and starting to fold in the seat and peer over the door, when Tate called his name. "I don't have a blood brother," Tate said. "But you should know there's a reason I call you that."<...>

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MY MOTHER IS DRESSINGMy mother can't even do the simplest things by herself anymore, so let's do it together, get her dressed. it's like every day. After bathing, getting dressed. First come the stockings. This time it's the new ones, the special ones with opaque black triangles that she's never worn, just bought two weeks ago at her favorite department store. We begin with heavy, gentle tucking of the right toe into the stocking toe, then a gentle tug past the knob of her ankle and over her cool, smooth calf, then the other toe-cool, smooth calf, up the legs and the pantyhose to her waist flatters. You're doing great Mom, I tell her as we press her body against mine, leaning all our weight against me to slide her black empire-neck dress over her head, fingers through the dark tunnel of the sleeve to crawl. I'm reaching from outside Deep in the darkness Reaching for her hand, reaching for her touch where I can't see. You need to help me a little here Mom I tell her then her fingertips touch mine and we work her fingers together through the mouth of the sleeve then we rest her weight against me before I work the other fingers, wrist, Forearm, elbow, bicep and now overhead. I slide the black dress gently over her breasts, thighs, do her makeup, apply some color to her skin. Green for her eyes. coral for her lips. I'll get her black hat. She's ready for her company. I say come in to the two women in simple, elegant suits who are waiting outside the bedroom. They tell me she's beautiful. Yes, she is, I tell them. I leave while they carefully pack her into the black body bag. Three days later I dream that a big, green suitcase arrives. When I open it, my mother is inside. Her dress matches her eyeshadow, which matches the suitcase perfectly. She wears coral colored lipstick. "I'm here," she says, smiling happily, waving, and I wake up. Four days later she comes home in a black plastic box that is heavier than she looks when naked. I'm learning a new way of hugging. I close my fist around her body, my hand filling with her ashes and the small bone stones. I squeeze her tight, then open my hand and release her into the tiniest, hottest sun, a dandelion screaming yellow sky.

”

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Clay, have you ever loved me?” I study a billboard and say I didn't hear what she said. "I asked if you ever loved me?" On the terrace the sun burns my eyes and blinds me. In that moment I see myself clearly. I remember the first time we made love, in the Palm Springs house, her body tanned and wet, propped against cool white sheets. "Don't do that, Blair," I tell her. "Just tell me." I don't say anything. "Is the question that difficult to answer?" I look straight at her. "Yes or no?" "Why?" "Damn, Clay," she sighs. Yeah, sure, I guess.” “Don't lie to me.” “What the hell do you want to hear?” “Just tell me,” she says, her voice louder. "No," I almost shout. "I never have." I almost start laughing. She takes a deep breath and says, "Thank you. That's all I wanted to know.” She sips her wine. "Have you ever loved me?" I ask her back, although I don't care now. She pauses. "I've thought about it and yes, I did once . I mean I really did. Everything was fine for a while. You were nice.” She looks down and then continues. "But it was like you weren't there. Oh shit, that doesn't make any sense.” She pauses. I look at her, waiting for her to continue, and look up at the billboard. get out of here I was really into it too... but at least they tried. "I finger the menu, stub out the cigarette." You never did that. Other people tried, and you just… it was just over you.” She takes another sip of her wine. "You were never there. I felt sorry for you for a while, but then I found it hard. You're a pretty boy, Clay, but that's about it.” I watch the cars at sunset. "It's hard to feel sorry for someone who doesn't care." "Yeah?" I ask. "What are you doing? Care about? What makes you happy?” “Nothing. nothing makes me happy I don't like anything," I tell her. "Have you ever looked after me, Clay?" I don't say anything, looking back at the menu. "Have you ever taken care of me?" she asks again. I don't want to take care of it. If I take care of things it will only get worse, it will just be another thing to worry about. It's less painful when I don't care.” “I took care of you for a while.” I don't say anything. She takes off her sunglasses and finally says, "See you later, Clay." She stands up, "Where are you going?" I suddenly don't want to leave Blair here anymore. I almost want to take her back." "I have to meet someone for lunch." "But what about us? Us?” She stands there for a moment, waiting. I keep staring at the billboard until it begins to blur, and as my vision clears, I watch Blair's car slide out of the parking lot and get lost in the fog of traffic at sunset. The waiter comes over and asks, "It's all in Okay, sir?” I look up, put my sunglasses on, and try to smile.

”

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Here you are sitting in your high backed chair Wondering what the view is from there I wouldn't know 'cause I like to sit On the floor, yeah on the floor If you'd like we could play a game Let's pretend we are right away but you're going to have to look a lot closer than you do, closer than you do and I'm way too tired to stay here any longer and anyway I don't care what you think because I think you you were wrong in me Yes, what if you What if it were you And what if I was a burning blizzard What if I was a world that doesn't turn What if I was an ocean, way too shallow, way too deep What if i was the nicest demon something you don't like belief in what if i'm a siren singing gentlemen to sleep? I know you found out Tell me what I'm about And I could only learn a thing or two about you I won't change your telescope just to fit your vision 'Cause I'm tied to a frayed rope Tied around my hands, tied around my hands And you close your eyes when I say That I'm breaking free And cover both your ears 'Cause you can't bear to think I'm not the perfect girl you thought I was. Well what have I got to lose and what if I'm a weeping willow, laughing tears on my pillow, what if it's me A celebrity who wants to be alone What if I'm a toothless leopard? What if I'm a sheepless shepherd? What if I'm an angel with no wings to take me home. You don't know me Outside your picture frame And the glass is breaking now You can't see me Never, never If you'll never see What if I'm a crowded desert Too much pain with little pleasure What if I'm the most beautiful place you never want to leave What is if I don't know who I am? Will that keep us both from finding out, and if you did? Be sure to let me know. What if I'm a burning blizzard? What if I'm a world that doesn't turn around What if I'm an ocean, way too shallow, way too deep What if I'm the kindest demon Something you might not believe in P... Sleep...

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There are blondes and there are blondes and it's almost a joke these days. All blondes have their spots, except maybe the metallic ones, who are as blond as a Zulu under the bleach and as soft in essence as a pavement. There's the short, sweet blonde who squeaks and chirps, and the tall, statuesque blonde who stares at you with an icy blue stare. There's the blonde that gives you that up-down look and smells amazing and shimmers and is hanging on your arm and is always very tired when you bring her home. She makes this helpless gesture and has this goddamn headache and you want to hit her, except you're glad you found out about the headache before you put too much time and money and hope into it. Because the headache will always be there, a weapon that never wears out and as deadly as Bravo's rapier or Lucrezia's poison vial. There's the soft and willing and alcoholic blonde who doesn't care what she's wearing as long as it's mink or where she's going as long as it's the Starlight Roof and there's plenty of dry champagne. There's the cheeky little blonde who's a little pal and wants to pay herself and is full of sunshine and common sense and knows judo from the ground up and can throw a truck driver over her shoulder without missing more than a sentence of the editorial in the Saturday Review. There's the pale, pale blonde with anemia of a non-fatal but incurable kind. She's very lethargic and very shadowy and she speaks softly out of nowhere and you can't touch her because firstly you don't want to and secondly she's reading The Waste Land or study Dante in the Original, or Kafka, or Kierkegaard, or Provençal. She loves music and when the New York Philharmonic plays Hindemith she can tell you which of the six bass viols was a quarter bar late. I hear Toscanini can do that too. That makes two of them. And finally, there's the gorgeous showpiece that survived three kingpin thugs and then married a bunch of millionaires for a million and ended up owning a pale pink villa on Cap Antibes, an Alfa Romeo town car, complete with pilot and co. pilot and a stable of worn-out aristocrats, all of whom will treat them with the affectionate absent-mindedness of an elderly duke saying goodnight to his butler.

”

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Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes And lightning rattles on the eaves of our houses. High water awaits us in our avenues. Snow falls on snow, falls on snow to bring avalanches across vulnerable villages. Ask yourself. What have we done to offend nature so much? We're worried, God. Are you there? are you really there Does the covenant you made with us still hold? Into this climate of fear and apprehension comes Christmas, bright lights of joy, tinkling bells of hope, and singing carols of forgiveness high in the bright air. The world is encouraged away from grudges, come the way of friendship. It's the happy season. Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner. Flood waters recede into memory Earth. Hope is reborn in children's faces. She rides on our elders' shoulders as they go into their sunsets. Hope spreads all over the earth. Illuminates all things, Even hatred brooding in dark corridors. In our joy we think we hear a whisper. At first it's too quiet. Then only half heard. We listen intently as it gathers strength. We hear a cutie. The word is peace. It's loud now. It's louder. Louder than bomb explosions. We tremble at the sound. We are amazed by his presence. It's what we've been starving for. Not just the absence of war. But true peace. A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesy. Security for our loved ones and their loved ones. We clap our hands and embrace the peace of Christmas. We beckon to this good season to wait a while with us. We, Baptists and Buddhists, Methodists and Muslims, say come. Peace. Come and fill us and our world with Your majesty Your shimmering light How to look beyond the complexion and see community. It's Christmas time, a time of hate. On this platform of peace we can create a language to translate ourselves and each other. In this sacred moment we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ in the major religions of the world. We rejoice in the precious arrival of trust. We cry out with glorious tongues for the coming of hope. All the tribes of the earth raise their voices to celebrate the promise of peace. We, angels and mortals, believers and unbelievers, look to heaven and speak the word aloud.Peace. We look at our world and say the word out loud. Peace. We look at each other, then inward. And we say without shyness, apology or hesitation. peace, my brother. peace, my sister. peace, my soul.

”

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How to Tell if Someone Loves You Someone loves you when they pluck an eyelash from your face or wet a napkin and apply it to your dirty skin. You didn't ask for these things, but this person did it anyway. They don't want to see you as an idiot with eyelashes and crumbs on your face. You notice these things. They really look at you and are the first to know when there is something wrong with your beautiful face! Someone loves you when they take on the role of caretaker when you are sick. Not sure if someone is really interested in you? Fake food poisoning and text them a message like, “Oh my god, so sick. Need water." Depending on their answer, you'll know if they REALLY love you or not. "That's awful. Feel better!" earns you a stint in Friendship Prison; "Do you need anything? I can come over and bring you cures!” gets you a cozy friendship suite. It's easy to take care of someone when they don't need you. It's easy to love them when they're healthy and don't ask for anything other than change for the parking meter. Being sick is different. Being sick means asking someone to hold back your hair when you throw up. You either love me with vomit in your hair or you don't love me at all. Someone loves you when they blame you for your bullshit. They're not passive, they won't just let you get away with murder. They know you well enough and care enough about you to ask you to relax, to bust your balls, to tell you to stop. They are not passive observers in your life, they are in the trenches. You have an opinion about your decisions and the things you say and do. You want to be a part of it; they want to be a part of you. Someone loves you when they don't mind the quiet. They don't mind running errands with you or cleaning your apartment while listening to annoying music. There's no pressure, no need to fill the stillness. You know there has to be some kind of activity with some of your friends that you can hang out with? You're not comfortable with just doing shit and watching bad reality TV with them. You need something to bother you to make sure there is no emptiness. This isn't love. It's "Hey baby! i like you ok Do you want to have lunch? I think we've got enough talk to fill two hours!” It's a bloody dream when you find someone you don't relate to. Whether you're skydiving together or sitting at home doing different things, it's always comfortable. That's fucking love.Someone loves you when they want you to be happy, even if that involves something that doesn't benefit them.They recognize what you have to do to be happy and come to terms with the fact that maybe it is doesn't belong Never underestimate the gift of understanding. When there are so many people who are selfish and see relationships as something they just have to make them happy to have someone around who can take their needs out of any situation if need be. Someone loves you when they can order you food without having to be told what you want. Someone loves you when they rub your back at a certain moment. Someone loves you when they give you oral sex without expecting anything in return. Someone loves you when they don't. I don't care about your job or how much money you make. It is a relationship in which no one sells anything to the other. Nobody is the prostitute. Someone loves you when they're watching a Kate Hudson movie because you really want to see it. Someone loves you when they are able to create their own world with you, away from the internet and your job, family and friends. just you and her Someone will always love you. If you don't believe this to be true, then you are not paying close enough attention.

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My dearest friend Abigail, these could probably be the last words I am writing to you and I may not have lived long enough to see your reply, but I have lived long enough to live forever in the hearts of my friends . I thought long and hard about what to write to you. I thought of giving you blessings and wishes for things of great value that will happen to you in the future; I thought of appreciating you for being who you are; I thought of giving sweet and loving compliments to everything about you; I was thinking of writing something in praise of your poetry and prose; and I thought of saying thank you for being one of the few truest friends I've ever had. But that's what all friends do and they only qualify to remain a part of our loosely connected memories and that's not what I can choose, I can't choose to get lost anywhere in your memories. So I thought of something that I hope will make you remember me for a long time. I decided to share part of my story, from what brought me here, the part we both had in common. A past that changed us and our perception of the world. A past that has shaped our future into an unknown but exciting opportunity to reconsider the lost thoughts and break free from the libido of our lost dreams. A past that called our whole past into question. My love, as the moment of my past hit me in its highest demonized form, I felt dead, like a dead man walking in flesh and blood without a soul, with no reason to live. I no longer saw any meaning in life, but I also saw no reason to die. I traveled to distant lands, running from friends, family and everyone else and limited myself to my thoughts, to my feelings and to myself. Hours, days, weeks and months passed and I waited for a moment of magic, a twist of the Destiny, but nothing happened, nothing ever happened. I waited and counted every moment of it, thinking about every moment of my life, the good and the bad. Then I saw how powerful yet weak, light yet dark, beautiful yet ugly, joyful yet painful; is a single moment. A moment makes the difference. Just a moment. This seems to be the extreme and undisputed power of a single moment. We live in a world of appearances, Abigail, where reality is beyond appearances, and that's just what seems so powerful when in reality it isn't. I realized that the power of the moment is not in the moment itself. The power is actually within us. Each and every one of us has the power to make and shape our own moments. It is we who, through joy, celebrate a moment of success; and it is we too who sadly weep and mourn over our losses. I now embrace with all my heart and mind this power that lies within us. I wish life gave you more time to use this power. Remember, we are our own sorrows, my dear, we are our own happiness and we are our own remedies. Take care of yourself! With love, Francis

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There are moments in every relationship that define when two people fall in love. A first look, a first smile, a first kiss, a first fall... (I pull the Darth Vader slippers out of my bag and look down at them.) You wore these during one of those moments. One of the moments I fell in love with you for the first time. The way you gave me butterflies that morning had absolutely nothing to do with anyone else, and everything to do with you. I've fallen in love with you (I pull the next item out of my pocket. When I pull it out and look up, she covers her mouth in shock.) That ugly little gnome With his smug little grin... He's the reason I one had excuse to invite you to my house. In my life. You took out a lot of aggression on him over the next few months. I would watch from my window how you would knock him over every time you walked past him. Poor little guy. you were so persistent That feisty, aggressive, strong-willed side of you... The side of you that refused to accept this concrete dwarf? The side of you that refused to take crap from me? Because of you I fell in love with this side of you is your favorite CD "Layken's shit". Although I now know that when you said shit, you meant it to be possessive rather than descriptive. The banjo started playing through your car speakers and I immediately recognized my favorite band. Then when I realized it was your favorite band Band? The fact that the same lyrics inspired us both? I fell in love with that about you. It had absolutely nothing to do with anyone else. I fell in love with you because of you paper from the satchel and hold it up. Looking at her, I see Eddie pushing a napkin towards her. I can't tell from up here, but that can only mean she's crying.) This is a receipt I kept. Only because the item I bought that evening was almost ridiculous. Who commands this? You were different and you didn't care. You were you. A part of me fell in love with you in that moment because of you. The? (I hold up another piece of paper.) I didn't like that very much. It's the poem you wrote about me zero. And then I kept it to remind myself of all the things I never want to be to you. (I pull her shirt out of my pocket. Holding it up to the light, I sigh into the mic.) That's that ugly shirt you're wearing. It doesn't really have anything to do with why I fell in love with you. I just saw it at your house and thought I'd steal it.

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Here's the thing, says Shug. What I believe in God is in you and in everyone else. You are born with God. But only those who look for it within will find it. And sometimes it just manifests itself even when you're not looking or don't know what you're looking for. Trouble making it for most people I guess. sorry sir Feel like shit.It? I ask. yes it God is not a he or a she, but an it. But what does it look like? I ask. Don't look like nothing, she says. It's not a slideshow. It's not something you can separate from anything else, including yourself. I believe God is everything, says Shug. Everything that is or ever was or ever will be. And if you can feel that and are happy about it, you've found it. She frowns a little, looks across the yard, leans back in her chair, looks like a big rose. She says: My first step from the old white man was trees. Then air. Then birds. Then other people. But one day, as I sat quietly and felt like the motherless child that I was, it came over me: this feeling of being a part of everything, not separate at all. I knew if I cut down a tree my arm would bleed. And I laughed and I cried and I ran all over the house. I knew exactly what it was. In fact, when it happens, you can't miss it. It's kinda like you know what, she says, grinning and rubbing high up on my thigh. Shug! I say. Oh, she says. God loves all these feelings. That's one of the best things God has done. And when you know that God loves you, you enjoy them that much more. You can just relax, go with whatever is going on, and praise God by liking what pleases you. Doesn't God think it's dirty? I ask. No, she says. God made it. Listen, God loves everything you love? and a mess of things you don't do. But more than anything, God loves admiration. You say God vain? I ask. No, she says. Not vain, just wanting to share a good thing. I think it pisses God off when you walk past the color purple anywhere in a field and don't notice it. What does it do when it's acidic? I ask. Oh, it does something different. People think pleasing God is all God is about. But any fool living in the world can see that it's always trying to please us. Yes? I say. Yes, she says. It keeps surprising us with little surprises when we least expect it. You mean it wants to be loved, just like the Bible says. Yes, Celie, she says. Everything wants to be loved. We sing and dance, make faces and give bouquets of flowers, try to be loved. Have you ever noticed that trees will do anything to get attention except walk? Well we talk and talk about God but I'm still helpless. I'm trying to get that old white man out of my head. I've been so busy thinking about him that I never really notice anything that God has done. No corn stalk (how does it do that?), not the color purple (where does it come from?). Not the little wildflowers. Nothing. Now that my eyes open I feel like an idiot. Next to a small clump of bushes in my yard, Mr. ____'s evil psychiatrist. But not quite. Still, as Shug says, you've got to knock the man out of your eyeball before you can see anything big. Man spoils everything, says Shug. Him on your box of grits, in your head and all over the radio. He's trying to get you to think him everywhere. Once you think Him everywhere, you think He is God. But he's not. Anytime you try to pray and the man throws himself on the other end, tell him to back off, tell Shug. Summon flowers, wind, water, a large stone. But that's hard work, let me tell you. He's been there so long, he doesn't want to move. He is threatened by lightning, floods and earthquakes. We fight. I hardly ever pray. Every time I conjure a stone, I throw it. Amen

”

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It is worth saying something about the social position of beggars, because once you have associated with them and realize that they are ordinary people, you cannot help but be surprised by the strange attitude that society gives them opposite. People seem to feel that there is an essential difference between beggars and ordinary "laborers". They are a race unto themselves - outcasts, like criminals and prostitutes. Laborers “work”, beggars don’t “work”; they are parasites, worthless in their nature. It goes without saying that a beggar does not "earn" his living like a mason or a literary critic "earns" his. It is a mere social outgrowth, tolerated because we live in a humane age, but basically despicable. But if you look closely, you see that there is no MAJOR difference between a beggar's livelihood and that of countless decent people. It is said that beggars don't work; but then what is WORK? A sailor works by swinging a pickaxe. An accountant works by adding numbers. A beggar works by standing outside in all weathers and gets varicose veins, chronic bronchitis, etc. It's a trade like any other; pretty useless, of course - but then a lot of serious trades are pretty useless. And as a social type, a beggar compares well to many others. Honest compared to the sellers of most patent drugs, haughty compared to a Sunday paper owner, amiable compared to an installment buyer - in short, a parasite, but a fairly harmless parasite. He rarely deprives the community of more than his livelihood, and time and time again he pays for it in suffering for what our ethical beliefs should justify him. I don't think there's anything about a beggar that puts them in a different class from other humans, or gives most modern people the right to despise them. The question then arises: Why are beggars despised? – for they are universally despised. I believe for the simple reason that they don't make a decent living. In practice, no one cares whether work is useful or useless, productive or parasitic; the only requirement is that it should be profitable. In all the modern day talk about energy, efficiency, social services and the rest, what does it mean other than "get money, get it legal and get lots of it"? Money has become the great test of virtue. Beggars fail this test and are despised for it. If you could make even ten pounds a week begging, it would become a decent job in a heartbeat. A beggar, realistically, is just a businessman making a living like other businessmen in whatever way is convenient. More than most modern men, he has not sold his honor; he has merely made the mistake of choosing a profession in which it is impossible to get rich.

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At this second swearing-in of the President's office, there is less need for an extended speech than at the first. Then a reasonably detailed statement of a course to be taken seemed appropriate and appropriate. Now, after four years of constant public statements on every point and phase of the great struggle that still occupies the nation's attention and energies, little new could be presented. The progress of our weapons, upon which everything else largely depends, is as well known to the public as I am, and I trust that it will be reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. With great hope for the future, no predictions are made. On the relevant occasion four years ago, all thoughts anxiously turned to an impending civil war. Everyone feared it, everyone tried to avert it. While the opening speech was being delivered from this location entirely dedicated to saving the Union without war, insurgent agents in the city were trying to destroy it without war - trying to dissolve the Union and dividing its effects through negotiation. Both parties opposed war, but one of them would wage war instead of letting the nation survive and the other would accept war instead of letting it perish, and war came. One eighth of the total population were colored slaves, not generally distributed across the Union but localized in the southern part of it. These slaves represented a special and powerful interest. Everyone knew that this interest was somehow the cause of the war. To strengthen, continue and expand this interest was the aim for which the insurgents would even tear the Union apart by war, while the government claimed no right to do more than limit its territorial expansion. Neither party expected the war to be of the magnitude or duration that it has already reached. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict would end with or even before the end of the conflict. Everyone was looking for an easier triumph and a less fundamental and amazing outcome. Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each implores his help against the other. It may seem strange that people should dare ask a just God for help to wring their bread out of other people's sweat, but let us not judge that we will not be judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. Neither of these have been fully answered. The Almighty has His own purposes. “Woe to the world for trespasses; for trespasses must come, but woe to the man by whom the trespasses come.” If we suppose that American slavery is one of those crimes which must necessarily come in the providence of God, but which He, after His has continued for a certain time, and that He gives both North and South this terrible war than the woe of those from whom the crime came, we shall recognize in it any deviation from those divine attributes which believers in one always ascribe living God to Him? We fervently hope, we fervently pray, that this mighty scourge of war may pass quickly. Yet if God wills it go on, until all the riches amassed by the servant's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited labor are sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the whip is paid for by another who has the sword drawn as it was said three thousand years ago, it must still be said, "The judgments of the Lord are true and just." With malice toward none, with mercy toward all, with firmness in justice, as God gives us , the right to see, let us do it we aspire to complete the work we are in, binding up the wounds of the nation, caring for him who will have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all that can achieve and preserve a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all peoples.

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As I get older, I value women over forty the most. Here are just a few reasons why: A woman over forty will never wake you up in the middle of the night and ask, "What are you thinking?" She doesn't care what you're thinking. If a woman over forty doesn't want to see the game, she doesn't sit around and whine about it. She's doing something she wants to do. And usually it's something more interesting. A woman over forty knows herself well enough to be sure of who she is, what she is, what she wants and from whom. Few women over forty care what you think of her or what she does. Women over forty are dignified. They rarely have a screaming match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you if they think they can get away with it. Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. You know what it's like to be unappreciated. A woman over forty has the confidence to introduce you to her friends. A younger woman with a man often ignores even her best friend because she doesn't confide in the man about other women. Women over forty don't care if you're attracted to her friends because she knows her friends won't betray her. Women become psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a woman over forty. You always know. A woman over forty looks good wearing bright red lipstick. This does not apply to younger women. Once you get over a wrinkle or two, a woman over forty is far sexier than her younger counterpart. Older women are open and honest. They'll tell you right away if you're an idiot if you act like one! You never have to wonder where you stand with her. Yes, we praise women over forty for a variety of reasons. Unfortunately not mutually. For every gorgeous, chic, well-coiffed, hot woman over forty, there's a bald, pot-bellied relic in yellow pants poking fun at some twenty-two-year-old waitress. Ladies my apologies for all that men who say "why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free" here is an update for you. Now 80 percent of women are against marriage, why? Because women realize that it's not worth buying a whole pig just to get some sausage.

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Walt Whitman (1819-1892). grass leaves. 1900. To You Whoever you are, I fear you walk the paths of dreams, I fear these supposed realities will melt beneath your feet and hands; Even now your features, joys, speech, house, commerce, manners, cares, follies, costumes, crimes scatter from you, Your true soul and body appear before me, They emerge from affairs - from commerce, business , Law, Science, Work, Forms, Clothes, Home, Medicine, Print, Buy, Sell, Eat, Drink, Suffer, Die. Whoever you are, now I lay my hand on you that you may be my poem; I whisper with my lips close to your ear, I have loved many women and men, but I love none more than you. O I was tardy and mute; I should have made my way to you long ago; I shouldn't have spilled anything but you, I shouldn't have sung anything but you. I'll leave everything and come and do the hymns of you; Nobody understood you, but I understand you; No one has done you justice - you have done yourself justice; No one found you imperfect - I just find no imperfection in you; No one but would subdue you - I'm just the one who will never agree to subdue you; I am only the one who puts no lord, possessor, better, god over you than what awaits within you. Painters have painted their swarming groups and the central figure of all; A nimbus of golden light spreads from the head of the central figure; But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head without its nimbus of golden light; From my hand, from the brain of every man and every woman, radiates radiance forever. O I could sing such glories and glories about you! You didn't know what you are - you've been dormant about yourself all your life; Her eyelids were closed most of the time; What you have done is already coming back in mockery; (Your thrift, your knowledge, your prayers, if they do not return in mockeries, what is their return?) The mockeries are not you; Among them and in them I see you lurking; I follow you where no one else has followed you; Silence, the desk, the frivolous expression, the night, the usual routine, if these hide you from others or from yourself, they do not hide you from me; The shaved face, the uncertain eyes, the impure complexion, if they bother others, they don't bother me. There is no talent in man or woman that is not counted in you; There is no virtue, no beauty, in man or woman, but so good is in you; No courage, no perseverance in others, but there is so good in you; No pleasure awaiting others, but an equal pleasure awaits you. As for me, I don't give anything to anyone unless I give you the same carefully; I sing the glory songs of no one, not God, rather than I sing the glory songs of you. Whoever you are! Claim your property at all costs! These east and west shows are tame compared to you; Those vast meadows—those endless rivers—you are as vast and endless as they are; These furies, elements, storms, movements of nature, throes of seeming dissolution - you are the one who is lord or mistress of them, lord or mistress in your own right of nature, elements, pain, passion, dissolution. The hopples fall from your ankles - you find an infallible contentment; Old or young, male or female, coarse, low, rejected by the others, whatever you are proclaims itself; By birth, life, death, burial, the means are provided, nothing is scarce; Through anger, loss, ambition, ignorance, boredom, what you are makes its way.

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Thomas Merton said it is indeed dangerous to put the Scriptures in the hands of people whose inner selves are not yet sufficiently awakened to meet the Spirit because they are trying to use God for their own self-centered purposes. (That's why religion is so prone to corruption!) Now, speaking about conversion and repentance, let me apply that to the two main groups that have occupied Western Christianity - Catholics and Protestants. Neither of them really let the Word of God guide their lives. Catholics must be converted to give Scripture actual authority in their lives. Luther was not wrong when he said that most Catholics do not read the Bible. Most Catholics are still not that interested in the Bible. (Historically they didn't have a printing press, nor could most people read, so they can't be blamed.) I've been a priest for 42 years now, and I'm sorry to say that most Catholics would rather hear quotes from saints, popes and bishops, breaking news or funny stories when they should pay attention. When I quote heavily from the Sermon on the Mount, it's almost throwaway lines. I can see Catholics glaze over because they never read, let alone study or be guided by the New Testament. I am very sad to have to admit this. It is the Achilles' heel of much of the Catholic world, including priests. (The only good thing about it is that they never fight you like Protestants do about Scripture. They are easily deceived, and the hierarchy could take advantage of that.) When Catholics need to be converted, Protestants need to repent. Her cry "sola Scriptura" (only writing) has left her at the mercy of her own culture, her own limited education, her own prejudices, and her own selective reading of some texts while shunning others. Partly as a result, slavery, racism, sexism, classism, xenophobia and homophobia have survived significantly into our day - by people who claim to love Jesus! I think they need to repent for what they have often done with the Bible! For the most part, they interpreted the Bible in a very individualistic and otherworldly manner. It was "an evacuation plan for the next world," to use Brian McLaren's phrase - and for their group only. Most evangelical Protestantism has no cosmic message, no social message, and little sense of social justice or caring for outsiders. Both Catholics and Protestants (Orthodox too!) found a way to do their own thing while pretending friendship with Jesus.

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My mom says, "You know what the AIDS memorial blanket is about?" Jump to how much I hate my brother in that moment. I bought this fabric because I thought it would make a nice chalkboard for Shane,” Mom says. "We just had some problems with what to sew on it." Give me amnesia. Flash. give me new parents Flash. Your mom didn't want to step on anyone's toes," says Dad. He twists off a shank and begins scraping the meat onto a plate. “You have to be so careful with gay stuff as everything means something in the secret code. I mean, we didn't want to give people the wrong idea.” My mom leans in to spoon yams onto my plate and says, “Your dad wanted a black border, but black on a blue field would mean Shane was from Leather sex was aroused, you know, bondage and discipline, sado and masochism." She says, "Really, these plaques are meant to help those left behind." Strangers will see us and see Shane's name," says my dad. "We didn't mean that they're thinking something." The dishes all start slowly marching clockwise around the table. The filling. The olives. The cranberry sauce. "I wanted pink triangles, but all the bars have pink triangles," my mom says. "That's it Nazi symbol for homosexuals." She says, "Your father suggested black triangles, but that would mean Shane was a lesbian. It looks like female pubic hair. The black triangle does." My father says, "Then I did a green one Rand, but it turned out Shane was a male prostitute.” My mother says, “We almost went for a red rand, but that would mean fisting. Brown would mean either scat or rimming, we couldn't figure out which. "Yellow," says my father, "means water sports." A lighter shade of blue," Mom says, "would mean normal oral sex only." Plain white," says my father, "would mean anal. White could also mean that Shane was turned on by men in their underwear.” He says, “I can't remember which one.” My mom hands me the quilted chicken with the buns still warm. We're supposed to sit and eat while Shane lies dead on the table in front of us. Eventually we just gave up," my mom says, "and I made a nice tablecloth out of the fabric." Between the sweet potatoes and the filling, Dad looks down at his plate and says, "You know about rimming?" I know, that it's not table talk. And fisting?” asks my mother. I say I know. I do not mention Manus and his professional porn magazines. We sit there all around a blue shroud with the turkey looking more like a big dead baked animal than ever, the profusion full of organs you can still make out, the heart and gizzard and liver, the gravy thick with cooked fat and blood . The centerpiece of the flower could be a coffin spray. Would you pass me the butter, please?” says my mother. To my father she says: "Do you know what felching is?

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Is a broken man an outlaw?” “More or less,” Brienne answered. Septon Meribald disagreed. “Rather less than more. There are many kinds of outlaws, just as there are many kinds of birds. A sandpiper and a white-tailed eagle both have wings, but they are not the same. The singers love to sing about good men forced to leave the law to fight an evil lord, but most outlaws resemble this ravenous dog more than the Lightning Lord. They are wicked men, driven by greed, soured by malice, despising the gods and caring only for themselves. Broken men are more deserving of our pity, though they can be just as dangerous. Almost all are ordinary, humble folk who never went more than a mile from their birthplace until the day a lord came to lead them to war. Badly shoed and ill-dressed, they march off under his banners, often with no better weapons than a sickle, or a sharpened hoe, or a maw they themselves make by tying a skin-striped stone to a stick. Brothers march with brothers, sons with fathers, friends with friends. They've heard the songs and the stories, so they walk away with an eager heart, dreaming of the wonders they'll see, the riches and fame they'll win. The war seems to be a beautiful adventure, the greatest that most of you will ever know. "Then they get a taste of the fight." For some, that taste is enough to break them. Others go on for years until they lose the count of all the fights they have fought, but even a man who has survived a hundred fights can break through his hundred and one. Brothers watch their brothers die, fathers lose their sons, friends watch their friends try to hold on to their guts after being gutted by an axe. “They see the lord who led them there being cut down, and another lord crying out that they are his now. They take a wound and when it's half healed they take another. There's never enough food, their shoes fall to pieces from marching, their clothes are torn and rotten, and half of them shit in their pants from drinking bad water, and soon they're stealing from the living too, from the little people in whose land they fight, men very like the men they used to be. They slaughter their sheep and steal their chickens, and from there it's just a small step to kidnapping their daughters as well. And one day they look around and find that all their friends and relatives are gone, that they are fighting alongside strangers under a banner they hardly recognize. They don't know where they are or how to get home, and the lord they fight for doesn't know their names, but here he comes calling for them to form up, line up with their spears and scythes and sharpened heels to stand your ground. And the knights fall upon them, faceless men clad all in steel, and the iron thunder of their charge seems to fill the world... "And the man falls." He turns and runs or crawls after the corpses of the slain, or sneaks away in the darkness of the night and finds a place to hide. Then all thought of home is gone, and kings and lords and gods mean less to him than a mace of spoiled flesh that might let him live another day, or a skin of bad wine that might drown his fears for a few hours. The broken man lives from day to day, from meal to meal, more beast than man. Lady Brienne is not wrong. In times like these the traveler must fear and fear broken men... but he should also pity them

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Who are we to say that incest or abuse or injury or any of that can't have positive aspects in the long run? ... One must be careful not to adopt a knee-jerk attitude. Having a knee-jerk attitude about anything is a mistake, especially in the case of women, where it leads to this very limited and condescending statement that they are fragile, fragile things that can be easily destroyed. Everyone gets hurt and hurt and broken sometimes. Why are women so special? Not that anyone should be raped or abused, no one says that, but that's how it is. And then? I'm just saying that there are certain instances where it can expand you or make you more of a full human being, like Viktor Frankl. Think of the Holocaust. Was the Holocaust a Good Thing? No way. Does anyone think it's good that it happened? No of course not. But have you read Viktor Frankl? The man's search for meaning by Viktor Frankl? It's a great, great book, but it's from his experience. It's about his experience on the human dark side. Now think about it, if it weren't for the Holocaust, there wouldn't be a human search for meaning... Think about it. For example, think of being humiliated and taken just an inch away from your life. No one is going to say the sick bastards who did it shouldn't be put in jail, but let's put two things into perspective here. For one thing, she knows something about herself afterwards that she never knew before. What she does know is that the absolute most terrifying thing she could have ever imagined happened and she survived. She's still here, and now she knows something. I mean, she really, really knows. Look, terrible things are happening... Existence in life breaks people in all kinds of horrible ways all the time, trust me I know. I was there. And that's the big difference, you and me here, because this isn't about politics or feminism or whatever, for you these are just ideas, you've never been there. I'm not saying nothing bad ever happened to you, you don't look bad, I'm sure there has been some kind of humiliation or whatever in your life, but I'm talking about Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning type Violence and terror and suffering here. The true dark side. I can tell just by looking at you, you never. You wouldn't even wear what you wear, trust me. What if I tell you my own sister was raped? What if I told you a little story about a sixteen year old girl who went to the wrong party with the wrong guy and four of his buddies and ended up doing to her pretty much everything four guys do to you in terms of violations can? ? But if you could ask her if she could get into her head and forget it or erase the tape in her memory, what do you think she would say? Are you so sure what she would say? What if she said that even after what happened was so negative, at least now she understood that it was possible. people can. Can see you as a thing. That people can see you as something, you know what that means? Because if you can really see someone as something, you can do anything to them. How about being able to be like this? You see, you think you can imagine it, but you can't. But she can. And now she knows something. I mean, she really, really knows. That's what you wanted to hear, you wanted to hear about four drunk guys who kneed you in the balls and made you bend over that you didn't even know you'd never seen before, you never knew anything about that don't even know your name they don't even know your name to find out you have to choose a friggin' name you have no friggin' idea and what if i said that happened to me ? Would that make a difference?

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You won't remember much from school. School is designed to teach you how to respond in an emergency and how to listen to authority figures. Like a bomb in a mall or a fire in an office. Apparently it can take more than a decade for you to learn this. These are not the best days of your life. They're ahead of you. You will fall in love and get your heart broken in many different, new and interesting ways at college or university (if you go) and you will actually learn things because at that point people think you have a good chance, authorities to obey and survive in an emergency. If your chosen career path has awards shows that give out more than ten awards in one night, or you have to pay someone to actually take the award home to dress up your mantel, then those awards are most likely designed to win youngsters People in their 20s work very late, for free, for other people. These people will do their best to convince you that they have value. They don't. Only the things you do have real, enduring value, not the things you get for the things you do. Eventually you'll find that no trophy loves you like you love her, can't pay your bills (even if it increases your salary slightly), and won't hold your hand when you say your last words on your deathbed. Only people who love you can do that. If you make art to feel better, make sure you end up feeling better. If not, stop doing it. You will love someone else over time. If you always expect to feel the same kind of love that you felt when you first met someone, you will always look for new people to love. love doesn't go away It just changes as it grows. Otherwise it would be boring. There is no really "right" way to write, paint, be or think, just things that happened before. People who tell you otherwise are assholes petrified of changes that should be violently ignored. No philosophy, mantra or piece of advice applies to every conceivable situation. “The early bird catches the worm” does not apply to minefields. Perfection only exists in poetry and movies, everyone argues from time to time and no sane person is ever quite sure. There's nothing wrong with that. Wisdom does not come from age, wisdom comes from action. Be very, very careful with people who call themselves sages, artists, poets or gurus. If you eat well, exercise a lot and drink enough water, you have a good chance of living a long and happy life. The only time you can be truly happy is now. There is no other moment more important than this. Don't sacrifice this moment for a better one. It's easy to remember all these things when they're being said, it's much harder to remember them when you're stuck in traffic or lying in bed worrying about tomorrow. If you want to move people, just tell them the truth. Today it is rarer than ever. (People write things like that on posters (some of the words get bigger than others) or they talk quietly about music as art (effect pause). The reason for this is because, as a society, we need to treat ourselves against apathy and the slow, gradual death, which can happen to anyone when they confuse life with actual life.)

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It doesn't matter what the apparent problem in our childhood family was. In a home where a child is emotionally disadvantaged for one reason or another, that child will carry some personal emotional confusion into adult life. We can spin our spiritual wheels as we try to make up for personal childhood losses by looking in the wrong places for compensation and despairing of finding it. But the importance of being born again spiritually through Jesus Christ is that under His upbringing we can mature spiritually and receive healing compensation for those childhood deprivations. Three emotions that often become completely disproportionate in an emotionally disadvantaged child are fear, guilt, and anger. The fear arises from the child's awareness of the uncontrollable nature of their fearful environment, of overwhelming negative forces around them. Her guilt, her deep feelings of inadequacy, are compounded when she is unable to correct what is wrong, whether in the environment or in another person, no matter how hard she tries to be good. If only she could try harder or get better, she could correct what's wrong, she thinks. She can carry this guilt all her life without knowing where it comes from, but she just always feels guilty. Often she is too sorry for what she did, which actually wasn't that serious. Their anger comes from their frustration, perceived deprivation, and resulting self-pity. She has developed an anger habit and doesn't know how much trouble it causes her. A fourth problem often follows the big three: the need to control others and manipulate events to feel safe in her own world, to hold her world together - to make what she wants to happen happen. She thinks she has to fix everything. She may enter adulthood with an illusion of power and a sense of authority to set other people right, although she has had little success in doing so. She thinks all she has to do is try harder and be more worthy, and then she can change, perfect, and save other people. But she's groping in the dark about what really needs to change. "I thought I was drowning in guilt and wanted to fix all the people I had impacted so negatively. But I learned that I had to focus on getting well and stop trying to heal everyone around me." Many of those around might actually get better as well, as we rarely see how much we are one are an important part of a negative relationship pattern. I have learned that it is a true principle that I must put myself in order before I can really begin to help someone else. I used to think that if I worthy enough, work hard enough, and fear enough (which is not the same as believing. My power and control are illusions. In order to survive emotionally, I must surrender my life to the care of this loving Heavenly Father who was truly in charge .It is my own spiritual shallowness that sickens me, and that only deep repentance, that real change of heart, would finally heal me.My Savior is much nearer than i I imagine it and ready to take the direction of my life: "I am the vine, you are the branches: whoever abides in me, and I in him, bears much fruit: for without me you can do nothing." (John 15:5). When old foundations crumble, we feel terribly vulnerable. Humility, prayer and flexibility are the keys to moving through this corridor of healthy change as we experiment with truer ways of dealing with life. Divine knowledge, lovingly imparted, begins deep healing, gives tools for life and new ways to understand the gospel.

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