6 Inches Quotes

The girl gave him a look which ought to have stuck at least four inches out of his back.

I was head over heels in love with her. No, that didn’t describe it. I was tear my fucking heart out and throw it at her, beg her to take it into hers. I was falling from the greatest heights with no safety net below. I was giving everything of my own life for hers, giving up every inch of my soul so she could wear it proudly. I was a former king on my knees in front of the queen. A jester begging for a chance. I was powerless, helpless and at her mercy.

At first glance you looked at Kate and thought “fighter,” maybe merc. Five inches taller than me, she was all muscle—well, and some boobs—but mostly muscle. She moved like a predator and when she got pissed off, she exhaled aggression, like hot breath on a winter evening. Still, men looked, until they saw her eyes. Kate’s eyes were crazy. It was that hidden-deep crazy that told you that you had no idea what the hell she would do next but whatever it was, the bad guys wouldn’t like it.

Stop," Kincaid said in a calm voice. "Unclench." "Unclench what?" Murphy demanded. "Unclench your ass." "Excuse me?" "You're going to trip the beam. You need another quarter inch. Relax." "I am relaxed," Murphy growled. "Oh," Kincaid said. "Damn, great ass then.

He grinned, and right then it occurred to him that he hadn't enjoyed himself so much with a woman in a very long time. If Annabelle Granger were a few inches taller, a hell of a lot more sophisticated, better organized, less bossy, and more inclined to worship at his feet, she'd have made a perfect wife.

Another ten points from Gryffindor,” said Snape. “I would expect nothing more sophisticated from you, Ronald Weasley, the boy so solid he cannot Apparate half an inch across a room.

I love you. I love you. I love you. Always have, probably always will. Happy?” she said. He stopped when he was standing mere inches away. Reaching out, he captured her face in his hands and smoothed his thumbs across her cheekbones to clear her tears. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that,” he said.

His hand sliced through the air in a silencing motion, and he stalked to the window. "Have you seen any rats?" Her mind spun at the sudden shift of subject. "Rats?" "Rodents that resemble large mice." "I know what rats are," she gritted out. "Why?" "They're spies." He peered through the curtain into the darkness. Thick fog diffused the yellow lamplight, creating an eerie glow on the street below. "Have you seen any?" Rodent spies? The man might be hot as hell, but he was a loon. As inconspicuously as possible, Cara inched toward the door. "I didn't see any furry little James Bonds.

Merda! Her lace panties had snagged on his ring, the signet ring he'd inherited from his father, Giacomo Casanova. His father had seduced hundred of women without any problems whatsoever, and he was having trouble with just one. This was the real reason he never used the Casanova name. He could never live up to his father's reputation. The old man was probably laughing in his grave. Nine circles of hell," Jack muttered. Hell?" Lara asked. "I thought I was the Holy Land." You're paradise. Unfortunately, I am stuck there." Her eyes widened. "Stuck?" Normally, I would love being stuck to your lovely bum, but it would look odd if we go sightseeing with my hand under your skirt. Especially in the basilica." She glanced down. "How can you be stuck?" My ring. It's caught in the lace. See?" He moved his hand down her hip, dragging her undies down a few inches. Okay, stop." She bit her lip, frowning, then suddenly giggled. "I can't believe this has happened." I assure you, as much as I had hoped to get your clothes off, this was not part of my original plan." She snorted. "No problem. Just rip yourself loose." Are you sure?" It will destroy you undies." She narrowed her eyes with a seductuve look. "Rip it." Very well." He jerked his hand away, but the panties came with him. He yanked his hand back and forth, but the lacy, latex material simply stretched with him. "Santo cielo, they are indestructible." Lara laughed. He continued to wage battle, but to no avail. "They could use this material to build spaceships.

Kid, when will you learn.” “You’d be amazed the things I know.” “You might be able thrash your way out of a spider-web, but thrashing in quicksand doesn’t work. The harder you fight, the more ground you lose. Struggling merely expedites your inevitable defeat.” “Never been defeated. Never will be.” “Rowena was a spider web.” He touches my cheek with the hand holding the knife. The silver glints an inch from my eye. “Do you know what I am.” “A great big pain in my ass.” “Quicksand. And you’re dancing on it.” “Dude, what’s with the knife?” “I’m not interested in ink anymore. You’re going to sign my contract in blood.” “Thought you said it was an application,” I say pissily. “It is, Dani. To a very exclusive club. What’s Mine.” “Ain’t nobody’s. “ “Sign.” “You can’t—“ “Or Jo dies. Slowly and painfully.” “Dude, why you still talking? Unchain me and give me the fecking contract already.

I gave him my Order smile: sweet grin, hard eyes, reached over to my passenger seat, and pulled out my submachine gun. About twenty-seven inches long, the HK was my favorite toy for close-quarters combat. The rider’s eyes went wide. “This is an HK UMP submachine gun. Renowned for its stopping power and reliability. Cyclic rate of fire: eight hundred rounds per minute. That means I can empty this thirty-round clip into you in less than three seconds. At this range, I’ll cut you in half.” It wasn’t strictly true but it sounded good. “You see what it says on the barrel?” On the barrel, pretty white letters spelled out PARTY STARTER.

All the sudden Ryodan’s standing one inch away from me, hand under my chin, holding my face up to his. “You’ll never be just anything. A tsunami can never be ‘just’ a wave.” “Get off my chin.” “I like that about you. Waves are banal. Tsunamis reshape the Earth. Under the right circumstances, even entire civilizations.” I blink. “You’re going to be one hell of a woman one day, Dani.

You think this is some sort of comedy going on here?” Collins gave him his tough stare. A little red spark flared in Barabas’s eyes. “Excuse me.” He struck with preternatural quickness and yanked a five-foot snake from the counter, an inch away from Tsoi’s elbow. Tsoi jumped, clearing half the room in a single bound. The snake body flailed in my lawyer’s fist. Barabas jerked the snake to his mouth and bit its neck. “Jesus Christ!” Collins took a step back. Tsoi clamped her hand over her mouth. Barabas spat the head onto the counter. “Pit viper—my favorite. Where were we? Ah, yes. You were trying to intimidate me. I apologize for the interruption. Please, resume your staring.

There he is, tall, tanned, Italian, sophisticated. So what do you do?" I said, "Er, leap on him and snog him within an inch of his life? Taking care not to strangle myself on his false beard, or disturb his banana.

Fang looked at the newest bird kid. Dylan was an inch or two taller than he was, and somewhat heavier built, though he still had the long, lean look of a human-avian hybrid-you couldn't make bricks fly.

In Texas, rocks are considered an adequate weaponry during schoolyard scuffles. Dallas children carry a brace of loaded pistols, a concealed Derringer, and a 6 inch Toadsticker in one boot. That's the girls of course. Boys bring howitzers to class.

The two angels were both tall, but Aodhan was perhaps an inch taller, and now his eyes locked with Illium's for a long, quiet moment before he lowered his head slightly. Illium raised his hand, the movement slow, hesitant....and then his fingers brushed Aodhan's cheek just below the cut that had almost sealed. The first ray of dawn kissed the tear that rolled down Illium's face, caressed the painful wonder on Aodhan's as he lifted his hand to clasp the wrist of his friend's hand. That instant of contact, the power of it, stole her breath. Then Illium smiled, said something that made Aodhan's lips curve-Elena thought it might've been "Welcome back, Sparkle"-and they were separating to sweep off the Tower in a symphony of wild silver blue and heartbreaking light. "Raphael," she whispered, having felt him come up behind her. "Did you see?" "Yes." His hand on her nape, his thumb brushing over her pulse. "Of course it would be Illium who reached him," he murmured.

If I could change it all for you, if it were in my power to spare you, I would do so. If I could trade places with you, I would. But I can only be here with you, and I will tell you this: you are not broken, and every inch of you is dear to me and whole.

Can I see it?" He blinked, still scowling, "See what?" "Your scar." His expression darkened like a sudden eclipse and I let my gaze grow cold. "You want to hear me scream? Give it your best shot. But until then, every time you take off your shirt, you may as well be handing out my business card. I shoved my blade deep inside you and loved every single inch of it. When I can't sleep at night, the memory of you screaming like a little bitch is my lullaby. And everybody knows exactly what that scar means- that you got your ass handed to you by a little girl. Again.

The song ended, but I kept my arms wrapped tight around her, not letting her move an inch. If she was having some internal battle again, she could do so in my arms. “Watcha doing, wifey?” I joked, secretly enjoying the sound of that.

Victoria turned and got her first look at the shower-fresh version of Ford Dixon. Gorgeous as ever; six-foot plus inches of incredibly blue eyes; wet, mussed hair; low-slung jeans; and a T-shirt stretched across his broad, solid chest. And bare feet. She heard the tiny cry of a hundred unfertilized eggs as one of her ovaries exploded.

Cold rage had him leaning closer, the pistol now a mere inch from his throat. "I served with them for a decade in Special Forces. You can't _begin_ to know what that means. Now they're dead and I want answers." "Try Ask.com

No visible scars. Hair dark brown, some gray. Eyes brown. Height six feet, one half inch. Weight about one ninety. Name Philip Marlowe. Occupation private detective.

My happiness is measured in Inches, 2, 4, 6, 8, .... I LOVE SHOES TOO MUCH....

If you stick a knife in my back 9 inches and pull it out 6 inches, that's not progress. If you pull it all the way out, that's not progress. Progress is healing the wound that the blow made. They haven't pulled the knife out; they won't even admit that it's there.

I’ve known since I crowned you in my car. Just don’t ever forget you were my queen first.” He yanked me forward and his mouth met mine, his kiss urgent and furious and I couldn’t help but give in to it for two whole seconds. I felt urged toward him as if by the stars themselves and I remembered what it was like to have him as my will was broken down inch by inch.

It's amazing what sometimes gets accomplished via an initially jarring but ultimately harmless shift in thinking. Is cutting the organs out of a dead man and stitching them into someone else barbaric and disrespectful, or is it a straightforward operation to save multiple lives? Does crapping into a Baggie while sitting 6 inches away from your crewmate represent a collapse of human dignity or a unique and comic form of intimacy?

There was not an inch of her body he didn’t know intimately. Once upon a time ago.

She was tipping her head back to inquire, when two men entered the great hall and the question flew right out of her head. They were simply two of the most gorgeous men she'd ever seen. Twins, though different. They were both tall and powerfully built. One was taller by a few inches, with dark hair that swept just past his shoulders and eyes like shard of silver and ice while the other had long black hair falling in a single braid to his waist, and eyes as gold as Adam's torque. They were elegantly dressed in tailored clothing of dark hues, with magnificent bodies that dripped with raw sex appeal. Oh, my, she marveled, they don't amek men like these in the States. Were these typical Scotsmen? If so, she was going to have to get Elizabeth over here somehow. A connoisseur of romance novels, Elizabeth's favorites were the Scottish ones, and these two men looked as if they'd just stepped straight off one of those covers. "Try not to gape, ka-lyrra. They're only human. Mortal. Puny. And married. Both of them. Happily.

He was 45 years old, with a very fine physiognomy, rather pretty eyes, but a revolting mouth and revolting teeth, a pale, hairless body, a small but shapely arse, and a prick 5 inches around by 6 inches long.

He was tall—6’ 3” or so—with haunting green eyes that seemed to smolder despite his lazy smile. His eyes were a great contrast to his thick, shiny, dark hair. And not that I’d ever seen it personally but judging from the way his t-shirt clung to his torso, he had a body that completed the entire handsome package. He was every inch a rock star. He was charming, playful and confident. He was practically irresistible. His only flaw was that he knew it.

It was always in his weakest moments the dreams came for him. Unguarded. His defenses breached. His body switched off and his memories took over. She slipped into his head and smiled like she owned every inch of his mind. It wasn’t as though his wife didn’t live there already. She held the real estate of his subconscious. Sneaking in through the cracks and deep holes left behind from her love. In sleep, there was nowhere for Reaper to hide—he could only face his lost love and bask in just how perfect she was.

Even if his heart was bleeding profusely from being stabbed by spears of lips and swords of tongues, he would stubbornly refuse to move an inch.

In cricket- be fit, be alert and be Sachin.

Century was an occasional thing in cricket, Sachin made it frequent.

Accepting what people are, what they can't change and loving them with every part of yourself anyway. That's what love is about." He glared at Elaine. "You take that away from him, you make him believe that kind of love doesn't exist…It would be better for you to shoot him rather than destroy him inch by inch, year after year. If you do that, you're not saving his soul, you're killing it. If you'd look into his eyes for once, you'll see it. How we love is our soul.

Superorganism. A biologist coined that word for our great African ant colonies, claiming that consciousness and intelligence resided not in the individual ant but in the collective ant mind. The trail of red taillights stretching to the horizon as day broke around us made me think of that term. Order and purpose must reside somewhere other than within each vehicle. That morning I heard the hum, the respiration of the superorganism. It's a sound the new immigrant hears but not for long. By the time I learned to say "6-inch Number 7 on rye with Swiss hold the lettuce," the sound, too, was gone. It became part of the what the mind would label silence. You were subsumed into the superorganism.

Joy was worn like a new suit of clothes on people. You could see it on every inch of them, from their step to their stare. But sadness and loss were hidden, kept quiet under composure and the shelter of daily activity.

I straddled his lap and sank onto him so slowly I almost lost it. Each inch of him filled my already sensitive body. Nose to nose with him, I whispered. "You come with me.' His mouth curved into a wicked smile. "Happily.

Hey, dickhead!" one of the other drivers yelled. "Get off the road!" "This here is a Falcon Seven," the rider told him. "I can put a bolt through your windshield and pin you to your seat like a bug." A direct threat, huh? Okay. I pulled down my sunglasses a bit so the rider would see my eyes. "That's a nice crossbow." He glanced in my direction. He saw a friendly blond girl with a big smile and a light Texas accent and didn't get alarmed. "You've got what, a seventy-five-pound draw on it? Takes you about four seconds to reload?" "Three," he said. I gave him my Order smile: sweet grin, hard eyes, reached over to my passenger seat, and pulled out my submachine gun. About twenty-seven inches long, the HK was my favorite toy for close-quarters combat. The rider's eyes went wide. "This is an HK UMP submachine gun. Renowned for its stopping power and reliability. Cyclic rate of fire: eight hundred rounds per minute. That means I can empty this thirty-round clip into you in less than three seconds. At this range, I'll cut you in half." It wasn't strictly true but it sounded good. "You see what it says on the barrel?" On the barrel, pretty white letters spelled out PARTY STARTER. "You open your mouth again, and I'll get the party started." The rider clamped his jaws shut.

Sachin has infinite capacity for taking pains and still making runs.

The time I like best is 6am when the snow is 6 inches deep which I'm yet to discover 'cause I'm under the covers fast, fast asleep

The Key lime pie is very simple to make. First you line a 9-inch pie plate with a graham cracker crust. Then beat 6 egg yolks. Add I cup lime juice (even bottled lime juice will do), two 14-ounce cans sweetened condensed milk, and I tablespoon grated lime rind. Pour into the pie shell and freeze. Remove from freezer and spread with whipped cream. Let sit five minutes before serving.

The endless constellations of cinnamon freckles scattered on every inch of available pale skin, and the shade of green in his eyes I sometimes fancied was emerald and other times darker, textured like wet moss.

She couldn’t very well get up and leave him without causing a scene, but she dearly wanted to. “Well, then, in the interests of fairness, perhaps you ought to know, Your Grace, that I have no intention of yielding the field to you.” Beside her he inclined his head a fraction of an inch. “Then en garde, Miss Greaves.

pay close attention to the timing of your meals, making sure that you eat them about every three to four hours. Your snacks—if you chose to have them—will come between the meals, but no sooner than an hour after eating a meal.

I settled for soothing as many of his hurts as I could with my love. Perhaps if I kissed every square inch of him, if I whispered enough words of love into his skin as I held him as close as humanly possible, it would be a start.

The Blissworm inched up a tree, hung upside down from a branch, and blew Charlotte a kiss good-bye, and then its soft body slowly hardened into a cocoon—which was very surprising, since Conner had never mentioned anything about it having a metamorphosis. The space worm even placed a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the corner of its chrysalis. Although

A 6-inch cannon. I've only ever seen those on a Saypuri dreadnought... And it looks like they have, or expect to have, 36 of the damn things." "And they plan to do what with them? Bombard the hills? Fight a war with the squirrels?

Holding her gaze, he sheathed his short sword and pulled the gauntlet off his left hand with his teeth. He held out his bare hand to her. She glanced at the proffered hand before laying her palm in his. Hot strength gripped her tightly as he pulled her upright before him, so close she would’ve had to move only inches to brush her lips across his throat. She watched the pulse of his blood beat there, strong and sure, before she lifted her gaze. His head was cocked almost as if he were examining her—searching for something in her face. She drew in a breath, parting her lips to ask a question.

There's only about about 6 to 8 inches between an open book and a human being's heart. A lot can happen in those 7 inches. Perspectives, fresh perspectives occur and minds expand, and I love fiction and I feel like it's a possibility for transformation.

I’ll ruin you,” I promised baldly, excitement in my balls, in my chest, a percussion beat like ceremonial drums. “So ruin me,” she agreed. “Pull my hair, bite my neck, leave me bruised and ruined by your love until every inch of my body is singing of you.

Henry III ordained a Statute of Jewry that enforced a number of disciplinary measures, including the compulsory badge of identification. This was a token or tabula of yellow felt, 3 inches by 6 inches (7.5 by 15 centimetres), to be worn on an outer garment; it was to be carried by every Jew over the age of seven years.

The following “Rules for Female Teachers” were posted by the school board of one town in Massachusetts: Do not get married. Do not leave town at any time without permission of the school board. Do not keep company with men. Be home between the hours of 8 P.M. and 6 A.M. Do not loiter downtown in ice cream stores. Do not smoke. Do not get into a carriage with any man except your father or brother. Do not dress in bright colors. Do not dye your hair. Do not wear any dress more than two inches above the ankle.

Your curves are not just desired on this planet, they are preferred in a female. And everything from your hair to your waist to your tiny feet makes me want to get on my knees and kiss every inch of your body. Not just that,” he said, staring at her mouth. “I can tell you have a fiery spirit, and I like that. Don’t tell me the beauty I see isn’t there.

Sachin plays not only to be remembered but also to be repeated.

Sachin is a genius in the world of cricket leaving behind all those who are only talented and intelligent.

Don’t mess this up. “So, uh, I would hate if you reached into my pocket.” There was a suspended beat of silence. Then a dry, “I don’t think so.” “I don’t have a present for you.” Interest lit her dark eyes, but she remained still. Even suspicious. “The present wouldn’t happen to be a hard cock, would it? Because if it is, I would have to return it. Minus a few inches.” His

People who work in slaughterhouses know that there is a spot on an animal’s forehead to be found by drawing an imaginary line from the right ear to the left eye and another from the left ear to the right eye. They aim the killing blow an inch or two above the junction of this X. My uncle taught me that. He didn’t work in a slaughterhouse, though. He just knew how to kill things.

The Poets Job There are only a handful of significant truths. It's the poets job to stick them in a slinky new dress, accessorize them with a knock-off handbag, 6 inch heels, whimsical costume jewelry, and set the bitch loose on the streets to pickup a reader. If it was a good poem, she'll scream like a freight train for him. If the poem sucked, he'll walk away with a genital wart and probably kick his dog.

One cold night in December 1941 I won a dance contest jitterbugging to “Tuxedo Junction” at the Denver Dance Hall. The next thing I knew I was on a troop train at four in the morning heading for the West Coast to defend California. The Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. I just turned twenty-one and I was 6′2″. Four years later when the war ended I got my discharge one day before I turned twenty-five; I was 6′ 4″. I had grown two inches.

I’m no Prince Charming.” He clamped his jaw as if trying not to say something, but he did anyway, his face dropping an inch closer to mine. “But if your Prince Charming ever did come, Clara, I’d have to fucking kill him.

Would it make a difference if I were bothered? I have some other skills not usually seen in ladies: swimming, as I told you, and how to shoot a gun. I can bargain down a butcher to within an inch of his life. I know how to make soap and how to put a bill collector off. I can do mending but not embroidery, can drive a cart but not ride a horse, know how to grow cabbages and carrots and even make them into a nice soup, but I haven’t the least idea how to trellis roses.

I love you. Been wantin’ to say it to you again. But this is better.” “What?” “Showin’ you that I love you. Every inch of you. Because I know every inch of this beautiful body. I know where to touch you to make you sigh. To make you moan. To make you cry out. This body knows me. It knows my intent every time I’m naked with you. But today I want your heart to know my intent. Because, baby, I want to prove to you that if you give it over to me as easily as you do your body, I’ll cherish it.

He shrugged those broad shoulders, drawing her gaze to them. She couldn't help but undress him with her eyes, remembering every hot inch of his naked body. Unfortunately he knew what she was doing. "All you have to do is ask and I'll take my clothes off.

Only about 6,000 stars are visible to the naked eye from Earth, and only about 2,000 can be seen from any one spot. With binoculars the number of stars you can see from a single location rises to about 50,000, and with a small two-inch telescope it leaps to 300,000.

Bea's face was there, summoned unwittingly to the forefront of my mind. The curve of her heart-shaped face so small palmed by my thick, evil-doing hands. The sweet form of her pink mouth smiling that smile with the curled edges, barely parted lips, like an inhale of hope was travelling through them. Like she couldn't bear the thought of me not touching her, nor could she resist being wholly overwhelmed by the feel of me on any inch of her. If there was a God, it was there in the way that angel looked at me like I was salvation itself.

You going somewhere with that finger there, darlin’?” His lip kicked up at the side. “You’re fucking beautiful, beauty queen.” I took hold of his hand and sat up. Tank watched every movement I made. The guy had been locked up for three years. He got out two days ago. He must have been bursting for a fuck. I kissed each finger, then, when his mouth was just an inch from mine, pushed his hand to the crotch of my jeans and said, “I like having my stomach stroked as much as the next girl, darlin’, but I’d rather feel those fingers all up in my pussy.

Evolutionary theory, distilled from the study of bird beaks, beetles, and barnacles, slipped into social theory in a manner that proved useful to the age. It was anthropologist Herbert Spencer who coined the phrase “survival of the fittest.” At a time when the United States was being built by the labour of African slaves, and the British class system was so stratified that children of the wealthy were on average 6 inches taller than those of the poor, a theory that provided a scientific rationale for differences in race and class was a welcome convenience. Evolution

Reaching up to a shelf, she grabbed a sack labeled “C8H10N4O2,” dumped some into a mortar, ground it with a pestle, overturned the resulting dirtlike substance onto a strange little scale, then dumped the scale’s contents into a 6- x 6-inch piece of cheesecloth and tied the small bundle off.

Ma wrote them down with her little red pen that had a mother-of-pearl handle shaped like a feather. When her neat, clear writing filled the paper she turned it and filled it again crosswise. On the other side of the paper she did the same thing so that every inch of paper held all the words that it possibly could.

eggs, buttermilk, and bacon drippings, mixing well; add to cornmeal mixture and beat until smooth. Heat a well-greased 12-inch cast-iron skillet in the preheated oven until very hot. Pour batter into hot skillet; bake for 35 to 45 minutes, or until a knife inserted in center comes out clean and top is golden brown. Yield: 6 to 10 servings.

First you line a 9-inch pie plate with a graham cracker crust. Then beat 6 egg yolks. Add I cup lime juice (even bottled lime juice will do), two 14-ounce cans sweetened condensed milk, and I tablespoon grated lime rind. Pour into the pie shell and freeze. Remove from freezer and spread with whipped cream. Let sit five minutes before serving.

I nod, and Zeth closes the final few inches between us. And he kisses me. Kisses. Me. For as long as I live, for as long as we’re together, I will never be complacent about receiving a kiss from this man. Ever. I waited so long for the first one that now this and every other time he reaches for me and places his lips against mine will be an action to be treasured.

This equation is very accurate for all but the extremely muscular and extremely obese, where it may overestimate caloric needs. Men: BMR = 66 + (13.7 × weight in kilograms) + (5 × height in centimeters) − (6.8 × age in years) Women: BMR = 655 + (9.6 × weight in kilograms) + (1.8 × height in centimeters) − (4.7 × age in years) Conversions: 1 inch = 2.54 centimeters 1 kilogram = 2.2 pounds

Smoky Candied Bacon Sweet Potatoes prep time: 15 minutes     cook time: 40 minutes     servings: 10-12 The flavors of Fall come together in this dish of spiced roasted sweet potatoes with candied pecans and bacon. ingredients 3 pounds sweet potatoes, peels on and scrubbed 6 ounces bacon, sliced into 1-inch pieces 1/2 cup pecans, roughly chopped 1/3 cup pure Grade B maple syrup 1 teaspoon chili powder 1/2 teaspoon sea salt 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon 1/4 teaspoon cayenne powder method Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Cut the sweet potatoes into even cubes then toss them with all of the ingredients in a bowl. Spread in a single layer on a rimmed baking sheet lined with parchment paper and roast for 20 minutes. Stir and continue roasting for 15 minutes. Turn the oven to broil and brown the potatoes for an additional 5 minutes. Watch the nuts closely and pull the tray out early if they begin to burn.

Instructions Before Reading Chapter 1. Find a piece of cloth 10 feet long and 2 inches wide 2. Find a pair of children’s shoes 3. Bend all toes except the big one under and into the sole of the foot. Wrap the cloth around these toes and then around the heel. Bring the heel and toes as close together as possible. Wrap the full length of the cloth as tightly as possible 4. Squeeze foot into children’s shoes 5. Walk 6. Imagine that you are 5 years old 7. Imagine being like this for the rest of your life

SHRIMP LOUIE SPREAD Hannah’s Note: This is best served well chilled with a basket of crackers on the side. 8 ounces softened cream cheese ½ cup mayonnaise ¼ cup chili sauce (I used Heinz) 1 Tablespoon horseradish (I used Silver Springs) 1/8 teaspoon pepper 6 green onions 2 cups finely chopped cooked salad shrimp*** (measure AFTER chopping) Salt to taste Mix the cream cheese with the mayonnaise. Add the chili sauce, horseradish, and pepper. Mix it up into a smooth sauce.   Clean the green onions and cut off the bottoms. Use all of the white part and up to an inch of the green part. Throw the tops away.   Mince the onions as finely as you can and add them to the sauce. Stir them in well.   Chop the salad shrimp into fine bits. You can do this with a sharp knife, or in the food processor using the steel blade and an on-and-off motion.   Mix in the shrimp and check to see how salty the spread is. Add salt if needed.   Chill the spread in a covered bowl in the refrigerator for at least 4 hours. You can make it in the morning if you plan to serve it that night.   Yield: Makes approximately 3 cups.

Prep Time: 15 minutes Cook Time: 20 minutes Serves: 6 Ingredients BISCUITS 2 cups flour 1 tablespoon baking powder 1 teaspoon kosher salt 1/2 cup shortening (butter, lard or vegetable shortening) 3/4 cup milk or buttermilk SAUSAGE GRAVY 1-pound breakfast pork sausage 1/3 cup flour 3 cups milk salt and black pepper, as needed Preparation Preheat oven to 450°F. In a large bowl, combine flour, baking powder and salt; cut in shortening until mixture has a crumbly texture. Add milk and mix into a dough, adding flour as needed until dough pulls away from side of bowl. On a lightly floured surface, roll or pat dough ¾-inch thick. Using a biscuit cutter, cut out biscuits, place on a baking sheet. Bake for 15 minutes, or until lightly browned on top. To make gravy: pan fry breakfast sausage until fully cooked, breaking up large pieces. Using a slotted spoon, transfer cooked sausage to bowl. Add flour to pan dripping and whisk until golden. Slowly add milk and whisk over low heat until thickened. Add reserved sausage and stir to blend. Season to taste with salt and black pepper. Serve split biscuits topped with gravy.

Perhaps a dark prince,” I amended. “My own prince charming who came to my rescue.” He arched a brow, his face turning adamant. Anyone else would be frightened by such a fearsome expression by a grim vibrating with potent power, his fathomless black eyes still reflecting his gaze into the netherworld. But I wasn’t. I wanted to drown in his dark beauty. “I’m no Prince Charming.” He clamped his jaw as if trying not to say something, but he did anyway, his face dropping an inch closer to mine. “But if your Prince Charming ever did come, Clara, I’d have to fucking kill him.

Soba noodles with eggplant and mango This dish has become my mother’s ultimate cook-to-impress fare. And she is not the only one, as I have been informed by many readers. It is the refreshing nature of the cold buckwheat noodles the sweet sharpness of the dressing and the muskiness of mango that make it so pleasing. Serve this as a substantial starter or turn it into a light main course by adding some fried firm tofu. Serves 6 1/2 cup rice vinegar 3 tbsp sugar 1/2 tsp salt 2 garlic cloves, crushed 1/2 fresh red chile, finely chopped 1 tsp toasted sesame oil grated zest and juice of 1 lime 1 cup sunflower oil 2 eggplants, cut into 3/4-inch dice 8 to 9 oz soba noodles 1 large ripe mango, cut into 3/8-inch dice or into 1/4-inch-thick strips 12/3 cup basil leaves, chopped (if you can get some use Thai basil, but much less of it) 21/2 cups cilantro leaves, chopped 1/2 red onion, very thinly sliced In a small saucepan gently warm the vinegar, sugar and salt for up to 1 minute, just until the sugar dissolves. Remove from the heat and add the garlic, chile and sesame oil. Allow to cool, then add the lime zest and juice. Heat up the sunflower oil in a large pan and shallow-fry the eggplant in three or four batches. Once golden brown remove to a colander, sprinkle liberally with salt and leave there to drain. Cook the noodles in plenty of boiling salted water, stirring occasionally. They should take 5 to 8 minutes to become tender but still al dente. Drain and rinse well under running cold water. Shake off as much of the excess water as possible, then leave to dry on a dish towel. In a mixing bowl toss the noodles with the dressing, mango, eggplant, half of the herbs and the onion. You can now leave this aside for 1 to 2 hours. When ready to serve add the rest of the herbs and mix well, then pile on a plate or in a bowl.

All right, you. Stand straight. Pull your belly in. Pull your chin in. Keep your shoulders back. Hold your head level. Look straight front. Turn left. Turn right. Face front again and hold your hands out. Palms up. Palms down. Pull your sleeves back. No visible scars. Hair dark brown, some gray. Eyes brown. Height six feet, one half inch. Weight about one ninety. Name Philip Marlowe. Occupation private detective. Well, well, nice to see you, Marlowe. That’s all. Next man.” Much obliged, Captain. Thanks for the time. You forgot to have me open my mouth. I have some nice inlays and one very high-class porcelain jacket crown. Eighty-seven dollars worth of porcelain jacket crown. You forgot to look inside my nose too, Captain. A lot of scar tissue in there for you. Septum operation and was that guy a butcher! Two hours of it in those days. I hear they do it in twenty minutes now. I got it playing football, Captain, a slight miscalculation in an attempt to block a punt. I blocked the guy’s foot instead—after he kicked the ball. Fifteen yards penalty, and that’s about how much stiff bloody tape they pulled out of my nose an inch at a time the day after the operation. I’m not bragging, Captain. I’m just telling you. It’s the little things that count.

Haven’t even fucked her yet and she’s shuddering under my touch. It’s in this moment that I know I’m done waiting. Done waiting for her to fully come to me. I’m over being patient. Gabriella is going to be mine in every way I can have her. “You can walk away from this right now. Today. I will allow it. You’re tired and I prefer you get some decent rest if you won’t get it here.” “Allow?” My hand circles around the front of her throat, unable to not touch her in any way that I can. I feel like a beggar needing water who’s just been handed a jug. All I want to do is roam over her skin and memorize how every silky inch feels. I know my touch is possessive and out of fucking order, seeing as only hours ago she was still treating me as her boss only. But she made that switch when she turned up, didn’t she? She can’t take that back now. “Yes, allow. I gave you time to come to me. Here you are, Gabriella. Now you can put us in my hands.” She blinks and I feel the pulse in her delicate throat start to jump. What she doesn’t do is move out from under my hands. I feel as though she’s gifted me a prize. So close to her, her scent is arresting, she smells fucking good, lickable. She sucks her lower lip between her teeth and I want to bite it hard. “What… what does that even mean?” “It means you can no longer deny what we are, cara. It’s time for me to make the decisions in how we proceed from here. No more waiting.” “What are we?” “An explosion.

My sleep cycle is a bit more elaborate. The seven stages of sleep (according to my body) STAGE 1: You take the maximum dose of sleeping pills, but they don’t work at all and then you glare at their smug bottles at three a.m., whispering, “You lying bastards.” STAGE 2: You fall asleep for eight minutes and you have that dream where you’ve missed a semester of classes and don’t know where you’re supposed to be and when you wake up you realize that even in sleep you’re fucking your life up. STAGE 3: You close your eyes for just a minute but never lose consciousness and then you open your eyes and realize it’s been hours since you closed your eyes and you feel like you’ve lost time and were probably abducted by aliens. STAGE 4: This is the sleep that you miss because you’re too busy looking up “Symptoms of Alien Abduction” on your phone. STAGE 5: This is the deep REM sleep that recharges you completely and doesn’t actually exist but is made up by other people to taunt you. STAGE 6: You hover in a state of half sleep when you’re trying to stay under but someone is touching your nose and you think it’s a dream but now someone is touching your mouth and you open your eyes and your cat’s face is an inch from yours and he’s like, “BOOP. I got your nose.” STAGE 7: You finally fall into the deep sleep you desperately need. Sadly, this sleep only comes after you’re supposed to be awake, and you feel guilty about getting it because you should have been up hours ago but you’ve been up all night and now your arms are missing.

During the period in question, the changes in the empty space in the womb can only be identified by an anatomical or gynecological examination. Yet these changes, only recently identified by scientists, are miraculously indicated in Surat ar-Ra‘d: Allah knows what every female bears and every shrinking of the womb and every swelling. Everything has its measure with Him. (Qur'an, 13:8) At the beginning of the menstrual period, the mucous on the walls of the womb (the endometrium layer) is 0.5 mm (0.02 inch) thick. Under the effect of hormones secreted by the egg, this layer grows and reaches a thickness of 5-6 mm (0.2 inch). This layer is then discarded in the absence of fertilisation. As we see from the above verse, this monthly increase and reduction in the walls of the womb is indicated in the Qur'an.

Lambspun’s Whodunnit Shell   Very Easy Knit with Bulky Yarn GAUGE: 2 sts/in   MATERIALS: US size 15 needles (or size to obtain gauge), 14-inch straight Very bulky yarn with gauge of 2 sts per inch   INSTRUCTIONS:     BACK: With yarn required for gauge, CO 40, 44, 46, 50, 52 sts. Work in garter stitch, (knit every row) or if you like an edge that rolls, work in stockinette (knit one row, purl one row) throughout garment. Continue in garter or stockinette until piece measures 8, 8.5, 9, 9, 9 inches or desired length to armhole. At armhole edges BO 3 sts once, 2 sts once, 1 st once. Work on remaining 28, 32, 34, 38, 40 sts until piece measures 14.5, 15, 15.5, 16, 16.5 inches.   NECK SHAPING: Work 11, 12, 12, 14, 15 sts. Join second ball of yarn and bind off center 6, 8, 10, 10, 10 sts. Work remaining sts, turn. Working both sides at once, bind off 1 st from the neck edge 3 times. Continue working on reaming sts until piece measures 17, 18, 18.5, 19, 19.5 inches. Place remaining 8, 9, 9, 11, 12 sts on holders.   FRONT: CO 39, 43, 45, 49, 51 sts. Work in garter stitch, (knit every row) or if you like an edge that rolls, work in stockinette (knit one row, purl one row) throughout garment. Continue in garter or stockinette until piece measures 8, 8.5, 9, 9, 9 inches or desired length to armhole. At armhole edges BO 3 sts once, 2 sts once, 1 st once. Work on remaining 28, 32, 34, 38, 40 sts until piece measures 14.5, 15, 15.5, 16, 16.5 inches.   NECK SHAPING: Same as for back.   FINISHING: Join shoulders with three-needle bind off. Single crochet around every edge. Hand seam sides together. Pattern courtesy of Lambspun of Colorado, Fort Collins, Colorado.

I made an appointment with a sleep doctor, who explained that during the sleep study people would be watching me sleep and monitoring my brain waves to see how I reacted during the four stages of sleep. I'd explain those stages if I could spell all the complicated words but they basically range from "Wide awake" to "Just barely not dead." My sleep cycle is a bit more elaborate. The seven stages of sleep (according to my body) STAGE 1: You take the maximum dose of sleeping pills, but they don't work at all and then you glare at their smug bottles at three a.m., whispering, "You lying bastards." STAGE 2: You fall asleep for eight minutes and you have that dream where you've missed a semester of classes and don't know where you're supposed to be and when you wake up you realize that even in your sleep you're fucking your life up. STAGE 3: You close your eyes for just a minute but never lose consciousness and then you open your eyes and realize it's been hours since you closed your eyes and you feel like you've lost time and were probably abducted by aliens. STAGE 4: This is the sleep that you miss because you're too busy looking up "Symptoms of Alien Abduction" on your phone. STAGE 5: This is the deep REM sleep that recharges you completely and doesn't actually exist but is made up by other people to taunt you. STAGE 6: You hover in a state of half sleep when you're trying to stay under but someone is touching your nose and you think it's a dream but now someone is touching your mouth and you open your eyes and your cat's face is an inch from yours and he's like, "BOOP. I got your nose." STAGE 7: You finally fall into the deep sleep you desperately need. Sadly, this sleep only comes after you're suppose to be awake, and you feel guilty about getting it because you should have been up hours ago but you've been up all night and now your arms are missing. I suspected that the only stage of sleep I'd have during the sleep study would be the sleep you don't get because strangers are watching you.

Rookie Cinnamon Sugar Doughnuts* Parental supervision necessary for frying Makes 8 doughnuts and 8 doughnut holes Ingredients Vegetable oil 1 (8-count) tube of premade, large biscuit dough (found in the refrigerated dough aisle at supermarkets) ½ cup sugar ¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon Directions 1. Fill a large saucepan with vegetable oil to a depth of 1 inch. 2. Heat oil over medium heat until it reaches 365°F. You can measure the temperature with a cooking oil thermometer. Or, drop a single kernel of popcorn into the oil as it’s heating. When the kernel pops, you’re ready to fry. 3. While the oil heats, open the biscuit tube and separate the rounds. Use a 1-inch-round cookie cutter to cut a hole in the center of each biscuit. Save the holes. 4. Mix the sugar and cinnamon in a large shallow bowl. 5. Add 2 doughnuts to the hot oil at a time. Cook, turning once, until golden brown—about 1 minute per side. 6. Drain on paper towels and immediately toss in the cinnamon sugar to coat. Cool on a wire rack. Repeat with the remaining doughnuts and holes.

Snake,” Wyatt announced. “A big black one.” “There’s dozens of them,” Royce explained. “Where?” Alric asked. “Mostly behind you on the walls.” “What?” the king said, aghast. “Why didn’t you say something?” “Knowing would only make traveling slower.” “Are they poisonous?” Mauvin asked. They could all see the silhouetted shoulders of Royce’s shadow on the far wall shrug. “I demand you inform me of such things in future!” Alric declared. “Do you want to know about the giant millipedes, then too?” “Are you joking?” “Royce doesn’t make jokes,” Arista told him as she looked around, anxiously hugging herself. Immediately her robe brightened and she spotted two snakes on the walls, but they were a safe distance away. “He must be joking,” Alric muttered quietly. “I don’t see any.” “You aren’t looking up,” the thief said. Arista did not want to. Some instinct, a tiny voice, warned her to fight the impulse, but in the end she just could not help herself. On the low ceiling, illuminated brightly by the robe, slithered a mass of wormlike bugs with an uncountable number of hairlike feet. Each was nearly five inches in length and close to the width of a man’s finger. There were so many that they swarmed over each other until it was hard to tell if the ceiling was rock at all. Arista felt a chill run down her back. She clenched her teeth, forced her eyes to the floor, and focused on walking forward as quickly as possible. She promptly passed Alric and Mauvin, both moving quicker than normal. She reached Royce, who stood outside the corridor on a boulder at the entrance to a larger passage. “I guess I was wrong. Looks like I should have told you earlier,” Royce said, watching them race forward. “Are there…?” she asked, pointing upward without looking. Royce glanced up and shook his head. “Good,” she replied. “And please, if Alric wants to know these things, fine, but don’t tell me. I could have gone the rest of my life not knowing they were there.” She shivered. Everyone scurried out of the corridor except Myron, who lingered, staring up at the ceiling and smiling in fascination. “There are millions.

The modern educational system provides numerous other examples of reality bowing down to written records. When measuring the width of my desk, the yardstick I am using matters little. My desk remains the same width regardless of whether I say it is 200 centimetres or 78.74 inches. However, when bureaucracies measure people, the yardsticks they choose make all the difference. When schools began assessing people according to precise marks, the lives of millions of students and teachers changed dramatically. Marks are a relatively new invention. Hunter-gatherers were never marked for their achievements, and even thousands of years after the Agricultural Revolution, few educational establishments used precise marks. A medieval apprentice cobbler did not receive at the end of the year a piece of paper saying he has got an A on shoelaces but a C minus on buckles. An undergraduate in Shakespeare’s day left Oxford with one of only two possible results – with a degree, or without one. Nobody thought of giving one student a final mark of 74 and another student 88.6

she picked up a jug of distilled water and poured it into a flask, plugging the flask with a stopper outfitted with a tube wriggling from its top. Next, she clipped the flask onto one of two metal stands that stood between two Bunsen burners and struck a strange metal gadget that sparked like flint striking steel. A flame appeared; the water began to heat. Reaching up to a shelf, she grabbed a sack labeled “C8H10N4O2,” dumped some into a mortar, ground it with a pestle, overturned the resulting dirtlike substance onto a strange little scale, then dumped the scale’s contents into a 6- x 6-inch piece of cheesecloth and tied the small bundle off. Stuffing the cheesecloth into a larger beaker, she attached it to the second metal stand, clamping the tube coming out of the first flask into the large beaker’s bottom. As the water in the flask started to bubble, Mrs. Sloane, her jaw practically on the floor, watched as the water forced its way up the tube and into the beaker. Soon the smaller flask was almost empty and Elizabeth shut off the Bunsen burner. She stirred the contents of the beaker with a glass rod. Then the brown liquid did the strangest thing: it rose up like a poltergeist and returned to the original flask. “Cream and sugar?” Elizabeth

Fusing Fire and Water This is a moving exercise in which the hands help raise and lower chee between the Sea of Energy (water) and the heart (fire). Posture: Horse stance, or sitting Technique: Exhale thoroughly and bring your hands together just below the navel, with palms up and fingertips about an inch apart. Begin inhaling slowly through the nose and slowly raise your upturned hands the torso until they reach the nipples. Time it so that inhalation is complete and hands reach the heart about the same time. Apply the Three Locks and retain the breath 3 to 5 seconds, then turn the palms over to face downward and slowly push them back down the torso as you exhale slowly through the nose, timing it so that hands reach bottom as lungs empty. Pause briefly, relax abdomen, then turn the palms back up and begin another cycle. Repeat 6 to 10 breaths. Pointers: Breathe and move hands in unison. Keep shoulders, arms, and neck muscles loose and relaxed, and “sink” the breath down as deeply as possible during retention. Benefits: This exercise moves energy up and down between the “fire” of heart and the “water” of the navel region, thus blending and balancing these two types of energy. It regulates and deepens heartbeat and develops awareness of the Sea of Energy as the body’s chee headquarters.

His gaze lingered on her mouth, wide and sweet. A sudden hunger to kiss her made him draw Maggie close. He pressed his mouth against hers, softly, a gently caress, not a searing kiss, for he didn't want to frighten her away. Her hand on his arm tightened. Caleb ran his tongue smoothly over her lips until she opened to him, making a small sound. He wanted to plunge his tongue into her mouth and deepen the kiss, to pull her against him and slide his hands over her curves, but he knew that brute of a husband had hurt her. This was only supposed to be a light flirtation, so he held back and waited for her to lead. Maggie pulled back a few inches. Her eyes fluttered open, dark and luminous, the gold flecks sparkling in the sun. She swallowed and moistened her lips. She studied his face. Her generous mouth trembled, and then her lips turned up. "Why did you kiss me? "Because I enjoyed your enjoyment in our drive today. I know how seldom pleasures come your way, and I was glad to give you the experience. Because I lack appreciation of my blessings..." 'Because you are mine.' Caleb didn't want to delve deeper inside himself to find his true feelings, so he resorted to some light banter. He touched the tip of her nose with one finger. "This is the month of May. A man is supposed to steal kisses in May.

Castle Scones ¼ cup currants 2 cups all-purpose flour 2 tablespoons sugar 1 tablespoon baking powder ½ teaspoon salt 4 tablespoons well-chilled unsalted butter, cut into 4 pieces 1 large egg ¼ cup whipping cream ¼ cup milk 2 teaspoons sugar (optional) butter, whipped cream, jams, curds, and marmalades Place the currants in a medium-sized bowl and pour boiling water over them just to cover. Allow to stand for 10 minutes. Drain the currants, pat them dry with paper towels, and set aside. Preheat the oven to 400°F. Mix the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in the bowl of a food processor fitted with a steel blade. With the motor running, add the butter and process until the mixture looks like cornmeal. In a separate bowl, beat the egg slightly with the cream and milk. With the motor still running, pour the egg mixture in a thin stream into the flour mixture just until the dough holds together in a ball. Fold in the currants. On a floured surface, lightly pat the dough into 2 circles, each about 7 inches in diameter. Cut each circle into 6 even pieces. Place the scones on a buttered baking sheet 2 inches apart. Sprinkle them with the optional sugar, if desired. Bake about 15 minutes, or until the scones are puffed, golden, and cooked through. Serve with butter, whipped cream, and jams. Makes 12 scones

English Gingerbread Cake Serves: 12 to 16 Baking Time: 50 to 60 minutes Kyle Cathie, editor for the British version of The Cake Bible (and now a publisher), informed me in no uncertain terms that a book could not be called a cake "bible" in England if it did not contain the beloved gingerbread cake. When I went to England to retest all the cakes using British flour and ingredients, I developed this gingerbread recipe. Now that I have tasted it, I quite agree with Kyle. It is a moist spicy cake with an intriguing blend of buttery, lemony, wheaty, and treacly flavors. Cut into squares and decorated with pumpkin faces, it makes a delightful "treat" for Halloween. Batter Volume Ounce Gram unsalted butter (65° to 75°F/19° to 23°C) 8 tablespoons (1 stick) 4 113 golden syrup or light corn syrup 1¼ cups (10 fluid ounces) 15 425 dark brown sugar, preferably Muscovado ¼ cup, firmly packed 2 60 orange marmalade 1 heaping tablespoon 1.5 40 2 large eggs, at room temperature ¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons (3 fluid ounces) 3.5 100 milk 2/3 cup (5.3 fluid ounces) 5.6 160 cake flour (or bleached all-purpose flour) 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (or 1 cup), sifted into the cup and leveled off 4 115 whole wheat flour 1 cup minus 1 tablespoon (lightly spooned into the cup) 4 115 baking powder 1½ teaspoons . . cinnamon 1 teaspoon . . ground ginger 1 teaspoon . . baking soda ½ teaspoon . . salt pinch . . Special Equipment One 8 by 2-inch square cake pan or 9 by 2-inch round pan (see Note), wrapped with a cake strip, bottom coated with shortening, topped with a parchment square (or round), then coated with baking spray with flour Preheat the Oven Twenty minutes or more before baking, set an oven rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat the oven to 325°F/160°C. Mix the Liquid Ingredients In a small heavy saucepan, stir together the butter, golden syrup, sugar, and marmalade over medium-low heat until melted and uniform in color. Set aside uncovered until just barely warm, about 10 minutes. Whisk in the eggs and milk. Make the Batter In a large bowl, whisk together the cake flour, whole wheat flour, baking powder, cinnamon, ginger, baking soda, and salt. Add the butter mixture, stirring with a large silicone spatula or spoon just until smooth and the consistency of thick soup. Using the silicone spatula, scrape the batter into the prepared pan. Bake the Cake Bake for 50 to 60 minutes, or until a wire cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean and the cake springs back when pressed lightly in the center. The cake should start to shrink from the sides of the pan only after removal from the oven. Cool the Cake Let the cake cool in the pan on a wire rack for 10 minutes. While the cake is cooling, make the syrup.

Eastern Shore Breakfast Pudding Eggs, cheddar, ham or sausage, and bread baked together in the rich tradition of English savory puddings. This rib-sticking main course is equally delicious in a vegetarian rendition. 4 thick slices white bread, torn into quarters ¾ pound cooked ham, thinly sliced and chopped (or 1 pound sausage meat, cooked and drained) 1 cup sharp cheddar cheese, grated ½ medium onion, minced 1 sweet red pepper, diced 1 tablespoon olive oil 6 eggs 2 cups milk ¼ teaspoon salt Black and red pepper to taste Pinch of nutmeg Parsley to garnish Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter a deep 8 x 8 inch baking dish. Lay bread in the dish, covering the bottom, and top with the ham or sausage and cheese. In a small pan, sauté the onion and red pepper in oil until fragrant and softened, about 5 minutes, and layer on top of the cheese. Whisk together the eggs and milk, salt, peppers, and nutmeg. Pour the mixture over the bread, meat, vegetables, and cheese. Bake for about one hour, until the pudding is puffed, firm, and golden brown. Tent with foil if necessary to prevent too much browning. Cut into four squares, garnish with parsley, and serve along with Old Bay potatoes (below), steamed asparagus, and broiled tomatoes. You shouldn’t see a hungry guest again until dinnertime. Note: For vegetarians, substitute for the meat a cup each of lightly steamed broccoli cut into small florets and thinly sliced, sautéed zucchini—both well drained. Serves 4.

GERMAN PANCAKES Preheat oven to 375 degrees F., rack in the middle position.   Prepare an 8-inch square pan by spraying it with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray, or coating the inside with butter. Hannah’s 1st Note: You can double this recipe if you like, so that it will serve 8 people. If you double this recipe, it will take approximately 55 minutes to bake. Hannah’s 2nd Note: This dish works best if you use an electric mixer. 6 strips bacon (I used applewood smoked bacon) 4 large eggs 1 cup whole milk (I’ve used heavy cream and that works also) 1 cup flour (Just scoop it up and level it off with a table knife.) 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1 teaspoon salt 4 ounces cream cheese (half of an 8-ounce package) minced parsley to sprinkle on top (optional) Fry the bacon in a frying pan on the stovetop until it’s crispy. Let it cool to room temperature, and then crumble it into the bottom of your baking pan. In an electric mixer, beat the eggs with half of the milk (that’s ½ cup). Continue to beat until the mixture is light and fluffy. Add vanilla extract and salt. Beat until they’re well combined. Mix in the flour and beat for 40 seconds. Add the second half of the milk (another ½ cup) and beat until everything is light and fluffy. Pour half of the mixture over the bacon crumbles in the 8-inch square pan. Cut the cream cheese into 1-inch-square cubes. Place them evenly over the egg mixture in the pan. Pour the second half of the mixture over the cream cheese. Bake at 375 degrees F. for 45 to 55 minutes, or until it’s golden brown and puffy on top. Hannah’s 3rd Note: This breakfast entree is excellent when served with biscuits or crispy buttered toast.

The modern educational system provides numerous other examples of reality bowing down to written records. When measuring the width of my desk, the yardstick I am using matters little. My desk remains the same width regardless of whether I say it is 200 centimetres or 78.74 inches. However, when bureaucracies measure people, the yardsticks they choose make all the difference. When schools began assessing people according to precise marks, the lives of millions of students and teachers changed dramatically. Marks are a relatively new invention. Hunter-gatherers were never marked for their achievements, and even thousands of years after the Agricultural Revolution, few educational establishments used precise marks. A medieval apprentice cobbler did not receive at the end of the year a piece of paper saying he has got an A on shoelaces but a C minus on buckles. An undergraduate in Shakespeare’s day left Oxford with one of only two possible results – with a degree, or without one. Nobody thought of giving one student a final mark of 74 and another student 88.6 Credit 1.24 24. A European map of Africa from the mid-nineteenth century. The Europeans knew very little about the African interior, which did not prevent them from dividing the continent and drawing its borders. Only the mass educational systems of the industrial age began using precise marks on a regular basis. Since both factories and government ministries became accustomed to thinking in the language of numbers, schools followed suit. They started to gauge the worth of each student according to his or her average mark, whereas the worth of each teacher and principal was judged according to the school’s overall average. Once bureaucrats adopted this yardstick, reality was transformed. Originally, schools were supposed to focus on enlightening and educating students, and marks were merely a means of measuring success. But naturally enough, schools soon began focusing on getting high marks. As every child, teacher and inspector knows, the skills required to get high marks in an exam are not the same as a true understanding of literature, biology or mathematics. Every child, teacher and inspector also knows that when forced to choose between the two, most schools will go for the marks.

despite the variety of ingredients and the imagination with which Vermont cooks use them, the state remains strongly associated with several iconic products — think cheddar cheese (really, dairy products in general), apples and cider, and maple syrup. Here’s a brunch menu to commemorate Vermont’s anniversary that includes those tried-and-true flavors — cheddar in the quiche, maple syrup in the salad’s vinaigrette, and apple cider in the muffins, which recall fried cider doughnuts, with a thick cinnamon-sugar coating. Their crumb is a little denser than some other muffins, and their profile a bit more compact. Cheddar, Bacon, and Caramelized Onion Quiche Makes 1 quiche 6 slices bacon, cut into ¼-inch pieces, fried until crisp and the fat has rendered, drained, and 1½ tablespoons fat reserved 3 medium onions (about 1 ¼ pounds), thinly sliced (about 6 cups) Salt and black pepper 1½ tablespoons minced fresh sage ¼ teaspoon balsamic vinegar 3 large eggs 1 cup half-and-half Pinch cayenne pepper 2 cups coarsely grated medium or sharp cheddar 1 9-inch pie shell, blind-baked until lightly browned and warm In a large skillet over medium-high heat, heat the bacon fat until hot. Add onions and 1 teaspoon salt, toss to coat, and cook until they begin to soften and release liquid, about 6 minutes. Reduce heat to medium-low and continue cooking, stirring and scraping the bottom of the skillet every 10 minutes (and adjusting the heat if the onions begin to scorch or are not browning), until the onions are sticky and caramelized, about 1 hour longer (you will have about 1 cup). Add the sage, vinegar, and 1½ tablespoons water, and with a wooden spoon, scrape bottom of pan to dissolve the fond, about 30 seconds; set aside to cool briefly. With the rack in middle position, heat the oven to 375 degrees. In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs, half-and-half, cayenne, 1¾ cups cheese, and ¾ teaspoon each salt and black pepper to combine thoroughly. Spread caramelized onions in an even layer in the warm, pre-baked pie shell. Sprinkle bacon evenly over the onions, place pie shell on the oven rack, and pour in the custard mixture (it should reach to about ½ inch beneath the rim of the pie shell). Sprinkle the remaining ¼ cup cheese over custard mixture and bake until custard is set, light golden brown, center wiggles slightly when you jiggle the quiche, and the tip of a knife inserted about 1½ inches from the edge comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes. Cool on a wire rack and serve barely warm or at room temperature.

BACON, EGG, AND CHEDDAR CHEESE TOAST CUPS Preheat oven to 400 degrees F., rack in the middle position. 6 slices bacon (regular sliced, not thick sliced) 4 Tablespoons (2 ounces, ½ stick) salted butter, softened 6 slices soft white bread ½ cup grated cheddar cheese 6 large eggs Salt and pepper to taste Cook the 6 slices of bacon in a frying pan over medium heat for 6 minutes or until the bacon is firmed up and the edges are slightly brown, but the strips are still pliable. They won’t be completely cooked, but that’s okay. They will finish cooking in the oven. Place the partially-cooked bacon on a plate lined with paper towels to drain it. Generously coat the inside of 6 muffin cups with half of the softened butter. Butter one side of the bread with the rest of the butter but stop slightly short of the crusts. Lay the bread out on a sheet of wax paper or a bread board butter side up. Hannah’s 1st Note: You will be wasting a bit of butter here, but it’s easier than cutting rounds of bread first and trying to butter them after they’re cut. Using a round cookie cutter that’s three and a half inches (3 and ½ inches) in diameter, cut circles out of each slice of bread.   Hannah’s 2nd Note: If you don’t have a 3.5 inch cookie cutter, you can use the top rim of a standard size drinking glass to do this. Place the bread rounds butter side down inside the muffin pans, pressing them down gently being careful not to tear them as they settle into the bottom of the cup. If one does tear, cut a patch from the buttered bread that is left and place it, buttered side down, over the tear. Curl a piece of bacon around the top of each piece of bread, positioning it between the bread and the muffin tin. This will help to keep the bacon in a ring shape. Sprinkle shredded cheese in the bottom of each muffin cup, dividing the cheese as equally as you can between the 6 muffin cups. Crack an egg into a small measuring cup (I use a half-cup measure) with a spout, making sure to keep the yolk intact. Hannah’s 3rd Note: If you break a yolk, don’t throw the whole egg away. Just slip it in a small covered container which you will refrigerate and use for scrambled eggs the next morning, or for that batch of cookies you’ll make in the next day or two. Pour the egg carefully into the bottom of one of the muffin cups. Repeat this procedure for all the eggs, cracking them one at a time and pouring them into the remaining muffin cups. When every muffin cup has bread, bacon, cheese and egg, season with a little salt and pepper. Bake the filled toast cups for 6 to 10 minutes, depending on how firm you want the yolks. (Naturally, a longer baking time yields a harder yolk.) Run the blade of a knife around the edge of each muffin cup, remove the Bacon, Egg, and Cheddar Cheese Toast Cups, and serve immediately. Hannah’s 4th Note: These are a bit tricky the first time you make them. That’s just “beginner nerves”. Once you’ve made them successfully, they’re really quite easy to do and extremely impressive to serve for a brunch. Yield: 6 servings (or 3 servings if you’re fixing them for Mike and Norman).