Ali's Wedding Quotes

Forgetting it is important. We do it on purpose. It means we get a bit of a rest. Are you listening? We have to forget. Or we’d never sleep ever again.

We do treat books surprisingly lightly in contemporary culture. We’d never expect to understand a piece of music on one listen, but we tend to believe we’ve read a book after reading it just once.

I want you, Elsie. All the time. I think of you. All. The. Fucking. Time. I’m distracted. I’m shit at work. And my first instinct, the very first time I saw you, was to run away. Because I knew that if we’d start doing this, we would never stop. And that’s exactly how it is. There is no universe in which I’m going to let you go. I want to be with you, on you, every second of every day. I think – I dream of crazy things. I want you to marry me tomorrow so you can go on my health insurance. I want to lock you in my room for a couple of weeks. I want to buy groceries based on what you like. I want to play it cool, like I’m attracted to you and not obsessed out of my mind, but that’s not where I’m at. Not at all. And I need you to keep us in check. I need you to pace us, because wherever it is that we’re going… I’m here. I’m already right here.

The whole point is, we can forget. It’s important that we forget some things. Otherwise we’d go round the world carrying a hotload of stuff we just don’t need.

It reminds me of grad school, when we couldn’t afford therapy and we’d engage in some healthy communal bitching every other night, just to survive the madness.

It's all right to forget, you know, he said. It's good to. In fact, we have to forget things sometimes. Forgetting it is important. We do it on purpose. It means we get a bit of a rest. Are you listening? We have to forget. Or we'd never sleep ever again.

No, but . . . what will she eat?” “I guess I’ll have to find another source of blood. Hmm, who could it be? Let’s see . . .” I drum my fingers against the edge of the table to create suspense. It sure works on Ana, who’s looking at me gape-mouthed. “Who smells good around—” Lowe’s hand closes around mine. Our wedding bands clink together as he lifts it from the table and sets it in my lap, his grip lingering for a second. I feel hot. I shiver. Lowe clicks his tongue. “Stop playing with your food, wife,” he murmurs,

A divorce party--that's really better than a wedding party!

when I find Defne outside, sitting next to a sullen, gloomy, seething Oz. “What happened?” I ask. “My wedding planner is out of peonies. What do you think happened? I lost.” He glares. “This entire tournament could have been an email.

The will of little girls is stifled by Islam. By the time they menstruate they are rendered voiceless. They are reared to become submissive robots who serve in the house as cleaners and cooks. They are required to comply with their father's choice of a mate, and after the wedding their lives are devoted to the sexual pleasures of their husband and to a life of childbearing.

This war of ours, the one between the Vampyres and the Weres, began several centuries ago with brutal escalations of violence, culminated amid flowing torrents of varicolored blood, and ended in a whimper of buttercream cake on the day I met my husband for the first time. Which, as it happens, was also the day of our wedding.

It's alright to forget, you know. It's good to. In fact we have to forget things sometimes. Forgetting it is important. We do it on purpose. It means we get a bit of rest. Are you listening? We have to forget. Or we'd never sleep ever again.

...their nineteen-sixties with the flowers in the guns and their summers of love, as if all we’d had was winter, all we’d had was rations. Just very good at keeping quiet, is what we were. We had to be. It was the way. Them with their jet-age.

We were terrified, and probably somewhere deep down we were convinced that we’d signed up for it and we deserved it. That we were failures who would never amount to anything.

It was just the only thing I could think of upon realizing that we’d both made the stupidest of career choices (i.e., academia). We’re overeducated and too poor to survive—

Misery Lark? No need to be careful. She’s not particularly dangerous, so feel free to cross her. What is she gonna do? Chuck her lint roller at you?

If you fucked me a little more frequently, he’d said. If you were better. If you knew how to enjoy it and make it enjoyable. You could at least put in some effort. “We’d been together for seven years.

I hope that's a good thing,' I said, thinking he might say I reminded him of a film star- then we'd actually have something in common. I was hoping for Anne Hathaway or Julia Roberts, and not the obvious Vivien Leigh. Even Angelina Jolie would have done, though I'd never quite forgiven her for stealing Brad's heart. Talking of Brad, was Sean starting to resemble him too? No, he could never be a Brad, a Matthew McConaughey maybe at a push, but never a Brad Pitt.

The twentieth century was wedded to the remembrance of things past, with Proust making the act of remembrance an art of sensory timeslip in the first texts which would become A la Recherche du Temps Perdu in 1913 and with Joyce making an epic forever out of a single passing ordinary day with the serialization of the first chapters of Ulysses not long after.

Basically,' Daavies cuts through the other, 'We despise him as a human being and we'd revel in any unhappiness you could provide for him.

I would never have imagined that my wedding day would arrive so quickly. And anyway, I didn’t have a really clear idea of what marriage was.

I wonder if the blue dress I wore at Serena’s college graduation would be too casual for an interspecies wedding ceremony. Because, yeah. I guess I’m getting married.

Basically,' Davies cuts through the others, 'We despise him as a human being and we'd revel in any unhappiness you could provide for him'.

Leaving me blissfully alone on the night of our wedding.

The proposal thus surmounted, it had seemed to him that the hard work was over, and that all that remained was to live out their lives in wedded bliss.

I want you, Elsie. All the time. I think of you. All. The. Fucking. Time. I’m distracted. I’m shit at work. And my first instinct, the very first time I saw you, was to run away. Because I knew that if we’d start doing this, we would never stop. And that’s exactly how it is. There is no universe in which I’m going to let you go. I want to be with you, on you, every second of every day. I think—I dream of crazy things. I want you to marry me tomorrow so you can go on my health insurance. I want to lock you in my room for a couple of weeks. I want to buy groceries based on what you like. I want to play it cool, like I’m attracted to you and not obsessed out of my mind, but that’s not where I’m at. Not at all. And I need you to keep us in check. I need you to pace us, because wherever it is that we’re going . . . I’m here. I’m already right here.

At least if it is an arranged marriage, you can fault your parents, otherwise you will have only yourself to blame. And, believe me, it is always harder to bear something if you cannot blame somebody else for it. -Mr. Ali-

Okay, I said. As long as I've got you here, we're going to use and appreciate this present moment. Because I wish, and I've wished a thousand times since you went, that we'd known it was the present, and that we were living in it.

Where’d it go? I said. Where’d what go? She said. The ring, I said. What ring? She said. She got straight down and looked in the pool : she saw the winged thing. That’s not a ring, she said. That’s a seed. I told her what happened : she laughed. Oh, she said. That sort of ring. I thought you meant a ring for a finger, like a wedding ring or a gold ring. My eyes filled with tears and she saw. Why are you crying? She said. Don’t cry. Your sort of ring is much better than those. It went, I said. It’s gone. Ah, she said. Is that why you’re crying? But it hasn’t gone at all. And that’s why it’s better than gold. It hasn’t gone, it’s just that we can’t see it any more. In fact, it’s still going, still growing. It’ll never stop going, or growing wider and wider, the ring you saw. You were lucky to see it at all. Cause when it got to the edge of the puddle it left the puddle and entered the air instead, it went invisible. A marvel. Didn’t you feel it go through you? No? But I did, you’re inside it now. I am too. We both are. And the yard. And the brickpiles. And the sandpiles … See how far your eye can go. … It’s passing through them and nothing and nobody will feel a thing but there it is doing it nonetheless. … The ring you saw in the water’ll never stop travelling till the edge of the world and then when it reaches the edge it’ll go beyond that too. Nothing can stop it.

It’s all right to forget, you know, he said. It’s good to. In fact, we have to forget things sometimes. Forgetting it is important. We do it on purpose. It means we get a bit of a rest. Are you listening? We have to forget. Or we’d never sleep ever again.

It’s all right to forget, you know, he said. It’s good to. In fact, we have to forget things sometimes. Forgetting it is important. We do it on purpose. It means we get a bit of a rest. Are you listening? We have to forget. Or we’d never sleep ever again.

Life is a game of snakes and ladders, sir. You are steadily progressing accros the board, rolling sixes on the dice and thinking you are going to win - suddenly you land on a long snake and slide several rows down, far away from the destination again. -Mr. Ali-

He did arrange to dine over at the Vorthys’s three times, and have Ekaterin and Nikki to meals at Vorkosigan House twice, before the wedding week hit and all his meals—even breakfasts, good God—were bespoken. Still, his timetable was not as onerous as Gregor’s and Laisa’s, which Lady Alys and ImpSec between them had laid out in one-minute increments.

Misery,” he sighs, and his breath warms the skin of my belly through the fabric of the dress, and I’m still alone, still different, still mostly on my own, but maybe a little less than usual. His fingers close softly around my ankle, the metal of his wedding band hot against skin and bones, and for the first time in more than I can remember, I feel held. I’m here, I say, only in my head. With you.

I want you, Elsie. All the time. I think of you. All. The. Fucking. Time. I’m distracted. I’m shit at work. And my first instinct, the very first time I saw you, was to run away. Because I knew that if we’d start doing this, we would never stop. And that’s exactly how it is. There is no universe in which I’m going to let you go. I want to be with you, on you, every second of every day. I think—I dream of crazy things. I want you to marry me tomorrow so you can go on my health insurance. I want to lock you in my room for a couple of weeks. I want to buy groceries based on what you like. I want to pay it cool, like I’m attracted to you and not obsessed out of my mind, but that’s not where I’m at. Not at all. And I need you to keep us in check. I need you to pace us, because wherever it is that we’re going ... I’m here. I’m already right there.

In the beginning it was curiosity that kept us talking. We were always looking for new things in each other. Over time, curiosity gave way to habit. If, for whatever reason, we couldn’t see each other for a few days, we’d begin to miss each other. When at last we met, we would walk down the streets hand in hand, as happy as children who’d been kept apart too long. How I loved her! I had opened my heart to the world I saw in her.

He tilts my face backward, lips brushing against my ears. “I want you, Elsie. All the time. I think of you. All. The. Fucking. Time. I’m distracted. I’m shit at work. And my first instinct, the very first time I saw you, was to run away. Because I knew that if we’d start doing this, we would never stop. And that’s exactly how it is. There is no universe in which I’m going to let you go. I want to be with you, on you, every second of every day.

Okay, then. Honesty." He tilts my face backward, lips brushing against my ears. "I want you, Elsie. All the time. I think of you. All. The. Fucking. Time. I'm distracted. I'm shit at work. And my first instinct, the very first time I saw you, was to run away. Because I knew that if we'd start doing this, we would never stop. And that's exactly how it is. There is no universe in which I'm going to let you go. I want to be with you, on you, every second of every day. I think—I dream of crazy things. I want you to marry me tomorrow so you can go on my health insurance. I want to lock you in my room for a couple of weeks. I want to buy groceries based on what you like. I want to play it cool, like I'm attracted to you and not obsessed out of my mind, but that's not where I'm at. Not at all. And I need you to keep us in check. I need you to pace us, because wherever it is that we're going ... I'm here. I'm already right here.

My mouth went paper-dry as Alis fluffed out the sparkling train of my gown in the shadow of the garden doors. Silk and gossamer rustled and sighed, and I gripped the pale bouquet in my gloved hands, nearly snapping the stems. Elbow-length silk gloves- to hide the marking. Ianthe had delivered them herself this morning in a velvet-lined box. 'Don't be nervous,' Alis chuckled, her tree-bark skin rich and flushed in the honey gold evening light. 'I'm not,' I rasped. 'You're fidgeting like my youngest nephew during a haircut.' She finished fussing over my dress, shooing away some servants who'd come to spy on me before the ceremony. I pretended I didn't see them or the glittering, sunset-gilded crowd seated in the courtyard ahead, and toyed with some invisible fleck on my skirts. 'You look beautiful,' Alis said quietly. I was fairly certain her thoughts on the dress were the same as my own, but I believed her. 'Thank you.' 'And you sound like you're going to your funeral.' I plastered a grin on my face. Alis rolled her eyes. But she nudged me toward the doors as they opened on some immortal wind, lilting music streaming in. 'It's be over faster than you can blink,' she promised, and gently nudged me into the last of the sunlight.

A broader danger of unverifiable beliefs is the temptation to defend them by violent means. People become wedded to their beliefs, because the validity of those beliefs reflects on their competence, commends them as authorities, and rationalizes their mandate to lead. Challenge a person’s beliefs, and you challenge his dignity, standing, and power. And when those beliefs are based on nothing but faith, they are chronically fragile. No one gets upset about the belief that rocks fall down as opposed to up, because all sane people can see it with their own eyes. Not so for the belief that babies are born with original sin or that God exists in three persons or that Ali was the second-most divinely inspired man after Muhammad.

I want you, Elsie. All the time. I think of you. All. The. Fucking. Time. I’m distracted. I’m shit at work. And my first instinct, the very first time I saw you, was to run away. Because I knew that if we’d start doing this, we would never stop. And that’s exactly how it is. There is no universe in which I’m going to let you go. I want to be with you, on you, every second of every day. I think – I dream of crazy things. I want you to marry me tomorrow so you can go on my health insurance. I want to lock you in my room for a couple of weeks. I want to buy groceries based on what you like. I want to play it cool, like I’m attracted to you and not obsessed out of my mind, but that’s not where I’m at. Not at all. And I need you to keep us in check. I need you to pace us, because wherever it is that we’re going… I’m here. I’m already right here

Okay, then. Honesty.” He tilts my face backward, lips brushing against my ears. “I want you, Elsie. All the time. I think of you. All. The. Fucking. Time. I’m distracted. I’m shit at work. And my first instinct, the very first time I saw you, was to run away. Because I knew that if we’d start doing this, we would never stop. And that’s exactly how it is. There is no universe in which I’m going to let you go. I want to be with you, on you, every second of every day. I think—I dream of crazy things. I want you to marry me tomorrow so you can go on my health insurance. I want to lock you in my room for a couple of weeks. I want to buy groceries based on what you like. I want to play it cool, like I’m attracted to you and not obsessed out of my mind, but that’s not where I’m at. Not at all. And I need you to keep us in check. I need you to pace us, because wherever it is that we’re going . . . I’m here. I’m already right here.

We stopped. Aly looked back the way we’d come. “Cass? Where are we headed?” Cass glanced around. “Actually . . . I’m not sure. I lost the map in the river.” “Don’t play games,” Aly snapped. “You don’t need it. You know the route.” “I did,” Cass said. “But . . . it’s not there, Aly. In my brain. I can’t call it up.” “What do you mean, not there?” Aly said. “If you’re being insecure again, like you were in Babylon, now’s the time to stop.” Cass’s eyes were hollow and scared. “I don’t feel insecure. This is so strange . . .” I looked at him closely. “Cass, can you say ‘River Nostalgikos’ backward?” “Nostalgikos . . . River?” Cass said. “Oh, dear,” Professor Bhegad muttered. “Cass, you had the ability to say anything backward, letter for letter,” Aly said. “You called it Backwardish.” Cass swallowed hard. “Dishwardback?” “The river . . .” Professor Bhegad said. “It took the ability from him.” “Skilaki warned us,” Aly said softly. “She said the river required a sacrifice . . .

He seems to fall backward. Into himself. “Fuck.” I pump up and down, but it’s weird, clumsy, with his pants on. He’s too distracted by my touch, and I have to tug at the waistband several times before he understands that I want him to pull them down. “Can you tell me? How do you like this?” I ask, adjusting my grip. I need two hands. Yes, it’ll be better with two hands. Still an awkward position, but also intimate, how close we are. Nice. I smell him deep in my nostrils and he’s good. So good. “I like it too much, Elsie.” “No, I—” I shake my head against his chest. “Tell me how you do this. When you’re alone.” “This is—fuck, it’s good. Just . . . slow for now. Steady. And if you—the head—yes. Yes, there.” “What else?” I hear him swallow. “Your voice.” “I . . . What?” “Just speak.” “I’m not . . .” Laughter bubbles out of me. “I don’t think I can do dirty talk.” “You can go with nematics. You can count to ten. I don’t care, just—” “I . . . I could talk about George’s offer. How I’ve been seriously considering. If I accepted, we’d be working together. I’d be at MIT with you next year. I’d earn a livable amount of money, so maybe we could go to lunch together sometimes. I’d buy—” He makes a deep, guttural sound. His hand moves down between

Alis coughed from the shadows of the house, and I remembered to start walking, to look toward the dais- At Tamlin. The breath knocked from me, and it was an effort to keep going down the stairs, to keep going my knees from buckling. He was resplendent in a tunic of green and gold, a crown of burnished laurel leaves gleaming on his head. He'd loosened the grip on his glamour, letting that immortal light and beauty shine through- for me. My vision narrowed on him, on my High Lord, his wide eyes glistening as I stepped onto the soft grass, white rose petals scattered down it- And Red ones. Like drops of blood amongst the white, red petals had been sprayed across the path ahead. I forced my gaze up, to Tamlin, his shoulders back, head high. So unaware of the true extent of how broken and dark I was inside. How unfit I was to be clothed in white when my hands were so filthy. Everyone else was thinking it. They had to be. Every step was too fast, propelling me toward the dais and Tamlin. And toward Ianthe, clothed in dark blue robes tonight, beaming beneath the hood and silver crown. As if I were good- as if I hadn't murdered two of their kind. I was a murderer and a liar. A cluster of red petals loomed ahead- just like the Fae youth's blood had pooled at my feet. Ten steps from the dais, at the edge of that splatter of red, I slowed. Then stopped. Everyone was watching, exactly as they had when I'd nearly died, spectators to my torment. Tamlin extended a broad hand, brows narrowing slightly. My heart beat so fast, too fast. I was going to vomit. Right over those rose petals, right over the grass and ribbons trailing into the ailse from the chairs flanking it. And between my skin and bones, something thrummed and pounded, rising and pushing, lashing through my blood- So many eyes, too many eyes, pressed on me, witness to every crime I'd committed, every humiliation- I don't know why I'd even bothered to wear gloves, why I'd let Ianthe convince me. The fading sun was too hot, the garden too hedged in. As inescapable as the vow I was about to make, binding me to him forever, shackling him to my broken and weary soul. The thing inside me was roiling now, my body shaking with the building force of it as it hunted for a way out- Forever- I would never get better, never get free of myself, of the dungeon where I'd spent three months- 'Feyre,' Tamlin said, his hand steady, as he continued to reach for mine. The sun sank past the lip of the western garden wall; shadows pooled, chilling the air. If I turned away, they'd start talking, but I couldn't make the last few steps, couldn't, couldn't, couldn't- I was going to fall apart, right there, right then- and they'd see precisely how ruined I was. Help me, help me, help me, I begged someone, anyone. Begged Lucien, standing in the front row, his metal eye fixed on me. Begged Ianthe, face serene and patient and lovely within that hood. Save me- please, save me. Get me out. End this. Tamlin took a step toward me- concern shading those eyes. I retreated a step. No. Tamlin's mouth tightened. The crowd murmured. Silk streamers laden with globes of gold faelight twinkled into life above and around us. Ianthe said smoothly. 'Come, Bride and be joined with your true love. Come, Bride, and let good triumph at last.' Good. I was not good. I was nothing, and my soul, my eternal soul was damned- I tried to get my traitorous lungs to draw air so I could voice a word. No- no. But I didn't have to say it. Thunder crackled behind me, as if two boulders have been hurled against each other. People screamed, falling back, a few vanishing outright as darkness erupted. I whirled, and through the night drifting away like smoke on a wind, I found Rhysand straightening the lapels of his black jacket. 'Hello, Feyre darkling,' he purred.

True Love never needs the Expression of Words, It Speaks the Language Blessed by God and when it speaks, Only Miracles Happen.” REMEMBER: The best Expression of love is sending message for ““Nikah” (Marriage) to the guardians of the one you like or love, if you are true to someone and approaching him/her by choosing the “Sirat e Mustaqeem” (Guide us on the straight path) you will tell people that ““Nikah” (Marriage)” is miraculous. "LOVE" is not something that becomes your weakness; it's something that becomes your Strength by caring for you, keeping you on right track, like your parents love you truly, they sacrifice everything for you and want you to become a good human being in the society, to become a role model for the coming generations with great character, I understand no body is perfect, including me and it’s really hard to keep yourself on right track in this era but we must priorities the things, like becoming someone that can have a great life by recognizing the purpose of it , then making your parents proud by working on it, then it comes to the life partner when you are mature enough to take the right decision for that, then there is nothing wrong to like someone and considering him/her as your life partner if they choose the right way to approach each other, they involve their parents and guardians by taking permission, they don’t break the laws of nature, if anyone breaks the laws our Quran tells us “Women of purity are for men of purity, and men of purity are for women of purity” — Ayah 26 of Surah an-Nur mentions this wonderful line. People who are thinking that they can express love in words or in any way by breaking the spiritual, physical and emotional laws like marriage “Nikah” (Marriage), they are making fool of themselves. Once you are in that circle of breaking law, your series of actions becomes the source of sabotages for coming life, your spiritual, emotional and physical patterns are controlled by a gravitation pull of evil. Once you are impure then it’s hard to resist. Remember one thing love does exists in responsibilities of taking care of each-other's character, no matter how much someone is attractive to you, if he or she is expressing it to create physical desire before marriage, it leads you to the dark part. I would like to quote saying of Allama Iqbal (RA) at the end, "People who have no hold over their process of thinking are likely to be ruined by liberty of thought. If thought is immature, liberty of thought becomes a method of converting men into animals.

Ali McClelland. Too bad. I just can’t let you become my sugar daddy.” I put the notes back on the hall table. He shakes his head. “I’ll never be your sugar anything! You stubborn git.” He grabs me and kisses me with force, enough to make me see stars. When he lets me go, I give him a wide grin because I am giddy from his kisses. “Not everyone lives in a nice house in Islington. I only have my pride.” “And I love your pride.” Ali smiles. “But I’m not rich despite having this house. Emily’s parents gave it to her as a wedding present. And when she died, it was passed on to me. I’m grateful for it but it doesn’t define me.” I sigh. “I never said it did.” “And you’ll make me a very happy man if you come and share it with me. The house has three bedrooms. You can even have your own space.” He waves his hand as if to emphasise the point that there is plenty of room. I keep putting off the discussion of ‘our future’ as I know what it means. If I move in with him, I won’t need to be an escort anymore to pay rent and I can maybe get a low-paid or part-time job. I can even go back to study music at college. It is a big step. I am scared, properly frightened. What if it doesn’t work out? On the other hand, I’ve got nothing to lose except the newfound control of my life at the expense of selling my arse. I promise myself I’ll give it more thought

Together, we’d rule the world. Or, at the very least, sit on the couch, holding hands and laughing as it burned down around us.

Maegor ssddenly announced that Lady Ceryse was barren, and he had therefore taken a second wife in Alys Harroway, daughter of the new Lord of Harrenhal. The wedding was performed on Dragonstone, under the aegis of the Dowager Queen Visenya. As the castle septon refused to officiate, Maegor and his new bride were joined in a Valyrian rite, “wed by blood and fire.

I mean – my mum and dad often talk about how great it would be to put us to sleep. In long car journeys mostly. They say they’d like a glass screen to slide up between the front seats and the back seat, and some kind of gas to pump in, so as soon as we went “Are we nearly—” they could freeze us. Five hours later when the car got to Cornwall they’d just hit the defrost button and we’d go “—there yet?”. – Ben

We’d survived the unimaginable. Fought a war against fate … And loved harder than any two people in the history of the universe.

despite everything we’d been through, loving her was the single best thing I’d ever done in my life.

In theory, living with my two best friends sounded like a dream when we’d moved in together four years earlier. We had all been bright-eyed and bushy-tailed twenty-five-year-olds with the world at our fingertips. Mark had been saving up to open his own bar while Aaron had been climbing the corporate ladder. I, on the other hand, had still been contemplating world domination. (Read: unemployed.)

Six months earlier, Aaron and I had been on a flight home from Colorado when, due to improper balance and faulty landing gear that never should have been approved for takeoff, our plane broke apart upon landing. Twenty-seven people survived, but even without physical scars, no one was immune to the catastrophic trauma of a disaster like the one we’d experienced.

The day we’d met, I’d thought it was fate. She was perfect. Her laugh. Her chaos. The levity I felt in her presence. It took approximately an hour for me to fall in love. Deep, unwavering, life-altering love. The kind that burrows into your bones and rewrites your DNA.

She did not know how she would get through Alys’s wedding dinner if James were to be there, not looking at her, not speaking to her, not even a stranger to her; but worse than a stranger

The small chests, or cassettes, given to the women to hold their wedding dresses looked very similar to caskets and earned them each the title la fills à la cassette, or simply, the casquette girls, as the locals say.

Miles’s pause had lasted just a little too long. Genially taking his turn to fill it, Illyan turned to Ekaterin. “Speaking of weddings, Madame Vorsoisson, how long has Miles been courting you? Have you awarded him a date yet? Personally, I think you ought to string him along and make him work for it.” A chill flush plunged to the pit of Miles’s stomach. Alys bit her lip. Even Galeni winced. Olivia looked up in confusion. “I thought we weren’t supposed to mention that yet.” Kou, next to her, muttered, “Hush, lovie.” Lord Dono, with malicious Vorrutyer innocence, turned to her and inquired, “What weren’t we supposed to mention?” “Oh, but if Captain Illyan said it, it must be all right,” Olivia concluded. Captain Illyan had his brains blown out last year, thought Miles. He is not all right. All right is precisely what he is not . . . Her gaze crossed Miles’s. “Or maybe . . .” Not, Miles finished silently for her. Ekaterin

Alys finds the chest containing the scarves and ribbons. Her brow furrows. ‘lain, why on earth do any of us need so much haberdashery? I, for one, have no intention of ever going to court again.’ ‘Well,’ lain whispers, in his rough, ruined voice, 'you're going to go through a lot of ribbons, because every time that great Sassenach idiot rides into a tournament he's going to need a favour.' ‘Oh lord,’ Harry groans. 'You're teaming up on me?’ And two bright, mischievous brunets look at him and grin. 'Who, us?' says Alys, her face innocent. ‘We'd never,’ purrs lain. (505-506)

Life was never easy, and ours had been harder than most. However ugly it might have been at times, there was beauty to be found when looking back at all the pain and heartache and devastation, knowing we’d come out the other end better off and more in love than I had ever known possible.

The Patriot Act vastly expanded our domestic security apparatus and allowed the government to surveil Americans under the guise of combating terrorism. Americans are historically fine with castrating their own civil liberties, because we'd rather feel safe than actually be free, especially when our illusory feelings of safety can come at the expense of people of color, immigrants, and Muslims--you know, "them.

We’d survived the unimaginable. Fought a war against fate. Fallen in love not once, not twice, but three times. Had secrets tear us apart and truths reunite us. Triumphed over evil. And loved harder than any two people in the history of the universe. I hadn’t always been a believer. But Bowen and I were soul mates. Plain and simple. Our love should have died in the depths of our darkness, but the sun still existed even when it wasn’t shining.

knew how much I didn’t like swapping. I was always worried we’d be caught out. The last time almost ended in disaster, and the memory of that day caused my pulse to spike even more. Did Ronnie and Holly suspect that we’d swapped? They were aware of Ali’s birthmark which was the only way to tell us apart. Perhaps Ronnie would try to sneak a peek at my shoulder before rehearsals

You can’t believe what I’ve seen today. It’s like an apocalyptic novel. Prisoners handcuffed to seats.” Marisol’s hand in her own and her presence in the waiting room melted away the post-drug despair. “Everyone needs someone to walk through this despicable world with,” Theo said to Marisol in the elevator, like a wedding proposal.

As she ran off, Aly and Cass sank to the ground, exhaling with relief. I looked back the way we’d come. I could see through the gate and down a long, sloped path to the city plaza. Marco was nowhere in sight.

I knew down to the marrow of my bones that Bree had been born to be mine. Our bond might have been forged through tragedy, but our love flourished through patience, genuine respect, and understanding. Life was never easy, and ours had been harder that most. However ugly it might have been at times, there was beauty to be found when looking back at all the pain and heartache and devastation, knowing we’d come out the other end better off and more in love than I had ever known possible.

Most of the weddings I have attended since have a three-hour time limit on the free alcohol. The bat signal goes out to the guests that the open bar is about to close, and people savagely race to the bar, like those shitty-ass buffalos who trampled all over Mufasa in The Lion King, to get their last glass of complimentary booze to hold them over for the rest of the evening.

Because it’s our wedding day, Yasmina.” That stops me short. I finally look at him, really look at him. “I’m not marrying you, Ali. I was never going to.

Bill took Cassie home. He said he’d get Benji from school, and feed him too: ‘Though I don’t know what I can make. Does he like soused herring?’ I was so grateful. I was already trying to imagine in my head how I could thank him, and failing. Karen would normally have done these things. It was she who’d come when I was having Benji, when my father finally died and I had to spend a week at my mother’s, when Mike broke his ankle running and I was back and forth to hospital for three days. I wondered where she was and what she was doing. I imagined her in a flat maybe, with the kind of scuffed and bland furniture you found in cheap hotels. We’d helped women get into them from time to time. Now it was someone I knew going through this. I still couldn’t take it in. Karen accusing Mike. Jake stabbing Mike. I remembered the little boy who’d throw his arms round me. I love you, Auntie Ali. The way he’d sat at the table and cried, so quietly, when I told him we were moving away. It was never really the same after that. I saw him running at us, the knife flashing, Cassie in his path. My head was twisted, full of blood and lies and screams. I told myself I just had to get through this. Mike just had to survive, and then we’d sort it all out