Amazingly Gorgeous Quotes

And I want to play hide-and-seek and give you my clothes and tell you I like your shoes and sit on the steps while you take a bath and massage your neck and kiss your feet and hold your hand and go for a meal and not mind when you eat my food and meet you at Rudy's and talk about the day and type up your letters and carry your boxes and laugh at your paranoia and give you tapes you don't listen to and watch great films and watch terrible films and complain about the radio and take pictures of you when you're sleeping and get up to fetch you coffee and bagels and Danish and go to Florent and drink coffee at midnight and have you steal my cigarettes and never be able to find a match and tell you about the tv programme I saw the night before and take you to the eye hospital and not laugh at your jokes and want you in the morning but let you sleep for a while and kiss your back and stroke your skin and tell you how much I love your hair your eyes your lips your neck your breasts your arse your and sit on the steps smoking till your neighbour comes home and sit on the steps smoking till you come home and worry when you're late and be amazed when you're early and give you sunflowers and go to your party and dance till I'm black and be sorry when I'm wrong and happy when you forgive me and look at your photos and wish I'd known you forever and hear your voice in my ear and feel your skin on my skin and get scared when you're angry and your eye has gone red and the other eye blue and your hair to the left and your face oriental and tell you you're gorgeous and hug you when you're anxious and hold you when you hurt and want you when I smell you and offend you when I touch you and whimper when I'm next to you and whimper when I'm not and dribble on your breast and smother you in the night and get cold when you take the blanket and hot when you don't and melt when you smile and dissolve when you laugh and not understand why you think I'm rejecting you when I'm not rejecting you and wonder how you could think I'd ever reject you and wonder who you are but accept you anyway and tell you about the tree angel enchanted forest boy who flew across the ocean because he loved you and write poems for you and wonder why you don't believe me and have a feeling so deep I can't find words for it and want to buy you a kitten I'd get jealous of because it would get more attention than me and keep you in bed when you have to go and cry like a baby when you finally do and get rid of the roaches and buy you presents you don't want and take them away again and ask you to marry me and you say no again but keep on asking because though you think I don't mean it I do always have from the first time I asked you and wander the city thinking it's empty without you and want what you want and think I'm losing myself but know I'm safe with you and tell you the worst of me and try to give you the best of me because you don't deserve any less and answer your questions when I'd rather not and tell you the truth when I really don't want to and try to be honest because I know you prefer it and think it's all over but hang on in for just ten more minutes before you throw me out of your life and forget who I am and try to get closer to you because it's beautiful learning to know you and well worth the effort and speak German to you badly and Hebrew to you worse and make love with you at three in the morning and somehow somehow somehow communicate some of the overwhelming undying overpowering unconditional all-encompassing heart-enriching mind-expanding on-going never-ending love I have for you.

Is that really so much to ask? One sexy, gorgeous, mentally stable, gainfully employed guy with an amazing personality, that doesn’t smell like mothballs or live with his mother?

It was with some surprise that I saw that the person waiting for me at the airport's exit was Adrian. A grin spread over my face, and I picked up the pace. I threw my arms around him, astonishing both of us. "I have never been happier to see you in my life," I said. He squeezed me tightly and then let me go, regarding me admiringly. "The dreams never do justice to real life, little dhampir. You look amazing." "And you look . . ." I studied him. He was dressed as nicely as always. His dark brown hair had that crafted messiness he liked, but his face—ah, well. As I'd noted before, Simon had gotten a few good punches on him. One of Adrian's eyes was swollen and ringed with bruises. Nonetheless, thinking about him and everything he'd done . . . Well, none of the flaws mattered. " . . . Gorgeous." "Liar," he said. "Couldn't Lissa have healed that black eye away?" "It's a badge of honor. Makes me seem manly.

Most photographers have some kind of verbal patter going on when they shoot: "Great. Turn to me. Big smile. Less shark eyes. Have fun with it. Not like that." Some photographers are compulsively effusive. "Beautiful. Amazing. Gorgeous! Ugh, so gorgeous!" they yell at shutter speed. If you are anything less than insane, you will realize this is not sincere. It's hard to take because it's more positive feedback than you've received in your entire life thrown at you in fifteen seconds. It would be like going jogging while someone rode next to you in a slow-moving car, yelling, "Yes! You are Carl Lewis! You're breaking a world record right now. Amazing! You are fast. You're going very fast, yes!

Gorgeous, amazing things come into our lives when we are paying attention: mangoes, grandnieces, Bach, ponds. This happens more often when we have as little expectation as possible. If you say, "Well, that's pretty much what I thought I'd see," you are in trouble. At that point you have to ask yourself why you are even here. [...] Astonishing material and revelation appear in our lives all the time. Let it be. Unto us, so much is given. We just have to be open for business.

You look amazing." "I look like a lunatic." "A gorgeous lunatic." "Don't bother me with your hormones. I'm reading.

Wow," she said weakly. "That's even more amazing than I thought it would be." Alex's arms were still looped around her waist; it took a serious effort not to draw her back to him and start kissing her again. He managed to control himself and grinned. "You mean with me or just in general?" "In general," she said. "But I have a feeling it's especially amazing with you." She leaned back in his arms, studying him. Shaking her head with a slight smile, she reached out and stroked the line of his cheekbone. "Do you even realize how gorgeous you are?" What he realized was that he was happier than he'd ever been. He gazed at Willow, drinking in her face, feeling amazed that this was happening--that she was here with him and that she actually felt the same way. "Come here," he said softly. And pulling her toward him, he simply held her, cradling her against his chest.

The more your appreciate yourself the more you will have the energy from within.Stop sourcing for external energry source to charge yourself. Seek the light within and it will brighten you more, remember you truely are one amazing, beautiful, gorgeous soul.

At first, you were just a problem that would hurt Nan. I thought you’d cause her more pain. The trouble was that you fascinated me. I’ll admit I was immediately drawn to you because you’re gorgeous. Breathtaking. I hated you because of it. I didn’t want to be attracted to you. But I was. I wanted you badly that very first night. Just to be near you, God, I made up reasons to find you. Then . . . then I got to know you. I was hypnotized by your laugh. It was the most amazing sound I’d ever heard. You were so honest and determined. You didn’t whine or complain. You took what life handed you and worked with it. I wasn’t used to that. Every time I watched you, every time I was near you, I fell a little more.

Vere spoke again, “You want us to hide this six-foot-three, positively gorgeous, famous rock star—one who has sports-drink blue eyes BY THE WAY—and who is absolutely PERFECT looking, at Palmer Divide High? In this town? In my junior class?” “Yes,” Mrs. Roth answered. “Why is it such a difficult concept for you to grasp?” “Because guys who look like that.” She pointed a finger at him. “Do not come from this town. In addition to the face, he’s too tall, and he’s got the posture of some Russian—ballerina! And did you not notice his voice?” “What’s wrong with my voice?” Hunter frowned. “It’s all LOW and, SUPER-MANLY-AMAZING,” she modulated her voice down, trying to sound like him. Charlie cracked up, and Hunter had to bury his own laugh.

There wasn't enough room to leap, but I knew just by the watching how he danced from one foot to the next, he'd leap like a deer. The most amazing thing was the lack of tics. They were just gone, leaving behind a gorgeous man who would never be normal. Not because of the autism, but because he was too extraordinary.

Mercedes is a pretty princess

Men always think they’re hot. It’s like an inheritable trait attached to the Y-chromosome.” She switched to lecture mode, which was a definite weakness of his. “Even fat, ugly guys think they’re hot, whereas amazingly gorgeous women worry about not being perfect or having stomachs that aren’t taut as drums.” He shrugged. “So I’m fat, ugly, and hot.” “And my stomach is taut as a drum.” He

The discipline this guy has amazes me. “You're big into delayed gratification.” “Waiting can be worth it.” “How would you know?” He laughs. He throws his head back, and the deep rumble starts in his body and ends in mine. Fuck me. He’s gorgeous, talented and has a goddamned sense of humor. Life is so unfair.

Morning. I didn't wake you, did I?' God, he looks gorgeous, even at this early hour. 'No. I've been awake a while. Couldn't sleep.' 'Me eighter. I've has this girl on my mind all night' 'Anyone I know?' 'You might know her. Blond hair, blue eyes ... beautiful. We went out on a date last night as it happens.' ' Really? So how was the date?' 'Well, that's the thing... The date was amazing, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about her... or her gorgeous mouth ever since...And the thing is, I really need to kiss her again.' ' I think she needs you to kiss her too.' 'You do?' 'Mmm

A gorgeous turquoise eyed blonde came crashing into my life and knocked me off my feet. She's fiery, strong and infuriatingly stubborn. I was hooked. She stained my shirt and stole my heart right in that shop and I haven't been able to get her out of my mind since. She's amazing and I've fallen head over heels in love with her. She's my happily every after.

I get to spend the rest of my life with this amazing, gorgeous woman, and I’m so happy she chose me.

We scoffed at the kids who weren't like us, the ones who already talked about careers, or bliddy mortgages and pensions. Kids wanting to be old before they were young. Kids wanting to be dead before they'd lived. They were digging their own graves, building the walls of their own damn jails. Us, we hung to our youth. We were footloose, fancy free. We said we'd never grow boring and old. We plundered charity shops for vintage clothes. We bought battered Levis and gorgeous faded velvet stuff from Attica in High Bridge. We wore coloured boots, hemp scarves from Gaia. We read Baudelaire and Byron. We read our poems to each other. We wrote songs and posted them on YouTube. We formed bands. We talked of the amazing journeys we'd take together once school was done. Sometimes we paired off, made couples that lasted for a little while, but the group was us. We hung together. We could say anything to each other. We loved each other.

If buying new socks or doing the washing up he found it amazing that she, a creature so gorgeous and perfect, would undertake tasks just as mundane in her daily life—as though realising Jesus pissed

Hey you! Yea, YOU! Today is going to be an amazing day for you. You will be led forth with cheer. You will gleam & be radiant in the spirit of the Lord. You are gorgeous. You are blessed. You are loved. Happy day to you all : )

I was pretty much positive there was no way he was as good-looking as his voice would suggest, and I didn't want to ruin the fantasy. I know, it sounds stupid – “Oh, you’re afraid he’ll be good looking, and you’re afraid he’ll be ugly! Make up your damn mind!” Followed by a slap on the back of my head.But hear me out. Ever see a guy from the back, and you’re like ‘DAMN, break me off a piece of that’? (Not that I would get to break me off a piece of that in reality, but I can still dream.) Amazing ass, great shoulders, gorgeous hair, fantastic arms? You’re thinking somebody went back in time and made a clone of Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp at age 27. Or 33. Or 38, even. And then you see them from the front… And you’re like, ‘Oh, no. No, no, no.

I took over the business and kept my mother’s shop, turning it into a cozy little coffee house under a new name. I went in one day to get my usual cup of coffee and my life changed forever. A gorgeous, turquoise eyed blonde came crashing into my life and knocked me off my feet. She was fiery, strong and infuriatingly stubborn. I was hooked. She stained my shirt and stole my heart right there in that shop and I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind since. She’s amazing and I’ve fallen head over heels in love with her. She’s my happily ever after.

Some photographers are compulsively effusive. “Beautiful. Amazing. Gorgeous! Ugh, so gorgeous!” they yell at shutter speed. If you are anything less than insane, you will realize this is not sincere. It’s hard to take because it’s more positive feedback than you’ve received in your entire life thrown at you in fifteen seconds.

I don't myself think much of science as a phase of human development. It has given us a lot of ingenious toys; they take our attention away from the real problems, of course, and since the problems are insoluble, I suppose we ought to be grateful for distraction. But the fact is, the human mind, the individual mind, has always been made more interesting by dwelling on the old riddles, even if it makes nothing of them. Science hasn't given us any new amazements, except of the superficial kind we get from witnessing dexterity and sleight-of-hand. It hasn't given us any richer pleasures, as the Renaissance did, nor any new sins-not one! Indeed, it takes our old ones away. It's the laboratory, not the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of the world. You'll agree there is not much thrill about a physiological sin. We were better off when even the prosaic matter of taking nourishment could have the magnificence of a sin. I don't think you help people by making their conduct of no importance-you impoverish them. As long as every man and woman who crowded into the cathedrals on Easter Sunday was a principal in a gorgeous drama with God, glittering angels on one side and the shadows of evil coming and going on the other, life was a rich thing. The king and the beggar had the same chance at miracles and great temptations and revelations. And that's what makes men happy, believing in the mystery and importance of their own little individual lives. It makes us happy to surround our creature needs and bodily instincts with as much pomp and circumstance as possible. Art and religion (they are the same thing, in the end, of course) have given man the only happiness he has ever had.

I had no idea who she was. But for a heartbeat, I forgot about the game, the score…the pressure. I was entranced. Nothing else mattered. I stared at her angelic face in blind amazement until I lost my mind and I blew her a kiss, watching in awe as her gorgeous face screwed up in disgust, gold flecked eyes unaware that she’d just changed my fucking world.

Are you sure you’re okay, Taylor? Say something . . . normal.” He gently tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, being careful to avoid the bump on her head. Taylor stared up into Jason’s amazing blue eyes. He really was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. With great effort, she pulled herself out of the dreamy depths of the Sexiest Eyes Alive and somehow managed a casual smile. She knew she should at least thank him for coming for her. But then she noticed something she had somehow missed earlier. She peered more closely at Jason. “Wait a second—are you wearing makeup?” Oh yes, there it was—a little trace of powder dusted across his face. And was that a smudge of eyeliner along his bottom lid . . . ? This was too precious. Taylor raised an eyebrow teasingly. “Gee, Jason, it’s just a hospital—you really didn’t need to get all gussied up.” And with that, Jason smiled. He turned to the doctor, finally satisfied. “Okay. She’s fine.

Tanimura-kun, how come you never got in touch with me after that night we went out?” she asked. “I was hoping we could talk some more.” “You were a little too beautiful for me,” I said. She smiled. “That’s nice to hear, even if you’re just flattering me.” “I’ve never flattered anyone in my whole life,” I said. Her smile deepened. But what I’d said was neither a lie nor flattery. She was too gorgeous for me to be seriously interested in her. Back then, and even now. Plus her smile was a little too amazing to be real.

The jamaat was an almost silly mish-mash of people: Rude Dawud’s pork-pie hat poking up here, a jalab-and-turban there, Jehangir’s big Mohawk rising from a sea of kufis, Amazing Ayyub still with no shirt, girls scattered throughout – some in hejab, some not and Rabeya in punk-patched burqa doing her thing. But in its randomness it was gorgeous, reflecting an Islam I felt could not happen anywhere else ... If Islam was to be saved, it would be saved by the crazy ones: Jehangir and Rabeya and Fasiq and Dawud and Ayyub and even Umar.

More important for Chime were the ballads that my father sang me. I think that all of those ballads, the structure of them, the bittersweet nature of them, has gone right into my books. I can't thank my father enough; he sang me two songs every night and sometimes they'd be these long ballads with 32 verses. I grew up knowing an amazing number of stories, accompanied by these gorgeous and haunting tunes that aren't part of our modern culture. They're very Gaelic. I think that was really important to me; I would not be the writer I am if he had not sung me all those songs. So, thanks Dad

Master of beauty, craftsman of the snowflake, inimitable contriver, endower of Earth so gorgeous & different from the boring Moon, thank you for such as it is my gift. I have made up a morning prayer to you containing with precision everything that most matters. ‘According to Thy will’ the thing begins. It took me off & on two days. It does not aim at eloquence. You have come to my rescue again & again in my impassable, sometimes despairing years. You have allowed my brilliant friends to destroy themselves and I am still here, severely damaged, but functioning. Unknowable, as I am unknown to my guinea pigs: how can I ‘love’ you? I only as far as gratitude & awe confidently & absolutely go. I have no idea whether we live again. It doesn’t seem likely from either the scientific or the philosophical point of view but certainly all things are possible to you, and I believe as fixedly in the Resurrection-appearances to Peter and to Paul as I believe I sit in this blue chair. Only that may have been a special case to establish their initiatory faith. Whatever your end may be, accept my amazement. May I stand until death forever at attention for any your least instruction or enlightenment. I even feel sure you will assist me again, Master of insight & beauty.

And on Sunday we went to the flea market and it was so cool. Nicola said she wanted to look at pictures and fabrics, so Carey and I went to an amazing part, called the Marché Malik, all retro stuff, and I got this denim jacket, it’s just gorgeous, got all flowers embroidered on it, so much cooler than some mass-produced thing from Hollister. I’ll go and get it.’ ‘And there we were spending squillions on one from Hollister,’ said Bianca, ‘so uncool. Silly us not to know. I’m not sure about this friendship, Patrick.’ Patrick grinned at her. ‘It won’t last. They’ll probably fall out next term.’ ‘And I really don’t like this thing of giving her cocktails. So

These pastries are gorgeous colors," she said. "I didn't even know I liked green, but I do. It reminds me of her. I keep thinking of her grandparents' house in India. My mother and aunt grew up in the city, but their grandparents grew coffee on a plantation a few hours away. Have you ever heard of Coorg? It's this region in the south of India where people grow tea and coffee, and they have the most beautiful forests, and we used to go there every year when I was little. My mother would take me out to show me the coffee blossoms and the tigers in the forests. It was always so green there, and the air always felt like rain. And now it's raining here and it's all just wet and cold and I'm scared that-" She broke off. "I don't know. Sorry. I'm probably not making much sense." Lila was quiet for a moment, and then she said, "What are you scared of?" Anna shook her head. She couldn't shape the words, and she wasn't sure she could say them to someone she had only just met anyway. To distract herself, she took a bite of one of the pan dulce Lila had given her. It almost melted in her mouth, moist and sweet and perfectly crumbly. "This is amazing," she said. Lila beamed. "I'm glad you like it." Another bite, another taste. Lila continued to swing gently, back and forth, in an oddly soothing rhythm. The taste of the pan dulce on Anna's tongue felt soft, comforting, like a friend holding her hand.

When Lauren returned from lunch there were two dozen breathtakingly gorgeous red roses in a vase on her desk. She removed the card from its envelope and stared at it in blank amazement. On it was written "Thank you, sweetheart," followed by the initial J. When Lauren looked up,Nick was standing in the doorway,his shoulder casually propped against the frame. But there was nothing casual about the rigid set of his jaw or the freezing look in his gray eyes. "From a secret admirer?" he asked sarcastically. It was the first personal comment he had addressed to her in four days. "Not a secret admirer exactly," she hedged. "Who is he?" Lauren tensed. He seemed so angry she didn't think it would be wise to mention Jim's name. "I'm not absolutely certain." "You aren't absolutely certain?" he bit out. "How many men with the inital J are you seeing? How many of them think you're worth more than a hundred dollars in roses as a way of saying thank you?" "A hundred dollars?" Lauren repeated, so appalled at the expense that she completely overlooked the fact that Nick had obviously opened the envelope and read the card. "You must be getting better at it," he mocked crudely. Inwardly Lauren flinched, but she lifted her chin. "I have much better teachers now!" With an icy glance that raked her from head to toe,Nick turned on his heel and strode back into his office. For the rest of the day he left her completely alone.

I remember, the first time I saw you.” I did too, something seared into my memory, but it wasn’t about me, right then. “You were this… fierce thing,” he said, moving the wipe to my left eye, pressing carefully to the eyelid. “Tall and gorgeous and fucking bitchy as all hell.” He set the wipe down behind me and then pulled out another. He started in on the other eye. “And I didn’t think I’d ever seen anything as amazing as you before.” My throat clicked audibly as I wondered where this was leading to. Because he was talking about Helena, not me. “You were with Paul,” he continued. “Though I didn’t know who he was at the time. All I wanted to do was find out who you were.” He finished with my eyes and used another wipe on my cheeks. My lips, though, there wasn’t much lipstick left. He didn’t say much more until he’d finished. By the time he sat back, my skin felt raw and my heart was tripping all over itself in my chest. “And then you disappeared,” he said. “But you came back. As her.” I froze. He sighed and took my hands in his. “You were Sandy when I first saw you,” he said, squeezing my fingers. “You were Helena when I saw you again.” His eyes darted away. “And you were Sandy when I was an asshole. That was on me, and I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive myself for that.” He took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I don’t care if you’re Helena. I don’t care if you never put on a wig again. I will take anything you’re willing to give me. But just know that it was you I saw first, Sandy. Not her. I don’t need her or whatever division you think exists. I don’t want just part of you. I want all of you.

What is it about autism that makes two rational, educated adults torture themselves in this way? Playing the blame game is not healthy and helps no one. Autism does that. It grabs you and, if you’re not careful, it drags you down with it. Despite all the progress made, I’ve felt its pull lately. But we must not let it get the better of us. I propose a new version of the blame game. In this version we ask, ‘Where did he get those beautiful eyes from? That smile? That gorgeous hair and stunning face? Who’s responsible for his amazing reading ability and astonishing memory? Where did those dancing skills come from? And the musical ability?’ Trouble is, my wife would win that version too! Nonetheless, these are the questions we should be asking because, ultimately, they are his defining features, not autism.

It’s gorgeous. There’s a seating area to the left of me. To my right is a table with two chairs, all set up with plates and silverware, and champagne is in a bucket standing by the table. And fairy lights are hanging everywhere—literally everywhere you could put them. They’re entwined along the railings that edge the whole area. They’re draped over the small shrubs and trees that sit in planters. They’re hanging from the trellis. They’re just everywhere, and it looks so pretty. Music is softly playing in the background. London is receding into dusk. The sky is a soft dusty pink. And I’m in heaven. I walk further out, looking around in awe. “This is amazing.” I turn to face him. “I can’t believe you did this for me.” Well, I can. Because he’s done so much already. His hands are in his pants pockets, his head slightly tilted to the side, his eyes watching me. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you, Boston.

Your charming charm is a super sexy mega power that is simply impossible to overcome. Sweetest gourmet, I adore your gorgeous body, when I see you, only one word sounds in my head: yum, I will give myself completely to you. I will always love only you unconsciously, unconsciously, your gently erotic image sat in the depths of my mind completely. From your amazingly contagious beauty, your mouth opens and speechless is lost. Dizzyingly, stunningly beautiful, you are like a giant tornado, from which everything attracts you. And the heart and soul yearn all the time only for you. It doesn't matter if you love me or not, the main thing is that I still love you, and in my subconscious mind, I will only love you forever. Your luxurious appearance of the highest quality, this is a workshop, the filigree work of Mother Nature, this is just a masterpiece that constitutes a unique example of true beauty, you have no equal, you are a girl of high caliber. You are absolutely beautiful to such an extent, so beautiful, so exotic, erotic, and your image sounds poetic like very beautiful music of love, that I’m just afraid and shy to come to you, I’m afraid to talk to you, as if standing next to a goddess, or with a super mega star, a world scale model that even aliens probably know. My heart beats more often, I can’t talk normally, from excitement, goosebumps all over my body, and it just shakes. All these are symptoms of true love for you, well, simply: oh), wow). To be your boyfriend and husband is the greatest honor in the world, he knelt before you with flowers in his hands. Your appearance is perfect just like Barbie. You are so beautiful that only you want to have sex forever, countless, infinite number of times. You are unattainable, you are like a star whose light of the soul, like a searchlight, illuminates me in the deep darkness of solitude. In love with you thorough. You are simply amazingly beautiful. You are the best of the best. Goddess of all goddesses, empress of all empresses, queen of all queens. More beautiful you just can not imagine a girl. Sexier than you just can not be anything. Beautiful soul just is not found. There was nothing more perfect than you and never will be, simply because I think so. Laponka, I'm your faithful fan, you are my only idol, idol, icon of beauty. It doesn't matter who you are, I will accept you any. Because in any case I am eager to be only with you. You have a sexy smile, and your sensual look is just awesome. And from your voice and look a pleasant shiver all over your body. You are special, the best that is in all worlds, universes and dimensions. You're just a sight for sore eyes. To you I feel the most powerful, love and sexual inclination. You're cooler than any Viagra and afrodosiak. From your beauty just cling to the constraints and embarrassment.

You have something to say to me, Cassidy, say it. Or shut the fuck up.” “All right,” Jules said. “I will.” He took a deep breath. Exhaled. “Okay, see, I, well, I love you. Very, very much, and . . .” Where to go from here . . .? Except, his plain-spoken words earned him not just a glance but Max’s sudden full and complete attention. Which was a little alarming. But it was the genuine concern in Max’s eyes that truly caught Jules off-guard. Max actually thought . . . Jules laughed his surprise. “Oh! No, not like that. I meant it, you know, in a totally platonic, non-gay way.” Jules saw comprehension and relief on Max’s face. The man was tired if he was letting such basic emotions show. “Sorry.” Max even smiled. “I just . . .” He let out a burst of air. “I mean, talk about making things even more complicated . . .” It was amazing. Max hadn’t recoiled in horror at the idea. His concern had been for Jules, about potentially hurting his tender feelings. And even now, he wasn’t trying to turn it all into a bad joke. And he claimed they weren’t friends. Jules felt his throat tighten. “You can’t know,” he told his friend quietly, “how much I appreciate your acceptance and respect.” “My father was born in India,” Max told him, “in 1930. His mother was white—American. His father was not just Indian, but lower caste. The intolerance he experienced both there and later, even in America, made him a . . . very bitter, very hard, very, very unhappy man.” He glanced at Jules again. “I know personality plays into it, and maybe you’re just stronger than he was, but . . . People get knocked down all the time. They can either stay there, wallow in it, or . . . Do what you’ve done—what you do. So yeah. I respect you more than you know.” Holy shit. Weeping was probably a bad idea, so Jules grabbed onto the alternative. He made a joke. “I wasn’t aware that you even had a father. I mean, rumors going around the office have you arriving via flying saucer—” “I would prefer not to listen to aimless chatter all night long,” Max interrupted him. “So if you’ve made your point . . .?” Ouch. “Okay,” Jules said. “I’m so not going to wallow in that. Because I do have a point. See, I said what I said because I thought I’d take the talk-to-an-eight-year-old approach with you. You know, tell you how much I love you and how great you are in part one of the speech—” “Speech.” Max echoed. “Because part two is heavily loaded with the silent-but-implied ‘you are such a freaking idiot.’” “Ah, Christ,” Max muttered. “So, I love you,” Jules said again, “in a totally buddy-movie way, and I just want to say that I also really love working for you, and I hope to God you’ll come back so I can work for you again. See, I love the fact that you’re my leader not because you were appointed by some suit, but because you earned very square inch of that gorgeous corner office. I love you because you’re not just smart, you’re open-minded—you’re willing to talk to people who have a different point of view, and when they speak, you’re willing to listen. Like right now, for instance. You’re listening, right?” “No.” “Liar.” Jules kept going. “You know, the fact that so many people would sell their grandmother to become a part of your team is not an accident. Sir, you’re beyond special—and your little speech to me before just clinched it. You scare us to death because we’re afraid we won’t be able to live up to your high standards. But your back is strong, you always somehow manage to carry us with you even when we falter. “Some people don’t see that; they don’t really get you—all they know is they would charge into hell without hesitation if you gave the order to go. But see, what I know is that you’d be right there, out in front—they’d have to run to keep up with you. You never flinch. You never hesitate. You never rest.

Subect: Sigh. Okay. Since we're on the subject... Q. What is the Tsar of Russia's favorite fish? A. Tsardines, of course. Q. What does the son of a Ukranian newscaster and a U.S. congressman eat for Thanksgiving dinner on an island off the coast of Massachusetts? A.? -Ella Subect: TG A. Republicans. Nah.I'm sure we'll have all the traditional stuff: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes. I'm hoping for apple pie. Our hosts have a cook who takes requests, but the island is kinda limited as far as shopping goes. The seven of us will probably spend the morning on a boat, then have a civilized chow-down. I predict Pictionary. I will win. You? -Alex Subect: Re. TG Alex, I will be having my turkey (there ill be one, but it will be somewhat lost among the pumpkin fettuccine, sausage-stuffed artichokes, garlic with green beans, and at least four lasagnas, not to mention the sweet potato cannoli and chocolate ricotta pie) with at least forty members of my close family, most of whom will spend the entire meal screaming at each other. Some will actually be fighting, probably over football. I am hoping to be seated with the adults. It's not a sure thing. What's Martha's Vineyard like? I hear it's gorgeous. I hear it's favored by presidential types, past and present. -Ella Subject: Can I Have TG with You? Please??? There's a 6a.m. flight off the island. I can be back in Philadelphia by noon. I've never had Thanksgiving with more than four or five other people. Only child of two only children. My grandmother usually hosts dinner at the Hunt Club. She doesn't like turkey. Last year we had Scottish salmon. I like salmon,but... The Vineyard is pretty great. The house we're staying in is in Chilmark, which, if you weren't so woefully ignorant of defunct television, is the birthplace of Fox Mulder. I can see the Menemsha fishing fleet out my window. Ever heard of Menemsha Blues? I should bring you a T-shirt. Everyone has Black Dogs; I prefer a good fish on the chest. (Q. What do you call a fish with no eyes? A. Fish.) We went out on a boat this afternoon and actually saw a humpback whale. See pics below. That fuzzy gray lump in the bumpy gray water is a fin. A photographer I am not. Apparently, they're usually gone by now, heading for the Caribbean. It's way too cold to swim, but amazing in the summer. I swear I got bumped by a sea turtle here last July 4, but no one believes me. Any chance of saving me a cannoli? -A

No, Miller, I don’t myself think much of science as a phase of human development. It has given us a lot of ingenious toys; they take our attention away from the real problems, of course, and since the problems are insoluble, I suppose we ought to be grateful for distraction. But the fact is, the human mind, the individual mind, has always been made more interesting by dwelling on the old riddles, even if it makes nothing of them. Science hasn’t given us any new amazements, except of the superficial kind we get from witnessing dexterity and sleight-of-hand. It hasn’t given us any richer pleasures, as the Renaissance did, nor any new sins—not one! Indeed, it takes our old ones away. It’s the laboratory, not the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of the world. You’ll agree there is not much thrill about a physiological sin. We were better off when even the prosaic matter of taking nourishment could have the magnificence of a sin. I don’t think you help people by making their conduct of no importance—you impoverish them. As long as every man and woman who crowded into the cathedrals on Easter Sunday was a principal in a gorgeous drama with God, glittering angels on one side and the shadows of evil coming and going on the other, life was a rich thing. The

If I ignored the eyes, I would think the subject of the painting was ready to fall into a contented sleep. But the eyes ruined that illusion. They were wide open, and too old, too deep, too knowing for the age of the angel. They were the eyes of someone who’d seen way too much pain and ugliness. Cautious. Vulnerable. Soft. Sad. Full of wistful yearning. It wasn’t the narrative of that carefree and passionate night I’d spent with Jace, not as I recalled it. And yet it was, from sundown to sunrise, told in stages. They were gorgeous paintings, but what sort of impression must I have left on Jace for him to see me like that? They weren’t me. Not me at all. The semi-angelic young man in those paintings was idealized beyond all recognition, someone mythical and amazing, and that wasn’t me. I was just Topher, the fucked-up kid who was betraying his best friend by making her dad an adulterer, the kid who would probably never finish college and who couldn’t seem to achieve anything more than mediocrity in anything he pursued.

The point is that it's twisty and complicated and doesn't really make rational sense. Now look at this. Visconti Hours-Renaissance Italian. Look at the bright colors, the beautiful artwork, the florals, the animals and birds and how fucking gorgeous this thing is? It's complex, but understandable. Relatable. The colors, the gold - God, Dougie, this is fuckingly amazingly beautiful. You can see this, understand this, appreciate this. This - this is Adam.

acknowledgements Huge thanks, obviously, to the superhuman Jane Austen for her books. Besides those masterpieces, I also reviewed (obsessively) the BBC 1995 production of Pride and Prejudice, as well as Emma (1996), Sense and Sensibility (1995), Persuasion (1995), and Patricia Rozema’s gorgeous revision of Mansfield Park (1999). I’m also indebted to Daniel Pool’s What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew for period information. The World of Jane Austen, by Nigel Nicholson, who also useful, and I scoured the Web site Jessamyn’s Regency Costume Companion for clothing information. Despite the research, I’d be surprised if I didn’t make mistakes, but they’re sure to be my fault, so please don’t blame my sources. Special thanks to the amazing Amanda Katz for her inspired editing, as well as to Nadia Cornier, Cordelia Brand, Ann Cannon, Rosi Hayes, and Mette Ivie Harrison. And can I just say again how much I love Bloomsbury? I do. Everyone there is so cool. And also quite attractive (though that hardly seems fair, does it?). And honey, you know that this Colin Firth thing isn’t really serious. You are my fantasy man and my real man. I need no other fella in all the world besides you. It’s just a girl thing, I swear.

Joe stood right inside the door, a smile growing on his lips and a wonderful warmth lighting his eyes as he looked her up and down. “Oh, honey,” he said in a breath. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous.” Mel laughed. These guys, she thought. To the last one, they loved pregnant women. It was very amazing, very sexy. No one could better appreciate that kind of man than a midwife. He dropped the plans on a table and moved toward her with his hands stretched out, tentative. “Go ahead,” she said. His hands were on her belly in no time. “Ah, Mel.” Then he pulled her into his arms to give her a hug. “Ripe and ready,” he said. “You’re so beautiful.” “I’m right back here,” Jack said from behind the bar. Joe laughed. “Be right with you, buddy. I have my hands full of woman right now.” “Yeah,” Jack said. “My woman.” “You need your own woman,” Mel said. Another one who was, like her husband, a big, handsome man, an angel of a man, and though he was surely over thirty-five, completely unattached. “I do,” he said. He touched her nose. “Why don’t you find me one?” “I’ll get right on it,” she said, pulling out of his arms and grabbing the rolled-up plans from the table. They

What are we talking about?” Tawny asked as Judd rolled a ball, knocked over a few pins, then frowned like he might knock the others over with his angry glare. “Aaron’s going to fix her tat,” Bailey explained while Cooper and Farah wandered off. “He’s an artist,” Tawny cooed. “He made this angel on Judd.” After Tawny showed me Judd’s arm, she put her hand back to where she had a gorgeous tattoo of a fallen angel. “He’s very talented,” she added. “I’m excited to get my butterfly finished.” “He’ll do a great job,” Bailey reassured, taking a ball from Vaughn and rolling it into the wrong alley. “Oops.” “Idiot.” “Be nice or I won’t be nice,” Bailey warned, glaring up at him. “I love feisty women,” he said, smirking down at her. “Not interested. Blond men are usually stupid. Just look at my brothers. Anyway, I don’t want a dumbass loser. I want a smartass winner.” “You deserve nothing less,” I said and Bailey smiled at me like I was amazing.

I looked out at the children in the playground below my window: They were running around yelling in the sunshine, and I reflected on how blokes always get the women they want by chasing them until they give in. I'm always amazed that so many men—usually the ugly ones—are convinced they could pull Claudia Schiffer if they were given the chance, while someone gorgeous ... is always convinced blokes don't fancy her. It rarely happens the other way round.

Joel Tippie, as well as Amy Ryan and Barb Fitzsimmons, for making these books so gorgeous Every. Single. Time. The amazing Brenna Franzitta, Josh Weiss, Mark Rifkin, Valerie Shea, Christine Cox, and Joan Giurdanella, for taking such good care of my words. Lauren Flower, Alison Lisnow, Sandee Roston, Diane Naughton, Colleen O’Connell, Aubry Parks-Fried, Margot Wood, Patty Rosati, Molly Thomas, Megan Sugrue, Onalee Smith, and Brett Rachlin, for all your marketing and publicity efforts, which are far too substantial to name.

Justin stood against the far wall of the amazingly decorated space that held his wedding reception. He could honestly say that he didn’t even recognize his old high school gym. The walls were covered in flowing drapes. There was special flooring put down that was lit from below. A large raised dance floor sat in the center of the room. Six large ice sculptures were placed throughout as well as the most gorgeous flower arrangements Justin had ever seen.

Not a day has gone by for me that I haven't been waiting for you. That I haven't dreamed of a faceless you. That I haven't imagined what you would feel like under my palms. Waiting was never the problem, it was doubting. I began to doubt that you were real, that you were actually coming to me. But I should never have doubted you. I'm amazed when I look at your face to see the love I feel for you smiling back at me. I would do anything you asked of me to keep that smile there. You are all there is, my world... I'm honored just to be in your presence, let alone have your heart. I adore the way you look at my world. The love you have for my family. How you can be so completely innocent and so achingly sexy all at the same time. How you're always selfless, and there, and full of love even after everything you've been through. Baby, I've said it a million times and I'll continue to say it 'til my last breath… You're amazing. Tomorrow you'll be mine in every way, every sense, every second, but I know that no matter how tight I hold you, it'll never be close enough. No matter how long or hard or passionately I kiss your lips, it'll never be sating. You're my soul-mate, my reason to keep pulling air into my lungs, my gorgeous significant that fits in my arms and my life perfectly, my whole life, my love, my partner in crime, my very heart, my amazing girl. Marry me. Take the beating heart in my chest and do with it what you wish. It's been yours since the day you saved my life. You've been saving it ever since. I love you, baby, more than will ever be understandable, but I dare you to try. Every tomorrow is all that matters, my love. The

Normally men don't really listen all that well. You can mention that you like apricots, or The Cure, or kittens, and it just goes out of their heads the minute it's out of your mouth. I personally seize on these clues about people. For example, I know that Sasha loves the smell of violets, and that Rose enjoys novels of a bodice-ripping nature and walks for exercise and has a Siamese cat called Dr. Oodles, but if I'd asked Dan what his best friend had studied at college- where they were roommates- he would have no idea. Anyway, Edward was apparently different, because he'd sent me a gorgeous bouquet of roses that filled the room with an intense, sweetly lemony, rosy smell that was mind-blowing. The roses themselves were a rich cream and stuffed with petals that made them look like roses in paintings. Sasha was looking at me. "Well, you must have done something pretty amazing last night. I've been sketching these since I got in. They're the most gorgeous Madame Hardys I've seen in a long time." I could see she had also been getting her shit together; there were open cartons on her desk, and she'd brought her portfolio to the office. "Aren't they roses?" I was bending down, sniffing deeply. I looked for a card. Sasha laughed. "The name of the rose is Madame Hardy. It's a damask rose, and one of the most famous old roses available these days. Someone knows their flowers.

Her amazingly long legs… Ga! What the hell am I thinking? I can’t be thinking about Kiri-Kiri like this! I—she’s just some girl I used work with! Who cares if she’s gorgeous. And what about Gabrielle? We might not be dating, but we—aren’t we still sort of together? Even if it’s only temporary? I can’t cheat on her like that… “You could always build a harem?” I don’t know who you are, but if you mention that again, I’m going to come in there and hit you! “Oh, my. That sounds positively… delightful. Will you tie me down, bend me over your lap, and spank me until—kya!” Alex blinked when the voice yelped. Then Voice Number Two spoke up. “I apologize. It appears that I cannot take my eyes off of her for even one second. Please, pretend that we are naught but static noise in the background and ignore us.

Some of the web’s most popular blogs even write in short 2-3 sentence paragraphs so that it’s easier on readers’ eyes. This is a subtle, but incredibly important feature of gorgeous design.

It’s pretty amazing to be around the kind of person who envisions a thing they want, and then goes to Menards and figures out how to make it real. I’m the type of person who thinks, “Wow, that table would be gorgeous in a deep teal,” and then walks past it every single day for the rest of my life without once considering going to the hardware store and getting sandpaper and a drop cloth. I would love to replace my kitchen cabinets, but how am I supposed to get the old ones down? And, even if I developed some herculean old-man strength and ripped them clean off the wall, what am I supposed to do with them? How do you throw cabinets away? Who do you get to put up the new ones?!

The painfully prolonged polite greetings finally over, she stealthily drifted over to the table of goodies. She was just a finger’s length away from a chocolate-glazed precious with her name written all over it when a firm hand clamped down on her elbow. Her empty stomach sank to the bottom of her sensible shoes, and she stared up at her boss with what she knew was the most effectively pathetic hangdog expression in her arsenal. But he was having none of it; his jaw was clenched so tightly she was amazed his teeth didn’t crack. She gave one final forlorn look at the doughnuts before he led her to the long conference table in the center of the room. “Try to pay attention,” he muttered in her ear as he planted her into a seat that, cruelly, faced the delicious spread just a table’s breadth away from her. What followed was the longest, most boring and torturous three hours of Cleo’s life. The meeting was conducted entirely in Japanese, which Cleo didn’t speak but Dante most certainly did, and quite fluently too from what she could tell. She didn’t know why she was there. He had a Dictaphone recording the meeting, so even if she’d been able to understand what was going on, she wouldn’t have had to take notes anyway. All she could do was stare at the doughnuts and other delicious goodies in front of her and imagine how they tasted. At one point a fly landed on her doughnut. It took everything she had not to jump up with a primal scream and chase it away. Instead, she watched in revulsion as it crawled over every inch of her beautiful doughnut. She nearly sobbed in disappointment, gave up on the chocolate one, and shifted her attention to a gorgeous éclair on a different platter. But when that bastard fly, which she had now named Damaso Jr., landed on her éclair as well, she slumped back in her chair and stared glumly down at the blank notebook in front of her.

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She’s in-your-face gorgeous with waves of fire-engine-red hair that almost reach her ass, and her figure is amazing, though she doesn’t care how she looks.

Before our faces could touch I was yanked back and thrown over Chase’s shoulder as he yelled for the beer pong game to start. “CHASE! Put me down!” I couldn’t even enjoy the fact that his hands were touching my bare thighs. He’d just stopped what could have been my first kiss, and his shoulder was really uncomfortable against my stomach. “No way! The Princess needs her throne!” I started beating my fists on his back, which just made him laugh harder and smack my butt. Ugh, this was the worst position to be in, I couldn’t even get a good pressure point to hit. “If you don’t put me down I will make good on my previous threat!” He laughed for another few seconds before remembering the night in his bed, immediately his laughter stopped and I was set down. But of course, I couldn’t have the last word. Gripping my arm firmly, he pulled me towards the front door before bringing me close to his body so he could whisper roughly in my ear. “I don’t want you with him.” He growled and his grip tightened. Gah, even that sent shivers of pleasure through me. “What is your deal with him? Is there something he did that you’d like to share?” “He’s not good enough for you.” I shook my head and failed at yanking my arm free, it was starting to get painful. “How do you know what is and isn’t good for me? You don’t even know me!” I hissed. Warm hands were on my shoulders then, and though he dropped my arm, Chase looked more pissed off than he had before. I knew he’d been gripping me tight, but my arm was now throbbing where his hand had just been. “I thought I told you to back off man?” Chase’s voice got louder, I swear I could practically see his feathers ruffle. I could tell Brandon was standing in an intimidating stance, but he seemed perfectly at ease making soothing trails up and down my arms. “I don’t really think that’s up to you.” Chase looked at me softly, his voice still harsh, “You hurt her, I swear to God I’ll break your neck.” With that, he pushed past us and went back toward the kitchen. That was a little much. “Ridiculous.” I blew out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and turned to look at Brandon. “Before you ask, I have absolutely no idea.” He laughed and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close to his chest. “And you’re sure nothing’s going on between you?” “Positive. He probably just views me as his sister, so he’s a little protective.” “Hah! I’m pretty sure he doesn’t see you like he sees Bree.” “What do you mean?” I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow his voice got even lower and all I wanted to do was close my eyes and listen to him talk. “You’re gorgeous, funny and just all around amazing. And what makes it worse is that you don’t even see it. All the guys had been talking about you before I even got here, and after today, I see why.” “No they weren’t Brandon.” I rolled my eyes. He raised his eyebrow and smirked, “I wouldn’t lie to you. Harper, trust me when I say he doesn’t want to be your brother, but I’m not about to let him try to be anything else.” His

tilted and her eyes crinkled with amusement, Julia gazed into the distance. Millie was looking at Julia and laughing happily. The pair were obviously enjoying a funny moment together, their pose completely natural as they focused on each other and whatever it was they had shared, the two of them completely unaware of the camera. Julia’s big brown eyes and long dark hair were set off beautifully by the pretty pink top she was wearing, while Millie’s blue T-shirt contrasted with it perfectly. It really was a gorgeous photo and gave a true impression of how close they were. Another picture showed the two of them dressed up in really cool Halloween outfits. They both looked amazing and I thought about how much fun that night must have been.  

Just as Shakespeare filled his works with straightforward storylines, sex, violence, and bawdy jokes for the “groundlings” (the uneducated peasants who stood or sat on the ground) while at the same time creating gorgeous poetry with profound levels of meaning for the wealthy and cultured patrons in the upper seats, artists in Michelangelo’s era were creating amazing pieces that would speak to every level of intelligence. The common folk would see pretty pictures and statues and listen to a cleric’s narration of their meaning. For those of sufficient background, however, there were far more treasures to be gleaned from delving into each work.

He’s fucking gorgeous. I can’t believe I’m saying that about another dude, but fuck me, he’s beautiful. His eyes are amazing. These really pale silvery pools—pools, Sloane! I’m calling his eyes fucking pools. Just seeing him makes me smile. He’s funny, sweet, damn sexy, and I don’t know why the hell he fell in love with me. No clue. I do know when I see him with Seb, I want to seriously punch Seb in the face, and if he wasn’t such a fucking nice guy and Hobbs’s brother, I would have already done it. God, I want to kick his ass! And I don’t give a fuck he’s a tiger Therian. I can totally take him down. It’s driving me fucking crazy.” Ash let out a frustrated growl. He turned to face Sloane. “I know I hurt Cael, but….” He returned to the chair and dropped down into it. “Fuck me sideways. I don’t know what to do with all this emotional shit. It’s fucking exhausting.” He let his head fall back. “Fuck this shit.” “Jesus, Ash. Why don’t you talk to Cael?” Damn. Usually he could gauge how upset his friend was over something by the number of times he dropped the “F” bomb. “And

A relationship between us would never work," Ísa blurted out, terrified of how fast she was falling for this gorgeous, driven man. The way he'd been with Catie, it was exactly>/i> how she'd imagined the man of her dreams would be with her baby sister. Comfortable, affectionate, amazing. Catie was already half in love with him. Just like Ísa. "Why not?" he asked with a black scowl. "Are you still hung up on the age thing?" "You're twenty-three. I'm ready to settle down, have a child, build a life with someone." Tipping up her chin, he pressed his nose to hers. "Yeah? And who's this perfect man you're going to dump me for?" It was a growl of sound. Ísa scowled back at him. "I haven't met him yet." "So you're dumping me for an imaginary man?" "You're deliberately misunderstanding." She glared. "How am I supposed to find him when I'm with you?" A shrug. "I don't care. I'm not going to cooperate in your dump-Sailor-for-an-imaginary-man scheme." "You're infuriating." Fisting her hands in his hair, she kissed him, releasing all her fear, all her need, all her worry. His hands powerful and warm at her hips, he pulled her up against the hard length of his body and met her tongue lash for lash. Heart pounding when it was over, she broke the kiss--and he said, "Want to hear my suggestion?" "No." She folded her arms and drew her eyebrows together. "Too bad." A kiss on the nose again, the affectionate act smashing her walls to tiny fragments. "I say we don't run, we don't hide. We try. No laughter in his expression now, only a passionate tenderness. "I'm no poet, Ísa. I can't give you fancy words. But I know what we have is special. It's worth a fight.

Taking a deep breath, Sailor decided to lay himself at her feet. "I was imagining the future and thinking of how if everything went according to plan, I'd have a very successful business with a high turnover." He made sure his hands were locked behind Ísa's back--just in case she decided to leave him in her dust a fourth time. "And since I'd be rich, I'd be able to buy houses and other nice things for my family." Ísa frowned. "I don't think your family expects that." "They don't exactly need my largess either," Sailor muttered. "But in my future fantasy, I'm buying everyone fancy cars and houses. Go with it." Ísa's lips twitched. "Okay, big spender. What else is fantasy Sailor doing?" "He's building a ginormous mansion. Swimming pool, tennis court, the works." "Is he hiring a buff personal masseuse named Sven?" "Hell no." He glared at her. "The masseuse is a fifty-year-old forner bodybuilder named Helga. Now, can I carry on?" Pretending to zip up her lips and throw away the key, Ísa made a "go on" motion. "Future Sailor is also creating a huge walk-in closet for you and filling it with designer shoes and clothes. He's giving you everything your heart desires." A flicker of darkness in Ísa's gaze, but she didn't interrupt... though her hands went still on his shoulders. "And there's a tricked-out nursery too," he added. "Plus a private playground for our rug rats." Throat moving, Ísa said, "How many?" It was a husky question. "Seven, I think." "Very funny, mister." "I'm not done." Sailor was the one who swallowed this time. "And in this fantasy house, future Sailor walks in late for dinner again because of a board meeting, and he has a gorgeous, sexy, brilliant wife and adorable children. But his redhead doesn't look at him the same anymore. And it doesn't matter how many shoes he buys her or how many necklaces he gives her, she's never again going to look at him the way she did before he stomped on her heart. Ísa's lower lip began to quiver, but she didn't speak. "I'm so sorry, baby." Sailor cupped her face, made sure she saw the sheer terror he felt at the thought of losing her. "I've been so tied to this idea of becoming a grand success that I forgot what it was all about in the first place--being there for the people I love. Sticking through the good and the bad. Never abandoning them." Silent tears rolled own Ísa's face. "But that great plan of mine?" he said, determined not to give himself any easy outs. "It'd have mean abandoning everyone. How can I be there for anyone when all I do is work? When I shove aside all other commitments? When the people I love hesitate to ask for my time because I'm too tired and too busy?" Using his thumbs, he rubbed away her tears. More splashed onto the backs of his hands, her hurt as hot as acid. "Spitfire, please," he begged, breaking. "I'll let you punch me as many times as you want if you stop crying. With a big red glove. And you can post photos online." Ísa pressed her lips together, blinked rapidly several times. And pretended to punch him with one fist, the touch a butterfly kiss. Catching her hand, he pressed his lips to it. "That's more like my Ísa." He wrapped his arms around her again. And then he told her the most important thing. "I realized that I could become a multimillionaire, but it would mean nothing if my redhead didn't look at me the way she does now, if she expected to have to take care of everything alone like she's always done--because her man was a selfish bastard who was never there." Ísa rubbed her nose against his. "You're being very hard on future Sailor," she whispered, her voice gone throaty. "That dumbass deserves it," Sailor growled. "He was going to put his desire to be a big man above his amazing, smart, loving redhead.

Boy, you don’t know it, but you really are still a baby. You’re amazingly fucking young. Don’t write off the rest of your life like that, okay? There’s some stunning, gorgeous moments waiting for you. Don’t make a plan that’ll make you miss out on them.

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No matter who you are, if in your mind you are born a girl, you will grow to be a women through experience. It is not a biological process, it is not losing your virgnity, it is not giving birth or raising children, nor is it a thing that can be calculated or defined: it is a staggeringly ineffable, gorgeous uphill battle from chaos towards a chosen selfhood of contentment, self-belief, self-love, and empowerment.

In honor of today's abysmal SCOTUS decision, let's talk a little bit about why companies hire gorgeous, wonderful, amazing, genius women like Ketanji Brown at the most inopportune moments. It's called the 'glass cliff,' where they literally will hire women, and particularly women of color, where the company is in such dire straits that it really doesn't matter anymore. If the company fails, they blame it on their scapegoat, of their minority hire, their minority choice. And if it succeeds, now they have somebody that they can elevate and raise on their shoulders, and look like they are super accepting, and then hand it over to somebody that they typically would hire. . . So obviously I'm ecstatic that we got Ketanji on the Supreme Court, but what Supreme Court is she walking into? What will she be able to do with this much opposition?

A lot of people would jump at the chance to be seen with me, y'know." Her expression was pitying. "Poor Superglutes, aren't you getting enough attention from your millions of Instagram followers? Is it lonely being adored by all your fans?" "Very! All they see is this amazing body and gorgeous hair and beautiful cheekbones. Sure, I'm hilarious and great in bed, but do they appreciate it? Do you appreciate it?

It looks amazing! Stunning. Gorgeous. The office, I mean. The office looks gorgeous. “Did you use a decorator?” I ask, and he says he did. I figured. If the earlier furniture was his doing, he clearly needed a professional for this. Still, it fits Wendell perfectly. The new Wendell. The spruced-up but still unpretentious Wendell.

He had the most gorgeous eyes, this amazing deep blue, like a mountain lake you just wanted to dive naked into, and long, dark black eyelashes (123).

This gorgeous, amazing woman had become such a part of me, I didn’t know how to breathe without her on my mind, in my heart.

...I knew dozens, maybe hundreds, of gorgeous, funny, smart, amazing women none of whom needed a boyfriend but none of whom could get a boyfriend, and the fact of that was slowly corroding their belief in themselves from within.

Ugh, why does he have to be so freaking amazing all the time? Not to mention gorgeous. The way his eyes light up when he smiles, and the sexy way he… shit! I’m staring.

Seriously?” Spartacus looked amazed. “I thought this looked the same to everyone. We’re in a massive library that stretches all the way to the sky. It’s beautiful, with oak and teak shelves, gorgeous patterns in the wood, and beautiful books. There’s endless amounts to read and look at.

The Earth had melted away behind a mass of gorgeous, glistening stars. Still facing the wrong way, I remember calmly asking the angel, “Why did we stop?” “Turn around,” the angel said, whose inaudible voice seemed to chuckle. I turned around to face a most amazing sight. The angel stretched his arm outward and downward. His palm turned upward, exactly like the angel had gesticulated in my 1977 dream. With a giant sweep of his hand from left to right, he stated, “Behold!” Facing forward I beheld The Scene. My eyes feasted on a huge spherical globe! I fixed my clouded eyes upon a spectacular, panoramic view of God’s house. Our inheritance; paradise lost. The whole thing was bright and rich.

But I've decided that the church can't have it both ways. Either their God is a loving, forgiving, all-powerful being who can come down in person and explain my cock that it shouldn't find my infuriating, amazing, courageous partner the most fucking gorgeous thing it's ever seen. Or God and anyone else who has a problem with it can get the fuck out of our bedroom.

Steve was home for a visit. He was showing visitors how they fed the crocs. John was amazed. When the show was over, John and Steve talked for a long time. John asked what it was like catching crocs. Steve gave him some of the films he’d shot in the bush. John put the films away and made his commercial. When he took them out again, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The croc was terrifying to John. But Steve didn’t seem at all afraid. Crikey, Steve was saying, this little beauty sure is hungry. John couldn’t believe how excited Steve was about the croc. This guy really thought a croc was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen! He was waving his arms around and making all kinds of strange animal sounds. Gorgeous was one of Steve’s favorite words. Everything seemed gorgeous to him. The croc’s razor-sharp, glistening teeth were gorgeous. Its lashing tail was gorgeous. Steve Irwin’s life seemed to be one great big gorgeous adventure. John watched the raw videos over and over. An idea was bubbling in his brain. He called Steve. Would Steve mind if he showed the films to Australia’s Channel Ten network? Crikey! Steve said.

It's hard to accept, but you can't change the past. You can't go back and manipulate things to the way you wanted them to happen. Because life'd be meaningless and boring and just not worth living. But you can change the future and that's a beautiful thing about life. Yes, you will make mistakes. And yes, you will have bad days, but as long as you let the past go, you'll have such a gorgeous and bright future ahead of you. Knowing that things were meant to happen. Knowing that each day you will learn something so that you keep growing to be a better person. Life is like a rope, twined in all its complexities and yet weaved into one marvelous stream that you have the chance you use something amazing from. So grab hold of it.

Here is how you put this rule into action: use a thesaurus to find a synonym for a word you use too much. Then, simply swap the word for an interesting synonym. Let’s try it on the sentences above: “that painting is magnificent”, “your daughter is gorgeous”, “London is a truly stunning city”, “you have amazingly charming eyes”.

He stood and stared into the distance for a long while; he knew this spot particularly well. While attending university it often happened — a hundred times, perhaps, usually on his way home — that he would pause at precisely this spot, look intently at this truly magnificent panorama and every time be almost amazed by the obscure, irresolvable impression it made on him. An inexplicable chill came over him as he gazed at this magnificence; this gorgeous scene was filled for him by some dumb, deaf spirit... He marvelled every time at this sombre, mysterious impression and, distrusting himself, put off any attempt to explain it. Now, all of a sudden, those old questions of his, that old bewilderment, came back to him sharply, and it was no accident, he felt, that they'd come back now. The simple fact that he'd stopped at the very same spot as before seemed outlandish and bizarre, as if he really had imagined that now he could think the same old thoughts as before, take an interest in the same old subjects and scenes that had interested him... such a short while ago. He almost found it funny, yet his chest felt so tight it hurt. In the depths, down below, somewhere just visible beneath his feet, this old past appeared to him in its entirety, those old thoughts, old problems, old subjects, old impressions, and this whole panorama, and he himself, and everything, everything... It was as if he were flying off somewhere, higher and higher, and everything was vanishing before his eyes... Making an involuntary movement with his hand, he suddenly sensed the twenty-copeck piece in his fist. He unclenched his hand, stared hard at the coin, drew back his arm and hurled the coin into the water; then he turned round and set off home. It felt as if he'd taken a pair of scissors and cut himself off from everyone and everything, there and then.