Aries Man Quotes

Your Majesty, please get down. My friend Aris is really a very good man, and if you fall off that wall he's going to hang for it, and so will his squad, most of whom are also nice men, and though I can't say I really care if your attendants hang, there are probably many people that do care, and would you please, please get down?" The king looked at him, eyes narrowed. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that many words in a row. You sounded almost articulate.

I love him in every way a women can love a man, from personal to universal but most of all its unconditional.

Tom had discovered a great law of human action, namely, that in order to make a man covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain.

Before Kiki and I headed toward the Keep, I thanked my friends. “For what? We didn’t do anything,” Janco grumbled. “For caring enough to follow my guards. And the next time, I might need the help.” “There better not be a next time,” Ari said, giving me a stern look. “How touching,” Janco said, pretending to wipe his eyes. “Get going, Yelena. I don’t want you to see me cry.” He faked a sniffle. “I’m sure your ego can handle it,” I said. “Or will you need to beat up some trainees to feel like a man again?” “Very funny,” he said.

Upton Sinclair once noted, “It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends upon his not understanding it.”)

Thad: “But this is a boy, and you need to think of your reputation if you’re spending time alone with him—” Ari: ”Learning how to put a man's eye out or take him down at the knees. Very romantic stuff, Thad. Very romantic. Oh, and we also hid a body together, so we're practically engaged.

It’s never a nice cottage in the woods. If I ever find a witch with a house made of sweets, I’ll give her a hug.

Well Pa, revenooers don’t never mess up with nobody in these parts, do they?” “I never heerd tell of ’em botherin’ ary man. Floridy is a fine state that-a-way. Folkses here is the best in the world to mind their own business and not go interferin’ in nobody else’s.

Man is a pliant animal, a being who gets accustomed to anything. —FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY

The worst things I knows of is rattlesnakes and some kinds o’ people. And a rattlesnake minds his own matters if he ain’t bothered. A man’s got a right to kill ary thing, snake or man, comes messin’ up with him.

I don’t know if I believed in the war or not, Ari. I don’t think I did. I think about it a lot. But I signed up. And I don’t know what I felt about this country. I do know that the only country I had were the men that fought side by side. They were my country, Ari. Them. Louie and Beckett and Garcia and Al and Gio—they were my country. I’m not proud of everything I did in that war. I wasn’t always a good soldier. I wasn’t always a good man. War did something to us. To me. To all of us. But the men we left behind. Those are the ones who are in my dreams.

Signs and wonders, eh? Pity if there is nothing wonderful in signs, and significant in wonders! There's a clue somewhere; wait a bit; hist--hark! By Jove, I have it! Look, you Doubloon, your zodiac here is the life of man in one round chapter; and now I'll read it off, straight out of the book. Come, Almanack! To begin: there's Aries, or the Ram--lecherous dog, he begets us; then, Taurus, or the Bull--he bumps us the first thing; then Gemini, or the Twins--that is, Virtue and Vice; we try to reach Virtue, when lo! comes Cancer the Crab, and drags us back; and here, going from Virtue, Leo, a roaring Lion, lies in the path--he gives a few fierce bites and surly dabs with his paw; we escape, and hail Virgo, the Virgin! that's our first love; we marry and think to be happy for aye, when pop comes Libra, or Scales--happiness weighed and found wanting; and while we are very sad about that, Lord! how we suddenly jump, as Scorpio, or the Scorpion, stings us in rear; we are curing the wound, when whang comes the arrows all round; Sagittarius, or the Archer, is amusing himself. As we pluck out the shafts, stand aside! here's the battering-ram, Capricornus, or the Goat; full tilt, he comes rushing and headlong we are tossed; when Aquarius, or the the Waterbearer, pours out his whole deluge and drowns us; and, to wind up, with Pisces, or the Fishes, we sleep. There's a sermon now, writ in high heaven, and the sun goes through it every year, and yet comes out of it all alive and hearty.

Your apologies hang heavy like the skeleton of the man I once thought I’d marry. I loved you more than I knew what to do with most days. But I do not know you now. And this stranger you’ve become makes my stomach hurt.

Ari had discovered a contraband Barbie bangle in her weekend case and had gone on an hour’s rant that contained words like ‘body fascism’ and ‘third-wave feminism’, then made Ellie write out fifty times, ‘Barbie is a toxic plastic tool of a patriarchal culture.

in order to make a man covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain.” H

There's an old saying, "One man's ceiling is another man's floor." Well, when you're the owner, you're at the ceiling; and when you're the buyer, you're at the floor.

What the hel—” “Finally! I can talk!” Janco said. Ari turned. Janco held the Sandseed’s scimitar in his hand. The man lay on the ground, unconscious. “Care to explain?” Ari asked. “Didn’t you see my signals?” “Yeah. But they didn’t make sense. Five into one and it’s an intrusion.” “It’s an illusion! Five of them are an illusion.” “That’s not the signal for illusion. This is.” Ari demonstrated the proper signal. “That’s what I did.” “No, you didn’t. You did a weird twisty thing with your pinky.” “I had a scimitar at my throat. I’d like to see you try signaling under those conditions.” Ari opened his mouth to retort, but thought better of it. They could argue for weeks and not resolve a thing. He changed tactics. “You did very well. You knocked him unconscious and stopped his magic.” As expected, Janco preened.

The big man shifted in his seat, appearing uncomfortable. “Do you really believe we would eliminate someone you’re in love with?” I sputtered. “I’m not—” Ari held up a hand. “He’s helping you, then. That’s important to us.” Staring at him in shock, I finally asked, “Love trumps logic?” “Every time,” Valek said.

Must you be in such haste to don your clothes, ser? I prefer you as you are. Abed, unclad, we are our truest selves, a man and a woman, lovers, one flesh, as close as two can be. Our clothes make us different people - I would sooner be flesh and blood than silks and jewels, and you... you are not your white cloak, ser.

Giving people favors is a time-honored way of gaining loyalty. Pharmaceutical reps do it. The salespeople manning cosmetic counters do it. Lobbyists do it. Men with big crushes on impossibly beautiful women do it. Gifts work on our feelings in a couple of ways: they change the way we experience something, and they push our "reciprocate!" button. When we have the mandate to be objective and an incentive not to be, our biases often win the day-even if we don't think they will. Favors deeply affect our preferences and our loyalties.

There’s one way to find out if a man is honest—ask him. If he says “yes,” he is a crook. —GROUCHO MARX

TIME TO SACRIFICE TAURUS This is the night of union when the stars scatter their rice over us. The sky is excited! Venus cannot stop singing the little songs she's making up, like birds in the first warm spring weather. The North Star can't quit looking over at Leo. Pisces is stirring milky dust from the ocean floor. Jupiter rides his horse near Saturn, "Old man, jump up behind me! The juice is coming back! Think of something happy to shout as we go. "Mars washes his bloody sword, puts it up, and begins building things. The Aquarian water jar fills, and the Virgin pours it generously. The Pleiades and Libra and Aries have no trembling in them anymore. Scorpio walks out looking for a lover, and so does Sagittarius! This is not crooked walking like the Crab. This is a holiday we've been waiting for. It is finally time to sacrifice Taurus and learn how the sky is a lens to look through. Listen to what's inside what I say. Shams will appear at dawn; then even night will change from its beloved animated darkness to a day within this ordinary sweet daylight.

For example, consider the importance of insincere compliments. We all know the gold standard of white lies, in which a woman who is less than svelte puts on a slinky new dress and asks her husband, “Do I look fat in this?” The man does a quick cost-benefit analysis; he sees his whole life pass before his eyes if he answers with the brutal truth. So he tells her, “Darling, you look beautiful.” Another evening (marriage) saved.

Don had just starred in his second Western, The Righteous, after he had lobbied Ari Sullivan hard for one more crack at bat. This time, however, the reviews were telling a different story. Don had “manned up.” He was convincing everyone, on his sophomore try, that he was a formidable action star

a man's satisfaction with his salary depends on (are you ready for this?) whether he makes more than his wife's sister's husband. Why the wife's sister's husband? Because (and I have a feeling that Mencken's wife kept him fully informed of her sister's husband's salary) this is a comparison that is salient and readily available.

You can make sure I look better than Celia, better than all of ’em, in the dailies.” “That’s not what I mean.” “But it’s all you can do.” “Evelyn…” I kept my upper lip stiff. “There’s no move here, Harry.” He understood what I meant. I couldn’t leave Don Adler. “I could talk to Ari.” “I love him,” I said, turning away and clipping my earrings on. It was the truth. Don and I had problems, but so did a lot of people. And he was the only man who had ever ignited something in me. Sometimes I hated myself for wanting him, for finding myself brightening up when his attention was on me, for still needing his approval. But I did. I loved him, and I wanted him in my bed. And I wanted to stay in the spotlight. “End of discussion.

Here were love letters, the youth knew. Secret love letters. Unfound, still waiting somewhere beyond the mist. A young man’s words for this girl, maybe her words for him. Their private words for each other. Somewhere in the world, these letters sat hidden still, but might, at any moment, be found and read, calling her most cherished secrets from their hiding place back into the circle of the sun.

Aris. Certainly, your prudence is excessively rare. Are you not ashamed of your want of firmness? and is it possible for a man to be so weak as to leave his wife absolute power, and not dare to attack what she has resolved upon? Ch. Good Heavens! brother, you speak very easily of it, but you do not know how noise troubles me. I am  very fond of rest, peace, and tranquillity, and my wife is terrible in her tempers.

You know the big guy is coming back in a few hours. I don’t think he’s alone. He asked me to make sure you, Robert, and Ari are prepared to give a full briefing on the state of our team of lunatics.” “Ari asked you not to call them that.” He wasn’t in a mood to joke, and damn it, if Damon wasn’t coming back alone that could only mean one thing. Freaking Ian Taggart. The only man in the world who could give him more hell than Damon. “I should send back those T-shirts then, I guess.

Ain't nothin' to a flat country nohow. A man jes naturally wear hisself plumb out a walkin' on a level 'thout ary downhill t' spell him. An' then look how much more there is of hit! Take forty acres o' flat now an' hit's jest a forty, but you take forty acres o' this here Ozark country an' God 'lmighty only knows how much 'twould be if hit war rolled out flat. 'Taint no wonder 't all, God rested when he made these here hills; he jes naturally had t' quit, fer he done his beatenest an' war plumb gin out.

A number of wise men have warned us against the would-be benefits of vengeance. Mark Twain said, “Therein lies the defect of revenge: it’s all in the anticipation; the thing itself is a pain, not a pleasure; at least the pain is the biggest end of it.” Walter Weckler further observed that “revenge has no more quenching effect on emotions than salt water has on thirst.” And Albert Schweitzer noted that “Revenge . . . is like a rolling stone, which, when a man hath forced up a hill, will return upon him with a greater violence, and break those bones whose sinews gave it motion.

Uncle seemed to take pleasure from knowing things other people didn’t. Silas did not like thinking this about the man who’d given them a place to live, but there was a sort of smirk hidden inside his uncle’s words that made Silas feel like he was being laughed at. He knew that tone. He’d heard it often enough from kids at school, from the ones who’d look at you like you weren’t worth talking to, from the ones who looked at your unfashionable clothes, or the shape of your face, and told everyone else that you were a freak. Silas was scared of those kids, because usually, those were the ones who didn’t think that normal rules applied to them, the ones who thought they could get away with anything.

There’s something ever egotistical in mountain-tops and towers, and all other grand and lofty things; look here,—three peaks as proud as Lucifer. The firm tower, that is Ahab; the volcano, that is Ahab; the courageous, the undaunted, and victorious fowl, that, too, is Ahab; all are Ahab; and this round gold is but the image of the rounder globe, which, like a magician’s glass, to each and every man in turn but mirrors back his own mysterious self. Great pains, small gains for those who ask the world to solve them; it cannot solve itself. Methinks now this coined sun wears a ruddy face; but see! aye, he enters the sign of storms, the equinox! and but six months before he wheeled out of a former equinox at Aries! From storm to storm! So be it, then. Born in throes, ‘t is fit that man should live in pains and die in pangs! So be it, then! Here’s stout stuff for woe to work on. So be it, then.

Tenien a les mans una cosa rigorosament prohibida a Auschwitz i si els descobreixen els poden condemnar a mort. Aquests objectes, tan perillosos que la seva possessió és motiu de pena màxima, no es disparen ni serveixen per punxar, tallar o colpejar. Això que tant temen els implacables guàrdies del Reich simplement són llibres: vells, desenquadernats, amb els fulls deslligats, pràcticament desfets. Però els nazis els busquen, els persegueixen, els veten de manera obsessiva. Al llarg de la història tots els dictadors, tirans i repressors, tant si eren aris, negres, orientals, àrabs, eslaus com de qualsevol color de pell, tant si defensaven la revolució popular, els privilegis de les classes patrícies, el manament de Déu com la disciplina sumària dels militars, fos quina fos la seva ideologia, tots s'han caracteritzat per una cosa en comú: sempre han perseguit els llibres amb acarnissament. Són molt perillosos, fan pensar.

Madam, you can’t be more desperate than I.” He wound his arms around her and grunted. “The evidence is drooling on your stomach. I have not lost this erection for five days. Doral looks at me and winces. You have obliterated my dignity in front of my staff. I have become a laughingstock, a by-word for ‘pussy-whipped male’. Every time I walk into a room, the conversation dies. I entered the mess hall, yesterday—530 officers and enlisted men. Silence, Fleur. Dead silence.” She sniffed. By the gods, this must be a unique experience for him. I’m certain he has never been the butt of the joke before. “I don’t think you appreciate the torture and humiliation you inflict. Do you know how uncomfortable it is to ride a horse when I’m like this? Do you know how disconcerting it is to discuss cavalry deployment with Major Truillo while I’m sporting a cockstand to rival a stud horse? I couldn't get the man to look me in the face. Worse, he thought I reacted to him.” She nuzzled her face into Ari’s chest and tried to contain her amusement. Her imagination supplied the picture of the very handsome, very homosexual, very short Major Truillo standing with covetous eyes riveted to Ari’s substantial erection, all the while discussing the dry topic of cavalry placement. “For half an hour all I saw was the top of his head.” He paused for a moment then threw out, “He has a bald spot.

Cohen continued to struggle with his own well-being. Even though he had achieved his life’s dream of running his own firm, he was still unhappy, and he had become dependent on a psychiatrist named Ari Kiev to help him manage his moods. In addition to treating depression, Kiev’s other area of expertise was success and how to achieve it. He had worked as a psychiatrist and coach with Olympic basketball players and rowers trying to improve their performance and overcome their fear of failure. His background building athletic champions appealed to Cohen’s unrelenting need to dominate in every transaction he entered into, and he started asking Kiev to spend entire days at SAC’s offices, tending to his staff. Kiev was tall, with a bushy mustache and a portly midsection, and he would often appear silently at a trader’s side and ask him how he was feeling. Sometimes the trader would be so startled to see Kiev there he’d practically jump out of his seat. Cohen asked Kiev to give motivational speeches to his employees, to help them get over their anxieties about losing money. Basically, Kiev was there to teach them to be ruthless. Once a week, after the market closed, Cohen’s traders would gather in a conference room and Kiev would lead them through group therapy sessions focused on how to make them more comfortable with risk. Kiev had them talk about their trades and try to understand why some had gone well and others hadn’t. “Are you really motivated to make as much money as you can? This guy’s going to help you become a real killer at it,” was how one skeptical staff member remembered Kiev being pitched to them. Kiev’s work with Olympians had led him to believe that the thing that blocked most people was fear. You might have two investors with the same amount of money: One was prepared to buy 250,000 shares of a stock they liked, while the other wasn’t. Why? Kiev believed that the reluctance was a form of anxiety—and that it could be overcome with proper treatment. Kiev would ask the traders to close their eyes and visualize themselves making trades and generating profits. “Surrendering to the moment” and “speaking the truth” were some of his favorite phrases. “Why weren’t you bigger in the trades that worked? What did you do right?” he’d ask. “Being preoccupied with not losing interferes with winning,” he would say. “Trading not to lose is not a good strategy. You need to trade to win.” Many of the traders hated the group therapy sessions. Some considered Kiev a fraud. “Ari was very aggressive,” said one. “He liked money.” Patricia, Cohen’s first wife, was suspicious of Kiev’s motives and believed that he was using his sessions with Cohen to find stock tips. From Kiev’s perspective, he found the perfect client in Cohen, a patient with unlimited resources who could pay enormous fees and whose reputation as one of the best traders on Wall Street could help Kiev realize his own goal of becoming a bestselling author. Being able to say that you were the

The more that injustice, exploitation, inequality, unemployment, poverty, hunger, and misery prevail in human society, the more Che's stature will grow. The more that the power of imperialism, hegemonism, domina­tion, and interventionism grow, to the detriment of the most sa­cred rights of the peoples-especially the weak, backward, and poor peoples who for centuries were colonies of the West and sources of slave labor-the more the values Che defended will be upheld. The more that abuses, selfishness, and alienation exist; the more that Indians, ethnic minorities, women, and immigrants suffer dis­ crimination; the more that children are bought and sold for sex or forced into the workforce in their hundreds of millions; the more that ignorance, unsanitary conditions, insecurity, and homelessness prevail-the more Che's deeply humanistic message will stand out. The more that corrupt, demagogic, and hypocritical politicians exist anywhere, the more Che's example of a pure, revolutionary, and consistent human being will come through. The more cowards, opportunists, and traitors there are on the face of the earth, the more Che's personal courage and revolution­ary integrity will be admired. The more that others lack the ability to fulfill their duty, the more Che's iron willpower will be admired. The more that some individuals lack the most basic self-respect, the more Che's sense of honor and dignity will be admired. The more that skeptics abound, the more Che's faith in man will be admired. The more pessimists there are, the more Che's optimism will be admired. The more vacillators there are, the more Che's audacity will be admired. The more that loafers squander the prod­uct of the labor of others, the more Che's austerity, his spirit of study and work, will be admired.

surreal, man-made miracle. The winter of 1921 is vicious. The valley winds

I don’t know. We all have to bear things, Ari. All of us. Your father has to bear the war and what it did to him. You have to bear your own painful journey to becoming a man. And it is painful for you, isn’t it, Ari?” “Yes,” I said.

It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends upon his not understanding it.

I am Hellhammer!” shouted a giant, imposing man in black armor. “And I’m Heckmallet,” said a petite woman with a squeaky voice.

fine bogey tale”—Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—in which he said, “Man is not truly one, but truly two.

Certainly Rand does not intentionally introduce dueling moral standards. As we’ve seen, Rand and her defenders can come up with arguments about how various values that do not seem to support survival “really” do so, if we squint hard enough. I just don’t think those arguments are usually convincing. So, in effect, the “man qua [90] man” standard does serve to introduce values into Rand’s moral system that do not fundamentally support survival.

Enlil was good at everyday magic: potions, curses, blessings, and divination. It was Aris who could do the fancy stuff. He was the one who had mastered folding space and time, levitation and enchantments. Together they were strong, but being a crow was definitely an obstacle, and much of what they could otherwise have achieved was limited.

Despite everything, over the years they’d both perfected the art of falling apart one at a time. When Enlil doubted, Aris comforted; when Aris spiralled into despair, driven near mad by being cursed for centuries, Enlil kept searching. It’s what they’d always managed to do, and they were so close to the end that even sleeping had become nearly impossible.

Let’s discuss your cover story. You’re from southern France. Oh, but it won’t be called that. Franks Land, maybe? You came to Camelot for the wedding, to honor the new king, but you have to go home right away. You don’t believe in silly things like equality and gender freedom. You’re the manliest man who ever existed.” “Of course. No codpiece can contain me.” “Your name is Sir Ironfist,” he snapped. Ari snorted. Merlin’s lips puckered. “Well, you try coming up with something formidable and not ridiculous. Go on.

Casper watched in horror as the beast pounced on the man, biting and ripping him in half with its strong jaws and clawed hands. The miller’s heart pounded in his chest, eyes transfixed in shock. The beast gave a high-pitched shriek. Casper crouched instinctively, hiding among the stinging brush but not touching it—he wouldn’t make that mistake again. The beast sniffed the gory mess spread across the desert floor but didn’t eat it. Instead it huffed and melted into the sand. Casper stared at what used to be a fellow Waylander, now a bloody pile of meat on the desert floor. The buzzards descended quickly on the feast. Casper’s heart hammered, and his mind raced. To die in the Netherworld was to be lost forever. That poor man had just been erased from existence eternally.

Or, as Mark Twain once noted about Tom Sawyer, “Tom had discovered a great law of human action, namely, that in order to make a man covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain.

In my very best dreams, I saw Gray. I saw him as I tried to remember him--happy. Usually wearing nothing more than his boxers, in the bed that used to be ours. With his thick, dark hair flopping over his forehead, some soft electricity glowing in his green eyes. Sometimes, he laughed. Others, he took my face in his powerful hands and brushed his sculpted mouth over mine. The man now standing on my street at two A.M. may have been Grayson Stryker. But he wasn't Gray... I'd imagined this reunion a thousand times. But we were't trading stilted pleasantries, now. This was something different than a chance encounter. Something darker. A reckoning.

You prob’ly ain’t never heard’a him ’cause he’s a com’unist. They don’t teach ya ’bout com’unists.” “So how do you know, if they don’t teach it?” “Lib’ary got its do’ open, man. Ain’t nobody tellin’ you not to go.” There aren’t too many moments in your life when you really learn something. Jackson taught me something that night in John’s, something I’d never forget.

So your two princesses share a common cause, ser … and they share as well a knight who claims to love them both, but will not fight for them.” “I will.” Ser Arys sank to one knee. “Myrcella is the elder, and better suited to the crown. Who will defend her rights if not her Kingsguard? My sword, my life, my honor, all belong to her … and to you, my heart’s delight. I swear, no man will steal your birthright whilst I still have the strength to lift a sword. I am yours. What would you have of me?” “All.” She knelt to kiss his lips. “All, my love, my true love, my sweet love, and forever. But first …” “Ask, and it is yours.” “… Myrcella.

Dad flinched the smallest bit; I still remember the centimeter. He swore and yelled at us to get our asses into gear and get him a different hammer from his truck. Wasn’t much like the dad who used to check our seat belts twice, then give us a poke on the cheek. If he could see himself today, if he really got a good look, I think the man he was would apologize. The better man.

Ariely found that a man has to earn $40,000 more each year to be as desirable as a man one inch taller.

Stars of Fire by Stewart Stafford At the Gate of Pleiades, Lies the playground of the Deities, At The Golden Gate of the Ecliptic, The Gods' plot and remain cryptic. Between the claws of Scorpio and Cancer, At the mercy of the great Zodiacal dancer. The dilemma on the horns of Aries, Brushes asides all adversaries. Venus trails stardust from her hair, As a supernova across the galaxy flares, A shooting star is the spear of Orion, More is the mane of Leo the lion. Man's Gemini may someday show before us, As chaste Virgo or the mighty Taurus, Or be inanimate as the scales of Libra, Or spread as Cancer or an unchecked fever. Perhaps these pilgrims have visited us before, When Sagittarius took the form of the wise Centaur, Or when Pisces flopped in an Aquarian boat, Or on a lazy hill to the Capricorn goat. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.

On our way, a man dressed in spandex running clothes stopped Bernie in the street. “Senator Sanders, Jeff Katzenberg, nice to meet you.” “Good to meet you too.” Bernie just strolled on. Katzenberg, the former Disney chairman and DreamWorks CEO, looked stunned. As we continued up the block, I turned to Bernie and said, “Do you know who that was?” “He said his name was Jeff, right?” “Senator, that was Jeff Katzenberg, one of the most powerful media executives in the world and one of the biggest Democratic Party donors.” Bernie didn’t even bother with a response. Most Democratic politicians are desperate to secure meetings with people like Jeff Katzenberg. For Bernie, Katzenberg didn’t matter—it was as though his mind couldn’t process the idea of his supposed importance or relevance. Bernie would have been more likely to stop for a teacher, a nurse, or a mechanic.

This was a privileged land, a forest that thrived in the protective shadow of the mountains, carelessly enjoying the fruits of the rivers that cascaded from their peaks. Not only did the Belem protect their environs from the elements, but from the harsh, scorching wars of men. No army wanted to traverse those jagged peaks, even to access the Lanterbrun Pass. It was a fruitless effort, a waste of man- and horsepower that could do nothing but suck away time, and life. Ari had to admire the mountains for this. They were a watchful mother to the lands at their mighty feet. She could smell the freedom in the air, in the scent of the late summer leaves. It pulsed through the earth with a power that only grew stronger as the ground began to climb.

Hij was een mens, en hij was vlees en botten en geest en ziel. Zij had van hem gehouden. De Ritselaer had hem gekocht, dokter Tulp had hem gevorderd voor de wetenschap en ik had hem willen hebben voor de kunst. Allemaal wilden we zijn vlees. Allemaal wilden we iets met het lichaam van deze man. Maar hij behoorde toe aan geen van ons. Hij was alleen maar Aris, de dief.

We’ve done it, too, man,” Aris said. “Don’t you remember?

a man’s satisfaction with his salary depends on (are you ready for this?) whether he makes more than his wife’s sister’s husband.

Nobody had ever even stepped out onto the surface, she read in school, leading to a broken line of memorable first statements. “That’s one small step for a man; one giant leap for mankind,” on Luna, “I wish that the peace I see here could bless the Earth again,” from Mars, “This one’s for you, Mark Twain,” on Halley’s Comet. And from the only manned landing on Venus, “Oh my holy fucking shit I think we’re on the fucking ground! Get us up we’re gonna fucking die!

Um," I point at his cape and gadgets. "You know you'll stand out, right?" He frowns at me. "You're none better," he says. I look down at my very medieval looking white gown and the two swords I carry. At least Yami is hidden as a dragon necklace. "You're right. I won't blend in either." He freezes. "Right, well, I'll just say it's Halloween." "But it's not." He raises an eyebrow.  "What do you mean?" "You can't just say it's Halloween. It has to be the actual day." "Really? Your human customs are so strange." He turns to the sink to wash his hands. I sigh. "Okay, we can say we're part of a fantasy game reenactment. Cosplay. That should give us a good cover." "Cosplay?" he says, holding the word in his mouth like a foreign thing he's afraid to taste. "Yeah, it's when humans dress up like characters from their favorite… " Ace's eyes are vacant and he looks bored. I sigh again. "Nevermind. Just let me do the talking if anyone questions our choice of clothing." He washes his hands, then gestures at the door. "After you." I lead, entering a place I once called a second home. Everything is familiar, everything makes me feel welcome. Jesus eyeing the naked sculptures. The Neon signs. The baby bottles filled with milk for customers' coffee. "Oh, Ari, sweetie. I didn't see you come in." Sheri runs up to me, wrapping me in a hug. "It's been so long. How have you been? And who's this dashing young man?" Ace raises his cape in front of his eyes. "It's Halloween." "No… no…" I shake my head and pull his cape down. "He's a friend. I'm just showing him the sights.

Our fathers were not the kind of people we could open our hearts to. We were never able to reconcile after he threw you and me out of his house in Vaduz. He eventually discovered the triplet relationship my brother, Ari was secretly conducting with Sabrina and Yann. He could not come to terms with his alternative lifestyle either, even though Aria did her best to persuade him to love and accept us back into the fold. He never did. He would rather cut off ties with his two sons than to admit his narrow-mindedness. On his deathbed, he told my mother that his greatest regret was that he never took the opportunity to make peace with Ari and me. I had forgiven him, but he, being a stubborn man, didn’t want to have anything to do with us. He died an unhappy man.

Ari and I attended his funeral. It was a compassionate gesture to comfort our mother rather than to honor the dead man. Mother had long ago come to terms with our alternative lifestyles. She got on splendidly with Sabrina and Yann, treating them like her extended family. I introduced her to my lovers, but I believe she likes you the best because she would occasionally inquire whether I had been in touch with you. She never took the trouble to ask about the well-being of my other lovers…

Mid June 2012 …Young, as time passed, I missed you more than ever. My exasperation with Toby festered with each passing day. When I finally could not tolerate our tempestuous relationship, I confronted the young man. After a heated emotional argument, Toby left our unfinished discussion in a state of vexation. I did not realize he was using the age-old psychological threat of overdosing himself to obtain my attention. I found him unconscious, foaming at the corner of his mouth from consuming an entire bottle of sleeping pills. He was rushed to hospital. I would not have been able to live with my guilt if Toby had died. He recovered from this ordeal, but my respect for him had plummeted. Instead of loving him, I felt sorry and pitied him. This was a malignant sign of what was to come. To appease him, we often kissed and made up after impassioned disputes. I made false promises that I had no intention of keeping. These desolate pledges soon dissolved into self-abhorrence. I had allowed myself to be trapped into a situation, and I could not figure out a solution. Throughout this ordeal, I threw myself into my engineering studies, channeling my unhappiness into what I enjoyed best. I could not give myself fully to the boy, and had little respect for him. When we made love, I shut him out. Instead, I saw you in our sexual liaisons. Toby was merely a vehicle to satisfy my sexual desires to be with you. Throughout the years we were together, it was you I made love to, not Toby or anyone else. I could not and would not release you from my mind. The pain of losing you was too oppressive, until the fateful day I suffered a nervous breakdown. I ended up in a hospital, in the psychiatric ward. Aria and Ari came to nurse me back to health. Aria stayed for two weeks until I could commence classes again. I knew I had to get away from this toxic relationship. The day I graduated I enrolled in a postgraduate program in Alberta, Canada. I desired to be as far away from New Zealand as possible; I needed to be away from Toby and to find myself again. I finally had a solid and legitimate excuse to separate from the boy. I was glad when Toby’s parents demanded their son’s return to the Philippines after his graduation so that he could take over his father’s business. Toby did not wish to return to Manila, but had no choice. His father threatened to cut off his financial support if he did not return. Thanks to universal intervention, my freedom was restored. I began a new life in Canada. That, my dearest Young, was the beginning of a new chapter in my life. The rest will be revealed to you in our next correspondence. For now, be happy, be well, and most importantly, be you at all times: the Young whom I love and cherish. Andy, Xoxoxo

Andy’s Message Around the time I received Arius’ email, Andy’s message arrived. He wrote: Young, I do remember Rick Samuels. I was at the seminar in the Bahriji when he came to lecture. Like you I was at once mesmerized by his style and beauty, which of course was a false image manufactured by the advertising agencies and sales promoters. I was surprised to hear your backroom story of him being gangbanged in the dungeon. We are not ones to judge since both of us had been down that negative road of self-loathing. This seems to be a common thread with people whom others considered good-looking or beautiful. In my opinion, it’s a fake image that handsome people know they cannot live up to. Instead of exterior beauty being an asset, it often becomes a psychological burden. During the years when I was with Toby, I delved in some fashion modeling work in New Zealand. I ventured into this business because it was my subconscious way of reminding me of the days we posed for Mario and Aziz. It was also my twisted way of hoping to meet another person like me, with the hope of building a loving long-term relationship. It was also a desperate attempt to break loose from Toby’s psychosomatic grip on my person. Ian was his name and he was a very attractive 24 year old architecture student. He modeled to earn some extra spending money. We became fast friends, but he had this foreboding nature which often came on unexpectedly. A sentence or a word could trigger his depression, sending the otherwise cheerful man into bouts of non-verbal communication. It was like a brightly lit light bulb suddenly being switched off in mid-sentence. We did have an affair while I was trying to patch things up with Toby. As delightful as our sexual liaisons were there was a hidden missing element, YOU! Much like my liaisons with Oscar, without your presence, our sexual communications took on a different dynamic which only you as the missing link could resolve. There were times during or after sex when Ian would abuse himself with negative thoughts and self-denigration. I tried to console him, yet I was deeply sorrowed about my own unresolved issues with Toby. It was like the blind leading the blind. I was gravely saddened when Ian took his own life. Heavily drugged on prescriptive anti-depressant and a stomach full of extensive alcohol consumption, he fell off his ten story apartment building. He died instantly. This was the straw that threw me into a nervous breakdown. Thank God I climbed out of my despondencies with the help of Ari and Aria. My dearest Young, I have a confession to make; you are the only person I have truly loved and will continue to love. All these years I’ve tried to forget you but I cannot. That said I am not trying to pry you away from Walter and have you return to me. We are just getting to know each other yet I feel your spirit has never left. Please make sure that Walter understands that I’m not jeopardizing your wonderful relationship. I am happy for the both of you. You had asked jokingly if I was interested in a triplet relationship. Maybe when the time and opportunity arises it may happen, but now I’m enjoying my own company after Albert’s passing. In a way it is nice to have my freedom after 8 years of building a life with Albert. I love you my darling boy and always will. As always, I await your cheerful emails. Andy. Xoxoxo

in order to make a man covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain.

Every man [and woman] … lives by exchanging, or becomes in some measure a merchant, and the society itself grows to be what is properly a commercial society.

Your problem, Jenner,” Arys fired back, all hot under the collar, “is that you never let anything go. You never learned to share. Whether it be Harley’s affections, this nightclub, the city, the women—who, by the way, make their own decisions, past and present. You fucked my wolf in your hotel room. Trust me, you’ll never be the bigger man.

But if you must get a small device (or you only want to treat a very small part of your body), the only small light that I recommend is this one from Red Light Man. It’s 100 watts with LEDs split between 610nm, 630nm, 660nm, and 680nm. Or you can get it as solely a 670nm light. I recommend doing the latter, because 670nm will active cytochrome c oxidase in the mitochondria more effectively than lower wavelengths like 610nm. This light will have a good power density at about 4-5” away from the light, but