B Mine Quotes

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If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.” She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried. And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.” But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boats nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it. I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away. You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it. “Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.” Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.
Sarah Kay
- We don't even like each other. - I pretty much can't stand you. And then his lips crushed to mine.
Jenny B. Jones (There You'll Find Me)
Words are not enough. Not mine, cut off at the throat before they breathe. Never forming, broken and swallowed, tossed into the void before they are heard. It would be easy to follow, fall to my knees, prostrate before the deli counter. Sweep the shelves clear, scatter the tins, pound the cakes to powder. Supermarket isles stretching out in macabre displays. Christmas madness, sad songs and mistletoe, packed car parks, rotten leaves banked up in corners. Forgotten reminders of summer before the storm. Never trust a promise, they take prisoners and wishes never come true. Fairy stories can have grim endings and I don’t know how I will face the world without you.
Peter B. Forster (More Than Love, A Husband's Tale)
Tell me, what are your intentions with my granddaughter. She’s never had a boyfriend, you know. Yes, ma’am. I am aware. And did you have anything to do with that? The corner of his mouth lifted in a half grin. I might have. Why? Because she’s mine.
B.B. Reid (Fear Me (Broken Love, #1))
[...] I grew up out of that strange, dreamy childhood of mine and went into the world of reality. I met with experiences that bruised my spirit - but they never harmed my ideal world. That was always mine to retreat into at will. I learned that that world and the real world clashed hopelessly and irreconcilably; and I learned to keep them apart so that the former might remain for me unspoiled. I learned to meet other people on their own ground since there seemed to be no meeting place on mine. I learned to hide the thoughts and dreams and fancies that had no place in the strife and clash of the market place. I found that it was useless to look for kindred souls in the multitude; one might stumble on such here and there, but as a rule it seemed to me that the majority of people lived for the things of time and sense alone and could not understand my other life. So I piped and danced to other people's piping - and held fast to my own soul as best I could.
L.M. Montgomery (My Dear Mr. M: Letters to G.B. Macmillan from L.M. Montgomery)
Life is All About How you Handle Plan B Plan A is always my first choice. You know, the one where Everything works out to be Happily ever-after. But more often than not, I find myself dealing with The upside-down, inside-out version -- Where nothing goes as it should. It's at this point that the real Test of my character comes in.. Do I sink, or do I swim? Do I wallow in self pity and play the victim, Or simply shift gears And make the best of the situation? The choice is all mine... Life is all about how you handle Plan B.
Suzy Toronto (The Sacred Sisterhood Of Wonderful Wacky Women)
Van Houten, I’m a good person but a shitty writer. You’re a shitty person but a good writer. We’d make a good team. I don’t want to ask you any favors, but if you have time – and from what I saw, you have plenty – I was wondering if you could write a eulogy for Hazel. I’ve got notes and everything, but if you could just make it into a coherent whole or whatever? Or even just tell me what I should say differently. Here’s the thing about Hazel: Almost everyone is obsessed with leaving a mark upon the world. Bequeathing a legacy. Outlasting death. We all want to be remembered. I do, too. That’s what bothers me most, is being another unremembered casualty in the ancient and inglorious war against disease. I want to leave a mark. But Van Houten: The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rock star and you think, “They’ll remember me now,” but (a) they don’t remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion. (Okay, maybe I’m not such a shitty writer. But I can’t pull my ideas together, Van Houten. My thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into constellations.) We are like a bunch of dogs squirting on fire hydrants. We poison the groundwater with our toxic piss, marking everything MINE in a ridiculous attempt to survive our deaths. I can’t stop pissing on fire hydrants. I know it’s silly and useless – epically useless in my current state – but I am an animal like any other. Hazel is different. She walks lightly, old man. She walks lightly upon the earth. Hazel knows the truth: We’re as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we’re not likely to do either. People will say it’s sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it’s not sad, Van Houten. It’s triumphant. It’s heroic. Isn’t that the real heroism? Like the doctors say: First, do no harm. The real heroes anyway aren’t the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention. The guy who invented the smallpox vaccine didn’t actually invented anything. He just noticed that people with cowpox didn’t get smallpox. After my PET scan lit up, I snuck into the ICU and saw her while she was unconscious. I just walked in behind a nurse with a badge and I got to sit next to her for like ten minutes before I got caught. I really thought she was going to die, too. It was brutal: the incessant mechanized haranguing of intensive care. She had this dark cancer water dripping out of her chest. Eyes closed. Intubated. But her hand was still her hand, still warm and the nails painted this almost black dark blue and I just held her hand and tried to imagine the world without us and for about one second I was a good enough person to hope she died so she would never know that I was going, too. But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I suppose. I left my scar. A nurse guy came in and told me I had to leave, that visitors weren’t allowed, and I asked if she was doing okay, and the guy said, “She’s still taking on water.” A desert blessing, an ocean curse. What else? She is so beautiful. You don’t get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she is smarter than you: You know she is. She is funny without ever being mean. I love her. I am so lucky to love her, Van Houten. You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope she likes hers.
John Green (The Fault in Our Stars)
Filming wraps up next week, then I’m officially retiring my fangs.” “Girls’ hearts will be shattered.” He tipped up my chin, and his steady gaze locked on mine. “I’m only worried about one girl’s heart.” Oh. My
Jenny B. Jones (There You'll Find Me)
What’s a girl like you doing in a dirty mind like mine?
J.B. Salsbury (Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2))
A kiss for a kiss. Your shirt for mine. Break my heart, I’ll break yours.
Jolene Perry (My Heart for Yours (Crawford, #1))
That is not my car!” “Correction. You used to drive a falling apart Toyota. B.A.” Had his lips just brushed her hair? She shivered. And though she knew better than to ask, she did it anyway. “Okay. You got me. What’s B.A.?” “Before. Adam. After Adam, you drive a BMW. I take care of what is mine. That Toyota wasn’t safe.” Figured that arrogant beast would define himself as the dawning of an epoch. “I’m not yours. It was too, and you can’t just go around stealing.” “I didn’t, and I filled out the paperwork myself.
Karen Marie Moning (The Immortal Highlander (Highlander, #6))
Here's the thing about Hazel: Almost everyone is obsessed with leaving a mark upon the world. Bequeathing a legacy. Outlasting death. We all want to be remembered. I do, too. That's what bothers me most, is being another unremembered casualty in the ancient and inglorious war against disease. I want to leave a mark. But Van Houten: The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rock star and you think, "They'll remember me now," but (a) they don't remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion. ... We are like a bunch of dogs squirting on fire hydrants. We poison the groundwater with our toxic piss, marking everything MINE in a ridiculous attempt to survive our deaths. I can't stop pissing on fire hydrants. I know it's silly and useless--epically useless in my current state--but I am an animal like any other. Hazel is different. She walks lightly, old man. She walks lightly upon the earth. Hazel knows the truth: We're as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we're not likely to do either. People will say it's sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it's not sad, Van Houten. It's triumphant. It's heroic. Isn't that the real heroism? Like the doctors say: First, do no harm. The real heroes anyway aren't the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention. The guy who invented the smallpox vaccine didn't actually invent anything. He just noticed that people with cowpox didn't get smallpox. ... But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I suppose. I left my scar. ... What else? She is so beautiful. You don't get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she is smarter than you: You know she is. She is funny without ever being mean. I love her. I am so lucky to love her, Van Houten. You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope she likes hers.
John Green (The Fault in Our Stars)
You’re not too bad, Finley Sinclair.” I couldn’t have looked away from this boy if the room had caught on fire. “You’re okay yourself. At times.” “But we can’t get involved.” “No.” I swallowed. “Definitely not.” His face lowered a fraction of an inch. “Because I’m infamously bad.” “And I’m staying away from trouble.” His voice was rough, husky. “It would never work.” I took a step closer. “Impossible.” He traced my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “We don’t even like each other." “I pretty much can’t stand you.” And then his lips crushed to mine.
Jenny B. Jones (There You'll Find Me)
You're perfect," He said roughly, cutting off my protest. "And if I had to do it over again, I would save you every time." His mouth closed over mine and there was no more thought. No more worry. No more pain or loss or fear. There was only Damian. His arm tightened around me, crushing me to him. I clung to him as his lips moved on mine with a need and hunger that nearly overwhelmed me.
Sara B. Larson (Defy (Defy, #1))
Seriously, Mac, I’m in so deep, I’ll take you however I can have you. I’ll wait, however long it takes. If these last few months with you have shown me anything, it’s that you’re meant to be mine. I know that already, fuck, I’ve known it for a while now. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.
B.J. Harvey (Temporary Bliss (Bliss, #1))
Lassiter skidded in from the billiards room, the fallen angel glowing from his black-and-blond hair and white eyes, all the way down to his shitkickers. Then again, maybe the illumination wasn’t his nature, but that gold he insisted on wearing. He looked like a living, breathing jewelry tree. “I’m here. Where’s my chauffeur hat?” “Here, use mine,” Butch said, outing a B Sox cap and throwing it over. “It’ll help that hair of yours.” The angel caught the thing on the fly and stared at the red S. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” “Do not tell me you’re a Yankees fan,” V drawled. “I’ll have to kill you, and frankly, tonight we need all the wingmen we’ve got.” Lassiter tossed the cap back. Whistled. Looked casual. “Are you serious?” Butch said. Like the guy had maybe volunteered for a lobotomy. Or a limb amputation. Or a pedicure. “No fucking way,” V echoed. “When and where did you become a friend of the enemy—” The angel held up his palms. “It’s not my fault you guys suck—” Tohr actually stepped in front of Lassiter, like he was worried that something a lot more than smack talk was going to start flying. And the sad thing was, he was right to be concerned. Apart from their shellans, V and Butch loved the Sox above almost everything else—including sanity.
J.R. Ward (Lover at Last (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #11))
She isn’t yours to protect.” “She’s my friend.” “And she is JUST mine.
B.B. Reid (Fear You (Broken Love, #2))
When I behaved in the way which I now regret, what need of mine was I trying to meet?” I
Marshall B. Rosenberg (Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life: Life-Changing Tools for Healthy Relationships (Nonviolent Communication Guides))
Will you stay?" She grew still. "Stay?" she asked, her breath warm on his torn flesh. "You mean tonight?" "I mean forever." Emma lifted her head to look at him, her eyes filling with tears. "Duncan?" He met her gaze evenly. "Stay with me, Emma. He repeated. "Be mine.
D.B. Reynolds (Duncan (Vampires in America, #5))
I suppose next time I come home I shall find you wearing false moustaches—or are you doing so now?' Poirot winced. His moustaches had always been his sensitive point. He was inordinately proud of them. My words touched him on the raw. 'No, no, indeed, mon ami. That day, I pray the good God, is still far off. The false moustaches! Quelle Horreur!’ He tugged at them vigorously to assure me of their genuine character. 'Well, they are very luxuriant still,' I said. 'N’est-ce pas? Never, in the whole of London, have I seen a pair of moustaches to equal mine.' A good job too, I thought privately.
Agatha Christie (The A.B.C. Murders (Hercule Poirot, #13))
I don’t want to forget you” He pulls his shirt off over his head, his wide muscular chest on display and tensing with anticipation. “I’ll make sure you never will … I’ll mark your fucking soul … The way you’ve marked mine.
J.B. Salsbury (Wrecked)
Your life is carefully watched over, as was mine. The Lord knows both what He will need you to do and what you will need to know. He is kind and He is all-knowing. So you can with confidence expect that He has prepared opportunities for you to learn in preparation for the service you will give. You will not recognize those opportunities perfectly, as I did not. But when you put the spiritual things first in your life, you will be blessed to feel directed toward certain learning, and you will be motivated to work harder. You will recognize later that your power to serve was increased, and you will be grateful.
Henry B. Eyring
There was no way I was letting you go.” He pauses briefly and his eyes tighten as they peer into mine. “Our bonds were secured.
L.B. Simmons (The Resurrection of Aubrey Miller)
I wanna strike gold in Poetry's mine. (But I don't want your money.)
B. Diehl (Temporary Obscurity)
There is no force as powerful as a promise that insists on being kept.
Barry B. Longyear (Enemy Mine)
I spent the last eleven years making your life hell. I’m ready to spend the rest of mine making it up to you. Spoiling you is just the start. Will you let me?
B.B. Reid (Fear You (Broken Love, #2))
Ephemera Your eyes that once were never weary of mine Are bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids, Because our love is waning." And then she: "Although our love is waning, let us stand By the lone border of the lake once more, Together in that hour of gentleness When the poor tired child, Passion, falls asleep: How far away the stars seem, and how far Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!" Pensive they paced along the faded leaves, While slowly he whose hand held hers replied: "Passion has often worn our wandering hearts." The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once A rabbit old and lame limped down the path; Autumn was over him: and now they stood On the lone border of the lake once more: Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead leaves Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes, In bosom and hair. "Ah, do not mourn," he said, "That we are tired, for other loves await us; Hate on and love through unrepining hours. Before us lies eternity; our souls Are love, and a continual farewell.
W.B. Yeats (The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats)
I had survived the work gangs in the ghetto. Baked bread under cover of night. Hidden in a pigeon coop. Had a midnight bar mitzvah in the basement of an abandoned building. I had watched my parents be taken away to their deaths, had avoided Amon Goeth and his dogs, had survived the salt mines of Wieliczka and the sick games of Trzebinia. I had done so much to live, and now, here, the Nazis were going to take all that away with their furnace! I started to cry, the first tears I had shed since Moshe died. Why had I worked so hard to survive if it was always going to end like this? If I had known, I wouldn't have bothered. I would have let them kill me back in the ghetto. It would have been easier that way. All that I had done was for nothing.
Alan Gratz (Prisoner B-3087)
I might be short, chubby, and require a B-cup manzier, but I was still a man.
John Corwin (Sweet Blood of Mine (Overworld Chronicles, #1))
Any desert land that will grow big sage will produce more fortunes thatn most gold mines -- if you can only get the water.
Peter B. Kyne (The Long Chance)
Her lips write silent poetry upon mine.
B.L. Berry (An Unforgivable Love Story)
I don't deserve any girls Love, because they don't deserve mine. But If you really Love her , show her that you deserve hers!
Richard Tolentino B.
Men of your time," he snapped. "Are they all such weaklings? Are there no warriors? I protect what is mine. Until breath leaves my body, I will do so.
E.B. Brown (The Legend of the Bloodstone (Time Walkers, #1))
Be with me.” “I don’t understand.” “Be my…” Girlfriend? Fuck, why is this so awkward? Probably because you’ve never done it before, shitface. “I want you to be mine. Only mine.
J.B. Salsbury (Ghostgirl (Mercy, #1))
I was as much her sexual prisoner as she was mine. Those would be the times I took her the hardest and unleashed my cruelty on her.
B.B. Reid (Fear You (Broken Love, #2))
Now, I like to think that I'm of reasonable intelligence, but ordinary differential equations and myself...we don't really hang in the same comprehension circles. So, try as I might to follow my teacher's logic in how he got 3f"(x) + 5xf(x) to equal eleven, I never quite understood. His answer in no way, shape, or form resembled mine, and this misalignment -this complete confusion of how point A got to point B- is kind of where I'm at right now. "Dreaming?" I repeat dubiously.
E.J. Mellow (The Dreamer (Dreamland, #1))
I couldn't breathe. I wanted him to keep touching me; I wanted to feel his whole body against mine again. But Rylan was here. Rylan was listening. Rylan, who had cared for me all along. "Thank you," I said, my voice unsteady, and somehow I made myself move and turn away from his touch to stare at the tent again, my heart hammering. Rylan's back was still turned to me, but I could see how stiff he was, as if every muscle in his body was clenched. "I hope you are able to rest well Alex," Damien said. "You too," I said, making myself close my eyes, to pretend I was going to sleep. But inside, I thought, Rest well? Is he serious? It was going to be a long night.
Sara B. Larson (Defy (Defy, #1))
It’s no wonder Danes are so happy. They have an obscenely good quality of life. Yes, it’s expensive here. But it’s Denmark – it’s worth it. I don’t mind paying more for a coffee here because I know that it means the person serving me doesn’t a) hate me or b) have a crappy life. Everyone is paid a decent wage, everyone is looked after, and everyone pays their taxes, just as I pay mine. And if we all have marginally less money to buy more stuff that we don’t really need anyway as a result, well I’m starting to think it’s a deal worth making.
Helen Russell (The Year of Living Danishly: My Twelve Months Unearthing the Secrets of the World's Happiest Country)
Once it was the blessing, Now it is the Lord; Once it was the feeling, Now it is His Word. Once His gifts I wanted, Now the Giver own; Once I sought for healing, Now Himself alone. Once 'twas painful trying, Now 'tis perfect trust; Once a half salvation, Now the uttermost. Once 'twas ceaseless holding, Now He holds me fast; Once 'twas constant drifting, Now my anchor's cast. Once 'twas busy planning, Now 'tis trustful prayer; Once 'twas anxious caring, Now He has the care. Once 'twas what I wanted, Now what Jesus says; Once 'twas constant asking, Now 'tis ceaseless praise. Once it was my working, His it hence shall be; Once I tried to use Him, Now He uses me. Once the power I wanted, Now the Mighty One; Once for self I labored, Now for Him alone. Once I hoped in Jesus, Now I know He's mine; Once my lamps were dying, Now they brightly shine. Once for death I waited, Now His coming hail; And my hopes are anchored, Safe within the veil.
A.B. Simpson
Your guess [about the future of technology] is as good as mine. The only thing I'm sure of is (a) most of the predictions I hear are almost certainly wrong, and (b) the things that will turn out to be important will come as a surprise, even though in hindsight they'll seem perfectly obvious.
Steve Krug
You and me. We’re going to do this,” I murmur against her lips. “Dates, dinners, holding hands, all of that shit. I’ll be in your bed and you’ll be in mine … I can’t stop thinking about you, Legs, and I don’t fucking want to.
B.J. Harvey (Game Player (Game, #1))
Anthony isn’t half as shrewd as he thinks he is.” “What about Natalie?” “Natalie’s mine.” “I got that, but Anthony won’t. He seems attached.” “Then I’ll have to unattach him.
D.B. Reynolds (Christian (Vampires in America, #10))
you, Raven Moretti, are mine. Doesnt matter if your a virgin or an alien. What you've told me changes nothing. Not. One. Thing! -Jonah Slade
J.B. Salsbury (Fighting for Flight (Fighting, #1))
I mine room i can truely be mine self, act like my self and do my self a favor to b mine self, i only need music and a fantasy book to cut off the reailty
Ally van der Aar
We were soul mates, destined to be together forever. From the moment I remember having life, she was in it. Sadie was my first love. My first everything. She was mine, and I was hers.
J.B. Salsbury (Jack & Sadie)
Într-o aşa serioasă măsură mi se pare de negîndită viaţa, încît dacă m-aş gîndi efectiv ce să răspund la o întrebare uzuală ca: "ce mai faci?" aş constata că întrebarea aceasta e printre cele mai grele cu putinţă. Căci „fac“ o mie de lucruri: aş putea să spun că gîndesc, că sînt bine, că gîndesc ceva, că gîndesc altceva, că am fost pe stradă, că nu fac nimic. Ce să spun? Care e lucrul pe care trebuie să-l spun celui care mă întreabă? Şi nu numai atît. Care e lucrul pe care trebuie să i-l spun lui, acum? Şi mai mult: ce trebuie să-i spun lui,acum, despre mine?Aşadar ar trebui să respect mai multe serii de adevăruri: a) adevărul lucrului, să aleg, adică, un lucru dintre cele o mie pe care le-am făcut realmente; b) să aleg adevărat pentru cel care mă întreabă, adică să aleg unul dintre lucrurile acelea care privesc raporturile mele cu el; c) să aleg un lucru adevărat pentru clipa de faţă, pentru ceea ce se întîmplă acum între el şi mine; d) să fie totuşi un lucru al meu.Şi credeţi că astea sînt singurele adevăruri de respectat? Atunci ce să-i răspund? Mă cuprinde o panică, panica mea formală…
Constantin Noica (Mathesis sau bucuriile simple)
You ever f**k Susan here?” she said, her face almost touching mine. “I’m impressed,” I said. “The question is intrusive, annoying, coarse, and voyeuristic. That’s quite a lot to get into a simple question.
Robert B. Parker (Hush Money (Spenser, #26))
You break me, wife," he said, his voice hoarse and low as he turned back to her. His eyes shimmered beneath narrowed brows. "You know what it means? It means I want you, as I want water when my lips thirst. As I want food when I have hunger. But this need, this need I have for you- it breaks me. It takes the breath from my chest. It drains the blood from my veins and the spirit from my soul. I cannot be, unless I can be here with you, like this. With our flesh touching and your heart beating here against mine. I cannot be, not without you.
E.B. Brown (Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers, #2))
There is no thrill like the thrill of discovery; no life like the life of a mining camp in the days of its youth. Nevada had known them in full and overflowing measure. The salt of the sea in the blood of a sailor is but a weak and insipid condiment compared with the solution of cyanide, sage and silicate in the blood of the prospector.
C.B. Glasscock
So I told [the doctor] about my hay fever, which used to rage just in summertime but now simmers the year round, and he listened listlessly as though it were a cock and bull story; and we sat there for a few minutes and neither of us was interested in the other's nose, but after a while he poked a little swab up mine and made a smear on a glass slide and his assistant put it under the microscope and found two cells which delighted him and electrified the whole office, the cells being characteristic of a highly allergic system. The doctor's manner changed instantly and he was full of the enthusiasm of discovery and was as proud of the two little cells as though they were his own.
E.B. White (One Man's Meat)
He arched a brow. “Miss Lahey, are you flirting with me?” “Well, hot stuff, if you have to ask, I’m not doing it right.” His laughter rumbled low, slithering heat underneath my skin. I pulled him to me, backing him against the table, risking a literal firestorm as his lips laid upon mine with a burning promise of— “That’s how babies are made!” I reeled back and knocked over a chair. “Aunt M!” “Sex kills!” “M, seriously.” Mom walked into the kitchen and rolled her eyes. My aunt patted her belly. “It killed my waistline.” Then she cackled. Who was the banshee now? “Ayden and Rory sitting in a tree,” Selena sing-songed, “making b-a-b-b-y-n-g.” “Mom!” “Selena,” Mom admonished. “That’s not the right spelling.
A. Kirk
Simon presses his lips against mine. This dance we share is as natural as breathing. But this isn't just a kiss. Our tongues mesh together, silently writing the opening lines of a novel and I feel it...I feel him on a completely different level.
B.L. Berry (An Unforgivable Love Story)
Baby, I promise you that you’ll never want for physical contact again.” His big, strong hands hold my head and he leans his forehead against mine. “I’ll always hold you when you’re scared.” He softly kisses my jaw. “Comfort you when you’re sad.” His lips brush against my cheeks. “Take care of you when you’re sick.” Tilting my head back, he kisses my forehead. He bends down and his hazel eyes narrow into mine. “I’ll make it my life’s mission to make up for every second you were neglected.
J.B. Salsbury (Fighting for Flight (Fighting, #1))
He leveled his eyes at mine through the darkness. “You asked me before if I could take away your memories. I can, and I wanted to. But taking them away wouldn’t have stopped what you were feeling. It just would’ve kept you from being able to understand. In the end the only thing I could do was let you go through whatever you had to go through and hope you were strong enough to make it to the other side. Turns out you’re pretty damn tough.
Angela B. Wade (Fallen River)
I love you, more than I’ll ever find adequate words to describe. Every breath I take starts and ends with you. For as long as I live, I won’t deserve you. But I’m still a selfish bastard who wants you and wants nothing more in the world than for you to say you’ll be mine for the rest of our lives.
Zara Cox (Wicked S.O.B. (Dark Desires, #2.5))
I want you to hear me when I say that I can give you my future, but I’m terrified to give you my past.” His hands slip around to lock behind my lower back. He scoots me closer until we’re hip to hip. My name said with such longing, rumbled from his lips, sends blood racing through my veins. “What can I do? To get you to trust me with everything, every single part?” he brushes his lips across mine. “I want to know all of you, even the parts you refuse to let see the light.
J.B. Salsbury (Face the Music (Love, Hate, Rock-n-Roll, #3))
Kasıklarımda mağara gibi büyük bir yara. Doğurmakla öldürmek arasında uzun ince bir ip. Delirmekle yemek pişirmek arasında kısa kalın bir kalas. Gidip geliyorum. Gidip geliyorum. Her adımda b-i-r-ş-e-y eziyorum. Şimdi o şeyi üzerine kusacağım. Şimdi o şeyle gözlerini oyacağım Şimdi bak... iyi bak... ben o şey olacağım.
Mine Söğüt (Deli Kadın Hikâyeleri)
Jesus, are you trying to kill me?" "No, Legs, I don't want to kill you. I want to make you moan. I want you to whimper, and I want you to scream my name when I'm balls deep inside you. My mouth is going to claim you, my hands are going to explore you, and my cock will make you mine-even if you only ever give me one night.
B.J. Harvey (Game Player (Game, #1))
A bonfire was burning nearby, and love was Ty's hand around mine, warm and fast, binding us together.
Ann Aguirre (I Want It That Way (2B Trilogy #1))
Sadie is mine. She always has been and she always will be. Nothing will change that. I won’t let it.
J.B. Salsbury (Jack & Sadie)
So do you actually expect to just pick up where we left off?” “Second chances can be deadly, but I set you free once. Now you’re mine.”      “I
B.B. Reid (Fear Us (Broken Love, #3))
His words silence me. His eyes lock with mine like soldiers about to go to war. My lip trembles and I feel as if I’m about to break. “Okay,” he whispers.
K.B. Nelson (Carnival (Carnival, #1))
Why did God make me an outcast and a stranger in mine own house?
W.E.B. Du Bois (The Souls of Black Folk)
I didn’t like anyone seeing what was mine unless his name was Houston Morrow or Loren James.
B.B. Reid (Lilac)
Edward G. Ryan, the chief justice of Wisconsin’s Supreme Court, warned the graduating class of the state university in 1873. “The question will arise, and arise in your day, though perhaps not fully in mine, ‘Which shall rule—wealth or man; which shall lead—money or intellect; who shall fill public stations—educated and patriotic free men, or the feudal serfs of corporate capital?’ 
Robert B. Reich (Saving Capitalism: For the Many, Not the Few)
The constant ache in my chest dwindles as it’s replaced with the fervor of renewed hope. Of the promise of love and acceptance with absolutely no expectation other than receiving mine in return.
L.B. Simmons (Under the Influence (Chosen Paths, #2))
When her gaze meets mine, I see the sadness and the guilt in her eyes. I know she feels bad about wanting us both, but she feels worse because she knows I can do nothing about it, no matter what.
B.N. Toler (Where One Goes (Where One Goes, #1))
Indie; I think the ten-minute song is going to be really good. Jenna: I hope you didn't tell him that. Indie: No, I told him it's unmarketable. Hudson: And what did he say? Indie: He said I sounded like a Suit., specifically like Jenna Holden, and that Jenna Holden was hired to get him Balmain deals and negotiate fat deals with record labels, not produce his next album. He also said he'd once caught you nodding your head at a Maroon 5 song, and the fact that you're not dead to him after that is a miracle in itself, so you should not push your luck. Again, his words, not mine.>/b>
L.J. Shen (Midnight Blue)
That means real love understands, acknowledges and accepts all flaws. It endures all changes. It puts its feelings aside for the wellbeing of something or someone else. That's love. Love is kind means that no matter how many times you mess up, how many times you fall down, it’ll always be right there to lift you up and to pick you up. That's love. It's not going to curse you nor beat you for your mistakes or because it doesn't agree, no it will always, and I mean always, lift you up because that is what it was made to do. Loving somebody is more than just a feeling, or an action or even a thought. It’s a lifestyle, a decision; an emotion that has made up its mine to give and keep on giving. To feel and keep on feeling. To love and keep on loving. You see, the thought, the feeling, the action of love, real love, and true love always operates as one. Real love can’t be shaken, it can’t be broken. It will always stand firm, solid. And it will never, ever waiver. Real love will take a bullet for you with no questions. It will trade places with you on your death bed, with no reasoning’s. Real love will walk through a fire, flesh burning, just to get the hose on the other side so that you don't get burned too. And you know why...because love has always been something that’s bigger than you and I. It has a mind of its own and when it loves, it loves and it wants nothing more than to see the person that it loves safe, happy.
B.M. Hardin (Every Woman has a Price)
The knowledge of our union with Christ...gives us confidence in prayer. It was when Jesus had begun to expound the closeness of this union that he also began to introduce the disciples to the true heart of prayer. If Christ abides in us and we abide in him, as his word dwells in us, and we pray in his name, that God hears us (Jn 15:4-7). But all of these expressions are simply extensions of the one fundamental idea: If I am united to Christ, then all that is his is mine. So long as my heart, will and mind are one with Christ's in his word, I can approach God with the humble confidence that my prayers will be heard and answered.
Sinclair B. Ferguson (The Christian Life: A Doctrinal Introduction)
He pauses, swallowing deeply. “I know firsthand how abuse can break a person. How damaging the effects can be as they whittle away at your will to live. How they carve away your humanity as they completely hollow you out, leaving you a shell of your former self when they’re finally done. But you…” He narrows his eyes on mine. “You are far from broken. Even though you still have your struggles, you find the strength to try to help others, to guide them through their own issues as you lead the way. Your positivity radiates to everyone around you, and those who are lucky enough to be in your presence will forever be changed by your ability to heal with something as simple as a touch or a smile.
L.B. Simmons (Under the Influence (Chosen Paths, #1))
I want you, Spence, but I can’t have you. I won’t allow it. You’re too good, too pure, too innocent. And just as your presence soothes me, mine will eventually flaw you. It’s inevitable, and I care too much for you to let that happen.
L.B. Simmons (Under the Influence (Chosen Paths, #2))
Don’t cast pearls before swine, as the old saying goes. And you might think that’s harsh. But training your child not to sleep, and rewarding him with the antics of a creepy puppet? That’s harsh too. You pick your poison, and I’ll pick mine.
Jordan B. Peterson (12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos)
This is not your fight, brothers," Winn said quietly once they were alone. Chetan scowled at the Chief. "Right. As if I will let you stupid Norsemen die alone," Chetan scoffed. "Of course it is my fight. You are my brother. Your fight is mine.
E.B. Brown (Of Vice and Virtue (Time Walkers, #3))
His body felt so good against mine and he was so gorgeous in his pleasure that I could have come just from watching him. I didn’t want this moment to end, but I couldn’t not move and I couldn’t look away. I was whimpering and writhing against him.
S.J.D. Peterson (Plan B)
Tell me the truth. Tell me you’re not giving up on us just because things are complicated. Tell me you’ll fight for us. Tell me you’ll do whatever it fucking takes to keep me. Tell me you can’t see yourself with another man.” ... “Tell me you’re mine.
J.B. Salsbury (Strike a Chord (Love, Hate, Rock-n-Roll #4))
Seamus shuddered in horror, before he pulled himself together. Determined, he reached between my thighs and shoved hard. Pain, like the fire of a thousand suns, burned through my belly. I tried to squirm away from his hands, using mine to push him away.
A.B. Shepherd (Lifeboat)
My darling, My day’s sweetest moments are at dawn, for I awake with dreams of you still in my head. As the light touches my lips, I can almost feel yours upon mine. I imagine your footsteps coming up the walk, but today is the same as the day before. It is only fanciful thinking. As the first beams of morning sunlight dance across my weary shoulders I cry out, “How can you be so cheery and bright with so much sorrow across our land?” I know I must be strong and face another day, but tears fill my eyes. Suddenly, a white dove lands upon my window sill. Surely this be the omen that peace is near at hand. Just like the breath of the coming Spring, this little dove now brings me new hope. God has heard our prayers and our Southland will flower again.
Nancy B. Brewer (Beyond Sandy Ridge)
The question will arise, and arise in your day, though perhaps not fully in mine, ‘Which shall rule—wealth or man; which shall lead—money or intellect; who shall fill public stations—educated and patriotic free men, or the feudal serfs of corporate capital?’ 
Robert B. Reich (Saving Capitalism: For the Many, Not the Few)
Later, early Christmas morning, I was still awake, and Susan was asleep, on her back, with her mouth open slightly. I looked at her face. Her eyes moved slightly behind her eyelids. I watched her sleep; watched her while she dreamed in some remote incorporeal place away from me; watched her with the growing certainty that some of her would always be remote, away from me, unknowable, unobtainable, never mine. Watched her and thought these things and knew, as I could know nothing else so surely, that it didn’t matter.
Robert B. Parker (The Widening Gyre (Spenser, #10))
If you became mine, I wouldn’t let you go.” His words were clipped, as if he was biting back frenzy. “Understand me, if I’m your first lover— I will be your last.” The ringing tone of finality chilled me. “And I would kill any man who thought to touch what was mine.
Kresley Cole (The Professional: Part 2 (The Game Maker, #1b))
Sandy’s face was very close to mine in the crowded room. She had a wide mouth and a lot of teeth. She had turned in her seat so that she had one thigh on each side of my leg. Her chest was against my arm. In another minute we wouldn’t have to go anywhere to have sex.
Robert B. Parker (Small Vices (Spenser, #24))
There's one big difference between the poor and the rich,' Kite says, taking a drag from his cigarette. We are in a pub, at lunch-time. John Kite is always, unless stated otherwise, smoking a fag, in a pub, at lunch-time. 'The rich aren't evil, as so many of my brothers would tell you. I've known rich people -- I have played on their yachts -- and they are not unkind, or malign, and they do not hate the poor, as many would tell you. And they are not stupid -- or at least, not any more than the poor are. Much as I find amusing the idea of a ruling class of honking toffs, unable to put their socks on without Nanny helping them, it is not true. They build banks, and broker deals, and formulate policy, all with perfect competency. 'No -- the big difference between the rich and the poor is that the rich are blithe. They believe nothing can ever really be so bad, They are born with the lovely, velvety coating of blitheness -- like lanugo, on a baby -- and it is never rubbed off by a bill that can't be paid; a child that can't be educated; a home that must be left for a hostel, when the rent becomes too much. 'Their lives are the same for generations. There is no social upheaval that will really affect them. If you're comfortably middle-class, what's the worst a government policy could do? Ever? Tax you at 90 per cent and leave your bins, unemptied, on the pavement. But you and everyone you know will continue to drink wine -- but maybe cheaper -- go on holiday -- but somewhere nearer -- and pay off your mortgage -- although maybe later. 'Consider, now, then, the poor. What's the worst a government policy can do to them? It can cancel their operation, with no recourse to private care. It can run down their school -- with no escape route to a prep. It can have you out of your house and into a B&B by the end of the year. When the middle-classes get passionate about politics, they're arguing about their treats -- their tax breaks and their investments. When the poor get passionate about politics, they're fighting for their lives. 'Politics will always mean more to the poor. Always. That's why we strike and march, and despair when our young say they won't vote. That's why the poor are seen as more vital, and animalistic. No classical music for us -- no walking around National Trust properties, or buying reclaimed flooring. We don't have nostalgia. We don't do yesterday. We can't bear it. We don't want to be reminded of our past, because it was awful; dying in mines, and slums, without literacy, or the vote. Without dignity. It was all so desperate, then. That's why the present and the future is for the poor -- that's the place in time for us: surviving now, hoping for better, later. We live now -- for our instant, hot, fast treats, to prep us up: sugar, a cigarette, a new fast song on the radio. 'You must never, never forget, when you talk to someone poor, that it takes ten times the effort to get anywhere from a bad postcode, It's a miracle when someone from a bad postcode gets anywhere, son. A miracle they do anything at all.
Caitlin Moran (How to Build a Girl (How to Build a Girl, #1))
But, is it more important to stay true to yourself, to what you believe in, or give it up for someone you care about?” Lisa gives me a warm smile and her hand finds mine on the table. “There is no right answer to that.” She squeezes my hand hard. “It depends on so many things. You are the one who has to choose, to find the balance between what you believe in and what you care about. It’s a game with high risk—you can lose someone you care about but still have your pride, or…you can lose yourself for someone you care about.” She gets up from her seat. “The real question is—is ‘care’ good enough to be lost for?
Anna B. Doe (Lost & Found: Anabel & William #1 (New York Knights, #1))
One of my greatest fears is family decline.There’s an old Chinese saying that “prosperity can never last for three generations.” I’ll bet that if someone with empirical skills conducted a longitudinal survey about intergenerational performance, they’d find a remarkably common pattern among Chinese immigrants fortunate enough to have come to the United States as graduate students or skilled workers over the last fifty years. The pattern would go something like this: • The immigrant generation (like my parents) is the hardest-working. Many will have started off in the United States almost penniless, but they will work nonstop until they become successful engineers, scientists, doctors, academics, or businesspeople. As parents, they will be extremely strict and rabidly thrifty. (“Don’t throw out those leftovers! Why are you using so much dishwasher liquid?You don’t need a beauty salon—I can cut your hair even nicer.”) They will invest in real estate. They will not drink much. Everything they do and earn will go toward their children’s education and future. • The next generation (mine), the first to be born in America, will typically be high-achieving. They will usually play the piano and/or violin.They will attend an Ivy League or Top Ten university. They will tend to be professionals—lawyers, doctors, bankers, television anchors—and surpass their parents in income, but that’s partly because they started off with more money and because their parents invested so much in them. They will be less frugal than their parents. They will enjoy cocktails. If they are female, they will often marry a white person. Whether male or female, they will not be as strict with their children as their parents were with them. • The next generation (Sophia and Lulu’s) is the one I spend nights lying awake worrying about. Because of the hard work of their parents and grandparents, this generation will be born into the great comforts of the upper middle class. Even as children they will own many hardcover books (an almost criminal luxury from the point of view of immigrant parents). They will have wealthy friends who get paid for B-pluses.They may or may not attend private schools, but in either case they will expect expensive, brand-name clothes. Finally and most problematically, they will feel that they have individual rights guaranteed by the U.S. Constitution and therefore be much more likely to disobey their parents and ignore career advice. In short, all factors point to this generation
Amy Chua (Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother)
B. will be home, all mine, and I'll be secure for a little. How we need that security! How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into. Maybe I need a man. One sure thing, I haven't met him yet...
Sylvia Plath (The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath)
I thought of the boys again. We were over at the twins’ house. Everyone was in the kitchen as Asher checked the enchiladas that Maria had left in the fridge for us. Asher and Isaac were picking on Ethan. Who came over to me, hugged me from behind, and rested his head on my shoulder. “Make them stop picking on me, Beautiful,” He begged pitifully. I reached behind me and ran my fingers through his hair. “Aw, you can dish it out but not take it?” I teased him. He growled in my ear before letting me go and smacking me on the butt, I turned and smacked his arm in return. Ethan backed off as he laughed. I flipped him off then turned back to the others, they had all gone still. “What?” I asked. Everyone unfroze and went back to the conversation. It wasn't until later when I realized that was the first time one of them had smacked my butt. I made a rule that night that if they smack mine, theirs’ becomes fair game. So far only the twins were willing to risk it.
B.L. Brunnemer (When To Fear The Living (The Veil Diaries, #3))
Could it be that he felt sorry for me after all? Or that his hostile attitude was really a cover up, designed to protect me? I pondered over my wishful thinking, but when his black eyes locked on mine again, all positive thoughts had vaporized. There was no question about it; Victor detested me beyond my wildest imagining.
A.B. Whelan (Fields of Elysium (Fields of Elysium, #1))
Haili! Good morning!” She wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed. “You look wonderful, so nice to be able to buck trends and just slap clothes together, huh? Let’s take a digital. Smile.” Pressing her cheek to mine, she held up her hand, taking the photo with the tech embedded in the tips of her fingers. “I’ll post it on Hansi.
K.B. Wagers (Behind the Throne (The Indranan War, #1))
The transcripts of our conversation also show how Patrick’s choice of phrasing was helpful to me. Rather than telling me what airport I had to aim for, he asked me what airport I wanted. His words let me know that he understood that these hard choices were mine to make, and it wasn’t going to help if he tried to dictate a plan to me.
Chesley B. Sullenberger (Highest Duty: My Search for What Really Matters)
I skanked deep on Wolt's pipe an' four days march from our free Windward to Kona Leeward seemed like four mil'yun, yay, babbybies o' blissweed cradled me that night, then the drummin' started up, see ev'ry tribe had its own drums. Foday o' Lotus Pond Dwellin' an' two-three Valleysmen played goatskin'n'pingwood tom-toms, an' Hilo beardies thumped their flumfy-flumfy drums an' a Honokaa fam'ly beat their sash-krrangers an' Honomu folk got their shell-shakers an' this whoah feastin' o' drums twanged the young uns' joystrings an' mine too, yay, an' blissweed'll lead you b'tween the whack-crack an' boom-doom an' pan-pin-pon till we dancers was hoofs thuddin' an' blood pumpin' an' years passin' an' ev'ry drumbeat one more life shedded off me, yay, I glimpsed all the lifes my soul ever was till far-far back b'fore the Fall, yay, glimpsed from a gallopin' horse in a hurrycane, but I cudn't describe 'em 'cos there ain't the words no more but well I mem'ry that dark Kolekole girl with her tribe's tattoo, yay, she was a saplin' bendin' an' I was that hurrycane, I blowed her she bent, I blowed harder she bent harder an' closer, then I was Crow's wings beatin' an' she was the flames lickin' an' when the Kolekole saplin' wrapped her willowy fingers around my neck, her eyes was quartzin' and she murmed in my ear, Yay, I will, again, an' yay, we will, again.
David Mitchell (Cloud Atlas)
No." I pulled away just enough to lock my eyes with his. His crooked smile sent shivers down my spine. His eyes were a deep blue darkening more as the minutes passing between us were getting hotter. "I will be the one using you, and you'll love every second, every breath, every stroke and every fucking inch of me," he said, his lips ghosting above mine.
Stephanie Witter (2B or Not 2B? (The Roomies, #1))
Mine is far from an original conclusion, but in recent decades it has not been fashionable, so I should state the argument explicitly: The Greeks laid the foundation, but it was the transmutation of that foundation by Christianity that gave modern Europe its impetus and differentiated European accomplishment from that of all other cultures around the world.[24]
Charles Murray (Human Accomplishment: The Pursuit of Excellence in the Arts and Sciences, 800 B.C. to 1950)
Morgan just has to be the center of attention or she isn’t happy,” Bella whispered. Everyone turned to her, in stun. She sat, thumbing through her iPhone and slouching against the couch cushions. “Bella…” Alani whispered. “No, I want to hear this,” Morgan said, voice trembling. “Is that what you think, B?” “You’ve always been that way,” Bella said. “If Daddy wasn’t always paying attention to you, you’d have a fit. So, he took some of mine and gave it to you. He took some of Eazy’s and gave it to you. He loved us half the time, so he could extra love you. Now, he loves Alani, and you want to take what he’s giving her too. You’re selfish with him, Mo, but he isn’t just yours. He’s all of ours! The whole family needs him, not just you.
Ashley Antoinette (Ethic 5)
Alas, with the years all this fine contempt began to fade; for the words I longed for, and all their dazzling opportunities, were theirs, not mine. But they should not keep these prizes, I said; some, all, I would wrest from them. Just how I would do it I could never decide: by reading law, by healing the sick, by telling the wonderful tales that swam in my head,—some way.
W.E.B. Du Bois (The Souls of Black Folk)
I’d like to return to prose after a fifteen-year hiatus. An epistolary novella maybe. A man went into the mountains fifteen years ago to write the following letter to a woman: “Dear B., I’d like to strike you down with an iron rod. Maybe I love you. If you feel the same way and your wishes conform to mine, then please please get in touch with me posthaste. We’ll discuss this matter together and make the necessary arrangements if everything works out. With warm wishes, Your Bernd.” The letter is, however, never mailed and never written. In further letters to B. from Bernd, he pursues, among other things, the question: why? The last letter could be the one in which Bernd lets B. know that the matter has been settled since he has just been struck down by a group of women with iron rods.
Urs Allemann
I’m here. Where’s my chauffeur hat?” “Here, use mine,” Butch said, outing a B Sox cap and throwing it over. “It’ll help that hair of yours.” The angel caught the thing on the fly and stared at the red S. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” “Do not tell me you’re a Yankees fan,” V drawled. “I’ll have to kill you, and frankly, tonight we need all the wingmen we’ve got.” Lassiter tossed the cap back. Whistled. Looked casual.
J.R. Ward (Lover at Last (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #11))
She tilts her head so slightly that I am pulled deeper into her gaze, as though she’s trying to tell me something or maybe trying to pull something out of me, and in doing so, she’s drawing me in. her glare probes deep, and I’m incapable of looking away. Her pale eyes search mine and hold me hostage. Not until she changes her focus to my neck do I blow out a breath from the freedom of her release. “Holy shit,” I whisper.
J.B. Salsbury (Ghostgirl (Mercy, #1))
When Elizabeth finally descended the stairs on her way to the dining room she was two hours late. Deliberately. “Good heavens, you’re tardy, my dear!” Sir Francis said, shoving back his chair and rushing to the doorway where Elizabeth had been standing, trying to gather her courage to do what needed to be done. “Come and meet my guests,” he said, drawing her forward after a swift, disappointed look at her drab attire and severe coiffure. “We did as you suggested in your note and went ahead with supper. What kept you abovestairs so long?” “I was at prayer,” Elizabeth said, managing to look him straight in the eye. Sir Francis recovered from his surprise in time to introduce her to the three other people at the table-two men who resembled him in age and features and two women of perhaps five and thirty who were both attired in the most shockingly revealing gowns Elizabeth had ever seen. Elizabeth accepted a helping of cold meat to silence her protesting stomach while both women studied her with unhidden scorn. “That is a most unusual ensemble you’re wearing, I must say,” remarked the woman named Eloise. “Is it the custom where you come from to dress so…simply?” Elizabeth took a dainty bite of meat. “Not really. I disapprove of too much personal adornment.” She turned to Sir Francis with an innocent stare. “Gowns are expensive. I consider them a great waste of money.” Sir Francis was suddenly inclined to agree, particularly since he intended to keep her naked as much as possible. “Quite right!” he beamed, eyeing the other ladies with pointed disapproval. “No sense in spending all that money on gowns. No point in spending money at all.” “My sentiments exactly,” Elizabeth said, nodding. “I prefer to give every shilling I can find to charity instead.” “Give it away?” he said in a muted roar, half rising out of his chair. Then he forced himself to sit back down and reconsider the wisdom of wedding her. She was lovely-her face more mature then he remembered it, but not even the black veil and scraped-back hair could detract from the beauty of her emerald-green eyes with their long, sooty lashes. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them-shadows he didn’t recall seeing there earlier in the day. He put the shadows down to her far-too-serious nature. Her dowry was creditable, and her body beneath that shapeless black gown…he wished he could see her shape. Perhaps it, too, had changed, and not for the better, in the past few years. “I had hoped, my dear,” Sir Francis said, covering her hand with his and squeezing it affectionately, “that you might wear something else down to supper, as I suggested you should.” Elizabeth gave him an innocent stare. “This is all I brought.” “All you brought?” he uttered. “B-But I definitely saw my footmen carrying several trunks upstairs.” “They belong to my aunt-only one of them is mine,” she fabricated hastily, already anticipating his next question and thinking madly for some satisfactory answer. “Really?” He continued to eye her gown with great dissatisfaction, and then he asked exactly the question she’d expected: “What, may I ask, does your one truck contain if not gowns?” Inspiration struck, and Elizabeth smiled radiantly. “Something of great value. Priceless value,” she confided. All faces at the table watched her with alert fascination-particularly the greedy Sir Francis. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense, love. What’s in it?” “The mortal remains of Saint Jacob.
Judith McNaught (Almost Heaven (Sequels, #3))
She’s nice as hell, but I swear, I’m going to strangle the cat if I find it,” Steven said, sitting down across from me. I held up my hands, palms out, and smirked at him. “Come on, brother. You’re really going to kill that nice old lady’s cat just because she’s annoying?” “Fine,” he said. “I’m going to kill that cat’s whole family. Just to send a message.” “What’s the message?” His eyes stared into mine. “Cats better not fuck with me.
B.B. Hamel (Protected by the Monster)
NVC urges me to ask myself the following questions rather than think in terms of what is wrong with a patient: "What is this person feeling? What is she or he needing? How am I feeling in response to this person, and what needs of mine are behind my feelings? What action or decision would I request this person to take in the belief that it would enable them to live more happily?" Because our responses to these questions would reveal a lot about ourselves and our values, we would feel far more vulnerable than if we were to simply diagnose the other person.
Marshall B. Rosenberg (Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life)
Books. More books than I had ever seen in my life. I gasped and crawled to my knees. I couldn’t breathe. Books galore. Music books, philosophy books. Math books. Geometry. Opera scores, logic. I sobbed and cradled the books. I hugged them to my naked chest and I cried. I smelled them and touched their spines. I remember how violently my fingers shook. I buried my nose in their pages and wept. Never had I ever held so many books in my life. And they were mine. All my very own. The orgasm still riddled my body. It had barely begun to fade. One orgasm ended, but the euphoria was just beginning.
Angela B. Chrysler (Broken)
With other black boys the strife was not so fiercely sunny: their youth shrunk into tasteless sycophancy, or into silent hatred of the pale world about them and mocking distrust of everything white; or wasted itself in a bitter cry, Why did God make me an outcast and a stranger in mine own house? The shades of the prison-house closed round about us all: walls strait and stubborn to the whitest, but relentlessly narrow, tall, and unscalable to sons of night who must plod darkly on in resignation, or beat unavailing palms against the stone, or steadily, half hopelessly, watch the streak of blue above.
W.E.B. Du Bois (The Souls of Black Folk)
It was almost painful to watch,that kite of mine. Tethered to the string in my hand. Dancing in the sky all alone. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse beating wild and crazy on my chest. My heart soaring with every dip and turn of the kite,as if I were flying along,instead of standing with my two feet on the ground, squinting against the sun to see the dance. What if it fell? What if the breeze took it away? I counted the seconds until I could reel it back in. I was that kite. Fragile against the wind. Soaring one minute. Spiraling straight down next. Just looking for something to hold me up. Before I spun out of control and flew away. Dissappearing fron sight.
Jenny B. Jones (There You'll Find Me)
Authenticity is a collection of choices we have to make every day. It’s about the choice to show up and be real. The choice to be honest. The choice to let our true selves be seen.” As I told more and more people, I realized that (a) they didn’t really care because everyone is too busy dealing with their own emotional problems to care about my emotional problems and (b) most had struggled with similar issues and felt relieved and inspired that I could be vulnerable about mine. When this happened, my fear of judgment lost its power over me. Maybe the road to being a decent role model wasn’t about being emotionally perfect, maybe it was about finding the courage to admit that I wasn’t.
Whitney Cummings (I'm Fine...And Other Lies)
Revelation can be read rightly only by those who are actively struggling against injustice. If Revelation is a resistance document, its significance will become clear only to those who are engaged in resistance. It is no coincidence that the most powerful modern readings of Revelation have come from interpreters in socially marginalized positions who were seeking to call the church to countercultural resistance movements: for example, Martin Luther King, Jr., William Stringfellow, and Alan Boesak.31 Something very strange happens when this text is appropriated by readers in a comfortable, powerful, majority community: it becomes a gold mine for paranoid fantasies and for those who want to preach revenge and destruction.
Richard B. Hays (The Moral Vision of the New Testament: Community, Cross, New CreationA Contemporary Introduction to New Testament Ethic)
Mine is not the first voice to suggest that as patients, as families, and even as doctors, we need to find hope in other ways, more realistic ways, than in the pursuit of elusive and danger-filled cures. In the care of advanced disease, whether cancer or some other determined killer, hope should be redefined. Some of my sickest patients have taught me of the varieties of hope that can come when death is certain. I wish I could report that there were many such people, but there have, in fact, been few. Almost everyone seems to want to take a chance with the slim statistics that oncologists give to patients with advanced disease. Usually they suffer for it, and they die anyway, having magnified the burdens they and those who love them must carry to the final moments. Though everyone may yearn for a tranquil death, the basic instinct to stay alive is a far more powerful force.
Sherwin B. Nuland (How We Die: Reflections of Life's Final Chapter)
One may readily concede that the historical factuality of the resurrection cannot be affirmed with the same level of confidence as the historical factuality of the crucifixion. All historical judgments can be made only with relative certainty, and the judgment that Jesus rose from the dead can be offered—from the historian’s point of view—only with great caution. The character of the event itself hardly falls within ordinary categories of experience.28 Still, something extraordinary happened shortly after Jesus’ death that rallied the dispirited disciples and sent them out proclaiming to the world that Jesus had risen and had appeared to them. Reductive psychological explanations fail to do justice to the widespread testimony to this event within the original community and to the moral seriousness of the movement that resulted from it. The best explanation is to say that God did something beyond all power of human imagining by raising Jesus from the dead. To make such a claim is to make an assertion that redefines reality.29 If such an event has happened in history, then history is not a closed system of immanent causes and effects. God is powerfully at work in the world in ways that defy common sense, redeeming the creation from its bondage to necessity and decay. That, of course, is precisely what the early Christians believed and proclaimed: I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power. God put this power to work in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the age to come. (EPH. 1:17–21. emphasis mine)
Richard B. Hays (The Moral Vision of the New Testament: Community, Cross, New CreationA Contemporary Introduction to New Testament Ethic)
I know many souls that toss and whirl and pass, but none there are that intrigue me more than the Souls of White Folk. Of them I am singularly clairvoyant. I see in and through them. I view them from unusual points of vantage. Not as a foreigner do I come, for I am native, not foreign, bone of their thought and flesh of their language. Mine is not the knowledge of the traveler or the colonial composite of dear memories, words and wonder. Nor yet is my knowledge that which servants have of masters, or mass of class, or capitalist of artisan. Rather I see these souls undressed and from the back and side. I see the working of their entrails. I know their thoughts and they know that I know. This knowledge makes them now embarrassed, now furious. They deny my right to live and be and call me misbirth! My word is to them mere bitterness and my soul, pessimism. And yet as they preach and strut and shout and threaten, crouching as they clutch at rags of facts and fancies to hide their nakedness, they go twisting, flying by my tired eyes and I see them ever stripped,—ugly, human.
W.E.B. Du Bois (Darkwater: Voices from Within the Veil)
Luke pulls me to him and crushes his mouth to mine. “I said I wasn’t going to do this,” he whispers on a kiss. “’S’okay.” I pull him closer, my hands snaking up his back. “Don’t mind.” His hands move up to cup my face, to tilt my head, to move his lips over mine again. “Bella?” “Hmmm?” I stifle a groan as Luke pulls away. Still holding my face in one hand, he runs his finger down my nose. Over my cheek. I lean into his palm and just try to breathe. “What?” “Do you know what this was?” he asks, his mouth near my ear. “The warm-up?” “A test.” My cozy smile drops. I step away. “You’re lying to yourself if you think you don’t want to be with me.” “I—I”—am so mad—“it was the moonlight. It was the popcorn at nine o’clock.” Luke reaches out and brushes a piece of hair behind my ear. “Face it—you’re totally into your editor.” He sighs dramatically. “I hope whatever is keeping us apart is worth it.” I stand there motionless, my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth as Luke climbs into his 4Runner. I should say something. I should yell—or maybe throw a shoe? What would Ruthie do? No. I can’t moon him.
Jenny B. Jones (So Over My Head (The Charmed Life, #3))
Slavery became a huge, international business, and of course would remain one down to the present moment. It’s estimated that at the midpoint of the fifth century every third or fourth person in Athens was a slave. When Carthage fell to Rome in 146 B.C.E., fifty thousand of the survivors were sold as slaves. In 132 B.C.E. some seventy thousand Roman slaves rebelled; when the revolt was put down, twenty thousand were crucified, but this was far from the end of Rome’s problems with its slaves.               But new signs of distress appeared in this period that were far more relevant to our purpose here tonight. For the first time in history, people were beginning to suspect that something fundamentally wrong was going on here. For the first time in history, people were beginning to feel empty, were beginning to feel that their lives were not amounting to enough, were beginning to wonder if this is all there is to life, were beginning to hanker after something vaguely more. For the first time in history, people began listening to religious teachers who promised them salvation.               It's impossible to overstate the novelty of this idea of salvation. Religion had been around in our culture for thousands of years, of course, but it had never been about salvation as we understand it or as the people of this period began to understand it. Earlier gods had been talismanic gods of kitchen and crop, mining and mist, house-painting and herding, stroked at need like lucky charms, and earlier religions had been state religions, part of the apparatus of sovereignty and governance (as is apparent from their temples, built for royal ceremonies, not for popular public devotions).               Judaism, Brahmanism, Hinduism, Shintoism, and Buddhism all came into being during this period and had no existence before it. Quite suddenly, after six thousand years of totalitarian agriculture and civilization building, the people of our culture—East and West, twins of a single birth—were beginning to wonder if their lives made sense, were beginning to perceive a void in themselves that economic success and civil esteem could not fill, were beginning to imagine that something was profoundly, even innately, wrong with them.
Daniel Quinn (The Teachings: That Came Before & After Ishmael)
The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rock star and you think, “They’ll remember me now,” but (a) they don’t remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion. (Okay, maybe I’m not such a shitty writer. But I can’t pull my ideas together, Van Houten. My thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into constellations.) We are like a bunch of dogs squirting on fire hydrants. We poison the groundwater with our toxic piss, marking everything MINE in a ridiculous attempt to survive our deaths. I can’t stop pissing on fire hydrants. I know it’s silly and useless – epically useless in my current state – but I am an animal like any other. Hazel is different. She walks lightly, old man. She walks lightly upon the earth. Hazel knows the truth: We’re as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we’re not likely to do either. People will say it’s sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it’s not sad, Van Houten. It’s triumphant. It’s heroic. Isn’t that the real heroism? Like the doctors say: First, do no harm.
John Green
I don’t want to talk about me. We never talk about you. I probably don’t know anything about you. He laces his fingers into mine and rests our hands on his stomach. I move my fingertips in tiny circles and he sighs indulgently. “Sure you do. Go on, list everything.” “I know surface things. The color of your shirts. Your lovely blue eyes. You live on mints and make me look like a pig in comparison. You scare three-quarters of B and G employees absolutely senseless, but only because the other quarter haven’t met you yet.” He smirks. “Such a bunch of delicate sissies.” I keep ticking things off. “You’ve got a pencil you use for secret purposes I think relate to me. You dry clean on alternate Fridays. The projector in the boardroom strains your eyes and gives you headaches. You’re good at using silence to scare the shit out of people. It’s your go-to strategy in meetings. You sit there and stare with your laser-eyes until your opponent crumbles.” He remains silent. “Oh, and you’re secretly a decent human being.” “You definitely know more about me than anyone else.” I can feel a tension in him. When I look at his face, he looks shaken. My stalking has scared the ever-loving shit out of him. Unfortunately, the next thing I say sounds deranged. I want to know what’s going on in your brain. I want to juice your head like a lemon.
Sally Thorne (The Hating Game)
Migration is the story of America. It is foundational. From Pilgrims fleeing oppression in Europe, to the millions who took advantage of the Homestead Act to “go West,” to the erection of the Statue of Liberty in New York’s harbor, all the way up to the U.S. Congress tying Most Favored Nation status to the human right of Soviet Jews to emigrate, the movement of people fleeing tyranny, violence, and withered opportunities is sacrosanct to Americans. In fact, “freedom of movement” is a treasured right in the nation’s political lexicon. Yet, when more than 1.5 million African Americans left the land below the Mason-Dixon Line, white Southern elites raged with cool, calculated efficiency. This was no lynch mob seeking vengeance; rather, these were mayors, governors, legislators, business leaders, and police chiefs who bristled at “the first step … the nation’s servant class ever took without asking.”12 In the wood-paneled rooms of city halls, in the chambers of city councils, in the marbled state legislatures, and in sheriffs’ offices, white government officials, working hand in hand with plantation, lumber mill, and mine owners, devised an array of obstacles and laws to stop African Americans, as U.S. citizens, from exercising the right to find better jobs, to search for good schools, indeed simply to escape the ever-present terror of lynch mobs. In short, the powerful, respectable elements of the white South rose up, in the words of then-secretary of labor William B. Wilson, to stop the Great Migration and interfere with “the natural right of workers to move from place to place at their own discretion.
Carol Anderson (White Rage: The Unspoken Truth of Our Racial Divide)
The Saints will reign in celestial splendor—Christ will come, and men will be judged—Blessed are they who keep His commandments. 1 And he shewed me a pure river of awater of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. 2 In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the atree of blife, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the cleaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. 3 And there shall be no more acurse: but the bthrone of God and of the cLamb shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him: 4 And they shall asee his bface; and his cname shall be in their foreheads. 5 And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the asun; for the Lord God giveth them blight: and they shall creign dfor ever and ever. 6 And he said unto me, These sayings are faithful and atrue: and the Lord God of the holy prophets sent his angel to shew unto his servants the things which must bshortly be done. 7 Behold, I acome quickly: bblessed is he that keepeth the csayings of the prophecy of this book. 8 And I John saw these things, and heard them. And when I had heard and seen, I afell down to worship before the feet of the angel which shewed me these things. 9 Then saith he unto me, See thou do it not: for I am thy fellowservant, and of thy brethren the prophets, and of them which keep the sayings of this book: worship God. 10 And he saith unto me, Seal not the sayings of the prophecy of this book: for the time is at hand. 11 He that is aunjust, let him be bunjust still: and he which is cfilthy, let him be filthy still: and he that is righteous, let him be righteous still: and he that is holy, let him be holy still. 12 And, behold, I acome quickly; and my breward is with me, to give every man according as his cwork shall be. 13 I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the afirst and the last. 14 Blessed are they that ado his bcommandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city. 15 For without are dogs, and asorcerers, and bwhoremongers, and cmurderers, and idolaters, and whosoever loveth and maketh a dlie. 16 I Jesus have sent mine aangel to testify unto you these things in the churches. I am the broot and the offspring of David, and the bright and morning cstar. 17 And the Spirit and the bride say, aCome. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the bwater of life freely. 18 For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book, If any man shall aadd unto these things, God shall add unto him the bplagues that are written in this book: 19 And if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the abook of life, and out of the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book. 20 He which testifieth these things saith, Surely I acome quickly. Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus. 21 The agrace of our bLord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen.
Anonymous (Holy Bible)
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 20, 1965 My fellow countrymen, on this occasion, the oath I have taken before you and before God is not mine alone, but ours together. We are one nation and one people. Our fate as a nation and our future as a people rest not upon one citizen, but upon all citizens. This is the majesty and the meaning of this moment. For every generation, there is a destiny. For some, history decides. For this generation, the choice must be our own. Even now, a rocket moves toward Mars. It reminds us that the world will not be the same for our children, or even for ourselves m a short span of years. The next man to stand here will look out on a scene different from our own, because ours is a time of change-- rapid and fantastic change bearing the secrets of nature, multiplying the nations, placing in uncertain hands new weapons for mastery and destruction, shaking old values, and uprooting old ways. Our destiny in the midst of change will rest on the unchanged character of our people, and on their faith. THE AMERICAN COVENANT They came here--the exile and the stranger, brave but frightened-- to find a place where a man could be his own man. They made a covenant with this land. Conceived in justice, written in liberty, bound in union, it was meant one day to inspire the hopes of all mankind; and it binds us still. If we keep its terms, we shall flourish. JUSTICE AND CHANGE First, justice was the promise that all who made the journey would share in the fruits of the land. In a land of great wealth, families must not live in hopeless poverty. In a land rich in harvest, children just must not go hungry. In a land of healing miracles, neighbors must not suffer and die unattended. In a great land of learning and scholars, young people must be taught to read and write. For the more than 30 years that I have served this Nation, I have believed that this injustice to our people, this waste of our resources, was our real enemy. For 30 years or more, with the resources I have had, I have vigilantly fought against it. I have learned, and I know, that it will not surrender easily. But change has given us new weapons. Before this generation of Americans is finished, this enemy will not only retreat--it will be conquered. Justice requires us to remember that when any citizen denies his fellow, saying, "His color is not mine," or "His beliefs are strange and different," in that moment he betrays America, though his forebears created this Nation. LIBERTY AND CHANGE Liberty was the second article of our covenant. It was self- government. It was our Bill of Rights. But it was more. America would be a place where each man could be proud to be himself: stretching his talents, rejoicing in his work, important in the life of his neighbors and his nation. This has become more difficult in a world where change and growth seem to tower beyond the control and even the judgment of men. We must work to provide the knowledge and the surroundings which can enlarge the possibilities of every citizen. The American covenant called on us to help show the way for the liberation of man. And that is today our goal. Thus, if as a nation there is much outside our control, as a people no stranger is outside our hope.
Lyndon B. Johnson
He removed his hand from his worn, pleasantly snug jeans…and it held something small. Holy Lord, I said to myself. What in the name of kingdom come is going on here? His face wore a sweet, sweet smile. I stood there completely frozen. “Um…what?” I asked. I could formulate no words but these. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead he took my left hand in his, opened up my fingers, and placed a diamond ring onto my palm, which was, by now, beginning to sweat. “I said,” he closed my hand tightly around the ring. “I want you to marry me.” He paused for a moment. “If you need time to think about it, I’ll understand.” His hands were still wrapped around my knuckles. He touched his forehead to mine, and the ligaments of my knees turned to spaghetti. Marry you? My mind raced a mile a minute. Ten miles a second. I had three million thoughts all at once, and my heart thumped wildly in my chest. Marry you? But then I’d have to cut my hair short. Married women have short hair, and they get it fixed at the beauty shop. Marry you? But then I’d have to make casseroles. Marry you? But then I’d have to wear yellow rubber gloves to do the dishes. Marry you? As in, move out to the country and actually live with you? In your house? In the country? But I…I…I don’t live in the country. I don’t know how. I can’t ride a horse. I’m scared of spiders. I forced myself to speak again. “Um…what?” I repeated, a touch of frantic urgency to my voice. “You heard me,” Marlboro Man said, still smiling. He knew this would catch me by surprise. Just then my brother Mike laid on the horn again. He leaned out of the window and yelled at the top of his lungs, “C’mon! I am gonna b-b-be late for lunch!” Mike didn’t like being late. Marlboro Man laughed. “Be right there, Mike!” I would have laughed, too, at the hilarious scene playing out before my eyes. A ring. A proposal. My developmentally disabled and highly impatient brother Mike, waiting for Marlboro Man to drive him to the mall. The horn of the diesel pickup. Normally, I would have laughed. But this time I was way, way too stunned. “I’d better go,” Marlboro Man said, leaning forward and kissing my cheek. I still grasped the diamond ring in my warm, sweaty hand. “I don’t want Mike to burst a blood vessel.” He laughed out loud, clearly enjoying it all. I tried to speak but couldn’t. I’d been rendered totally mute. Nothing could have prepared me for those ten minutes of my life. The last thing I remember, I’d awakened at eleven. Moments later, I was hiding in my bathroom, trying, in all my early-morning ugliness, to avoid being seen by Marlboro Man, who’d dropped by unexpectedly. Now I was standing on the front porch, a diamond ring in my hand. It was all completely surreal. Marlboro Man turned to leave. “You can give me your answer later,” he said, grinning, his Wranglers waving good-bye to me in the bright noonday sun. But then it all came flashing across my line of sight. The boots in the bar, the icy blue-green eyes, the starched shirt, the Wranglers…the first date, the long talks, my breakdown in his kitchen, the movies, the nights on his porch, the kisses, the long drives, the hugs…the all-encompassing, mind-numbing passion I felt. It played frame by frame in my mind in a steady stream. “Hey,” I said, walking toward him and effortlessly sliding the ring on my finger. I wrapped my arms around his neck as his arms, instinctively, wrapped around my waist and raised me off the ground in our all-too-familiar pose. “Yep,” I said effortlessly. He smiled and hugged me tightly. Mike, once again, laid on the horn, oblivious to what had just happened. Marlboro Man said nothing more. He simply kissed me, smiled, then drove my brother to the mall.
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
Don’t cry, Mary,” Eden croaked. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” My lip quivered as I softly replied, “You’re dying. How could I not cry?” I didn’t hear Lucas walk up behind me, but he put his hand on my shoulder for comfort. I sniffed back tears as I looked at my aunt lying helplessly in the hospital bed. I took in a sharp breath as Eden’s glassy eyes searched mine. “I love you,” Eden said weakly, coughing into her shaking hand. “I love you, too,” I whispered. “But this isn’t goodbye. Don’t say goodbye,” I pleaded.
Barbara C. Doyle ('Til Death Do Us Part (Fearless, #1))
My form master in 4B1, Snappy Priestman, was a gentle man, cultivated, kind and civilized except when he (very occasionally) lost his temper. Even then, there was something oddly gentlemanly about the way he did it. In one of his lessons he caught a boy misbehaving. After a lull when nothing happened, he began to give us verbal warning of his escalating internal fury, speaking quite calmly as an objective observer of his own internal state. Oh dear. I can't hold it. I'm going to lose my temper. Get down below your desks. I'm warning you. It's coming. Get down below your desks. As his voice rose in a steady crescendo he was becoming increasingly red in the face, and he finally picked up everything within reach - chalk, inkpots, books, wood-backed blackboard erasers - and hurled them, with the utmost ferocity, towards the miscreant. Next day he was charm itself, apologizing briefly but graciously to the same boy. He was a kind gentleman provoked beyond endurance - as who would not be in his profession? Who would not be in mine, for that matter?
Richard Dawkins (An Appetite for Wonder: The Making of a Scientist)
Pearl eyed a man and woman walking by in funny hats. Her whole body stiffened with the desire to bark at them. Mine too. But we had both been urged repeatedly not to, and we were
Robert B. Parker (Bad Business (Spenser, #31))
Would you like to know the difference between you and I, little troublemaker? You run from your demons. I chase mine.
B.B. Reid (The Peer and the Puppet (When Rivals Play, #1))
UNION AND CHANGE The third article was union. To those who were small and few against the wilderness, the success of liberty demanded the strength of union. Two centuries of change have made this true again. No longer need capitalist and worker, farmer and clerk, city and countryside, struggle to divide our bounty. By working shoulder to shoulder, together we can increase the bounty of all. We have discovered that every child who learns, every man who finds work, every sick body that is made whole--like a candle added to an altar--brightens the hope of all the faithful. So let us reject any among us who seek to reopen old wounds and to rekindle old hatreds. They stand in the way of a seeking nation. Let us now join reason to faith and action to experience, to transform our unity of interest into a unity of purpose. For the hour and the day and the time are here to achieve progress without strife, to achieve change without hatred--not without difference of opinion, but without the deep and abiding divisions which scar the union for generations. THE AMERICAN BELIEF Under this covenant of justice, liberty, and union we have become a nation--prosperous, great, and mighty. And we have kept our freedom. But we have no promise from God that our greatness will endure. We have been allowed by Him to seek greatness with the sweat of our hands and the strength of our spirit. I do not believe that the Great Society is the ordered, changeless, and sterile battalion of the ants. It is the excitement of becoming--always becoming, trying, probing, falling, resting, and trying again--but always trying and always gaining. In each generation, with toil and tears, we have had to earn our heritage again. If we fail now, we shall have forgotten in abundance what we learned in hardship: that democracy rests on faith, that freedom asks more than it gives, and that the judgment of God is harshest on those who are most favored. If we succeed, it will not be because of what we have, but it will be because of what we are; not because of what we own, but, rather because of what we believe. For we are a nation of believers. Underneath the clamor of building and the rush of our day's pursuits, we are believers in justice and liberty and union, and in our own Union. We believe that every man must someday be free. And we believe in ourselves. Our enemies have always made the same mistake. In my lifetime--in depression and in war--they have awaited our defeat. Each time, from the secret places of the American heart, came forth the faith they could not see or that they could not even imagine. It brought us victory. And it will again. For this is what America is all about. It is the uncrossed desert and the unclimbed ridge. It is the star that is not reached and the harvest sleeping in the unplowed ground. Is our world gone? We say "Farewell." Is a new world coming? We welcome it--and we will bend it to the hopes of man. To these trusted public servants and to my family and those close friends of mine who have followed me down a long, winding road, and to all the people of this Union and the world, I will repeat today what I said on that sorrowful day in November 1963: "I will lead and I will do the best I can." But you must look within your own hearts to the old promises and to the old dream. They will lead you best of all. For myself, I ask only, in the words of an ancient leader: "Give me now wisdom and knowledge, that I may go out and come in before this people: for who can judge this thy people, that is so great?
Lyndon B. Johnson
Afraid B mine you a 9 over 9 Terry always got me smiling Your smile got me cheering But it’s much deeper than it seems My days feel anxious ever since The day, winter came, barged in Terrified of knowing what I deserve Petrified of opening up, carved in Running out of options, running out of magic I tired to keep it on the low, tried to keep em in my mind Bc I don’t really know love.i don’t really glow inside Weathered hidden by my fake holt walls Break me down, break em down, or don’t Doesn't matter who you are, soon we’ll come to the end Soon we’ll come to the end, just like this sad song
Joseph
Beverly," he groans, lowering his forehead for mine. "I don't want anything to hurt you." "Nothing will," I tell him, but instantly other thoughts whisper through my head. You might.
L.B. Dunbar (Love in Deed (Green Valley Library, #6))
How soon is too soon to date? I heard about a woman in England who lost her husband and began dating his best friend four weeks later. People were shocked at how quickly her new romance started. Her mother-in-law cut off communication with her and many of her friends did too. "Blame me if you like," the woman said, "but grief hits people in different ways and I have no regrets." When you are widowed, people pity you and want your sorrow to end. But if you start dating, sometimes they judge you and think maybe your sorrow ended just a wee bit too soon. A childhood friend of mine who is now a rabbi told me that in the Jewish religion, mourning for a parent, child, or sibling is a year, but mourning for a spouse is just thirty days. "The rabbis wanted people to move forward," he said.
Sheryl Sandberg (Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy)
As discussed in Chapter 2, data gathered from A/B tests by Ronny Kohavi, who directed Amazon’s Data Mining and Personalization group before joining Microsoft as General Manager of its Experimentation Platform, reveal that 60%–90% of ideas do not improve the metric they were intended to improve. Thus if we’re not running experiments to test the value of new ideas before completely developing them, the chances are that about 2/3 of the work we are doing is of either zero or negative value to our customers — and certainly of negative value to our organization, since this work costs us in three ways. In addition to the cost of developing the features, there is an opportunity cost associated with more valuable work we could have done instead, and the cost of the new complexity they add to our systems (which manifests itself as the cost of maintaining the code, a drag on the rate at which we can develop new functionality, and often, reduced operational stability and performance).
Jez Humble (Lean Enterprise: How High Performance Organizations Innovate at Scale (Lean (O'Reilly)))
I have, however, been at no pains to separate my own beliefs from those of the peasantry, but have rather let my men and women, dhouls and faeries, go their way unoffended or defended by any argument of mine. The things a man has heard and seen are threads of life, and if he pull them carefully from the confused distaff of memory, any who will can weave them into whatever garments of belief please them best. I too have woven my garment like another, but I shall try to keep warm in it, and shall be well content if it do not unbecome me. Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has built her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang out their garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloved daughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a little. 1893.
W.B. Yeats (The Celtic Twilight)
For example, if we find ourselves reacting reproachfully to something we did (“Look, you just messed up again!”), we can quickly stop and ask ourselves, “What unmet need of mine is being expressed through this moralistic judgment?” When we do connect to the need—and there may be several layers of needs—we will notice a remarkable shift in our bodies. Instead of the shame, guilt, or depression we likely feel when criticizing ourselves for having “messed up again,” we will experience any number of other feelings. Whether it’s sadness, frustration, disappointment, fear, grief, or some other feeling, we have been endowed by nature with these feelings for a purpose: they mobilize us to pursue and fulfill what we need or value. The impact of these feelings on our spirit and bodies is substantially different from the disconnection that is brought on by guilt, shame, and depression.
Marshall B. Rosenberg (Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life: Life-Changing Tools for Healthy Relationships (Nonviolent Communication Guides))
Before I can say anything, the door to my parents’ apartment bursts open. My little sister darts out, and she dashes down the concrete stairs. “Tina, Tina!” She cannons into me; I grab hold of her. We squeeze each other hard. She’s getting so big now—she’s just an inch shorter than I am—and she hugs my breath out. “Stop,” I croak. “Mayday, mayday!” “I’m so glad you’re here. Can you tell Mom that I am too old enough to go to a coed sleepover?” I give her a once over. “Sure,” I say, “as long as the parents kick it off by caponizing all the boys.” Beside me, Blake chokes. “What’s caponizing?” “Removing the testicles,” I say. “It improves the temperament of the male animal. Try it sometime.” Blake clears his throat. “Oh,” I say. “Mayday, this is Blake Rivers.” We’ve agreed—and by we’ve agreed I mean I’ve insisted—that we won’t give his real name. No point opening that door. Mom is bad enough when she thinks he doesn’t have any money. I can’t imagine what it would be like if she knew the truth. “Blake, this is my little sister. Her name is Mabel, but I call her anything that starts with an M. Mayday, Maple, and Muggle are my favorites.” She wrinkles her nose at Blake. “You can call me Mabel.” Mabel purses her lips and looks at Blake. Blake looks at her right back. Some people say that Mabel and I look alike, and I guess we do, in the most superficial sense. We’re both Chinese. But Mabel’s hair is short and dyed blue, and she wears it pulled over her eyes. Her eyes are set more narrowly than mine. And—this is really unfair, but I swear I am not bitter about this—she is thirteen and she’s already in B-cups. Which, ahem. Is more than I will ever manage. Mabel shrugs. “Hi Blake. You’re the guy who is definitely not Tina’s boyfriend.” Blake shifts the shoulder strap of his bag. “One of many, I presume.” “Nope.” Mabel twirls away. “You’re the only one. The rest of the boys aren’t dating her.” “Oh, well,” Blake says vaguely. “That is an important distinction.” I try to jab my elbow into his side, but he sidles away. “And you’re the only she talks about like this: ‘Mom, he’s not my boyfriend.’” Oh, that imitation. It’s just a little too spot on. I raise a finger at her, but she twirls away before I can get her back. “Come on. Mom is cooking. This is the first time you’ve brought a boyfriend home from college.” “He’s not my—” I stop, because my sister’s lips are twitching. “Fine.” I pick up my own bag. “Lay on, Macduff,” Blake says. Mabel stops and turns to him. “Hey. Only Tina can call me M-words other than Mabel.” “Sorry.” “Tina and her boyfriend,” she corrects. “So you’re okay.
Courtney Milan (Trade Me (Cyclone, #1))
The word which came to Jer-e-mi′-ah from the Lord, saying, 2 Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will cause thee to hear my words. 3 Then I went down to the potter's house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels. 4 And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it. 5 Then the word of the Lord came to me, saying, 6 O house of Is′-ra-el, a cannot I do with you as this potter? saith the Lord. Behold, b as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Is′-ra-el. 7 At what instant I shall speak concerning a nation, and concerning a kingdom, to c pluck up, and to pull down, and to destroy it, 8 d If that nation, against whom I have pronounced, turn from their evil, e I will repent of the evil that I thought to do unto them. 9 And at what instant I shall speak concerning a nation, and concerning a kingdom, to build and to plant it, 10 If it do evil in my sight, that it obey not my voice, then I will repent of the good, wherewith I said I would benefit them.
Anonymous (KJV Study Bible)
The focus of that week was “learning how to listen to the voice of God” in what was dubbed “My Quiet Time with God.” You have to admire the camp leaders’ intent, but let’s be honest. Most pre-adolescents are clueless about such deeply spiritual goals, let alone the discipline to follow through on a daily basis. Still, good little camperettes that we were, we trekked across the campground after our counselors told us to find our “special place” to meet with God each day. My special place was beneath a big tree. Like the infamous land-run settlers of Oklahoma’s colorful history, I staked out the perfect location. I busily cleared the dirt beneath my tree and lined it with little rocks, fashioned a cross out of two twigs, stuck it in the ground near the tree, and declared that it was good. I wiped my hands on my madras Bermudas, then plopped down, cross-legged on the dirt, ready to meet God. For an hour. One very long hour. Just me and God. God and me. Every single day of camp. Did I mention these quiet times were supposed to last an entire hour? I tried. Really I did. “Now I lay me down to sleep . . . ” No. Wait. That’s a prayer for babies. I can surely do better than that. Ah! I’ve got it! The Lord’s Prayer! Much more grown-up. So I closed my eyes and recited the familiar words. “Our Father, Who art in heaven . . .” Art? I like art. I hope we get to paint this week. Maybe some watercolor . . . “Hallowed by Thy name.” I’ve never liked my name. Diane. It’s just so plain. Why couldn’t Mom and Dad have named me Veronica? Or Tabitha? Or Maria—like Maria Von Trapp in The Sound of Music. Oh my gosh, I love that movie! “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done . . . ” Be done, be done, be done . . . will this Quiet Time ever BE DONE? I’m sooooo bored! B-O-R-E-D. BORED! BORED! BORED! “On earth as it is in Heaven.” I wonder if Julie Andrews and I will be friends in heaven. I loved her in Mary Poppins. I really liked that bag of hers. All that stuff just kept coming out. “Give us this day, our daily bread . . . ” I’m so hungry, I could puke. I sure hope they don’t have Sloppy Joes today. Those were gross. Maybe we’ll have hot dogs. I’ll take mine with ketchup, no mustard. I hate mustard. “And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” What the heck is a trespass anyway? And why should I care if someone tresses past me? “And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil . . . ” I am so tempted to short-sheet Sally’s bed. That would serve her right for stealing the top bunk. “For Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever.” This hour feels like forever. FOR-E-VERRRR. Amen. There. I prayed. Now what?
Diane Moody (Confessions of a Prayer Slacker)
1. The seven dwarfs make an agreement with Snow White allowing her to stay with them if in return she will do what? a. stand around looking pretty b. teach them how to wash all the dust off their mining clothes c. cook, clean, and keep house d. accompany them to the mines every day and sing while they work.
Michael Buckley (The Fairy-Tale Detectives (The Sisters Grimm, #1))
Long before the universe was born, Chaos rose form a celestial storm. Alone for eons in an endless night, The god awoke and created light. Hail, Black Dragon. I'm Emperor of this land. What? Dragon hissed, tail swishing in the sand. Chaos made me ruler of land and beasts. I did not see you at that happy feast. True, said the Emperor, 'twas before my time. The world has since changed, land and men are now mine. 'Tis the first I've heard of this, Black Dragon said. Deep within his heart he felt the fist of dread.
B.L. Sauder (Year of the Golden Dragon)
Peeking at him where he sat perusing the stock market on his phone while chewing on some crisp bacon, she blurted out the momentous news. “I love you.” “I know.” Smugly said. She blinked. “What do you mean you know?” “Because of the letter A.” “What does A have to do with anything other than being the first letter in your name?” “Because it also stands for awesome.” “And arrogant.” “Are we back to alphabetizing my attributes? B is for brave.” She laughed. “Don’t you dare start again. Besides, there’s only one set of four letters that interest me.” “Oh?” he said, putting down his phone and ignoring his meal. “And what might those be?” “M.I.N.E.” The only word she needed to have him drag her onto his lap for a scorching kiss. A whispered, “I love you,” vibrated against her lips, his softly growled admission fueling her passion. And after they were done, panting, glowing, and cradled together, ignoring the pounding at the door, she held still as she tried to figure out what she heard. It should have been impossible. Arik was a lion, and yet he was— “Purring?” Indeed, he was. And when an alpha purrs, pleasure is sure to follow.
Eve Langlais (When an Alpha Purrs (A Lion's Pride, #1))
And what is even more painful is the fact you have zero control over who you fall in love with. Right or wrong. Good or evil. Rhyme or reason. It doesn’t matter. Love is the most illogical and inexplicable thing mankind suffers through. That’s right, suffers through. You suffer your desires, your inhibitions, and the person you become when you’re with them … and without them. Love is an illness that deteriorates your heart, and right now I am suffering through my unequivocal love for the one man I shouldn’t. The man who was never truly mine.
B.L. Berry (An Unforgivable Love Story)
Yes. Our last kiss left me with this insatiable desire to hold onto your mouth with mine for as long as humanly possible.
B.L. Berry (An Unforgivable Love Story)
Ever since the day I met you, you have made my life better and brighter. You are radiant and beautiful. Stubborn and forgiving. And caring and mine.
B.L. Berry (An Unforgivable Love Story)
When nothing whereon to lean remains, When strongholds crumble to dust; When nothing is sure but that God still reigns, That is just the time to trust. ’Tis better to walk by faith than sight, In this path of yours and mine; And the pitch-black night, when there’s no outer light Is the time for faith to shine.
Lettie B. Cowman (Contemporary Classic/Streams in the Desert)
We had been seen. The thought stayed with me as I disposed of the leftovers—how could it not? I drove with one eye on the rearview mirror, waiting for the blinding burst of blue light to flare at my bumper and the brief harsh whoop! of a siren. But nothing came; not even after I ditched Valentine’s car, climbed into mine, and drove carefully home. Nothing. I was left entirely at liberty, all alone, pursued only by the demons of my imagination. It seemed impossible—someone had seen me at play, as plainly as it was possible to be seen. They had looked at the carefully carved pieces of Valentine, and the happy-weary carver standing above them, and it would not take a differential equation to arrive at a solution to this problem—A plus B equals a seat in Old Sparky for Dexter, and someone had fled with this conclusion in perfect comfort and safety—but they had not called the police? It
Jeff Lindsay (Double Dexter (Dexter #6))
Romantic Couplet I swear, only this I know to be true, Who needs the fair promise of heaven when I have you. or let's take it a notch more Shakespearean: I swear'st, I know only this and cannot disavow, Who needs heaven's fair promise when I hast thou. or let's take it a notch more Brooklyn: Yo damn, bitch, yous be fine, Don't need no crack if yous be mine. or let's take it a notch more Twitter/Texting: is2g, no b.s. dnt nd 8v3n, wen ive gt ua
Beryl Dov
So, what’s our next move?” He grinned. “I know what I’d like mine to be.
B.J. Daniels (Rugged Defender (Whitehorse, Montana: The Clementine Sisters #3))
Chapter 29 Alma desires to cry repentance with angelic zeal—The Lord grants teachers for all nations—Alma glories in the Lord’s work and in the success of Ammon and his brethren. About 76 B.C. 1 O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and speak with the trump of God, with a voice to shake the earth, and cry repentance unto every people! 2 Yea, I would declare unto every soul, as with the voice of thunder, repentance and the plan of redemption, that they should repent and come unto our God, that there might not be more sorrow upon all the face of the earth. 3 But behold, I am a man, and do sin in my wish; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me. 4 I ought not to harrow up in my desires the firm decree of a just God, for I know that he granteth unto men according to their desire, whether it be unto death or unto life; yea, I know that he allotteth unto men, yea, decreeth unto them decrees which are unalterable, according to their wills, whether they be unto salvation or unto destruction. 5 Yea, and I know that good and evil have come before all men; he that knoweth not good from evil is blameless; but he that knoweth good and evil, to him it is given according to his desires, whether he desireth good or evil, life or death, joy or remorse of conscience. 6 Now, seeing that I know these things, why should I desire more than to perform the work to which I have been called? 7 Why should I desire that I were an angel, that I could speak unto all the ends of the earth? 8 For behold, the Lord doth grant unto all nations, of their own nation and tongue, to teach his word, yea, in wisdom, all that he seeth fit that they should have; therefore we see that the Lord doth counsel in wisdom, according to that which is just and true. 9 I know that which the Lord hath commanded me, and I glory in it. I do not glory of myself, but I glory in that which the Lord hath commanded me; yea, and this is my glory, that perhaps I may be an instrument in the hands of God to bring some soul to repentance; and this is my joy. 10 And behold, when I see many of my brethren truly penitent, and coming to the Lord their God, then is my soul filled with joy; then do I remember what the Lord has done for me, yea, even that he hath heard my prayer; yea, then do I remember his merciful arm which he extended towards me. 11 Yea, and I also remember the captivity of my fathers; for I surely do know that the Lord did deliver them out of bondage, and by this did establish his church; yea, the Lord God, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, did deliver them out of bondage. 12 Yea, I have always remembered the captivity of my fathers; and that same God who delivered them out of the hands of the Egyptians did deliver them out of bondage. 13 Yea, and that same God did establish his church among them; yea, and that same God hath called me by a holy calling, to preach the word unto this people, and hath given me much success, in the which my joy is full. 14 But I do not joy in my own success alone, but my joy is more full because of the success of my brethren, who have been up to the land of Nephi. 15 Behold, they have labored exceedingly, and have brought forth much fruit; and how great shall be their reward! 16 Now, when I think of the success of these my brethren my soul is carried away, even to the separation of it from the body, as it were, so great is my joy. 17 And now may God grant unto these, my brethren, that they may sit down in the kingdom of God; yea, and also all those who are the fruit of their labors that they may go no more out, but that they may praise him forever. And may God grant that it may be done according to my words, even as I have spoken. Amen.
Joseph Smith Jr. (The Book of Mormon)
Keep an eye on Pinkerton. Don’t shoot any civilians. Or any women you happen to see. Women who might already be there, for example. Women who might also be civilians. And friends of mine. I guess what I’m saying, Ricky, is this: If things get bad, you just shoot Pinkerton. OK?” “Yes, sir.” “We’ll just carve out the slugs, chuck him in the lake, and shrug in boyish wonder when we’re questioned later.
Derek B. Miller (American By Day)
Introduction This book is devoted to the blessed Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Daily working together as unified Godhead for our best interest. Would be incomplete without Jesus direct love bestowed upon me, through a perpetual act of faith in God. Fully trusting Jesus to lead me into a carefully laid-out plan. Dedicating this book to my children: Faith is 6, Christian 11, Christina 12 years old. Izzabella, my niece, is also featured in the story, Sally Saved Three Times. These Children are the inspiration for the characters in the stories. Added some personal experiences acquired during my childhood. Appreciate the support of my Mom, Dad, brother, Jacob, for being here for me the last five years. They helped me through hard circumstances when I needed them the most. Thank You! My second family is at the Erie Wesleyan Methodist Church on the corner of 29th and Liberty. They covered my life with prayer; great friends from the Lord; Supporting me on my journey towards my heavenly home. I am also thankful for Mike Lawrence who encouraged me to keep writing. Thanks, brother! This spectacular close friend of mine wrote the Forward of this book. He is God-given for moral support and prayer. Friends forever from Erie, Pennsylvania! There are scripture references, along with Bible lessons featured in each story. These short stories are ideal for devotions or bedtime stories. Suitable for parents and grandparents to read to children, grandchildren. Forward It is rare today to find Christians who are in love with doing the Lord's service. Many would sit to the side and let others bush-wack the path, but Bryan has always been the one who delights in making the way clear for others. His determination, commitment to producing these writings was encouraging to watch come to fruition. Take time now see for yourself how God is directing these works to provide something sincere, pure, innocent for families to enjoy. A pleasant respite from a sin-sick world. So, please, feel free to find a quiet place today and enjoy them alone or with your family. This body of work calls upon us to take time to be holy. I believe with all my heart that this is the authors intent, the Lord's plan, my hearts prayer that they bless you as much as they have blessed me. May God bless the time and energies sacrificed by the author in its production. Sincerely in Christ, Michael Lawrence. When writing with Shirley Dye on messenger about editing the book, she commented that this book would be a blessing to many people. That is my solemn humble prayer. Short Story Content 1. Mr. B.G. (My Testimony) 2. Trevor Wins Three Times 3. Winning The Man ON Rock-Hill 4. Sally Saved Three Times 5. Jonathan and Family Find God 6. Upright and Prideful Key Text, (Matthew 18:3), “And (Jesus) said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.
Bryan Guras (Kids Following Jesus: One Step At A Time)
Then she’d start drinking on the weekends, then at night, then all the time. Over the years, she started doing drugs. A little at first, then that went on just like the drinking. She’d be so wasted she’d lose her job. Since I turned sixteen, I always had to keep a part-time job just to keep us going. Then suddenly she’d decide we needed to move and start over again.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but my voice was cracking. “And it would all start over again. We did that again and again.” I took a deep shuddering breath; Miles was a warm, soothing presence beside me. I don’t know what it was about him, but something about him made me feel calm. “I was sleeping in my bed when she came home drunk and high as hell. She yanked me out of bed, screaming that I was a devil child, that I was a demon. She had found one of my dad’s old belts and had it in her hand.” I looked down at Miles hand in mine as I remembered everything again. “She started swinging and swinging. When the buckle broke off, she used her fists, then her feet. She stomped the hell out of me. I didn’t even realize I was screaming until the cops broke in the door and dragged her out.” I looked back out at the trees.
B.L. Brunnemer (Trying To Live With The Dead (The Veil Diaries, #1))
The July 1848 Seneca Falls women’s rights convention—brought about by Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Lucretia Mott, among others—issued a “Declaration of Sentiments and Resolutions” that sanctified a movement’s creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men and women are created equal.” The italics are mine; the vision the suffragists’. Susan B. Anthony, an essential figure, echoed the point down the years: “It was we, the people; not we, the white male citizens; nor yet we, the male citizens; but we, the whole people, who formed this Union,” she said in 1873 after she illegally cast a ballot for U. S. Grant for president. “And we formed it, not to give the blessings of liberty, but to secure them; not to the half of ourselves and the half of our posterity, but to the whole people—women as well as men.
Jon Meacham (The Soul of America: The Battle for Our Better Angels)
Then into His hand went mine, And into my heart came He; And I walk in a light Divine, The path I had feared to see. George MacDonald
Lettie B. Cowman (Streams in the Desert: 366 Daily Devotional Readings)
What is it?” Reve asks, retrieving my belongings. His eyes dart everywhere. He loops the strap over his shoulder along with his knapsack. My bag looks like a child’s toy on his stocky, muscular frame. He positions himself protectively by my side. “I don’t know. There are too many energetic signatures to discern one from the other. But something is...” I tremble. “I don’t know. I sense a disturbance. A big one. It’s probably one of the Meta freaks. A witch. A necromancer. Who knows?” “Easy, sis. You’re probably on overload. Take deep breaths. I’ve got you. We’ll get through this.” I puff out my cheeks and blow out a huge, gusty sigh. He gently turns me around and places his hands over mine on either side of my face. He trains his warm hazel eyes on mine.
Calinda B. (Night Whispers (The Complex))
Never stop making me feel like I’m the only one for you.” I moan as the climax flows through me from head to toe. “Never.” He promises as he empties himself into me, “You’re all I’ll ever need.” He brushes his lips over mine.
Mikey B. (Hands-Off: (Student-Teacher))
If we do this, you’re mine.” Her eyes flicker with defiance and fuck me, I feel that in my dick. “And you’d be mine.” “One hundred percent yes.
J.B. Salsbury (Breaking Defenses)
Do you want me to kiss you now?” Her eyes flare. “Yes.” “Finally.” I tug her forward until our lips hover just inches away. “You have no idea how long I’ve been dying to kiss you.” I brush my lips against hers, a barely there tease. “But first, tell me you’re mine, baby.” She nods. “No, I need to hear you say it.” “I’m yours, Carey.
J.B. Salsbury (Breaking Defenses)
banks have evolved since the days of the Medici precisely in order (as the 3rd Lord Rothschild succinctly put it), to ‘facilitate the movement of money from point A, where it is, to point B, where it is needed’.48 Credit and debt, in short, are among the essential building blocks of economic development, as vital to creating the wealth of nations as mining, manufacturing or mobile telephony.
Niall Ferguson (The Ascent of Money: A Financial History of the World)
and i'm thinking, aren't i supposed to be the one who's freaking out here? tiny is going to be the first b-b-b- (i can't do it) boy-f-f-f (c'mon, will) boyf-boyf (here we go) boyfriend of mine that she's ever met.
David Levithan (Will Grayson, Will Grayson)
Tu ești un om foarte deștept, ba chiar șmecher, dar ești un om cumsecade. Aici nu încape îndoiala. Corect ca un zar. Ești intr-adevăr un tip OK. Necazul cu tine e ca ai trei mare lipsuri: A. dorința, B. bucuria, C. mila. Dacă mă-ntrebi pe mine, astea trei lucruri merg impreună, la pachet. Și dacă-ți lipsește numărul doi, atunci nu ai parte de numărul unu sau trei. Și așa mai departe. Starea în care te găsești tu e îngrozitoare.
Amos Oz
I wanted to watch you bloom. I wanted to be the man who made you blossom and here I am, face to face with the most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen. And now it’s mine.
J.B. Hartnett (Bride in Bloom (The Beachy Bride, #1))
Yet neither their stop-at-nothing tactics nor their social Darwinist message would have gained much traction were it not for the stunning failure of Democrats to make the case for a strong and effective government that responds to the needs of average people. There is no shortage of evidence—globalizing corporations, rip-roaring CEO pay, mass layoffs, declining pay for the bottom 90 percent, mine disasters, exploding oil rigs, malfeasance on Wall Street, and wildly escalating costs of health insurance—and it is not especially difficult to connect the dots. Yet too frequently Democrats have appeared timid and defensive; too often they’ve given in to regressive demands without a fight; and they’ve allowed the regressives’ big lies to go unrebutted for too long.
Robert B. Reich (Beyond Outrage)
My friend, if my words ever make you feel like a child, is not because I am arrogant, condescending, disdainful, or patronizing. In truth, the feeling is mutual, because “It is” your inner child connecting with mine.
Floranova B. Msc.
500 calories a day for the first few days, largely with an energy drink that’s supplemented with potassium, phosphates, and thiamine, a B vitamin that the body uses up during starvation.
Héctor Tobar (Deep Down Dark: The Untold Stories of 33 Men Buried in a Chilean Mine, and the Miracle That Set Them Free)
My goal is God Himself, not joy, nor peace, Nor even blessing, but Himself, my God; It’s His to lead me there, not mine, but His— “At any cost, dear Lord, by any road!” So faith bounds forward to its goal in God, And love can trust her Lord to lead her there; Upheld by Him, my soul is following hard Till the Lord has fulfilled my deepest prayer. No matter if the way is sometimes dark, No matter though the cost is often great, He knows the way for me to reach the mark, The road that leads to Him is sure and straight. One thing is sure, I cannot tell Him no; One thing I do, I press towards my Lord; Giving God my glory here, as I go, Knowing in heaven waits my Great Reward.
Lettie B. Cowman (Streams in the Desert: 366 Daily Devotional Readings)
it hurts yar lot alot :'( tried my best to let u go ,tried alot to forget u but kunai yesto din xaina that i dont miss u even a single second ,i miss u lot ,m sorry but i cant yar just cant :'( just want to cry loudly cry all my tears i luv u my bab i am dying every day thinking of u even after knowing that u cant b mine i miss u alot want to hug u so tight yar ,i feel so lonly surrounded by strangers my heart is hurting yar i just want to die i cant handle this pain any more ,to pretend that m ok is not easy, every day i try to pretend m strong enought to let u go start my life happily once again but i cant yar it really hurt inside to pretend strong when i dont have left any thing inside to give to others :( i know u also get hurt when u hav to pretend to ignore my cal nd msgs but i cant stay away from u sorry m really really sorry that u hav to do that
love_lorn
Nu ştiu dacă doar eu aveam norocul ăsta sau era o chestie generală, dar fiecare păpuşică de care mă lipeam avea ceva domestic prin casă, la care automat ţinea mult mai mult decât la mine.
Vlad B. Popa (Povestiri de sub papuc)
B and I were both petite, pale, and prone to sunburn. We had dark hair, pointy chins, and skinny wrists; we wore size six shoes. If you reduced each of us to a list of adjectives, we’d come out nearly equivalent. My boyfriend, C, said this was why I liked her so much, why we spent so much time together. C said that all I wanted in a person was another iteration of my person, legible to me as I would be to myself.
Alexandra Kleeman (You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine)
B used to have Disney princess hair, hair with a life and directionality of its own, separate from the movements of its host body. She used to sling it over her shoulder and pet it like a cat, her face shrunken underneath.
Alexandra Kleeman (You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine)
Carol Bell, a British academician, has recently observed that “the strategic importance of tin in the LBA [Late Bronze Age] … was probably not far different from that of crude oil today.”3 At that time, tin was available in quantity only from specific mines in the Badakhshan region of Afghanistan and had to be brought overland all the way to sites in Mesopotamia (modern Iraq) and north Syria, from where it was distributed to points farther north, south, or west, including onward across the sea to the Aegean. Bell continues, “The availability of enough tin to produce … weapons grade bronze must have exercised the minds of the Great King in Hattusa and the Pharaoh in Thebes in the same way that supplying gasoline to the American SUV driver at reasonable cost preoccupies an American President today!
Eric H. Cline (1177 B.C.: The Year Civilization Collapsed)
It took a Polish author to inspire this American Jew, who named his daughter for a Greek Titan before being killed by a Vietnamese mine in an effort to please his Marine father, who was once a sniper in Korea—and was undoubtedly still being pursued by the North Koreans across the wilderness of Scandinavia.
Derek B. Miller (Norwegian by Night)
You’d think I’d be excited to get into shape, but I wasn’t. I don’t like to exercise, but not because it’s painful or tiring. I’ve climbed mountains in Peru and ridden my bike across America. I’m willing. The reason I don’t like exercise is because somewhere, in the deep recesses of my brain I’ve become convinced no amount of work is enough. I never leave a workout satisfied or proud of myself. And for that matter, I never quit a writing session thinking I’ve worked hard enough either. Or a teaching gig or a business meeting or anything else. I’m so bad about this I used to mow my lawn then crawl around on the grass with a pair of scissors, cutting uneven blades of grass. No kidding. I might have a problem. There are really only two things a person can do when they’re that much of a perfectionist. They can either live in the torture and push themselves to excel, or they can quit. I tend to go back and forth between the torture of working too hard and the sloth of quitting. The reason I bring this up has nothing to do with exercise or writing. I bring it up because it’s a symptom of a bigger problem, a problem that is going to affect mine and Betsy’s relationship. The problem is this: those of us who are never satisfied with our accomplishments secretly believe nobody will love us unless we’re perfect. In the outer ring Bill was talking about, the ring that covers shame, we write the word perfect and attempt to use perfection to cover our shame. I had a friend once who used to mumble curse words every time she drove by her high school algebra teacher’s house because, years before, the teacher had given her a B-.
Donald Miller (Scary Close: Dropping the Act and Acquiring a Taste for True Intimacy)
I want them. They’re mine.
J.B. Salsbury (Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2))
Tremont, Lord John B. 1772. Third son of the 8th Duke of Parkerton. (See also, James Tremont, 9th Duke of Parkerton, Tremont Lord Michael.) Current residence: Thistleton Park. Miranda
Elizabeth Boyle (This Rake of Mine (Bachelor Chronicles, #2))
Writing catchy pop songs is a super-minor superpower, but it's mine.
J.C. Lillis (A&B (Mechanical Hearts, #2))
Electricity crackles from her lips to mine and I'm stunned it's not visible.
J.C. Lillis (A&B (Mechanical Hearts, #2))
I had wanted you and then I got you, and it’s hard to say who really chased who. Want like ours was two cats and no mice. Want like ours manifested paradise. You ran for me and I ran away… until I ran toward you and you did the same. And it happened so fast. We collided so fast. You became mine so fast.
B.A. Perry
În speranța unui viitor mai bun, m-am înscris la un curs de germană. A patra oară. Sunt la nivelul A2.2, care înseamnă elementar. Săptămâna asta, doamna profesoară a început să ne predea declinarea grupului nominal, ne-a umplut de foi cu tabele și pe mine de angoase existențiale. Văd cuvinte în fața ochilor de sute de ori și tot nu știu ce înseamnă, iar terminațiile pe cazuri, genuri și numere îmi vâjâie în cap ca biletele la loto când pornește instalația să le amestece. Mă simt tot mai puțin inteligentă, mi se cojește inteligența de pe creier ca vopseaua de pe un lemn vechi. Limba germană la treizeci de ani mă face să mă simt consumată. Otilia mă asigură că mai e speranță, mai am încă timp să emigrez, s-o iau de la capăt. Oare asta e soluția? Mă gândesc după ce trec de B2. Grupa e plină de studente la Medicină. Vreo două dintre ele zbârnăie. Când avem de alcătuit propoziții, ele fac fraze complexe, când avem de compus mesaje, ele fac scrisori. Am și astăzi curs, de la șase, și n-am apucat să-mi fac tema. Avem de completat cuvinte în mici dialoguri, sub imagini cu omuleți la restaurant. Omuleții comandă diverse mâncăruri, au păreri, cer nota, își iau rămas-bun. Omuleți în creion.
Lavinia Braniște (Interior zero)
He tips my face up with a gentle finger under my chin. “Can I kiss you?” I shake my head, but his lips are so close to mine that I can feel his breath. “Why not?” he asks. I push to the edge of the couch, because I really need to get away from him. If not, I’m going to let him kiss me. And I’m not going to want to stop. But when I move to get up, he wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me back onto his lap. I freeze, because my weight is on his good leg. “S-stop. I’m g-going to h-hurt you.” I don’t have anywhere to tap. He says softly but firmly, “I’ll let you know if it hurts.” With a gentle push of his hand in the center of my back, he brings me down to lie on his front, and my breasts squash against his hard chest muscles. God, I don’t think there’s anything soft about him. He palms my hip and hitches me closer and higher, bringing my lips to his. “A-all of my w-weight is on y-you,” I stammer. I close my eyes and take a breath. “I know, and it’s kind of awesome.” He smiles. “And so is hearing you talk.” “W-we’ve b-been t-talking all night.” “Not the same,” he whispers. “I’ll take what I can get, but I’d rather have you, exactly like this. Except naked, maybe.” He chuckles. I’m already naked. He just doesn’t realize it. I put my hands against his chest so I can push back, but he takes my fingers, threads them with his, palm to palm, and holds tight. “Kiss me.” I shake my head. “C’mon,” he teases. I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him so bad. “You know you want to.” He grins. I’ve kissed him before. Hell, I’ve passed him a condom before. But we never went any further. “You’ve never kissed me. You know that?” He lays his head back against the couch and looks at me from beneath lowered lashes. “I h-have so,” I sputter. “Nope,” he corrects me. “It was always me kissing you.” I’m certain I’ve kissed him before. “Kiss me,” he says again. He jostles me with a bump of his leg beneath my bottom. “Don’t make me beg.” He laughs, but it’s not funny. I
Tammy Falkner (Zip, Zero, Zilch (The Reed Brothers, #6))
I strongly believe this book is not my story. It is the story of what God has planned and realised through me. I hope it can be read and understood as tales of His achievements, certainly not my personal achievements, and I would really like people to appreciate that whatever glory there may be needs to be clearly recognised as His glory, not mine. These
A.B. de Villiers (AB de Villiers - The Autobiography)
You own me, Shy. Take what's yours. Everything good in me, it's all for you." "If that's true..." Her forehead drops to mine on a long moan. "Let me have the bad too. I want it all." I'm panting, holding back the orgasm that's about to blow through my body, but I grin. "Greedy." "For you? Always
J.B. Salsbury
I punch Blake’s contact and put the phone to my ear. “What?” I walk into the kitchen and grab a beer. “I didn’t kill your son.” “Good, because it would be a real fucking bummer to have to buy my kid and my best friend while being incarcerated for murder, you asshole.” “Please tell me this kid is nothing like you, you walking fucking case of gonorrhoea.” “Fuck you. You kiss your wife with that mouth? Don’t act like your dick didn’t have just as much of a chance of fallin’ off as mine did back in the day.” I take a long swig from my beer and drop down onto a barstool with a groan. “What are the chances that our kids are better than us?” “Shit. With Layla and Raven being their moms? I’d say pretty fucking good.” “Good point.
J.B. Salsbury (Uncaged: A Fighting for Flight Short Story)
The sound of some initials is similar to that of English letters: b like “b” in ball p like “p” in push m like “m” in mine f like “f” in far d like “d” in day t like “t” in tea n like “n” in name l like “l” in look g like “g” in girl k like “k” in kind h like “h” in hot j like “j” in just q like “ch” in cheese x like “sh” in sheep z like “ds” in reads c like “ts” in sits s like “s” in silk zh like “dge” in judge ch like “ch” in rich sh like “sh” in shop r like “r” in rubber y like “y” in yellow w like “w” in way
Yi Ren (Chinese for Beginners: Mastering Conversational Chinese (Downloadable Audio Included))
We knew that we had to clear the mine field for the rest of the ground forces to fight at all costs. That was the only job given to us because we would not make it out alive. One thing was for sure: it would be short and devastating. I played the scenarios in my head to prepare myself for destruction and certain death. It did not matter what anyone said or thought. This was the ultimate sacrifice, and it was no joke.
Joseph B. George (Never Surrender: How to Overcome Life's Greatest Challenges)
Were the whole realm of nature mine, that were an offering far too small; Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.
N.T. Wright (Lent for Everyone: Mark, Year B)
How we spend our days," author Annie Dillard writes, is "how we spend our lives." Rather than waiting until we're happy to enjoy the small things, we should go and do the small things that make us happy. After a depressing divorce, a friend of mine made a list of things she enjoyed--listening to musicals, seeing her nieces and nephews, looking at art books, eating flan--and made a vow to do one thing on the list after work each day. As blogger Tim Urban describes it, happiness is the joy you find on hundreds of forgettable Wednesdays.
Sheryl Sandberg (Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy)
my father, which consists of the learning of the Jews and the language of the Egyptians. 3 And I know that the record which I make is atrue; and I make it with mine own hand; and I make it according to my knowledge. 4 For it came to pass in the commencement of the afirst year of the reign of bZedekiah, king of Judah, (my father, Lehi, having dwelt at cJerusalem in all his days); and in that same year there came many dprophets, prophesying unto the people that they must erepent, or the great city fJerusalem must be destroyed. 5 Wherefore it came to pass that my father, Lehi, as he went forth prayed unto the Lord, yea, even with all his aheart, in behalf of his people. 6 And it came to pass as he prayed unto the Lord, there came a apillar of fire and dwelt upon a rock before him; and he saw and heard much; and because of the things which he saw and heard he did bquake and tremble exceedingly. 7 And it came to pass that he returned to his own house at Jerusalem; and he cast himself upon his bed, being
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Book of Mormon | Doctrine and Covenants | Pearl of Great Price)
The Italian Mafia, as noted earlier, called itself La Cosa Nostra—“this thing of ours”—and always drew a line between someone who was a “friend of yours,” meaning someone outside the family, and someone who was a “friend of ours,” meaning an official member of the family. I sat there thinking, Holy crap, they are trying to make each of us an “amica nostra”—friend of ours. To draw us in. As crazy as it sounds, I suddenly had the feeling that, in the blink of an eye, the president-elect was trying to make us all part of the same family and that Team Trump had made it a “thing of ours.” For my entire career, intelligence was a thing of mine and political spin a thing of yours. Team Trump wanted to change that.
James B. Comey (A Higher Loyalty: Truth, Lies, and Leadership)
All people have flaws and I have many. Some of mine, as you’ll discover in this book, are that I can be stubborn, prideful, overconfident, and driven by ego.
James B. Comey (A Higher Loyalty: Truth, Lies, and Leadership)
The day he showed up on our porch, something happened while we watched that first sunset together. I don’t know how or why or if I can even put it into words, but we became forever connected. My hidden pain cried out for his, and his fiery rage searched for mine. It was as though the most deprived parts within each of us sense the other’s, then reached out and grabbed hold, essentially melding us together and making us whole. I know it because I felt it. I felt him.
L.B. Simmons (Under the Influence (Chosen Paths, #2))
I love easy, judge no one, laugh often, and smile always. I listen, I love, I joke, I support, I comfort. I keep my tears in check, my emotions in check, and my heart is forever open. I am not jealous, I give you freedom, speak my mind. I do not lie, and will never seek to change you or hold you down. And I hold all the passion of Ireland in my heart. To boot, I took the time to learn what a man wants and needs…in and out of bed. I don’t cook. And I can not be had. If you’re lucky, I’ll love you. Don’t ever love me back. I’m only worth a dollar.”... “I didn’t choose loneliness. I simple chose to accept it! To stop fighting it. Once I did that, my war ended. What I chose was to no longer bring anyone down with me. I am a black widow. I am the worst kind. I am the widow who destroys lives, kills hearts, and shatters dreams and walks away, leaving the man a hollowed shell and a life that resembles mine. And I do this without wanting or meaning to. I do it without knowing I’ve done it at all! “But I, unlike them, am broken. I’m fucked up so much that I can live quite comfortably with my lot. While others—normal people, unbroken people—can’t. No one is scarred enough to live with me. Not Isaiah. Not even Raven. So, no, William. I am too broken to be loved.” ... “I found the tunnel’s end and the light that shines from the other side of sanity. Who others have done what I have done and have emerged unscarred, unscathed, and as kind as I? I am still smiling a warm and sincere smile. While others emerge cold and cruel and vile.” “I have simply come to terms with what I am and I know if I were to change this about me, I could not live as I do now, happy and content and alone. If I try to fix this mess I have become, I will not survive it. And will do more damage than good. No. There are no others like me. I am very much alone, as I will ever be.” ... “My needs are met,” I assured him and smiled. “I am smiling with my head held high. I am smiling with my face to the sky. And although I am dying inside, I am crying with my head raised high. I only wish to love greater than I have hurt. And I will spend the rest of my days laughing and smiling to compensate for all the crying I have done.
Angela B. Chrysler (Broken)
Women have a sense about themselves. There are certain vibes they can feel. They just know. It’s survival instinct we were born with and mine was going off like a bean si on coke.
Angela B. Chrysler (Broken)
And you were never really alone, Cass. I was watching, making sure you were landing safely, because I knew as soon as you hit that ground, sweetheart you were mine. You are mine. And regardless of what you said in your apartment, you are my purpose.
L.B. Simmons (Out of Focus (Chosen Paths, #3))
I take you to be mine in love. I promise to love you deliberately each day, to feel your joy and your sorrow as my own. Together, we will build a home filled with honor and honesty, comfort and compassion, learning and love. I take you to be mine in friendship. I vow to celebrate all that you are, to help you become the person you aspire to be. From this day forward, your dreams are my dreams and I dedicate myself to helping you fulfill the promise of your life. I take you to be mine in faith. I believe that our commitment to each other will last a lifetime, that with you, my soul is complete. Knowing who I am and who I want to be, on this day of our marriage, I give you my heart to be forever united with yours.
Sheryl Sandberg (Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy)
You might not believe me, but when we locked eyes for the first time on the train I heard the Spirit of God whisper into my heart that you were the one for me. That's why I'll never press you to give me a chance. What's for me will he mine when it's time...including you.
B. Love
So if there ever was a time when an examination of ethical leadership would be useful, it is now. Although I am no expert, I have studied, read, and thought about ethical leadership since I was a college student and struggled for decades with how to practice it. No perfect leader is available to offer those lessons, so it falls to the rest of us who care about such things to drive the conversation and challenge ourselves and our leaders to do better. Ethical leaders do not run from criticism, especially self-criticism, and they don’t hide from uncomfortable questions. They welcome them. All people have flaws and I have many. Some of mine, as you’ll discover in this book, are that I can be stubborn, prideful, overconfident, and driven by ego. I’ve struggled with those my whole life. There are plenty of moments I look back on and wish I had done things differently, and a few that I am downright embarrassed by. Most of us have those moments. The important thing is that we learn from them and hopefully do better. I don’t love criticism, but I know I can be wrong, even when I am certain I am right. Listening to others who disagree with me and are willing to criticize me is essential to piercing the seduction of certainty. Doubt, I’ve learned, is wisdom. And the older I get, the less I know for certain. Those leaders who never think they are wrong, who never question their judgments or perspectives, are a danger to the organizations and people they lead. In some cases, they are a danger to the nation and the world.
James B. Comey (A Higher Loyalty: Truth, Lies, and Leadership)
I don't want your help. He's my responsibility." The depth of his eyes deepened. "And you're mine.
B.B. Reid (The Peer and the Puppet (When Rivals Play, #1))
You feel like you're mine", he growled in my ear. "are you mine?" "I'm yours." "That can't be true," he taunted. "My girl would do what she's told.
B.B. Reid (The Peer and the Puppet (When Rivals Play, #1))
Anger that is sin, on the other hand, is anger that is self-defensive and self-serving, that is resentful of what is done against oneself. It is the anger that leads to murder and to God’s judgment (Matt. 5:21-22). Anger that is selfish, undisciplined, and vindictive is sinful and has no place even temporarily in the Christian life. But anger that is unselfish and is based on love for God and concern for others not only is permissible but commanded. Genuine love cannot help being angered at that which injures the object of that love. But even righteous anger can easily turn to bitterness, resentment, and self-righteousness. Consequently, Paul goes on to say, do not let the sun go down on your anger, and do not give the devil an opportunity. Even the best motivated anger can sour, and we are therefore to put it aside at the end of the day. Taken to bed, it is likely to give the devil an opportunity to use it for his purposes. If anger is prolonged, one may begin to seek vengeance and thereby violate the principle taught in Romans 12:17-21, Never pay back evil for evil to anyone. Respect what is right in the sight of all men. If possible, so far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men. Never take your own revenge, beloved, but leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,” says the Lord. “But if your enemy is hungry, feed him, and if he is thirsty, give him a drink; for in so doing you will heap burning coals upon his head. Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” It may also be that verses 26b-27 refer entirely to this unrighteous anger, in which case Paul uses the imperative in the sense of saying that, because anger may come in a moment and overtake a believer, and because it has such a strong tendency to grow and fester, it should be dealt with immediately—confessed, forsaken, and given to God for cleansing before we end the day. In any case of anger, whether legitimate or not, if it is courted, “advantage [will] be taken of us by Satan” (2 Cor. 2:11), and he will feed our anger with self-pity, pride, self-righteousness, vengeance, defense of our rights, and every other sort of selfish sin and violation of God’s holy will.
John F. MacArthur Jr. (Ephesians: New Testament Commentary (MacArthur New Testament Commentary Serie))
But does every godly man succeed in forgiving, yes, loving his enemies? Answer: He does so in a gospel sense. That is: (a) In so far as there is assent. He subscribes to it in his judgment as a thing which ought to be done: "with my mind I serve the law of God" (Romans 7:25). (b) In so far as there is grief. A godly man mourns that he can love his enemies no more: "O wretched man that I am!" (Romans 7:24). "Oh, this base cankered heart of mine, that has received so much mercy and can show so little! I have had millions forgiven me—yet I can hardly forgive pence!" (c) In so far as there is prayer. A godly man prays that God will give him a heart to love his enemies. "Lord, pluck this root of bitterness out of me, perfume my soul with love, make me a dove without gall." (d) In so far as there is effort. A godly man resolves and strives in the strength of Christ against all rancor and virulence of spirit. This is in a gospel sense to love our enemies. A wicked man cannot do this; his malice boils up to revenge.
Thomas Watson (The Essential Works Of Thomas Watson)
When from my life the old-time joys have vanished, Treasures once mine, I may no longer claim, This truth may feed my hungry heart, and famished: Lord, YOU REMAIN HERE! YOU are still the same! When streams have dried, those streams of glad refreshing— Friendships so blest, so rich, so free; When sun-kissed skies give place to clouds depressing, Lord, YOU REMAIN HERE! Still my heart has THEE. When strength has failed, and feet, now worn and weary, On happy errands may no longer go, Why should I sigh, or let the days be dreary? Lord, YOU REMAIN HERE! Could YOU more bestow? Thus through life’s days—whoe’er or what may fail me, Friends, friendships, joys, in small or great degree, Songs may be mine, no sadness need assault me, Lord, YOU REMAIN HERE! Still my heart has THEE. J. Danson Smith
Lettie B. Cowman (Streams in the Desert: 366 Daily Devotional Readings)
I got this life, n I feel breathing Bcoz of u...... I left alone in d side of darkness N melted like a snow ball in d raising sun shine.. I had no past of u , N I had no memories of u But I still have a affection towards u.. U r not with me when d tym I need u badly N I feel empty when u r not beside me But I still feel to rely on u.... U didn't fullfiled all d dreams of mom N she may hates u... Every sec for leaving alone N she might have lost all her hopes bcoz of u But I promise I will fulfill all her dreams I have seen many fathers who gives support N cares like a hero of their child But I feel good if u become a shadow of mine To support me all d tym.....I need u Every 1 may hate u , N speak wrong abt u May b mom don't want u now... But ur son needs u badly N want to linger beside u U might have hold my hand U might have smooched me U might have hugged me U might have cared abt mek N i feel nothing abt it...N I don't hav a memory abt u But I still imagine every sec that U loved me... U care abt me... Just bcoz.......u r my FATHER uff, U r truly a wonderful part in my life .............................. < I miss u DAD >...............................
Yash
You’re the first woman who I’ve wanted to accept every part of me.” Her hand covers mine, slowly easing my hand higher on her leg. “I already do, Cal. You’re the one who needs to accept that.
B.J. Harvey (Crave)
Why do my legs hurt from driving?" I said out loud. "I don't know. Mine are sore too." "That's from running around my mind all day." "Good one." -Camden & Lacey
B.B. Hamel (Cocked)
A sudden jolt lifted his chair right into the air, and he saw that the floor below him had flipped up like a tin lid. All data through the hand interface cut out, then came an enormous shudder as the great ship again surfaced into the real. ‘Jerusalem?’ After a long pause the AI replied over intercom, ‘My phasic modular B folderol.’ ‘Is it really?’ Azroc enquired. ‘Ipso facto total bellish.’ ‘Yes, mine is too.’ ‘Repairing.’ Static hissed from the intercom, then came a sound suspiciously like someone kicking a piece of malfunctioning hardware. ‘OK. Better.
Neal Asher (Line War (Agent Cormac, #5))
Lord, Your faithful love reaches to heaven, Your faithfulness to the skies."...Does your love reach this far, God? And if it extends to heaven and beyond...why can't it seem to find me? "It's beautiful" I said, my voice clouded wroth embarrassment. "It's more than that." He watched the ocean below. "It's like God painted it himself, then spun it into motion." Beckett angled hos head toward me, took his aviators off, and let his eyes burn into mine. "This is Ireland, Finley. It's rough. It's wild. And it's holy.
Jenny B. Jones (There You'll Find Me)