C Bennett Quotes

This is stupid, Kate. I love you. I want to be with you. Today, tomorrow, always. And I know you love me. Tell me I’m wrong about you, about why you left me. Tell me you don’t love me.

Well, those who aren’t waiting for you don’t know what they’re missing.

Trev, all you had to do was breathe to make me want you.

That doesn’t sound quite right to me—what choice did I have but to survive?

You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way things are at school. I’m everyone’s favorite loser. There isn’t anyone more fun to pick on then me.

Kate, I’ve loved you for years. I mean, I know twelve-year-olds don’t know what love is, so I guess I should say I’ve really liked you for years. But when I saw you this year, I knew. I knew we should be together. I just didn’t know how hard you were going to make me work to get you to even like me. So, yeah, of course I want you to love me back.

The feel of arms around me, in comfort rather than as restraint or in harmful intent, undoes me. I cry for all the years of mocking and teasing received at the hands of my peers, for having been born to hateful, careless parents. I cry for the fact that this one good, kind boy has joined the game. And That makes me think it’s hopeless to find any goon in anyone, which only makes me cry harder.

Trev--"I heard you were going to go out with him and I burned with jealousy. No, burning isn't the right word. I was more like an inferno. So I followed you....." "You're as pathetic as I am," I gasped out. "Worse," he qualifies. "I'm a pathetic geek." I snuggle back in to him "Yeah, well so am I.

He grins as he straightens and walks toward me, the grin that brings out the dimples and nearly takes my knees out. I'm such a marshmallow.

No puedo imaginar nada mejor, nada que quiera más, o nada que alguna vez llegue a desear más que tenerla en mis brazos. Para siempre.

Jen--"I am sorry that I hurt you. I don't have the words to tell you how sorry I am about that."..."I would do anything to take that part away. I would do anything to change the hurt I know I caused you. But I can't be sorry about making the bet with Ella and Beth because if I hadn't done that, I would never have gotten to know you.

Who knew that you would be The One," I smile, "which I guess makes me your Trinity." "My Amidala." "Your Zira." "My Sylvia." "Your..." I scour my brain, trying to remember some other great sci-fi love interest. "Ha! I'm your Saphira," I settle back smugly, only for Trevor to start laughing. "Saphira is a dragon.

Trevor : “Who says that you’re not good?” He sounds a little angry. “Who says that, Jen? Kyle? Beth? Ella? Your mother? You? Who gave any of you the right to decide who’s good and who’s not?

why would i date him i like someone else"... "I'm the only someone else you know

No, I don't party; no, I don't dress in black leather and chains; that's not my style. That's how I was raised. I worry about getting good grades and I go to church and I watch sci-fi movies and I generally follow the rules. Most people would call me a geek or a nerd. You've called me that many times. But that isn't everything that defines me. I mean, look at me, sitting here in a rainstorm under a tree that's probably going to kill us when the lightning hits it, holding the hand of a pretty cool girl who really is the opposite of me, a girl that I happen to be in love with. A girl I couldn't have imagined would want to be with me. But here she is, letting me hold her hand, trying to tell me why she isn't good enough for me. That's crazy.

Ella no sabe que nunca me iré, y si ella va, la seguiré hasta los confines de la tierra.

To misunderstand the nature and threat of evil is to risk being blindsided by it,

She slid her arms around his ribs, laying her cheek against his wounded back, splaying her fingers across his ribs. He stilled beneath her touch, and then ran his hands across her arms, threading his fingers through hers. "Do you still think I'm beautiful?" he asked. "Even more than I did before," she said.

Yeah, I guess I do.” My heart plummets again. “Or I did. Maybe I still do. I don’t know. But I didn’t bring her to the dance. I brought you. It seems I spend all my time with you.” “Why is that?” I’m genuinely curious but aware that I could be opening a door I don’t want opened. I quickly rephrase. “I mean, why do you want to?” He looks thoughtful. “You’re funny,” he finally says. “I laugh a lot when I’m with you. I always have fun when I’m with you. And you try to hide it, but you’re actually pretty sweet.” “That’s a horrible thing to say,” I say petulantly, crossing my arms tightly again. He chuckles. “And you’re really smart.” “Now I know you’re lying.” “You are. But you try to hide that as well. And you’re pretty.” “Worse and worse,” I moan. He grins. “And when I’m with you, I don’t want to be anywhere else or with anyone else.

Maybe he who dies with the most toys doesn’t win, thought Bennett. Maybe he’s just dead.

Jesus said, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me.

Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him.

To sparkle is to shine but to dazzle is divine!

the Lord may very well have removed His blessing from America the moment America stopped blessing us.

I love you," she whispered. "And I love you," he said, kissing her. "Calli, you saved me." "What?" "If you hadn't come into my life, I'd have lived the rest of my miserable existence holed up in my room, raging at the moon every night. I haven't felt the need to do that for almost as long as I've known you. You tamed the beast. You saved me" "And you saved me back," she said, kissing him again.

You don't ever play games, make me guess what it is you want, or what you're thinking. You're not afraid of getting dirty, you don't worry about if your hair looks just right, or get angry about having your prom in the woods.

throat.

2 days to the U.N.

Life goes on, even when you think it shouldn't. In the morning, the sun will come up, no matter how hard you wish for it to stay down.

the imagination of a child is the most precious gift we can share

laughter is the best medicine in life, chocolate is the substitute!

By grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast.

law professor Joan C. Williams in her book What Works for Women at Work:

He thought even if they became one person, it still wouldn't be close enough. She opened her mouth beneath his and the world shifted. He lifted her, melding their bodies as tightly as their mouths. This kiss was no friendly kiss, nothing of gratitude in it. It was raw vulnerability, a lifetime of loneliness being shattered, Alex fusing himself to someone in a way he'd never imagined possible.

ground shake violently beneath her feet. She could hear the deafening blast. She could suddenly feel the scorching heat. She had enough time to realize that her best efforts to protect the president had failed, that it was over, and then, sure enough, it was.

Since we tend to see ourselves primarily in light of our intentions, which are invisible to others,” said philosopher J. G. Bennett, “while we see others mainly in the light of their actions, which are all that’s visible to us, we have a situation in which misunderstanding and injustice are the order of the day.” And

John 1:12 says, ‘As many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name.’ And the apostle Paul told us in Ephesians, ‘By grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast.

We advise tea for the whole nation and for every nation. We advise men and women to drink tea daily; hour by hour if possible; beginning with ten cups a day, and increasing the dose to the utmost quantity that the stomach can contain and the kidneys eliminate. [Quoting Dr. Cornelius Buntekuh, Dutch physician in the pay of the Dutch East India Company, c. 1680]

«Jane,» dice burbero. Il calore nei suoi occhi indica forse più frustrazione che la promessa sessuale che avevo visto pochi secondi fa. «Non so cosa cazzo sia questo. So solo che ti voglio e sono stanco di combattere, quindi non ho intenzione di farlo. Sto per prendere quello che penso tu mi stia offrendo. Quindi, vuoi veramente saperne di più? Perché se è così, devi sapere che non ho risposte. Non ho risposte, quindi mi limiterò a metterti giù e a tornarmene a casa. Saremo solo amici e tornerà tutto come prima.» Solo il pensiero di lui che mi mette giù ed esce dalla mia porta mi spaventa, e involontariamente stringo le gambe e le braccia scuotendo la testa. Non c’è proprio nessuna urgenza quando dico: «No! Non mettermi giù. Non ho bisogno di risposte.» È una bugia bella e buona. Ho bisogno di risposte, ma mi limiterò ad aspettare per averle.

«Mi sta bene che andiamo avanti. Ci vediamo, andiamo a letto insieme, tutto quello che vuoi fare per trascorrere del tempo con me. E prometto che non avrò alcuna aspettativa quando te ne andrai.» I suoi occhi si assottigliano dubbiosi. «Ma?» «Ma devi promettere che, oltre alla possibilità di partire, prenderai in considerazione anche quella di restare. Penso che dovresti concederti la possibilità che tu possa desiderare di restare.» Gli occhi di Kyle si scuriscono immediatamente con evidente dolore. È proprio qui… scritto sul suo volto. Gli ho appena chiesto di fare la cosa più impossibile al mondo, e so che ci crede con ogni fibra del suo essere. Per qualche ragione, Kyle crede profondamente di non avere altra scelta, se non quella di andarsene, e questo mi confonde, perché c’è sempre una scelta.Ma piuttosto che negare la mia richiesta, mi rivolge un piccolo sorriso e mente senza ritegno. «Okay… lascerò la possibilità aperta.»

they had to do it anyway. They had to try. They had taken an oath, and they would be faithful to the end. On the bank of surveillance monitors in front of her, she saw a dozen of her best agents—guns drawn—suddenly rush the convention stage, surround the president, grab him by the arms, and literally carry him away, his feet barely touching the ground. Sanchez then bolted out of the command post and met the president’s protective detail backstage and ordered them downstairs, into the makeshift bunker. “Go, go, go,” she yelled as they raced the president down one corridor after another, into a heavily guarded stairwell, and down five flights, eventually bursting into the basement, where all the convention center’s HVAC systems were housed. They turned one corner and then another, ducking pipes and ducts along the way. A moment later, they raced the president into a large storage freezer, slammed the door shut behind them, and worked feverishly to put him in a protective suit, gloves, and mask, pre-positioned there by the army’s nuclear, biological, and chemical fast-reaction team. That done, Sanchez and her agents began to suit up themselves. But just then, Sanchez felt the

Lord Jesus, I need you. Thank you for dying on the cross for my sins. Thank you for rising from the dead. I believe you are the Way, the Truth, and the Life. I believe you are the only way to heaven, the only way to the Father. And right now, as an act of the will, by faith, I open the door of my life and receive you as my Savior and Lord. Thank you for forgiving my sins. Thank you for giving me eternal life. Have mercy on me, Lord. Show me your will. Teach me your Word. Guide me by your Holy Spirit. Take the throne of my life, Lord Jesus, and make me the kind of person you want me to be. In your holy and precious Name I pray, amen.

9:12 P.M.—GROUND ZERO, WASHINGTON, D.C. Without warning, the capital of the United States was obliterated. At precisely 9:12 p.m. Eastern, in a millisecond of time, in a blinding flash of light, the White House simply ceased to exist, as did everything and everyone else for miles in every direction. No sooner had the first missile detonated in Lafayette Park than temperatures soared into the millions of degrees. The firestorm and blast wave that followed consumed everything in its path. Gone was the Treasury building, and with it the headquarters of the United States Secret Service. Gone was the FBI building, and the National Archives, and the Supreme Court, and the U.S. Capitol and all of its surrounding buildings. Wiped away was every monument, every museum, every restaurant, every hotel, every hospital, every library and landmark of any kind, every sign of civilization.

York. No amount of emergency planning had prepared anyone for something of this scale. Raging fires and radioactive winds were killing everyone in their paths, yet fleeing for safety was difficult if not impossible. Shock paralyzed millions. The lack of electricity paralyzed millions more, as did the inability to communicate. What had just happened? What was coming next? Where could one go to be safe? And how in the world should one get there? And then the City of Angels became the City of Demons. Jackie Sanchez picked up the secure phone on the console in front of her and took the priority-one call from General Briggs at NORAD. She could barely believe what he was telling her, but she had no time to argue. They had a minute, if that, to get the president to safety. She slammed down the phone and quickly shouted a series of coded commands into her wrist-mounted microphone. Her team reacted instantly, just as they’d been trained. She wasn’t sure if it really mattered. Perhaps all their efforts would be in vain. Maybe they wouldn’t save any lives. But

every direction. Those poor, unfortunate souls who didn’t die instantly suddenly found themselves blinded and burning and unable to move. Some would hang on for hours. Some would endure for days or even weeks. But there was no hope of survival. Nor was there any hope of rescue or evacuation. The vast majority of those who didn’t die immediately sustained third-degree burns over most if not all of their bodies. People’s eardrums were blown out. Their hands and feet were blistered and bleeding. And they would continue to suffer horribly, until they eventually succumbed to the most excruciatingly painful deaths imaginable; there was absolutely nothing they or anyone else could do about it. Manhattan took the next hit. The Scud C hit the heart of Times Square, and it, too, carried a nuclear warhead. The effect was as ghastly as it was instantaneous. The detonation eradicated every life-form in a half-mile radius within a fraction of a second. Every building from the theater district and the New York Times Building to Grand Central station and beyond was vaporized in the blink of an eye, just as experts had

Every building was just gone, and every soul as well. Across the Potomac River, the Pentagon shuddered violently from the blast wave and then began to partially collapse. What remained standing was utterly ablaze, as was every structure not flattened for as far as the eye could see. Howling, scorching winds soon began sweeping lethal radioactivity through the city’s northeast quadrant and into Maryland, surging through Prince George’s County and Anne Arundel County, as if they were following 295 to the north and Routes 50 and 214 to the east, through Capitol Heights and Lanham and Bowie toward Crofton and Annapolis. Soon more than five thousand square miles of Virginia, Maryland, and the District of Columbia were contaminated with deadly levels of radioactivity. And the nightmare had only just begun. Moments after the first missile hit D.C., a second missile struck the CIA building at Langley directly, its superheated fireball and cataclysmic blast wave obliterating the nation’s premier intelligence headquarters in the tree-lined suburbs of northern Virginia and vaporizing every home and office building, every church and mall for mile after mile

everything for miles in all directions. The Space Needle. The aquarium and the science center. Amazon.com’s headquarters. Safeco Field. And every Starbucks in between. All of it was gone in the snap of a finger. None of the city’s twenty-one state-of-the-art air raid sirens went off. They had originally been installed in the early 1950s during the Cold War. They’d been cosmetically upgraded in 2006 at a cost of $91,000. But they’d been useless. No one in the mayor’s office or the police department or the fire department knew the missile was coming. No one knew the threat that was inbound. Thus no one had activated the sirens. But even if someone had, would anyone in Seattle have known what to do or where to go? Would there have been any time to seek shelter? No one was left to ask the questions, for now the air raid sirens and the city they were designed to protect were gone entirely. Untold thousands lay dead and dying. More would join them soon. Indeed, the death toll in Seattle alone would soar into the hundreds of thousands within hours. An enormous mushroom cloud, crackling with toxic radioactive dust, now formed over the city. Those not blinded by the initial

blast could see the lethal, glowing plume from miles away. It was certainly seen on the Microsoft campus in Redmond, just ten miles away, and as the killer winds began to blow, death and destruction soon followed. It was only a matter of time. There would be no escape, and no place to hide. Surely first responders would emerge from surrounding states and communities, eager to help in any way they possibly could. But how would they get into the hot zones? How would they communicate? Where would they take the dead? Where would they take the dying? The power grid went down instantly. All communications went dark. The electromagnetic pulse set off by the warhead’s detonation had fried all electronic circuitry for miles. The electrical systems of most motor vehicles in Seattle—from fire trucks and ambulances to police cars and military Humvees, not to mention most helicopters and fixed-wing aircraft—were immobilized completely or, at the very least, severely damaged. Most cell phones, pagers, PDAs, TVs, and radios were rendered useless as well, as were even the backup power systems in hospitals and other emergency facilities throughout the blast radius. The same was true in Washington, D.C., and New

I look around the strange entryway, allowing myself one moment of longing for my grandma and her home, where we lived until her death a month ago.

We want to remind each elected official that he or she could be the next Senator Bob Bennett, who lost his 2010 primary because he failed to listen to the voters who sent him to D.C. in the first place.

Every cloud doesn't have a silver lining but making time to look at the beauty of clouds can give you peace of mind

in the

Walt Whitman (1819–1892) traveled to the Virginia battlefront in 1862 to tend to his wounded brother. Afterwards, he worked in Washington, D.C., as a volunteer nurse in army hospitals.

One woman told me, ‘Well, I’d ticked “Christian” on the first page, in the sense that I suppose I’m sort of Christian as opposed to Muslim or Hindu or something, so then I thought I’d better tick God as well – otherwise I’d look a bit inconsistent.’ Others are clearly not so concerned about consistency, as surveys regularly show that up to 15 per cent of those identifying themselves as Christian freely admit that they do not believe in God. This may seem utterly bizarre, but Alan Bennett wasn’t joking: in the C of E, belief in God is optional, and even raising the issue of belief would be in poor taste. Over half of those who tick ‘Christian’ do not believe in Christ .

for one morning Susi came running at the top of his speed and gasped out, "An Englishman! I see him!" and off he darted to meet him. The American flag at the head of a caravan told of the nationality of the stranger. Bales of goods, baths of tin, huge kettles, cooking pots, tents, &c, made me think "This must be a luxurious traveller, and not one at his wits' end like me." (28th October, 1871.) It was Henry Moreland Stanley, the travelling correspondent of the New York Herald, sent by James Gordon Bennett, junior, at an expense of more than 4000l., to obtain accurate information about Dr. Livingstone if living, and if dead to bring home my bones. The news he had to tell to one who had been two full years without any tidings from Europe made my whole frame thrill. The

The Catholic ethicist Jana Bennett, for instance, points out that women’s experience of pregnancy and parenthood puts them in a better place to understand that we aren’t in control: You can choose to avoid pregnancy with a condom, pill or IUD — but sometimes that baby’s there anyway. You can try to get pregnant for months on end, even “choosing” IVF, and it doesn’t happen. You can get pregnant and miscarry. And if you get pregnant and your boss decides that you are therefore a liability, you can lose your job unless you make “the right choice”; any resultant poverty is your “choice.” In other words, we try to control sex and parenthood under the guise of individual choice, but it really isn’t a choice. . . . No — it’s a “choice” made in concert with a whole host of racial, economic, technological, age, and other factors.24

And what’s happened to you?” Patton asks the young man. His name is Pvt. Paul Bennett. He has been in the army four years, serving with C Battery of the Seventeenth Field Artillery Regiment. He is just twenty-one years old. Until a friend died in combat, he had never once complained about battle. But he now shakes from convulsions. His red-rimmed eyes brim with tears. “It’s my nerves, sir. I can’t stand the shelling anymore.” “Your nerves, hell. You’re just a goddamned coward.” Bennett begins sobbing. Patton slaps him. “Shut up,” he orders, his voice rising. “I won’t have these brave men here who’ve been shot see a yellow bastard sitting here crying.” Patton hits him again, knocking off Bennett’s helmet, which falls to the dirt floor. “You’re a disgrace to the army and you’re going back to the front to fight,” he screams. “You ought to be lined up against a wall and shot. In fact, I ought to shoot you right now.” Patton

huge as a C-130

But when my spirits were at their lowest ebb, the good Samaritan was close at hand, for one morning Susi came running at the top of his speed and gasped out, "An Englishman! I see him!" and off he darted to meet him. The American flag at the head of a caravan told of the nationality of the stranger. Bales of goods, baths of tin, huge kettles, cooking pots, tents, &c, made me think "This must be a luxurious traveller, and not one at his wits' end like me." (28th October, 1871.) It was Henry Moreland Stanley, the travelling correspondent of the New York Herald, sent by James Gordon Bennett, junior, at an expense of more than 4000l., to obtain accurate information about Dr. Livingstone if living, and if dead to bring home my bones. The news he had to tell to one who had been two full years without any tidings from Europe made my whole frame thrill. The terrible fate that had befallen France, the telegraphic cables successfully laid in the Atlantic, the election of General Grant, the death of good Lord Clarendon—my constant friend, the proof that Her Majesty's Government had not forgotten me in voting 1000l. for supplies, and many other points of interest, revived emotions that had lain dormant in Manyuema.

- Gio, mon bon, dit Ordo. J'échangerais tous les duvots de tous les coffres de tous les campos contre l'occasion de leur pisser sur les bottes. Ce n'est pas et ça n'a jamais été une question d'argent." Il s'assit bien droit et pris un air très digne et très noble. "C'est une question de principe. - L'urine et les principes font souvent bon ménage, railla Claudia.

El suelo está lleno de baches, pero no te dejaré caer.