Camden Quotes

I like the scientific spirit—the holding off, the being sure but not too sure, the willingness to surrender ideas when the evidence is against them: this is ultimately fine—it always keeps the way beyond open—always gives life, thought, affection, the whole man, a chance to try over again after a mistake—after a wrong guess.

You know how I feel about your scars. They only make you more beautiful.

I can't ever lose what I just felt." He kissed my cheek. "I'm afraid if I did, I'd come looking for you too. I'm afraid I can relate...to him.

I cleared my throat and spoke into his kiss. “Sorry, it’s been a while.” “You should expect to hear the same thing from me in about five minutes,” he murmured. “Five minutes, huh?” “I’ll make it the best five minutes of your life.” I bit his lip, hard, then released him and looked into those intense blues. “Clock’s ticking.

I have to live with my mistakes, but I don’t have to regret them. I regret my actions but I can’t regret the consequences. We all make our own paths in life. Everyone we meet, everything we do, it changes us. It makes us who we are. And, if we’re lucky, we’re given the chance to make things right again.

I hate you, Ellie Watt," he whispered, lips coming closer to mine, "because I still love you after all these years.

You are a child of God, and that means that there is great, shining beauty within you.

Five hours' New York jet lag and Cayce Pollard wakes in Camden Town to the dire and ever-circling wolves of disrupted circadian rhythm.

Tenderness, that most alien and disconcerting of emotions, swelled and billowed in her. She picked up a cherry and stared down at the soft, bright-red fruit. “I love you.” The last time she'd declared her love he'd thrown it right back in her face. She waited uncertainly for his response. She didn't even have to wait a second. He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. “I love you more.” - Gigi and Camden

He smiled at her. And it hit her like a mallet to the temple, the realization that she was in love with him. Stupidly, dreadfully in love with him. Overnight, she'd become a fool.

Was there anything more inspiring than being able to look up and see oneself surrounded by thousands of books all the way to the ceiling three stories above?

About a week ago I was sitting in L.A.'s chicest nightclub with a few friends and the DJ was playing Yaz and Bowie and the videos were on and I was on my third gin and tonic and I realized that no matter where I am it's always the same. Camden, New York, L.A., Palm Springs - it really doesn't seem to matter. Maybe this should be disturbing but it's really not. I find it kind of comforting.

It seems like everything sleeps in winter, but it's really a time of renewal and reflection.

I get the urge to feel it, too, so when she takes her hand away, I turn her toward me and I feel the edges of New Jersey. I kiss Hoboken and Atlantic City. I kiss Newark and Trenton. I kiss Camden, and then I follow the road west, over the Walt Whitman Bridge into Pennsylvania. And I kiss home.

Anna's words from long ago came back to him. "We are all beautiful but broken people. Jesus forgives us, even when we don't deserve it. That's a pretty good reason to be forgiving.

I practically sprinted to the parking lot to meet Camden. This time I made sure to stay far enough away from his car door that he couldn't lure me in and drive off someplace random; I was hovering about ten feet away from the Escalade's fender as he walked up. "What are you doing," he asked, "standing far enough away so I can't lure you into the car and drive off someplace random?" Observant bastard.

The Lord's capacity to forgive a person who is truly repentant is without limit, without qualification

Wasn't the willingness to believe despite uncertainty the very essence of faith?

At first she was so inexpressive and indifferent that I wanted to know more about her. I envied that blankness - it was the opposite of helplessness or damage or craving or suffering or shame. But she was never really happy and already, in a matter of days, she had reached a stage in our relationship where she no longer really cared about me or any thoughts or ideas I might have had.

Prettier musings of high-wrought love and eternal constancy could never have passed along the streets of Bath, than Anne was sporting with from Camden-place to Westgate-buildings. It was almost enough to spread purification and perfume all the way.

What you need is a chick from Camden,' Van Patten says, after recovering from McDermott's statement. Oh great,' I say. 'Some chick who thinks it's okay to fuck her brother.' Yeah, but they think AIDS is a new band from England,' Price points out. Where's dinner?' Van Patten asks, absently studying the question scrawled on his napkin. 'Where the fuck are we going?' It's really funny that girls think guys are concerned with that, with diseases and stuff,' Van Patten says, shaking his head. I'm not gonna wear a fucking condom,' McDermott announces. I have read this article I've Xeroxed,' Van Patten says, 'and it says our chances of catching that are like zero zero zero zero point half a decimal percentage or something, and this no matter what kind of scumbag, slutbucket, horndog chick we end up boffing.' Guys just cannot get it.' Well, not white guys.

I don’t look like the other girls, Camden.” “I know. That’s what makes you perfect.” And just like that, he melted me.

It's just, with someone like Ellie, it'll be really hard for her not to fall back into old habits. Javier was her biggest habbit of all." The hole was opening, my heart threatening to sink in. I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands and wished they were sharper. "Camden," he said pointedly. "It would be Stockholm syndrome on steroids.

Everything is true in some sense, false in some sense, and meaningless in another sense.

So long as she had access to enough light to read, Anna could entertain herself for years.

You're still alive because God has plans for you, even if we don't understand what they are yet.

After all, everything in here is just pieces of paper with words and lines on them. They're not even very valuable. Pieces of paper with words and lines on them have the ability to change the world...They always have.

Apology is pointless. Apologies are for when you forget something. Or bump into somebody. Apologies are for accidents. You can't apologise for something you chose to do. That's like apologising for being you.

Do you know how long I've wanted you? You're like sunlight and water and air to me. All you need to do is walk across my line of sight and my whole world lights up.

Chocolate always makes everything better, don’t you think?

God has created a huge, complex tapestry with our lives. It's got shadows and darkness shot through with highlights of gold. We can never go back and undo those threads and weave them into something else.

She smelled of lemon and sunshine and a thousand Summer days filled with laughter.

Accept your positive experiences without taking credit and you have humility. Accept your negative experiences without blame and you have serenity.

Kate, I can't live my life in the shadow of your fears.

Some people are so much sunlight to the square inch. I am still bathing in the cheer he radiated.

If you don’t ever make mistakes, it means you aren’t dreaming big enough,

Everly Jensen is in a relationship with Sawyer Camden. Hold on. Hold. The fuck. On.

Lord God . . . this is a bad idea. She wasn’t weak, not like Camden had said she was. But she wasn't strong either. Not when it came to him.

...in rooms in Camden and Woolwich time was cruel to lovers wondering how it got so late so soon, and in due course was kind to their ordinary wounds.

Here," I said, the morning after the lazy, stupid Derek incident, as I intercepted Camden on his way to his locker shortly before the first-period bell and dragged him into an empty physics lab. I handed him three problem sets with the words PECKER and BALLS written all over them in multicolored highlighters, plus pictures of stick-figure people having sex in different positions. "This is to force your douche-bag friends to copy over the stuff in their own handwriting before they hand it in. There's no way I'm letting us get caught just because our clients get lazy." I crossed my arms and stared at him, daring him to get mad. He didn't. He just looked at the papers, surprised, then looked at me. "That's actually a really good idea," he said, sounding impressed. "I know," I said. "And these pictures you drew are weirdly hot." "I don't disagree," I said. "By the way, I'm charging you for the highlighters I bought." I think he might've said "I love you" as I walked out of the classroom, but the hallway was noisy, so I couldn't be sure.

Outside in the yard, Arsinoe follows Jules past the chicken coops as she and Camden stretch their sore limbs in the sun. Then she darts off into the woodpile. “What are you digging for?” Jules asks. “Nothing.” But Arsinoe returns with a book, brushing bits of bark off the soft green cover. She holds it up and Jules frowns. It is a book of poison plants, lifted discreetly from one of the shelves in Luke’s bookshop. “You shouldn’t be messing about with that,” Jules says. “And what if someone sees you with it?” “Then they’ll think I’m trying to get revenge, for what was done to you.” “That won’t work. Reading a book to out-poison the poisoners? You can’t even poison a poisoner, can you?” “Say ‘poison’ one more time, Jules.

Nonsense, I grew up on a farm. Animals are food, not friends.

Hmm", brummte Talin. "Du riechst nach Wald, Sonnenschein und all den Abenteuern, die du nur in Büchern erlebt hast, Eichhörnchen.

people make this kind of money. Lawyers are just good at figuring out how to siphon a piece of it their way.

Funny how older brothers could still be annoying even after everyone was all grown-up.

I like rescuing damsels in distress.' 'I'm not a damsel in distress.' 'Could you pretend? I'm actually just searching for an excuse to see you again.

People invariably ask Carefree Scamps, “Where did you get that jumper?” or, “Where did you get that dress?” The answer is quite possibly Camden Market, but they won’t be able to remember. They’ll simply answer something like, “I dunno, I’ve had it for ages.

Shocked? I consider Bob one of the constellations of our time — of our country — America — a bright, magnificent constellation. Besides, all the constellations—not alone of this but of any time—shock the average intelligence for a while. In one respect that helps to prove it a constellation. Think of Voltaire, Paine, Hicks, not to say anything of modern men whom we could mention. {Whitman's thoughts on his close friend, the great Robert Ingersoll}

And why is that?” he asked softly. “Because you don’t scare me anymore.” She placed her other hand on his chest. “You used to intimidate me down to my toes, but since the fire, everything is different. I can be myself around you. Flaws and all.” “You don’t have any flaws.

That was how he would go on tormenting her, after his physical departure from her life. A baroque plan, byzantine even, a plan that both pleased and shamed him. He awaited only the night, this one grotesque, terrible night.

I thought you people were supposed to be good at math." "Yes, my people all do math for fun, while simultaneously dry-cleaning our karate outfits and giving each other manicures and pedicures, all in between our numerous piano and violin recitals," I said, slamming his book shut. "Do you own freaking work. Although I guess that's a completely foreign concept to you, isn't it? Since you've been deep-throating a silver spoon your whole life." "That is so hot that you just said that," Camden said, lazily swiggin his Red Bull. "Besides, I'll work one of these days when I have to. I'll either go into real estate like my dad or find some rich old widow who wants...uh...services." "That doesn't sound like work," I said. "Of course it is, if she's old," he answered.

Why did the two of you fight so much?” “We fought plenty, but I always respected him.” “But why all the arguing? The nitpicking? It always seemed strange to me.” It would. He smiled and turned his face to the sky. For all her practical, level-headed business sense, Mollie didn’t understand much about men. “Sometimes men just like to argue,” he said simply. “We like the competition. We sniff out the opposition, measure it up, challenge it. Frank never backed down. Even though he was blind, Frank was still a man, and when I came on the scene, I think he immediately sensed my interest in you. Long before you ever did.

Dreams are hard," he said. "You work toward them, struggle and sacrifice, but that doesn't always mean you will get there. I used to believe if I wanted something badly enough, I was destined to win it as long as I never gave up trying.

Got some more customers for ya," said Camden, taking off his baseball cap to bend the brim, and then putting it back on again. "Wait, she deals drugs too?" asked Brad. I couldn't tell if he was serious or not. Apparently, neither could the student teacher passing by us in the hallway; she whipped her head around to stare suspiciously for a moment before either deciding that we were harmless or deciding to stroll on over to Principal Davis's office in an exceedingly casual manner.

It’s not goodbye, Sam. It’s see you in two days. I promise…” she said stroking his hair away from his dimpled cheek. “I’m counting on it. You will be missed,” he said as he put her hand on his chest near his heart. “You will be missed right here…

Mr Bliss looked grave. 'Your brother was very sensible to warn you, Miss Astley - but sadly misinformed. There are no trams in Trafalgur Square - only buses and hansoms, and broughams like our own. Trams are for common people; you should have to go quite as far as Kilburn, I'm afraid, or Camden Town, in order to by struck by a tram

Huh. Have you ever even kissed anybody?" "Uh..." I looked away from him, at the lockers, at the STUDENT CAR WASH! posters in the hallways, at someone's backpack as it passed through the line of vision, at anything, Camden studied me for a moment. Then he took a step forward, bent his head, and gently kissed me. "Now you have," he said.

She wasn't a woman of tremendous valor or daring heroism, but she'd always tried to lead her life in a way that would honor Jesus through small acts of goodness every day. Hour by hour, brick by brick, these small choices had slowly built a life of integrity.

Making mistakes means you’re learning, growing, pushing… that you yearn for something and aren’t afraid to chase after it. You’re being creative and contributing to this world, even if it doesn’t work out as you hoped. Go ahead and make mistakes. For once in your life, quit playing it safe and make some spectacular mistakes… Make glorious mistakes that will echo through the ages. Make mistakes that no one has ever thought of! Don’t limit yourself, no matter how outlandish. Reach out and strive for something beyond all dreams.

It was the best they could do, and the rest would be in God's hands. It was the same with raising a family. There were no guarantees in life [...]

She embodied laughter and optimism and steadfast determination. Being with her felt like wind in his sails.

Tick's eyes twinkled, and he drew a long sip of coffee. "Poor Kate... wanting to run the world and yet no one will let her.

No matter how miserable his morning, all he had to do was walk within ten feet of Kate and listen to her sling an insult at him and he felt better.

I love you Camden. I love you so damn, fucking much and it's so right and it's so wrong because people are dying, and we're almost dying and Gus is out there and my mother and we can't trust anybody and all I can think about is you. All I can think about is how much I love you and how badly I fucked everything up and I I don't deserves you but I need you." I made a fist with my hands and pounded it against his chest, hard, my tears flowing. "I fucking need you and I need you to forgive me. I need that more than anything in the world! I need you to make me good." He swallowed hard, letting me hit him, his fingers strong on my jaw. "Ellie, Ellie, Ellie. You are good, deep down you always have been. You don't need me for that.

She touched him, placing her hand over his curled fingers, straightening them so that they were palm to palm, then she interlaced her fingers with his. Her fingertips were icy. A silent, dangerous thrill coursed through him. He wanted to pull her atop him and show her what awaited a foolish young woman who slipped into a man's bedroom in the dead of the night after having devoured him all evening with those dark, intense eyes of hers, setting his blood to simmer over three long hours.

She was a better person for it. Wiser, sadder, but more confident of her true value in the world. Her heart was full to the breaking point, for echoes of that gilded age would live with her forever.

Even now, a pull of energy and a sense of purpose gathered momentum inside her. A life of great purpose and fulfillment lay before her, if she could just be bold enough to step through the door into the unknown.

Even their contemporaries felt that the relationship of Elizabeth and Robert transcended the details on practicality. There had to be some explanation for their lifelong fidelity, and those contemporaries put it down to 'synaptia', a hidden conspiracy of the stars, whose power to rule human lives no-one doubted: 'a sympathy of spirits between them, occasioned perhaps by some secret constellation', in the words of the historian William Camden, writing at the beginning of the seventeenth century. Theirs was a relationship already rooted in history and mythology. And that moment when Elizabeth heard she had come to the throne encapsulated much about their story. If our well-loved picture of Elizabeth's accession is something of a fantasy - if the reality is on the whole more interesting - you might say the same about our traditional picture of her relationship with Robert Dudley.

What are you doing here? I thought I was to meet with Dr. Kendall." "I am Dr. Kendall. I changed my last name when I went to college." She was flabbergasted. "Why would you do such a thing?" "You changed *your* name." "I was married!

Why are you so angry at me?” she asked. The question ratcheted him even closer to the boiling point. “Because for some insane reason, I adore you. For three solid years I have thought you were the closest thing to perfection on this earth, and I can’t watch you risk your life crossing that bridge!” Had she understood correctly? After all these years of cold decorum, Zack’s eyes glittered in a face streaked with soot and sweat as he stepped closer, shouting over the roar of wind and fire. “I’ve been insane about you since the moment you waltzed into my office three years ago in that ridiculous suit and your hair as prim as a schoolmarm,” he shouted. “Don’t you dare get yourself killed on me now!

Don’t you have any pride?” she snapped. He blanched, but she was too angry to stop. “You’re like a stray dog I can’t get rid of. I want nothing to do with you. Not with your business, not with you. Just go away. Please, just go and stay away.

...If we surrendered to earth’s intelligence we could rise up rooted, like trees. Instead we entangle ourselves in knots of our own making and struggle, lonely and confused. So like children, we begin again... to fall, patiently to trust our heaviness. Even a bird has to do that before he can fly. ― Rainer Maria Rilke, from “How Sure Gravity's Law,” Rainer Maria Rilke's the Book of Hours: A New Translation with Commentary (Camden House, May 2nd 2008) Originally published April 1905.

I'm going to need help, and I need someone who is fearless. Someone who isn't afraid to stand up to dragons and battle them day after day. Our results may not show promise for years. Our patients will die. There will be days when you feel so beaten down you'll want to crawl home and give up. But I'll need you to get up, dust yourself off, and be ready to wage battle the next day." He locked eyes with her. "I need someone who wants to win as badly as I do. That is why I want you for this job.

Prettier musings of high-wrought love and eternal constancy, could never have passed along the streets of Bath, than Anne was sporting with from Camden Place to Westgate Buildings. It was almost enough to spread purification and perfume all the way.

I need you to find me a recipe for poison," he snapped. "Something that can kill the varmints that riddle this town." "Animal varmints, or the human variety?" She was so prim when she said it, earning a reluctant twist of his lips as he tried not to smile.

Presently, struck by a sudden thought, Charles said-- "Captain Wentworth, which way are you going? Only to Gay Street, or farther up the town?" "I hardly know," replied Captain Wentworth, surprised. "Are you going as high as Belmont? Are you going near Camden Place? Because, if you are, I shall have no scruple in asking you to take my place, and give Anne your arm to her father's door. She is rather done for this morning, and must not go so far without help, and I ought to be at that fellow's in the Market Place.

I've been alone most of my life because I'm the only person in the world I can rely on. For a few days I deluded myself into thinking you were someone I could believe in. That I could trust you and lean on you, that you would never lie to me. What a mistake I made.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart beginning to split. Reaching out to hold her was stupid and he was bound to pay for it, but sometimes he needed her so badly. He simply needed. Needed to know he wasn’t alone. Needed the solid warmth of another person who cared.

Paine was a grand fellow — high—with the most splendid sense of justice. But he was a reasoner — not warm — not letting out the natural palpitating passion... which perhaps he didn't have. But I see all that and more in Ingersoll. His imagination flames and plays up, up, up. It is a grand height! And he has so sharp a blade, too; is many-sided, gifted for great effects in different spheres. I don't suppose we ever had a man here so well adapted to that work. {Whitman's thought on Thomas Paine and his good friend, Robert Ingersoll}

Wen interessiert denn, ob eine Geschichte wahr ist oder nicht? Sie ist wahr in dem Augenblick, da wir sie erzählen. Vielleicht sind unsere eigenen schlimmen Geschichten die eigentliche Lüge. Wer weiß das schon? Deine Geschichte hat vielversprechend begonnen, ich hätte sie gerne gehört.

I can’t go through you walking out on me again,” he said. “I’ve got skin tougher than a rhinoceros hide, but I’ve always been a big weakling when it comes to you. If you want back into my life, it has to be for good this time.” “For better or for worse, for richer or poorer . . . is that what you mean?” “Till death do us part. Yeah, that’s what I’m getting at.” Her face was beautiful and shining and confident. “That’s what I want too.

A devil moon took me through the alley Down by the Kardomah and the Centrale To the mews running through the backstreets Where the Blacks sell fire and sleep The devil moon took me out of Soho Up to Camden where the cold north winds blow Sucked along by a winter shower To stand beside your shining tower

Then she smiled, recognizing me, like it realy hit her, and I never thought she could so much like an angel. She was glowing. And her radiance was breaking my heart.

- É aquele estupido marido que tenho. - disse para o velho cão. - Em vez de me dar uma trancada,bate no raio do piano. Vamos lá dizer-lhe para se calar.

Grief freshens our perspective on life; it helps us appreciate the blessings we’ve been showered with. ‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.

Metaphors are something grown-ups use when they can't set troublesome boys on fire.

You don't believe in writing in books?" "Of course not. Nor do I dog-ear the pages, crack book spines, underline passages, or otherwise mistreat government property.

After Frank came out, Amy would begin a performance at a gig by walking onstage, clapping and chanting, ‘Class-A drugs are for mugs. Class-A drugs are for mugs …’ She’d get the whole audience to join in until they’d all be clapping and chanting as she launched into her first number. Although Amy was smoking cannabis, she had always been totally against class-A drugs. Blake Fielder-Civil changed that. Amy first met him early in 2005 at the Good Mixer pub in Camden. None of Amy’s friends that I’ve spoken to over the years can remember exactly what led to this meeting. But after that encounter she talked about him a lot. ‘When am I going to meet him, darling?’ I asked. Amy was evasive, which was probably, I learned later, because Blake was in a relationship. Amy knew about this, so initially you could say that Amy was ‘the other woman’. And although she knew that he was seeing someone else, it was only about a month after they’d met that she had his name tattooed over her left breast. It was clear that she loved him – that they loved each other – but it was also clear that Blake had his problems. It was a stormy relationship from the start. A few weeks after they’d met, Blake told Amy that he’d finished with the other girl, and Amy, who never did anything by halves, was now fully obsessed with him.

I’m impressed at your tenacity. You set a goal and you achieved it.” “My goal is Finn,” I remind him. “Everly, we’ve already established that you haven’t been holding out exclusively for Professor Camden,” he says, his lip twitching. “Which tells me that while you envision him as the perfect man, you’ve kept your options open. It tells me that while you might have a vivid fantasy of the perfect happily ever after, you’re open”— he checks my response—“ reluctantly, to being swept off your feet by someone other than Finn.” Well. I don’t know how to respond to that, so what comes out of my mouth is, “Maybe I’m just a nymphomaniac.” This car ride just went from bad to worse. “If you were a nymphomaniac you’d have given me a blowjob fifty miles ago.” “True,” I agree. Damn it! I just said that out loud. I bite my lip and side-eye him. He’s wearing a very satisfied smile.

Mollie, tell me what happened. I haven’t slept in two days.” “Guilty conscience?” “Yes!” he bellowed. “I never should have let you stay in that church so long! I wish I’d thrown you over my shoulder and dragged you to my house that first night.” He tried to wrap his arms around her, but a stiff arm kept him at bay. The expression in her eyes was even worse. “For pity’s sake, talk to me. Scream at me, hit me . . . just quit glaring like that.

Everly rolls her eyes. "I'm stuck here until tomorrow because Finn is waiting until the last minute to go home. He thinks if he waits long enough I'll take the train and he won't have to drive me." She shrugs. "Sometimes I'm not sure why I put up with him." "What exactly are you putting up with? You're the one stalking him." She sticks a cup under the syrups and pumps out several. Experimenting with drink concoctions is a Everly specialty. They're mostly awful. "It's not stalking when we are meant to be together. I can't help it that I imprinted on him when I was six." I spit my drink out. "Everly, did you just use a Twilight reference to explain your obsession with Professor Camden?" "I did." She pauses from her drink-making. "Is that weird?" "Um, let's see, Twilight wasn't written yet when you were six," I start. Everly scoffs and turns back to the syrups. "That doesn't mean it didn't happen." "And you're not a werewolf," I add before she can object. "Whatever.

That reminds me, does Professor Camden know that you copied his house key yet?" "Yeah, he already took the first copy back," Everly replies and continues making her drink. I have to set my latte down at that point. I should know better than to have a conversation with Everly while drinking hot liquids. "The first copy, Everly?" "Yeah. And he didn't even ask me for the second copy." She takes a sip of her drink. "I'm kind of pissed off about it, to be honest. It's like he doesn't even know me, right?" I nod slowly. "Right." "Obviously I would make three copies. Anyone should know that." I lean against the back counter and nod. "Obviously." Honestly, I have no idea how many copies one would make when stealing someone's house key, but it's best to just go along when Everly is on a roll. "I expect him to change his locks once I use the second key so the third key is likely useless, but he should know me well enough to ask for the second key." She sighs, looking truly despondent.

Listen, Mollie, I need to get home and let my parents know I’m alive. Then I am coming back for you. If my home is still standing, I’ll provide a place for you and Frank as long as you need.” “Why would you do that?” She looked a little taken aback, which surprised him. Because he loved her. Because they had just experienced the worst two days imaginable, and the bond that had been forged between them was not something to be tossed away. If Louis Hartman didn’t like it, he would quit. The fire had just taught Zack what was most important in this world, and she was looking straight at him.

Do you know where we are?” he whispered. “Surely that is Baker Street,” I answered, staring through the dim window. “Exactly. We are in Camden House, which stands opposite to our own old quarters.” “But why are we here?” “Because it commands so excellent a view of that picturesque pile. Might I trouble you, my dear Watson, to draw a little nearer to the window, taking every precaution not to show yourself, and then to look up at our old rooms--the starting-point of so many of your little fairy-tales? We will see if my three years of absence have entirely taken away my power to surprise you.” I crept forward and looked across at the familiar window. As my eyes fell upon it, I gave a gasp and a cry of amazement. The blind was down, and a strong light was burning in the room. The shadow of a man who was seated in a chair within was thrown in hard, black outline upon the luminous screen of the window. There was no mistaking the poise of the head, the squareness of the shoulders, the sharpness of the features. The face was turned half-round, and the effect was that of one of those black silhouettes which our grandparents loved to frame. It was a perfect reproduction of Holmes. So amazed was I that I threw out my hand to make sure that the man himself was standing beside me. He was quivering with silent laughter. “Well?” said he. “Good heavens!” I cried. “It is marvellous.” “I trust that age doth not wither nor custom stale my infinite variety,” said he, and I recognized in his voice the joy and pride which the artist takes in his own creation. “It really is rather like me, is it not?” “I should be prepared to swear that it was you.” “The credit of the execution is due to Monsieur Oscar Meunier, of Grenoble, who spent some days in doing the moulding. It is a bust in wax. The rest I arranged myself during my visit to Baker Street this afternoon.

You’ve dated a shoplifter. A drug addict. A girl who claimed that her roommate kept her locked in a dumpster. She was admitted to Mulberry not too long ago, if I recall, right? They diagnosed her with schizophrenia.” Reece nodded reluctantly. “For the record, I only dated her for two months. And also for the record, she’s doing a lot better.” “Hmm,” Camden replied. “There’s the one who put salt on all her food then complained incessantly of bloating problems. Oh yeah! And the one who wanted you to tie her up and beat the shit out of her every night.” “All right already!” Reece snapped. “I get it. I haven’t had the best of luck with normal women.

Let’s go for a walk, Mollie.” Frank Spencer stiffened, but Mollie’s annoying lawyer spoke in a calm voice. “They say that when a wolf wants to lead a sheep to slaughter, he’ll try to cut her off from the herd where he can do his worst in private.” There was snickering around the firelight as the entire herd moved in to protect the object of his affections. With the grinning faces of several men gloating at him, it would be impossible to sneak Mollie away. Zack turned to her with a pleasant smile on his face. “You know how in mythology the blind man is always the source of great wisdom and insight? Why couldn’t you find one of those blind guys to be friends with?” Frank appeared flattered by the statement. He grinned as he warmed his hands before the brazier.

Amd I am not blind to the fact that I have been given gifts you never had. Living a godly life was expected on me, and it was an easy path for me to follow. No one ever had such expectations of you. For you to embrace the Lord at this point in your life would be nothing short of heroic, Alex. It would take an act of such strength and courage that it would be humbling for all who have ever know you. You can begin building a life of valor today.

Last night, Good Friday night, at the bottom of the escalator at King’s X tube, a weasel-faced man in uniform was sweeping up rubbish with a wide broom, drink cartons, cigarette packets with all the dust and filthy scraps of the day which he pushed towards an elegant long black glove that was lying there. I expected him to pick it up as I would have – I thought of picking it up, but was too late. He smothered it in a wide sweep. It seemed to me extraordinary and shocking that he had no feeling for it. Several images went through my mind, a symbolic hand, a dead blackbird, an ornamental bookmark fallen from a lectern Bible – any once-precious relic being tumbled in the dirt. As I went up the escalator I remembered the Tatterdemallion whom I haven’t seen for months and thought of his body, if he were to die in the tube, being tumbled about with the rest of the thrown-away rubbish.” David Thomson, In Camden Town

Do you know how long I’ve wanted you? You’re like sunlight and water and air to me. All you need do is walk across my line of sight and my whole world lights up.” “You love your crusade more than you love me,” Kate said, her lips trembling. “You’ll kill yourself! You’ll die because you’re too arrogant to think another doctor could work with those patients as well as you.” She stepped forward, bumping against him and grabbing the lapels of his coat. “Please . . . we could be so good together.” He pulled away. “Don’t touch me, Kate. Don’t come near me. I love you, but you don’t know the meaning of the word. You only love when it’s easy, when there are no storm clouds on the horizon.” “Trevor, I’m afraid.” “Of course you’re afraid!” he shouted. “Do you imagine for one second that I’m not? But I won’t give in to it. I would lay down my life for you. I would lay down my life for any one of the thirty-two people lying in those beds upstairs, and I won’t turn my back on them. If I run away from what I’ve been fighting for all my life, then I begin dying. Then my purpose will be over.” She flinched and began straightening her shirt. “I’ve got to get out of here.” “Don’t go.” She twisted away to fumble with the doorknob. He tried to turn her to face him. “Kate, don’t go, please. Stay and fight this out.” She shook him off and fled from the closet as though it were on fire. He braced his hands on the doorframe, watching her dart around the people in the hallway. He wanted to run after her, drag her back into the closet, and plead with her to stay.

If Colonel Lowe doesn’t treat you like a goddess, he’ll have me to answer to,” he said gruffly. She mustered a little laugh. “Please, no basket of fish on his desk.” “Trust me, I’ll be far more creative if he hurts you.” The diamond powder weighed in his hands. “You will want this,” he said as he extended the sack to her. “Zack, I don’t want any gifts.” He picked up her hand and pressed it into her palm. “It’s diamond powder. I heard you were in short supply, and Caleb Magruder has a mill that can produce it.” Her eyes widened in surprise, and she peeked inside. It looked as if she was about to cry as she pulled the drawstrings closed. “Zack, I can’t accept this. It wouldn’t be right.” “Take it. What would I do with diamond powder?” He tried to sound light-hearted, as if this glorious woman had not just trampled on the dreams he had been building for three years. She still looked hesitant, which was insane because he knew she craved that diamond powder like a drowning man craved a life raft. He sighed impatiently. “If you don’t take it, I’ll throw it in the lake. You know I will.” She must have believed him, because she relented and accepted the gift. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thank you for everything, Zack.” “You deserve it,” he said bluntly. “I’ve never seen anyone work as hard as you.” “Don’t be nice to me,” she said. “I’ll start bawling like a watering pot if you do.” His hand looked big and clumsy against her delicate cheek. He was such a sap where this woman was concerned. Had been from the first time he ever clapped eyes on her. “Don’t shed any tears over me. I’m not worth it.” He had to get out of there before he made a complete fool of himself. Before he fell to his knees and begged her not to fling herself at a man who would never feel a fraction of the soaring love he had for her. Stepping aside and letting Richard Lowe court his woman made his gut tie itself into knots, but it had to be done.