Capri Quotes

So ... I'm larking through the Baby Gap, looking at tiny capri pants and sweaters that cost more than ... I don't know, more than they should. And I get totally sucked in by this ridiculous, tiny fur coat. The kind of coat a baby might need to go to the ballet. In Moscow. In 1918. To match her tiny pearls.

Because we would not wear any clothes because it was so hot and the windows open and the swallows flying over the roofs of the houses and when it was dark afterward and you went to the window very small bats hunting over the houses and close down over the trees and we would drink capri and the door locked and it hot and only a sheet and the whole night and we would both love each other all night in the hot night in Milan. That was how it ought to be.

I’ll tell you the story of the wave and the rock. It’s an old story. Older than we are. Listen. Once upon a time there was a wave who loved a rock in the sea, let us say in the Bay of Capri. The wave foamed and swirled around the rock, she kissed him day and night, she embraced him with her white arms, she sighed and wept and besought him to come to her. She loved him and stormed about him and in that way slowly undermined him, and one day he yielded, completely undermined, and sank into her arms.” “And suddenly he was no longer a rock to be played with, to be loved, to be dreamed of. He was only a block of stone at the bottom of the sea, drowned in her. The wave felt disappointed and deceived and looked for another rock “What does that mean? He should have remained a rock.” “The wave always says that. But things that move are stronger than immovable things. Water is stronger than rocks.

Ford Capri—a classic,” he boasts,

Half the time, I wanted to let him know that his ex-wife was about to become my new wife, and I would be damned if I allowed her to slip away because I didn’t have self-control.

The girl had many virtues: money, a car--a gold-coloured Capri, in which she played the latest funk--a big house and a rich father. When Valentin asked, 'What does your boyfriend do?' she replied, 'But I don't have one, really.

Glancing up, I meet her gaze. “You can work on that mouth of yours.” “What’s wrong with it?” “It’s running a little rough. Nothing a face-fucking can’t fix, though.” Her eyes widen. “Big words for a guy who drinks Capri Sun.” I try to keep a straight face, but I crack at that, letting out a laugh. “Got me there.

People are afraid of anything they don't understand. When they understand, when they know the truth, they can do something about it.

I don't think I can explain the despair my surroundings inspired in me. Though I now suspect, given the circumstances and my disposition, I would've been unhappy anywhere, in Biarritz or Caracas or the Isle of Capri, I was then convinced that my unhappiness was indigenous to that place.

Compreendi por fim que o amor causa muito sofrimento quando acontecem coisas más. E foi por causa dele que comecei a entender que podem também advir coisas boas do amor.

See if she can stick her own straw in a Capri Sun (this should be on state testing).

<> I was at the mall last night, walking around by myself, trying not to spend money, trying not to think about a delicious Cinnabon...and I found myself walking by the Baby Gap. I've never been in a Baby Gap. So, I decided to duck in. On a lark. <> Right. On a lark. I'm familiar with those. <> So...I'm larking through the Baby Gap, looking at tiny capri pants and sweaters that cost more than...I don't know, more than they should. And I get totally sucked in by this ridiculous, tiny fur coat. The kind of coat a baby might need to go to the ballet. In Moscow. In 1918. To match her tiny pearls.

Thought Experiment: Imagine that you are Johnny Carson and find yourself caught in an intolerable one-on-one conversation at a cocktail party from which there is no escape. Which of the two following events would you prefer to take place: (1) That the other person become more and more witty and charming, the music more beautiful, the scene transformed to a villa at Capri on the loveliest night of the year, while you find yourself more and more at a loss; or (2) that you are still in Beverly Hills and the chandeliers begin to rattle, a 7.5 Richter earthquake takes place, and presently you find yourself and the other person alive and well, and talking under a mound of rubble. If your choice is (2), explain why it is possible for a true conversation to take place under the conditions of (2) but not (1).

Tell me something about yourself.” “I’d rather save the small talk.” “There’s no need to be rude, child, and believe me, I’m asking for a reason. Tell me something about yourself. Anything.” “I’m twenty-eight . . .” He rejected that one out of hand. “Something personal. Something . . . interior. Tell me something you love.” I thought about it for a long few seconds, then said, “Ralph Lauren’s summer line this year. Not the spring collection, which was way too pastel, and the winter was really crappy, all bland browns and grays. But he’s got some good fabrics this summer, kind of a hot tangerine matched with dull red. Only he skirts, though. Hiscapri pants are for shit. Pockets? Who wants pockets on capri pants? What woman in her right mind puts extra fabric on her hips?” There was a long and ringing silence. Patrick’s eyes were wide and rather frightened. He finally cleared his throat and said, “Anything else apart from fashion?” “What do you want me to say? Puppies? Fluffy kittens? Babies?” “Let’s try something simple. Your favorite food.” I rolled my eyes. “Chocolate.” Duh .

I recoiled with a thud of recognition.

Though I now suspect, given the circumstances and my disposition, I would've been unhappy anywhere, in Biarritz or Caracas or the Isle of Capri, I was then convinced that my unhappiness was indigenous to that place. Perhaps a part of it was. While to a certain extent Milton is right—the mind is its own place and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell and so forth.

The beer gave Penn a headache immediately; she blinked like a mermaid struck by sunshine.

excitement remained. She’d been given this rare chance to impress a powerful man who could and did advance women on the job. Finlay had a proven track record on that score: Roscoe.

Most of the monsters men fear are in their minds. They would vanish like smoke if we would only let them.

Who is this pompous hobgoblin? His jaw had grown square, his belly had gone soft. He was parading like a dictator in jockey shorts and argyle socks.

Six nervous wives at the sink, each quiet as a queen on a chessboard.

Anna, you do have decent fashion sense. But I’ve seen your outfits, and you don’t have anything to wear on a date. Jeans, capris, geeky tee shirts, and more jeans.

It takes a very special person to unleash a #Capricorn’s inner passions.

The mind can break and be lost forever, but if the will breaks it comes back stronger.

I was happy these two heifers were back speaking. I think it was because Capri’s memory was shot and she forgot why she was actually mad at Camilla.

orange Capri pants that were

Jess liked all of her liquor to taste like aluminum pouches of Capri Sun.

There was a magical timelessness to Capri A special atmosphere, and a sense of history.

I was a firm believer of letting something go, because if it was meant to be then it would come back.

You can’t ruin something that is meant for you. I’m meant for you… I don’t care how much you feel you’re not worth being loved, you are, Suga.

it,” Roscoe said again. “Just get her back here, or I’ll make you sorry. Are we clear?” “Look, we don’t have her. But we’re on our way. See you before noon.” The call died. Gaspar said,

I don’t even know the bitch, for real… all I heard is shit about her, but you have to let me end her ass… she shot my fucking husband!” Alaia raised her voice, which caught me by surprise.

If you're a follower of Jesus, He has given you abundance so that you can care for others, not so you can stock up on capri pants for next summer or afford a leather interior in the new SUV.

Weeks and months are needed to accustom oneself to climbing. Otherwise, much energy is lost in clinging to the rock, maintaining too sure a hold, trying not to be too stiff, and worrying. After a while a climber warms to the mountains and can accomplish with little effort those things that once took all he had, for height gradually loses its meaning. Standing on the edge of a two-thousand-meter precipice becomes no less comfortable than sitting in a wicker chair on Capri, for it is possible to acquire some of the self-possession that enables mountain goats to stand for hours on a tiny ledge above an abyss.

The late 1920s were an age of islands, real and metaphorical. They were an age when Americans by thousands and tens of thousands were scheming to take the next boat for the South Seas or the West Indies, or better still for Paris, from which they could scatter to Majorca, Corsica, Capri or the isles of Greece. Paris itself was a modern city that seemed islanded in the past, and there were island countries, like Mexico, where Americans could feel that they had escaped from everything that oppressed them in a business civilization. Or without leaving home they could build themselves private islands of art or philosophy; or else - and this was a frequent solution - they could create social islands in the shadow of the skyscrapers, groups of close friends among whom they could live as unconstrainedly as in a Polynesian valley, live without moral scruples or modern conveniences, live in the pure moment, live gaily on gin and love and two lamb chops broiled over a coal fire in the grate. That was part of the Greenwich Village idea, and soon it was being copied in Boston, San Francisco, everywhere.

For a summer of drug abuse on the island of Capri, she packed a wardrobe of black Morticia gowns, dyed her hair green, and paraded through the village streets with a crystal ball, followed by a retainer in gold body paint.

You would think that I'd be a bit more comfortable talking about sex, now that I'd had it and all. You would also think that at my age I would be able to successfully insert the straw into a Capri sun juice pouch. I was 0-2 there.

One day I woke up and realized that I could either lay in bed and be sad about my past, or I can move on. I never let things sit with me for too long, because life was too short to sit and be sad about a nigga that isn’t worried about you.

Oggi, mezzo gennaio, non è giornata allegra; cielo nubiloso, aritmie, il solito disordine che a farsi potabile richiede il tempo che una sardina impiega a farsi capodoglio. Ovvio che la sardina mi abbia orientato verso l’olio, e dunque l’Oglio, e l’ingrata patria, gli ossicini io non ti do. Ecco, in un giorno come questo è difficile fare l’unica cosa che io sappia veramente fare: comprare libri. Quando la primavera si sbizzarrisce, e i capri petulchi lasciviano pe’ prati, e l’odore della mortella – erba di cui ignoro tutto, e che quindi è puramente letteraria – impreziosisce l’aria, io vado ad acquistare libri. Badate: io non ho detto che vado ad acquistare libri che ho preventivamente scelto, che voglio assolutamente, che, acquistati, porterò golosamente a casa e leggerò, scrivendo poi un mirabile saggio critico, splendore di acutezza e di segreta poesia, destinato a procurarmi lettere di appassionati lettori, sconvolti e rigenerati. Macché. L’unica faccenda che mi sta a cuore è questa appunto: comprare libri. Ora, il quesito, la quaestio quodlibetalis è come segue: colui che acquista libri è per ciò stesso un lettore? Ovviamente, la maggioranza dei leggenti queste righe, se ve ne sono, penseranno che no; lettore è colui che legge. Quale errore. Non v’ha dubbio che è naturale che il lettore legga, ma contesto che per esser lettori si debba assolutamente leggere; e soprattutto che acquistare libri non sia gesto di lettore. Ma se il libro non lo leggi, che senso avrà mai che se ne stia nella tua biblioteca? E tu stesso lo dici: forse non lo leggerò mai, magari un giorno lo regalerò. Eh no, quest’ultima facezia me la fate dire voi, io i libri acquistati non letti, forse non mai letti, nemmeno li presto. Essi ‘mi servono’. Servono a che? Servono grazie alla naturale attività magica e umbràtile e stemmica che un libro esercita. Un libro lo si compra con animo che suppongo simile a quello con cui si dipingevano bovi e capri nelle caverne paleolitiche. Una mucca dipinta non si munge né si mangia, ma è ‘la mucca’, cosa che non è consentito ad alcuna altra mucca. E così il libro non letto, acquistato e depositato sugli scaffali, è ‘il libro’. Acquistare un libro ha un effetto nervino che nessun altro gesto può avere; è una scelta del tutto onirica, isterica, fantastica, e suppone un progetto di vita, e naturalmente più libri possono alludere a più progetti di vita.

I believe all problems can be solved. It’s that simple. And most people don’t. Most people just want to wallow in it, but they don’t want it fixed, especially if the fix requires the acceptance of personal responsibility and personal change.

Dr. Deol about his son’s third-grade teacher, who still thinks Pluto is a planet; nod as Dr. Sader sips on a Capri Sun while rambling about dark matter being not a clump but a smoothly distributed wavy superfluid. It’s going well, I tell myself

Due anni prima di andarsene di casa mio padre disse a mia madre che ero molto brutta. La frase fu pronunciata sottovoce, nell’appartamento che, appena sposati, i miei genitori avevano acquistato al Rione Alto, in cima a San Giacomo dei Capri. Tutto - gli spazi di Napoli, la luce blu di un febbraio gelido, quelle parole - è rimasto fermo. Io invece sono scivolata via e continuo a scivolare anche adesso, dentro queste righe che vogliono darmi una storia mentre in effetti non sono niente, niente di mio, niente che sia davvero cominciato o sia davvero arrivato a compimento: solo un garbuglio che nessuno, nemmeno chi in questo momento sta scrivendo, sa se contiene il filo giusto di un racconto o è soltanto un dolore arruffato, senza redenzione.

What up, Stanka Butt?” Capone grinned, showing his grills. Usually, this was a dream and the perfect set up for a why choose situation with all these fine men in this small bedroom with just me. I loved a challenge, but now I was scared and didn’t know what to do.

I’m going to tell you every bad, ugly think about me. You’re going to tell me every bad, ugly thing about you, and then we’ll decide what to do about this insane pull between us.” I licked my bottom lip. “Oh, you think there’ s a pull between us? I thought we were just friends.” His gray eyes sliced through me, cutting me all the way to my soul. “Samantha, if we weren’t about to discuss our deepest secrets, I’d lay you across the table, strip those sexy little capris off your ass, and bury my tongue between your thighs. God knows I’ve thought about it enough. How’s that for friends. Really, it’s more of a force of nature, but I’ll settle for you admitting that there’s a pull.” My mouth was suddenly dry. I was never going to look at this table the same way again. “There’s a pull,” I admitted softly.

Serena and Jimena walked into the crowd, strides long and seductive. Jimena wore a silver bustier and capris with matching sandals. Her hair was rolled on top of her head with glitter and jewels. Curls bounced with each step. Her face gleamed; her full lips sparkled. The tattoos on her arms seemed iridescent. She whooped and squealed and gave Serena a high five. Serena had moussed her hair so it stood on end. Streaks of orange glitter shot from her temples into her hair. She wore a yellow tulle skirt over a sheer, clingy red dress and looked like a walking flame.

Sometimes people ask me why I travel so much, and specifically why we travel with Henry so often. I think they think it’s easier to keep the kids at home, in their routines, surrounded by their stuff. It is. But we travel because it’s there. Because Capri exists and Kenya exists and Tel Aviv exists, and I want to taste every bite of it. We travel because I want my kids to learn, as I learned, that there are a million ways to live, a million ways to eat, a million ways to dress and speak and view the world. I want them to know that “our way” isn’t the right way, but just one way, that children all over the world, no matter how different they seem, are just like the children in our neighborhood—they love to play, to discover, to learn. I want my kids to learn firsthand and up close that different isn’t bad, but instead that different is exciting and wonderful and worth taking the time to understand. I want them to see themselves as bit players in a huge, sweeping, beautiful play, not as the main characters in the drama of our living room. I want my kids to taste and smell and experience the biggest possible world, because every bite of it, every taste and texture and flavor, is delicious.

Honey, were you trying to be a 1950s beatnik from Funny Face or something?” He guesses, correctly. “It is one thing to channel your inner Audrey Hepburn, but it is quite another to wear a mock turtleneck and capris to a Hollywood event. This is the big time, sweetheart; you best check your costume at the door.

Indignation is often the best defense.

No matter how offensive she's been to me, she continues to act as if she has some sort of God-given right to keep coming back for more favors.

Reacher was the kind of guy who solved all problems as permanently as possible.

You're a man, you want to do a thing, you do it. You haven't the thousand obstacles a woman has in front of her.

Baby, you pregnant and I know you’re going to gain weight. Even the thickest dough still gets folded into a pretzel… feel me?

What you reading now, Sug? Every time you get into a book, you ignore my ass.

To every woman who has ever lost herself and had to fight to find her again.

Stop being so fucking accommodating for a nigga that didn’t accommodate you.

It takes a strong woman to stay, and an even stronger woman to leave.

I don’t think you bought enough beer,” my dad commented in Spanish. I shot him a look over my shoulder as I poured another two bags of ice over the bottles. “Pa, it’s Josh’s birthday. Nobody needs to be getting drunk. Come on. I bought like half the sodas, waters, and juice boxes that the grocery store carried. Everyone can get Capri Sun wasted if they want.

My husband. My World. My everything: Get the fuck out that chicken spot before I send a bullet through that nigga’s three hundred-million-dollar knee… you cool with him being out this season, Suga?

I go toward Capri for my holiday; but it seems to me now, in the quietness of this night, beneath the mysterious geometry of the stars, where nothing exists except this hand that forms the curious letters which by some other mysterious process you will understand, it seems to me that I go somewhere else, to a place as mysterious as any I have ever seen. I shall write further tomorrow. Perhaps we can discover that place toward which I travel.

I am writing by the light of a stinking kitchen lamp, using up the last of the kerosene. How sick, how outrageous this all is. My Capri friends, the Lunacharskys and the Gorkys, the guardians of Russian culture and art, express self-righteous anger when they warn New Life about abetting “tsarist sympathizers.” What would they do with me now if they caught me writing this criminal tract by a stinking kitchen lamp or trying to hide it in the crack of the ledge?

I couldn’t go on explaining this dread I often felt by blaming it only on him. I had my eyes wide open when I said, ‘I do.’ I oohed and aahed over the engagement ring. I was excited about the honeymoon in Capri. Like his, my heart was young and gay once, too. I was ready to see everything through four eyes and hear everything through four ears. I was willing to compromise my opinions and diminish my ego if it was necessary. In short, I would invest myself in him until death did us part.

Raylene bit her bottom lip, but she couldn’t break the connection, not that she wanted to. “Do you really have to keep addressing me as Miss Capri, even out here?” He nodded, but didn’t hesitate to add, “The only place I can call you by your first name is in the privacy of a cabin.” Raylene’s eyes widened considerably, as she considered what her heart and mind collided to reply. With a nervous swallow, her voice became little. “Then I think we should proceed to your cabin, First Officer John Drake.

On retiring to Capri [Tiberius] devised a pleasance for his secret orgies: teams of wantons of both sexes, selected as experts in deviant intercourse and dubbed analists, copulated before him in triple unions to excite his flagging passions. Its bedrooms were furnished with the most salacious paintings and sculptures, as well as with an erotic library, in case a performer should need an illustration of what was required. Then in Capri's woods and groves he arranged a number of nooks of venery where boys and girls got up as Pans and nymphs solicited outside bowers and grottoes. e acquired a reputation for still grosser depravities that one can hardly bear to tell or be told, let alone believe. For example, he trained little boys (whom he termed tiddlers) to crawl between his thighs when he went swimming and tease him with their licks and nibbles; and unweaned babies he would put to his organ as though to the breast, being by both nature and age rather fond of this form of satisfaction. Left a painting of Parrhasius's depicting Atalanta pleasuring Meleager with her lips on condition that if the theme displeased him he was to have a million sesterces instead, he chose to keep it and actually hung it in his bedroom. The story is also told that once at a sacrifice, attracted by the acolyte's beauty, he lost control of himself and, hardly waiting for the ceremony to end, rushed him off and debauched him and his brother, the flute-player, too; and subsequently, when they complained of the assault, he had their legs broken.

There is a great ladder of religious cruelty with many rungs; but three of them are the most important. At one time one sacrificed human beings to one's god, perhaps precisely those human beings one loved best–the sacrifice of the first-born present in all prehistoric religions belongs here, as does the sacrifice of the Emperor Tiberius in the Mithras grotto on the isle of Capri, that most horrible of all Roman anachronisms. Then, in the moral epoch of mankind, one sacrificed to one's god the strongest instincts one possessed, one's ‘nature’; the joy of this festival glitters in the cruel glance of the ascetic, the inspired ‘anti-naturist’. Finally: what was left to be sacrificed? Did one not finally have to sacrifice everything comforting, holy, healing, all hope, all faith in a concealed harmony, in a future bliss and justice? Did one not have to sacrifice God himself and out of cruelty against oneself worship stone, stupidity, gravity, fate, nothingness? To sacrifice God for nothingness–this paradoxical mystery of the ultimate act of cruelty was reserved for the generation which is even now arising: we all know something of it already.

For twenty-four hours, she'd been running on her standard triple A's: ambition, adrenaline, and anxiety. Add two gut-wrenching plane rides on less than two hours sleep and her nerves, like her muscles, were screaming. None of this, she knew was visible even to the keenest observer. And she meant to keep it that way.

Meer kissed my neck once more and stepped back while taking me in. I looked at him, and he blushed. “Why you looking at me like that, Suga?” “Like what?” “Like you wanna get fucked every way from today to Sunday.” He bit down on his bottom lip, as I pulled the strings of the halter dress that I wore tonight. “I do.” “Suga, ain’t no going back once I’m in that shit… if you thought me tracking you down and getting in your trunk was crazy… once I mark my territory, all bets are fucking off.” I pulled him closer to me. “There’s no going back once you’re in here… you can’t leave me, Meer.” He softly kissed my lips and stared straight in my eyes. “I ain’t letting you go nowhere.

Dois anos antes de sair de casa, meu pai disse à minha mãe que eu era muito feia. A frase foi pronunciada à meia-voz, no apartamento que meus pais, recém-casados, compraram no Rione Alto, no topo da Via San Giacomo dei Capri. Tudo - os espaços de Nápoles, a luz azul de um fevereiro gélido - ficou parado. Eu, por outro lado, escapei para longe e continuo a escapar também agora, dentro destas linhas que querem me dar uma história, enquanto, na verdade, não sou nada, nada de meu, nada que tenha de fato começado ou se concretizado: só um emaranhado que ninguém, nem mesmo quem neste momento escreve, sabe se contém o fio certo de uma história ou se é apenas uma dor embaralhada, sem redenção.

The Jews were the first monotheistic culture in history. They believed in one God and one God only. The Greco-Roman world of Herod’s day was polytheistic. They believed in many gods, and much of their worship was sexual in nature. To facilitate this “worship,” Herod had a product made from a substance extracted from the balsam tree, among other ingredients, that functioned as an aphrodisiac! Whether it actually worked, no one knows; but we do know from Josephus’s historical writings that Caesar had a voracious appetite for this product, and he kept his ships coming and going between Capri, where he spent most of his time, and Caesarea Maritima on Israel’s west coast, where Herod and his family made sure Caesar’s ships were filled to capacity with their valued product.

It was August; the city was empty. Malcolm was in Sweden on holiday with Sophie; Richard was in Capri; Rhodes was in Maine; Andy was on Shelter Island (“Remember,” he’d said before he left, as he always said before a long vacation, “I’m just two hours away; you need me, and I catch the next ferry back”). He couldn’t bear to be around Harold, whom he couldn’t see without being reminded of his debasement; he called and told him he had too much work to go to Truro. Instead he spontaneously bought a ticket to Paris and spent the long, lonely Labor Day weekend there, wandering the streets by himself. He didn’t contact anyone he knew there—not Citizen, who was working for a French bank, or Isidore, his upstairs neighbor from Hereford Street, who was teaching there, or Phaedra, who had taken a job as the director of a satellite of a New York gallery—they wouldn’t have been in the city anyway

There is a great ladder of religious cruelty, with many rounds; but three of these are the most important. Once on a time men sacrificed human beings to their God, and perhaps just those they loved the best—to this category belong the firstling sacrifices of all primitive religions, and also the sacrifice of the Emperor Tiberius in the Mithra-Grotto on the Island of Capri, that most terrible of all Roman anachronisms. Then, during the moral epoch of mankind, they sacrificed to their God the strongest instincts they possessed, their "nature"; THIS festal joy shines in the cruel glances of ascetics and "anti-natural" fanatics. Finally, what still remained to be sacrificed? Was it not necessary in the end for men to sacrifice everything comforting, holy, healing, all hope, all faith in hidden harmonies, in future blessedness and justice? Was it not necessary to sacrifice God himself, and out of cruelty to themselves to worship stone, stupidity, gravity, fate, nothingness? To sacrifice God for nothingness—this paradoxical mystery of the ultimate cruelty has been reserved for the rising generation; we all know something thereof already.

There is a great ladder of religious cruelty, with many rounds; but three of these are the most important. Once on a time men sacrificed human beings to their God, and perhaps just those they loved the best — to this category belong the firstling sacrifices of all primitive religions, and also the sacrifice of the Emperor Tiberius in the Mithra-Grotto on the Island of Capri, that most terrible of all Roman anachronisms. Then, during the moral epoch of mankind, they sacrificed to their God the strongest instincts they possessed, their “nature”; THIS festal joy shines in the cruel glances of ascetics and “anti-natural” fanatics. Finally, what still remained to be sacrificed? Was it not necessary in the end for men to sacrifice everything comforting, holy, healing, all hope, all faith in hidden harmonies, in future blessedness and justice? Was it not necessary to sacrifice God himself, and out of cruelty to themselves to worship stone, stupidity, gravity, fate, nothingness? To sacrifice God for nothingness — this paradoxical mystery of the ultimate cruelty has been reserved for the rising generation; we all know something thereof already.

By his early-twenties, John F. Kennedy was living one of the most extraordinary young American lives of the twentieth century. He traveled in an orbit of unprecedented wealth, influence, global mobility, and power. As a student and as diplomatic assistant to his father, who served as U.S. ambassador to the United Kingdom from 1938 to 1940, Kennedy journeyed to England, Ireland, France, Moscow, Berlin, Beirut, Damascus, Athens, and Turkey, pausing briefly from a vacation on the French Riviera to sleep with the actress Marlene Dietrich. He met with top White House officials and traveled to Cuba, Rio de Janeiro, Buenos Aires, Santiago, Peru, and Ecuador. He gambled in a casino in Monte Carlo; visited Naples, Capri, Milan, Florence, Venice, and Rome; rode a camel at the Great Pyramid at Giza; attended the coronation of Pope Pius XII; and witnessed a rally for Italian dictator Benito Mussolini. He recalled of these momentous years, 'It was a great opportunity to see a period of history which was one of the most significant.' In a visit to British-occupied Palestine, Kennedy recalled, 'I saw the rock where our Lord ascended into heaven in a cloud, and [in] the same area, I saw the place where Mohammed was carried up to heaven on a white horse.

Closing the door, she turned back to him, taking in the long, muscled length of him on the bed, staring at her. Waiting for her. Perfection. He was perfect, and she was bare before him, bathed in candlelight. She was instantly embarrassed- somehow more embarrassed than she had been that night in his office, when she'd touched herself under his careful guidance. At least then she'd been wearing a corset. Stockings. Tonight, she wore nothing. She was all flaws, each one highlighted by his perfection. He watched her for a long moment before extending one muscled arm, palm up, an irresistible invitation. She went to him without hesitation, and he rolled to his back, pulling her over his lovely, lean chest, staring up at her intently. She covered her breasts in a wave of nerves and trepidation. "When you look at me like that... it's too much." He did not look away. "How do I look at you?" "I don't know what it is... but I feel as though you can see into me. As though, if you could, you would consume me." "It's want, love. Desire like nothing I've never experienced. I'm fairly shaking with it. Come here." The demand was impossible to resist, carrying with it the promise of pleasure beyond her dreams. She went. When she was close enough to touch, he lifted one hand, stroking his fingers along hers where they hid her breasts from view. "I tremble with need for you, Pippa. Please, love, let me see you." The request was raw and wretched, and she couldn't deny him, slowly moving her hands to settle them on his chest, fingers splayed wide across the crisp auburn hair that dusted his skin. She was distracted by that hair, the play of it over muscle- the way it narrowed to a lovely dark line across his flat stomach. He lay still as she touched him, his muscles firm and perfect. "You're so beautiful," she whispered, fingers stroking down his arms to his wrists. His gaze narrowed on her. "I am happy you approve, my lady." She smiled. "Oh I do, my lord. You are a remarkable specimen." White teeth flashed again as she gained her courage, retracing her touch, over his forearms, marveling in the feel of him, reciting from memory, "flexor digitorium superficialis, flexor capri radialis..." along his upper arms, "biceps brachii, tricipitis brachii..." over his shoulders, loving the way his muscles tensed and flexed beneath her touch, "deltoideus..." and down his chest, "subscapularis... pectoralis major..." She stilled, brushing her fingers over the curve of that muscle, the landscape of him... the valleys of his body. He sucked in a breath as her fingers ran over the flat discs of his nipples, arching up to her touch, and she stilled, reveling in her power. He enjoyed her touch. He wanted it. She repeated the stroke, this time with her thumbs. He hissed his pleasure, one wide hand falling to the inside of her knee, sending a river of heat through her. "Don't stop now, love. This is the most effective seduction I've ever experienced.

The girls seemed unconcerned and went about their days, each as lovely in their own way as the flowers they tended. Sorrel's black hair became streaked with premature white, which gave her an exotic air, although the elegance was somewhat ruined by the muddy jeans and shorts she practically lived in. Nettie, on the other hand, had a head of baby-fine blonde hair that she wore short, thinking, wrongly, that it would look less childlike. Nettie wouldn't dream of being caught in dirty jeans and was always crisply turned out in khaki capris or a skirt and a white shirt. She considered her legs to be her finest feature. She was not wrong. Patience was the sole Sparrow redhead, although her hair had deepened from its childhood ginger and was now closer to the color of a chestnut. It was heavy and glossy as a horse's mane, and she paid absolutely no attention to it or to much else about her appearance, nor did she have to. In the summer her wide-legged linen trousers and cut-off shorts were speckled with dirt and greenery, her camisoles tatty and damp. The broad-brimmed hat she wore to pick was most often dangling from a cord down her back. As a result, the freckles that feathered across her shoulders and chest were the color of caramel and resistant to her own buttermilk lotion (Nettie smoothed it on Patience whenever she could make her stand still). When it was terribly hot, Patience wore the sundresses she'd found packed away in the attic. She knew they were her mother's, and she liked to imagine how happy Honor had been in them.

This new generation of Italian American entertainers shared Sinatra’s view of the new dance music that emerged in the 1950s. “Rock-and-roll is the most brutal, ugly, desperate, vicious form of expression it has been my misfortune to hear,” Sinatra told Congress in 1958. “Rock-and-roll smells phony and false. It is sung, played, and written for the most part by cretinous goons, and by means of its almost imbecilic reiteration, and sly, lewd—in plain fact, dirty—lyrics … it manages to be the martial music of every sideburned delinquent on the face of the earth.” In response to the raw, driving sexuality of black-influenced rock, young Italian American men in New York and Philadelphia did to the new music what Sinatra and his generation had done to jazz. A style combining smooth vocal harmonies, romantic lyrics, and a stationary stage presence, doo-wop was invented in the 1940s by black youth on street corners, but it shot to the top of the pop charts in the late 1950s when Italian Americans adopted it as their own—just as most African American performers moved toward “soul music.” From 1958, when Dion (DiMucci) and the Belmonts placed several songs on the pop charts, until the “British Invasion” of 1964, Italian American doo-wop groups dominated American popular music. All wearing conservative suits and exuding a benign romanticism, the Capris, the Elegants, the Mystics, the Duprees, the Del-Satins, the Four Jays, the Essentials, Randy and the Rainbows, and Vito & the Salutations declared the arrival of Italians into American civilization. During the rise of doo-wop and Frank Rizzo, Malcolm X mocked the newly white Italians. “No Italian will ever jump up in my face and start putting bad mouth on me,” he said, “because I know his history. I tell him when you’re talking about me you’re talking about your pappy, your father. He knows his history. He knows how he got that color.” Though fewer and fewer Italian Americans know the history of which Malcolm X spoke, some have reenacted it.

It could be that Michael Morgan’s death, if he was dead, had nothing to do with this breast implant business, but the chances of that were really slim. When the largest breast implant manufacturer went into bankruptcy a couple of years ago, I remembered reading in the Tampa Today Business Journal that several of the law firms in town had financed the costs of breast implant litigation. One of them was my former firm, some of my former partners having gone over to the “other side” representing women with implants

General Andrews seemed to have opinions on everything. Highly unusual for a general in today’s military, and likely to get a Supreme Court nominee rejected. The thing the public fears most, and his opposition hopes for, is a nominee with an opinion

But Flint could already tell this guy was going to be a special kind of trouble.

DEDICATION

heavier bulk carried him faster and more securely forward. “I’ve

assuming

My gaze flickers between her and the Capri Sun. “Thanks, shortcake.” She smiles widely, her voice soft as she says, “You’re welcome.

They’re lured right to her lair to be sucked dry like Capri-Suns.

That’s not what’s weird. What’s weird is how a Treasury agent gets killed in the line of duty in a sleepy little town like Margrave, Georgia, in September 1997? How would that happen? Why was he even there?

For seven years I was left in foster care, robbed of the wings that my parents were supposed to help me develop to one day enable me to fly.

locked up, or you weren’t. She wasn’t. They weren’t.

eyed

Travel Bucket List 1. Have a torrid affair with a foreigner. Country: TBD. 2. Stay for a night in Le Grotte della Civita. Matera, Italy. 3. Go scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef. Queensland, Australia. 4. Watch a burlesque show. Paris, France. 5. Toss a coin and make an epic wish at the Trevi Fountain. Rome, Italy. 6. Get a selfie with a guard at Buckingham Palace. London, England. 7. Go horseback riding in the mountains. Banff, Alberta, Canada. 8. Spend a day in the Grand Bazaar. Istanbul, Turkey. 9. Kiss the Blarney Stone. Cork, Ireland. 10. Tour vineyards on a bicycle. Bordeaux, France. 11. Sleep on a beach. Phuket, Thailand. 12. Take a picture of a Laundromat. Country: All. 13. Stare into Medusa’s eyes in the Basilica Cistern. Istanbul, Turkey. 14. Do NOT get eaten by a lion. The Serengeti, Tanzania. 15. Take a train through the Canadian Rockies. British Columbia, Canada. 16. Dress like a Bond Girl and play a round of poker at a casino. Montreal, Quebec, Canada. 17. Make a wish on a floating lantern. Thailand. 18. Cuddle a koala at Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary. Queensland, Australia. 19. Float through the grottos. Capri, Italy. 20. Pose with a stranger in front of the Eiffel Tower. Paris, France. 21. Buy Alex a bracelet. Country: All. 22. Pick sprigs of lavender from a lavender field. Provence, France. 23. Have afternoon tea in the real Downton Abbey. Newberry, England. 24. Spend a day on a nude beach. Athens, Greece. 25. Go to the opera. Prague, Czech Republic. 26. Skinny dip in the Rhine River. Cologne, Germany. 27. Take a selfie with sheep. Cotswolds, England. 28. Take a selfie in the Bone Church. Sedlec, Czech Republic. 29. Have a pint of beer in Dublin’s oldest bar. Dublin, Ireland. 30. Take a picture from the tallest building. Country: All. 31. Climb Mount Fuji. Japan. 32. Listen to an Irish storyteller. Ireland. 33. Hike through the Bohemian Paradise. Czech Republic. 34. Take a selfie with the snow monkeys. Yamanouchi, Japan. 35. Find the penis. Pompeii, Italy. 36. Walk through the war tunnels. Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam. 37. Sail around Ha long Bay on a junk boat. Vietnam. 38. Stay overnight in a trulli. Alberobello, Italy. 39. Take a Tai Chi lesson at Hoan Kiem Lake. Hanoi, Vietnam. 40. Zip line over Eagle Canyon. Thunderbay, Ontario, Canada.

That’s the trouble with Ghandi’s method of political protest; it’s so easy for the targets of peaceful resistance to miss it.

Ford’s Cologne, West Germany–built V-6 had been offered stateside in the Mercury Capri since 1972, but some upgrades were made for service in the heavier Mustang II. Most significant is that it was bored and stroked to 3.66 × 2.70 inches to increase from 155 to 171 ci (from 2.6 to 2.8 liters) and its shared (siamesed) exhaust ports were separated to greatly improve exhaust flow. 447​

This life. The next life. Every life after that. I will love you in all of them, Lennon Capri. It doesn’t matter who you become or how you change. My soul will always belong to yours.

There won’t be any hidden truths behind a bunch of olds eating lobster rolls, wearing capri pants, and quoting Sixteen Candles. That much is for sure.

lane to let four trucks enter the highway. Gaspar tried to move over into the right lane because traffic was still moving there, albeit slowly. Kim checked her side mirror and saw Gramps coming up in his panel truck on the right. Gramps waved and grinned as he and his pigs

The back door opened and Lisa Livia came in, looking gorgeous in pink capris and a black T-shirt that said expensive in rhinestones.

Remo took me to Capri last weekend,” my mother says. “It’s overrated, in my opinion. Positano is far more beautiful. More authentic, too. It feels far more connected to the Italian culture here than it does there.

Gams nodded her head. “I know. It’s gonna take a special type of woman to come in and heal him. Healing a broken heart is simple, it takes a special one to heal a shattered one.

Keep eye fucking what’s mine and Ding Dong ain’t gonna be the only bad man in this bitch,

Sug, I know you have this little soft spot for that nigga but let him pretend that name being attached to you is more, and I can promise his son gonna end up in foster care.

On Mother’s Day, I sent her ass to a spa and hit her with some bread because no matter how I felt about her, she was my daughter’s mother. You see. Very peaceful. Very get the fuck from around me.

Babes, I am the rich man… don’t need to fuck with a man because he got money… I’m the big dawg round here.

Fuck that nigga. I’m gonna love you in front of those that fumbled you. I want them to know that this glow you wearing is because of your man. I put that there, and I’m gonna keep it there. You’re being loved and fucked right. Stop worrying about what the fuck egg head thinks.

I don’t give a fuck who came before me, nobody was fucking coming after me.

was still trying to say something, and I squeezed his lips tighter. “I’ve met more than a few of you bitches that try to disguise your disrespect as a fucking joke, or in your case, content.” I opened my purse and pulled out my gun while staring at her. “This one is mine… don’t fucking use him in yo’ fucking content. Matter fact,” I shoved my gun back into my purse and leaned over the chair and bopped her right in the mouth.

Before I could protest, this man picked me up and put me on the washing machine as it was in the middle of the spin cycle. He opened my legs and then went in like he had been starving all day. Between his tongue, and him sucking me dry, and the vibration from the washing machine, I couldn’t keep my eyes straight. They kept crossing as I held his head in place. “Meer… omg… right there!” I screamed out.

You ignoring my calls now?” my eyes looked in the rearview mirror, and Meer was climbing his tall ass over the fucking seat from the trunk.

I’ll kill every nigga you think you ‘bout to fuck with, Capri… I’ll dead any nigga that thinks they got you… feel me, Big Mama?

Suga, ain’t no going back once I’m in that shit… if you thought me tracking you down and getting in your trunk was crazy… once I mark my territory, all bets are fucking off.

That bitch pussy so loose she slipped through the fucking prison bars?

Quasim snorted. “Women aren’t as complex as you’re making them. They want a nigga that ain’t gonna have them looking goofy, like you were about to do. Good dick, reassurance, a provider, and a nigga that would air it out for them… all they want really. Not that fucking hard.

Roy, you accused me of doing crack… now you love me?

Nobody was fucking with Capri before, but they really not now that she got three brothers running behind her and a crazy ass fiancé,” Goon barked, while clapping his hands.

When you marry your soul mate you could never be sick of them… me and my baby locked the fuck in.

Good looks. ADA Browne?” “NJ will be in foster care if you think any deeper into the name… that last name ‘bout to be Inferno.” Capri laughed and pulled his beard. “Meer… focus.” Naheim wanted to slide down that wall hollering with how he looked at Capri and Quameer.

Sirens, Cappy… we gotta bounce!” Capri came into the house and paused when she saw me. “End his ass, sis’.” I pulled the trigger, sending a bullet right between his eyes. Capp stood to the side of me, and I looked up at him. “Good girl. Tried to tell that nigga you don’t play when it comes to Daddy.” He winked, kissing me on the lips before grabbing my hand.

May you have a love where he wears your anklets like earrings every night ;)

If I could have pulled my gun and shot this bitch, I would have.

Women aren’t as complex as you’re making them. They want a nigga that ain’t gonna have them looking goofy, like you were about to do. Good dick, reassurance, a provider, and a nigga that would air it out for them… all they want really. Not that fucking hard.

When it comes to you it’s always a big deal. The biggest fucking deal, you hear me?

Be her strength, not the nigga responsible for her weakness.

I walked from one side of the bathroom to the next convincing myself that just because she had a water head didn’t mean she wouldn’t drown if I shoved her head in the fucking fish tank in the front of the lounge.

Tui Snider is a freelance writer, travel blogger, and photographer specializing in offbeat sites, overlooked history, cultural traditions, and quirky travel destinations. Her travel articles and photos have appeared in BMIbaby, easyJet, Wizzit, Click, Ling, PlanetEye Traveler, iStopover, SkyEurope, and North Texas Farm and Ranch magazines, among others. She also wrote the shopping chapter for the “Time Out Naples: Capri, Sorrento, and the Amalfi Coast 2010” travel guidebook. This is her first book.

unavoidable. Kim pinched her nostrils between thumb and forefinger.

plaintiff’s

Do something pleasant for her when you get home. So, what are you working on?

mantra, while the plane continued its fall from the cloudless sky. Snow watched the cool-headed pilot in

Randy Wolf was surrounded by about six guys. Some were huge. The quarterback and his offensive line, Myron figured. “This butt-face bothering you, Pharm?” The one who said that was huge. He grinned at Myron. The guy had spiky blond hair, but what you first noticed, what you couldn’t help but notice, was that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Here they were at a party. There were girls and punch and music and dancing and even parents. And this guy wasn’t wearing a shirt. Randy didn’t say anything. Shirtless had barbed-wire tattoos around his bloated biceps. Myron frowned. The tattoos couldn’t have been more wannabe without the word wannabe actually being stenciled in. The guy was slabs and slabs of beef. His chest was so smooth it looked like someone had taken a sander to it. He rippled. His forehead was sloped. His eyes were red, indicating that at least some of the beer had found its way to the underaged. He wore calf-length pants that might have been capris, though Myron didn’t know if guys wore those or not. “What are you looking at, Butt-face?” Myron said, “Absolutely—and I mean this sincerely—absolutely nothing.” There

What are you listening to? I love that song.” “It’s the college station. Logan’s show is on,” I say with more than a smidgen of pride. “Hold on.” A second later, Logan’s voice echoes between my radio and hers, which would normally be annoying, but gravelly voice or not, it’s him. “We have a caller. Caller, we’re discussing when was the last time you told someone off. Go ahead.” “Eek.” I can picture her nose crinkle up. “He does not sound happy.” The caller’s voice echoes just like Logan’s did, but this person makes me want to clap my hands over my ears. “I know what’s wrong with you, A.L. It’s that girl, isn’t it? The one you had on the show last week. Well, I’m not going to say I told you so.” “Hold up! I know that voice,” Terra squeals. “I know, right? It’s been driving me crazy but I can’t—” Terra cuts me off. “That’s Rayann.” “No, this girl’s name is Capri.” I pause to listen more. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” Logan says. “If you say so,” Capri says, and it feels like a heavenly light of knowledge bursts through my ceiling to shine down while a choir sings in the background. Those words sound exactly as they did a couple of weeks ago when they were spoken to me. “Oh my good gravy, it is her!” I yell into the phone.

Darren,” Tate calls from the door behind me, “this train is about to leave.” Darren looks over my shoulder and nods, eyebrows tense, before he opens his arms and I walk into his embrace. Our chins sit on each other’s shoulders, my cheek against his warm, scruffy one. I try to ignore the sting in my eyes. I don’t know how to say good-bye. I don’t know what to say at all. “Seriously,” Tate calls again. “We’ve gotta go, bro.” We break apart and he’s about to slip his arms through the straps to his backpack when he digs in the front pouch and pulls out a paper sack. “I almost forgot,” he says, handing it to me. “For you.” “What is it?” “Just some things I found here and there.” Darren smiles and I turn to mush. “I’ll see you soon,” he says as we change places in the aisle and he backs toward the door. I manage a smile. “Promise?” He flashes his twisted tooth in a wide grin. “I promise. Bye, Pippa.” I raise my hand to wave at the same time he does, and he hops down the steps to the platform. I rush to my seat and watch the three of them through the window as they wave, then disappear into the crowded station. I reach into the little bag and pull out three refrigerator magnets: Pompeii, Positano, and Capri.

Capri? As in the pants?' "No, the color.

You’ve saved your money and bought a ticket to Fashion Week in Milan. All the world’s great clothing designers will be showing their startling and beautiful designs. You’ll be one of the first to see them! Or picture yourself in Rome. You’re at a performance of the opera Aïda, written by Italian composer Giuseppe Verdi. You’re seated amid eighteen-hundred-year-old ruins under a starry sky, listening to magnificent music. You’ve got your snowboard and warm clothing so you can glide down the slopes the world’s greatest skiers took during the 2006 Winter Olympics near Turin. Or perhaps it’s summer, and you’re going to explore the sea caves of Capri, off the coast of Naples. Later, you can take a look at the towering columns at Agrigento, among the temples the ancient Greeks built on the island of Sicily long before Italy existed. In any one of these places, you might be one of the millions of tourists who visit Italy every year. But alongside the tourists are Italians, also appreciative of the wonders of their own country.

The Islands The island of Capri lies off the end of the Sorrento Peninsula. Many sea caves break its coastline. Perhaps the most famous of these, the Blue Grotto, got its name from the way the sunlight strikes the water, making it a vivid blue.

Like I said, everyone has an Achilles’ heel. Nancy’s is pretty obvious.” Luc stabbed a straw through his Capri Sun. “There’s only one thing that she cares about in this whole entire world, that she’d throw her family in front of a tank for—if she even has a family, because I’m pretty sure she was hatched from an egg—and it’s those baby Origins.

To our far left was the little island of Capri, and to the right, around the bay, Vesuvius smouldered away in the distance, rising green and blue above the horizon with the sprawling city of Naples around its base.

explanation

After several rounds of burgers, the “debate prep” portion of the program finally started and consisted almost entirely of Roger Ailes telling war stories of prepping Ronald Reagan and George H. W. for debates. He said nothing of any substance that might help Trump in September against Hillary. Bannon was beside himself. He’d come all the way out to God-knew-where New Jersey for a cookout and war stories. Then, just when things couldn’t get any stranger, Paul Manafort appeared, dressed in boat shoes, white capri pants with string ties, and a blue blazer complete with a crest on the breast pocket. Thurston Howell III, Bannon thought.

We all need to withdraw from the world, occasionally. I think there are many ways people lose themselves into something they love to do.

too. No barking dogs or meowing cats or distant traffic noise. Even the wind was still. Nestled between Washington Avenue and Memorial Drive on Croft Street, the area could charitably be described as a

A whisper thin layer of civilization separates men from animals,

Most are sold into the commercial sex trade. Human trafficking is horrific, but nonetheless real. To learn how you can help prevent these crimes, check out the Operation61 website.

Alle torture della gelosia, più o meno dolorose secondo i casi, si mescola un'altra pena: ed è quella di essersi ingannati sul conto di una persona insieme alla quale abbiamo vissuto, notte e giorno, per lungo tempo, lo stupore e l'umiliazione di vederla, in un attimo, completamente diversa da come l'abbiamo sempre vista: quasi assistessimo, nei brevi istanti necessari per la rivelazione,a una metamorfosi crudele che si compie sotto i nostri occhi.

He reached out and caressed her bare arm.

I was serious when I said I was getting Capri help starting tomorrow. This cannot happen again. Even if I have to take Jamari in with me until she’s able to get better, that’s just what I was going to have to go.

She was beautiful. I didn’t notice until now, how much Troy and Capri resembled each other. She was a beautiful

I wanted to see my baby girl, Ruby, and check on Capri. My mother told me she wasn’t doing too well.

I knew Stash’s death was my fault but hearing Capri blame Camilla for it made me feel like shit. Capri and Camilla were best friends so I wasn’t sure how Camilla was going to feel towards Capri after hearing how she felt. 

Capri was really serious about not letting Camilla ride with her. I had to admit I was kind of scared too.

I knew they had something to do with Supreme’s disappearance. What Camilla and Capri didn't know was that I’d been fucking Supreme for a few months. I fell in love with him.

What threw me off was when Camilla hooked off on the chick that was with Chyna. I didn't know the back story to that until we got in the car and she told me that was the chick that lied and had her arrested, and how she and Capri knew Chyna from when she worked at the bar.

I would pay to see that. Camilla versus Capri, I’ll put my money on Capri. G-Ma taught her how to fight.

Everybody loves somebody sometime, but no one is loved by everyone all the time. Thomas

That we Americans believe in self-reliance, stoicism, courage, excellence, problem-solving, and achievement.

a pill or a syringe. I mean real

We can’t focus on everything that’s wrong with the world that we can’t fix, everything we failed to do right. You’d be paralyzed with indecision and do nothing worthwhile with your life.

Much to my discredit and shame, I had found that Iudas had taken my advice and hung himself. With a length of rope he went out to a high hill and did himself in. In the heat of the sun his insides burst over the valley floor, and now the locals are calling the place Hakeldama which means ‘the field of blood’’. Barabbas Bar Jesus gave up on the slavery business, fell in with the disciples, changed his name to Barnabas and went to Antioch to start a church. Tiberius Caesar being of great age and paranoia began bringing in people on various charges weather substantiated or not, starting with his advisors. With his popularity waning, Tiberius retired to the island of Capri and left his authority to General Sejanus who with great enthusiasm kept up with the treason trials.

I’ve always loved morning. It’s just that I usually sleep through it.

If you're a follower of Jesus, He has given you abundance so that you can care for others, not so you can stock up on capri pants for next summer or afford a leather interior in the new SUV. As long as you don't own the responsibility of being blessed with resources so that you can give to those around you, then you can stay focused on getting more for yourself.

You can remove someone from your mind, but the most difficult task is removing them from your heart. No matter how bad a nigga treats you, once you love him, that love for him still misses him when he’s gone.    

Maybe money corrupts absolutely.

emotional conflict undermines physical health and absence of stress promotes health.

Goal setting and visualization

seeking happiness is the most important quest, and achieving it is life’s best goal.

real happiness that comes from obtaining your life’s desires. It’s hard to achieve happiness because real happiness is so often confused with things. You look for a new house or a new job or a new relationship, because you think those things will make you happy. Really, the opposite is true. If you’re happy, you’ll enjoy your job or your house or your relationship, and all good things will flow to you.

made a mental note to look up whether

I see movies in my head when I think and

meet him?

So he put some sunscreen on? That’s odd, isn’t

in

or a hydrant or even a lake. Once a fire gets started, no way to put

Ze had niet het eeuwige leven met Peter verwacht, maar wel gehoopt op een iets langer avontuur samen.

The closest I got to fine wine when I was growing up was a Capri Sun that had been left by the radiator.

Elle held her breath as Darcy frowned thoughtfully. “Okay, got it. May I ask a question?” “Absolutely.” Elle gestured for Darcy to go on. “There’s no such thing as a stupid question. There’s a definite learning curve to this.” Darcy nodded. “All right. If your Jupiter is . . . in Virgo?” Elle nodded. “Where’s your Uranus?” “My Uranus is in Capri—” Elle froze. “Wow.” Darcy’s dimples deepened as she smiled impishly. “Sorry, it was just right there. You probably get that a lot.” “From frat boys and five-year-olds, not . . .” She trailed off, gesturing up and down in Darcy’s general direction with her free hand. “People like you.

Elle held her breath as Darcy frowned thoughtfully. “Okay, got it. May I ask a question?” “Absolutely.” Elle gestured for Darcy to go on. “There’s no such thing as a stupid question. There’s a definite learning curve to this.” Darcy nodded. “All right. If your Jupiter is . . . in Virgo?” Elle nodded. “Where’s your Uranus?” “My Uranus is in Capri—” Elle froze. “Wow.” Darcy’s dimples deepened as she smiled impishly. “Sorry, it was just right there. You probably get that a lot.” “From frat boys and five-year-olds, not . . .” She trailed off, gesturing up and down in Darcy’s general direction with her free hand. “People like you.” “People like me?” Darcy’s brows rose and fell. “Like me how?” People who drank fifty-six-dollar glasses of wine and wore tight little pencil skirts and Christian Louboutin heels and worked as actuaries. Insufferable know-it-alls with cunning sensibilities and kissable little moon-shaped freckles. People with eyes like burnt caramel and full lips that looked candy-apple sweet. People who . . . who . . . Elle waved the notebooks in the air. “I don’t know. Which is why I’m here. I figured, we’d drink a little wine, play twenty questions, jot down our notes, and get to know each other a little. Make this charade a little more believable, if not truthful. Or close enough to assuage my conscience.” Darcy did that thing where she stared, brown eyes studying Elle from across the living room. It was only a look and yet it made Elle feel weirdly naked. “If you think it’s silly, we can—” “No.” Darcy shook her head and stepped closer, nudging the remaining bag with a stocking-covered toe. Stockings. Fuck. Elle sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. Pantyhose were the bane of her existence—if she so much as tried to put on a pair, she’d immediately get a run—but on Darcy . . . Elle tore her eyes away and feigned interest in ripping open the cardboard pen packaging. Darcy went on, “It’s not silly. No doubt Brendon will dig for details. It’s important for us to be on the same page. Good idea.

come. Shorty took the stairs with the same three-at-a-time

Archived service records, defined as records for veterans sixty-two years or more post-separation, were stored and open to the public at the new National Personnel Records Center in St. Louis, Missouri

For although Hailey thought nothing of leaping from the highest diving platform or swimming so far out to sea that she disappeared from sight, she was easily frightened by other things - a future she couldn't control, for instance, or the notion that a lifelong friendship might be lost at the end of the week when the Capri closed down for good and Claire moved away.

haven’t

and

Holy shit. How did going to the pet store to buy a hamster cage turn into being chased by vampires who wanted to suck the juice out of me like a human Capri Sun?

Asked my secretary to schedule

now the “C Club” is having difficulty making ends meet.

ubiquitous un-sticky note

They poke their little straws into your Capri Sun soul and they suck.

General’s

She had become an ascetic of the suburban sort; she still poured a little whiskey into her tea and wore pastel capri pants and chain-smoked, but she also thought a lot—an overwhelming lot, she told me—about hell.

I’d let her check you out before you try to touch---“ But it was too late. Nathan duck-walked with to Bernadette and the little dog closed the distance between them with a wagging hind end. She turned in circles against his leg like a cat as he patted her. I guess no one’s immune to him. “Aw, Bernadette, you’re sweet.” Nathan looked up at Morgan. “How old is she?” Morgan felt a jolt rush through her. Men like Nathan weren’t supposed to be walking around in the wild like regular mortals, they belonged on catwalks or judging people from beachside cafés in Capri with fellow supermodels. It was hard to have a conversation with him because her brain couldn’t process anything other than the fact that physically, he was as close to perfect as a human could be. He acts like he doesn’t know it, but he has to know it. “Eleven,” she managed to squeak out. “You don’t look a day over ten. Right, cutie?” He rubbed Bernadette’s ear and she closed her eyes in ecstasy.

This one is more important that the blessing.” “What?” “I’m asking,” I looked at both of them, “the both of you to give me the respect that you both have when it comes to your own relationships. Give that to me when it comes to me and Capri.” “Wait a minute. You in a relationship with her already? I’m fucking confused,” Capone questioned. “Nah… I’m talking about if we get to that place. I watch the both of you with your wives… nobody can tell you shit when it comes to Erin, and nobody damn sure can’t tell you shit when it comes to Alaia. Your relationships and marriages are off limits. Not up for discussion, which I respect. Shit, you both don’t even intervene with each other’s marriages.” I paused. “I’m telling you not to do it with mine. Capri is grown… allow her to have her shit. Be there as her brothers… she doesn’t need more fathers, she got one already. I’m stepping forward and taking responsibility for her… that’s mine. I got her, and you know when I give my word, that I take that shit seriously. I’ve told you since day one when you asked me to hold her down, that I had her…I’ve stood on my word and came through on that shit.” Capp sat there and I could tell he was digesting everything that I had said. He was the type that let shit absorb before reacting or responding and it was something I respected about him. “Quasim, when the fuck did pissy ass Quameer become a man?” “Nigga, I ain’t never pissed the fucking bed in my life,” I replied, cutting that shit right now. These niggas weren’t about to be calling me fucking pissy. “It always been in him… nigga built like the rest… I have no doubt that he’ll be the man that Capri wants and needs by her side. Big Pri not some baby… your sister holds her own and has held her own numerous times. Give her the space to hold her own when it comes to her personal life.” “I’ve witnessed you do some ruthless shit in the streets without blinking an eye. With Baby Doll, you are different. You soften whenever she’s around, and I’ve watched you follow her around whatever room she’s in. It reminds me of how I feel with my wife… I’ll murk a nigga and put on a damn seaweed mask if she asks me. I’m soft and vulnerable for my wife. How you protected her in Baltimore, I know you’ll protect her. In Miami, when you kicked that nigga in the face, I know you’ll spill blood behind her.” “He fucking what?” Quasim blurted. Capp stood up. “You got my blessing to pursue Baby Doll. Protect her and her heart… that shit is made out of gold,” he patted me on the back as we hugged. “You got my word.

She needed to be fucked – hard.

She should have known I would crash out behind her sexy ass. You don’t give me good pussy while moaning in my ear and think we don’t go together. With how good her pussy was, I already picked out her engagement ring, the granite in our new crib and named all three of our kids, cause she was giving me three seeds. If that wasn’t enough, I was silently debating on which kind of damn doodle dog we would get. I was jealous and possessive over her, and I wasn’t gonna sit back and be the bigger man. Sometimes being the bigger man meant you had to shoot a nigga and let the nigga look up at you

Sug, you know I respect you… right?” “Yes… I know,” she continued to kiss on my neck. I smirked. “I’m about to fuck you like I don’t… ight?

And you ain’t got no panties on… you was really trying to make me crash the fuck out, Suga.” “All my thongs were showing my panty line,” I squealed as he took a handful of ass in his hand and slapped it a few more times.

Aceite isso como uma boa menina, meu amor,” when he spoke Portuguese in my ear, I just about lost it and the dam broke, releasing everything I had inside of me. “Me…Meer,” I cried out because my body felt so good. He slowed down, hugging me into him while he bit my neck, and I felt his dick pulsating inside of me. “I swear to God I will kill a nigga behind you,

Oh shit… I’m almost stepped on your tongue,” Alaia’s smart ass said, pulling me from watching my Suga handle business.

Before I violate you, what the fuck do you want? Your daughter is sleep, no I didn’t fuck Capri while she was here, and I damn sure plan to after I drop her off … what up?

I don’t give a fuck about who came before me, I just know that no nigga coming after me unless he wanna get a certificate.” “Certificate?” “Death certificate, Suga. All gas, no sense when it comes to you.” He paused. “I just have trouble figuring out if you on the same type of time that I’m on.

I don’t give a fuck who I piss off as your husband, Suga. As long as I know my wife is comfortable, I’ll be the villain in anybody’s story… including your family.” I kissed

[Martha] Stewart has just come downstairs dressed in an orange polo shirt and orange Capri pants. On her feet are gold clogs . . . and on her right ankle, very much in view, is the black electronie monitoring device she is forced to wear [as a term of home confinement after she was found] guilty of lying to investigators probing the ImClone insider-trading scandal. . . . ‘I hate lock down. It's hideous,’ she announces.” Matt Tyrnauer, “The Prisoner of Bedford,” August 2005

Yeah, if I ever find the right one… I’m chilling right now.” He chuckled and my father squeezed his shoulder.

Almost to the end, he had kept pace with his convulsed century, detached but not dispassionate; aiming for the heart.

How you go from lover boy to lowkey threatening me.” I smiled, secretly loving the fact that he didn’t play behind me.

Ryder walked over toward her father and swiped his tears away. “Suga, will you marry us? We can have the same last name, too,” she added, to sweeten the deal.