Chargers Quotes

You riding in the charger?" "Nah. I'm going to see if I can get Abby on the back of my bike again. It's the closest I can get to the inside of her thighs

One day I would have all the books in the world, shelves and shelves of them. I would live my life in a tower of books. I would read all day long and eat peaches. And if any young knights in armor dared to come calling on their white chargers and plead with me to let down my hair, I would pelt them with peach pits until they went home.

Shepley jogged around the front of the Charger, and then slid into the driver’s seat. “I’m still taking the official position that this is a bad idea.” “Noted.” “Then where?” “Steiner’s.” “The jewelry store?” “Yep.” “Why, Travis?” Shepley said, his voice more stern than before. “You’ll see.” He shook his head. “Are you trying to run her off?” “It’s going to happen, Shep. I just want to have it. For when the time is right.” “No time any time soon is right. I am so in love with America that it drives me crazy sometimes, but we’re not old enough for that shit, yet, Travis. And … what if she says no?” My teeth clenched at the thought. “I won’t ask her until I know she’s ready.” Shepley’s mouth pulled to the side. “Just when I think you can’t get any more insane, you do something else to remind me that you are far beyond bat shit crazy.” “Wait until you see the rock I’m getting.” Shepley craned his neck slowly in my direction. “You’ve already been over there shopping, haven’t you?” I smiled.

Mia looked over the new bruises on Tric's face, shook her head. 'My brave centurion. Riding in on his charger to save his poor damsel? Hold me, brave sir, I fear I shall swoon.

Bobby Tom told me he’s not afraid of the Chargers’ defense.” “Bobby Tom’ll tell you he’s not afraid of nuclear war, so I wouldn’t put too much stock in his opinion.

Class starts in five. You riding in the Charger?” “Nah. I’m going to see if I can get Abby on the back of my bike again. It’s the closest I can get to the inside of her thighs.

He changes when there's a threat to be overcome: it's like he pulls on a second skin, one he almost forgets the rest of the time, and becomes a hero again. A tired, old hero, one who wields a pen instead of a sword and rides waves of paperwork rather than a white charger, but still a hero.​

For a small smartphone charger, if it’s not warm to the touch, it’s using less than a penny a year. This is true of almost any powered device.1

I would read all day long and eat peaches. And if any young knights in armor dared to come calling on their white chargers and plead with me to let down my hair, I would pelt them with peach pits until they went home.

It's one of the many reasons I love being around Abigail. We can talk on the phone for five hours straight in the evenings, stopping only to grab our phone chargers or a glass of water, but we can also just sit together and watch the changing scenery through the window.

Oh.” I still sat on the floor and was too deflated to get up. “Well, that’s not very helpful.” “You know, before coming here, I forgot to think about you and your needs.” “Why would you pack a dead phone? Is the charger in there?” “You tell me.

I had left the truck where I had crashed it—smashed into a pole by the charger station that had appeared out of nowhere when I had tried to park under a covered awning. Driving was a lot simpler than parking, it seemed.

The unveiled Algerian woman, who assumed an increasingly important place in revolutionary action, developed her personality, discovered the exalting realm of responsibility. The freedom of the Algerian people from then on became identified with woman's liberation, with her entry into history. This woman who, in the avenues of Algier or of Constantine, would carry the grenades or the submachine-gun chargers, this woman who tomorrow would be outraged, violated, tortured, could not put herself back into her former state of mind and relive her behaviour of the past; this woman who was writing the heroic pages of Algerian history was, in so doing, bursting the bounds of the narrow in which she had lived without responsibility, and was at the same time participating in the destruction of colonialism and in the birth of a new woman.

charger and dialed Troy’s number while pacing in front of the window. He answered on the first ring. “Hey, I’m—” “One week? One week was your limit? You said as long as it takes, so where are you?” She swallowed around the tightness in her throat. “You said I was your pain in the ass. Well, get your ass over here so I can be a pain in it.

But the changes from the crab apple to the pippin, from the wolf and fox to the house dog, from the charger of Henry V to the brewer’s draught horse and the racehorse, are real; for here Man has played the god, subduing Nature to his intention, and ennobling or debasing life for a set purpose. And what can be done with a wolf can be done with a man.

I want to see the manager." "Is there anything I could do, sir?" Archie looked at him doubtfully. "Well, as a matter of fact, my dear old desk-clerk," he said, "I want to kick up a fearful row, and it hardly seems fair to lug you into it. Why you, I mean to say? The blighter whose head I want on a charger is the bally manager.

Many people will panic to find a charger before their phone dies. But won't panic to find a plan before their dreams dies.

But she saw nothing in my eyes—she stared at me as though I had made a long journey on a white charger all the way to her prison house.

I swear to God if that fucking prick is using my phone charger

Je suis trop intelligente, trop exigeante et trop riche pour que personne puisse se charger de moi entièrement. Personne ne me connaît ni ne m'aime tout entière. Je n'ai que moi. Il ne faut pas que j'essaie de tromper cette solitude en renonçant à ce que je peux seule porter. Il faut que je vive, sachant que personne ne m'aidera à vivre. Ma force, c'est que je m'estime aussi haut que n'importe quel autrui ; je peux bien envier à l'un ou l'autre telle qualité ; de personne la valeur ne me semble dépasser la mienne : je possède autant. Seule je vivrai, forte de ce que je sais être.

Don’t get it twisted, on most days I’d prefer cold, hard cash so I can do some damage in a bookstore or buy a new laptop that doesn’t die whenever it’s separated from its charger for more than a minute.

Think of your focus as a charger. It sends more power to where you channel the energy. You can charge up aggression, problems, and conflicts or wellness, compassion, and harmony. You can charge peace or war, love or hate, success or failure. You are the connecting factor between creative energy and reality.

Living with Kit was like living in a pixie nest. Every night, I’d find my phone charger relocated to my nightstand and my water bottle beside it, refilled at the precise temperature I liked. Dates circled themselves on the calendar. Fresh flowers appeared whenever the old ones wilted. And no matter how carelessly I unloaded the dishwasher, when I checked the back of the utensil drawer, the measuring spoons were always there.

Honey, have you seen my measuring tape?” “I think it’s in that drawer in the kitchen with the scissors, matches, bobby pins, Scotch tape, nail clippers, barbecue tongs, garlic press, extra buttons, old birthday cards, soy sauce packets thick rubber bands, stack of Christmas napkins, stained take-out menus, old cell-phone chargers, instruction booklet for the VCR, some assorted nickels, an incomplete deck of cards, extra chain links for a watch, a half-finished pack of cough drops, a Scrabble piece I found while vacuuming, dead batteries we aren’t fully sure are dead yet, a couple screws in a tiny plastic bag left over from the bookshelf, that lock with the forgotten combination, a square of carefully folded aluminum foil, and expired pack of gum, a key to our old house, a toaster warranty card, phone numbers for unknown people, used birthday candles, novelty bottle openers, a barbecue lighter, and that one tiny little spoon.” “Thanks, honey.” AWESOME!

The five-foot blade crushed Strabonus' casque and skull, and the king's charger reared screaming, hurling a limp and sprawling corpse from the saddle. A great cry went up from the host, which faltered and gave back.

Shepley trotó alrededor de la parte delantera del Charger, y luego se deslizó en el asiento del conductor. —Todavía estoy tomando la posición oficial de que esto es una mala idea. —Anotado. —Entonces, ¿a dónde? —Steiner. —¿La joyería? —Sip. —¿Por qué, Travis? —dice Shepley, su voz más severa que antes. —Ya verás. Niega con su cabeza. —¿Estás tratando de ahuyentarla? —Va a suceder, Shep. Sólo quiero tenerlo. Para cuando llegue el momento. —No hay momento en el corto plazo ahora mismo. Estoy tan enamorado de América que me vuelve loco a veces, pero no somos lo suficiente mayores para esa mierda, todavía, Travis. Y… ¿qué si ella dice que no? Mis dientes se apretaron ante la idea. —No se lo pediré hasta que sepa que está lista. La boca se Shepley tira hacia un lado. —Justo cuando crees que no puedes conseguir nada más loco, haces algo más para recordarme que estas mucho más allá del loco palo de mierda. —Espera a ver la roca que voy a recibir. Shepley estiró su cuello lentamente en mi dirección. —Ya has estado allí de compras, ¿cierto? Sonreí.

California, Labor Day weekend...early, with ocean fog still in the streets, outlaw motorcyclists wearing chains, shades and greasy Levis roll out from damp garages, all-night diners and cast-off one-night pads in Fricso, Hollywood, Berdoo and East Oakland, heading for the Monterey peninsula, north of Big Sur...The Menace is loose again, the Hell's Angels, the hundred-carat headline, running fast and loud on the early morning freeway, low in the saddle, nobody smiles, jamming crazy through traffic and ninety miles an hour down the center stripe, missing by inches...like Genghis Khan on an iron horse, a monster steed with a fiery anus, flat out through the eye of a beer can and up your daughter's leg with no quarter asked and non given; show the squares some class, give em a whiff of those kicks they'll never know...Ah, these righteous dudes, they love to screw it on...Little Jesus, the Gimp, Chocolate George, Buzzard, Zorro, Hambone, Clean Cut, Tiny, Terry the Tramp, Frenchy, Mouldy Marvin, Mother Miles, Dirty Ed, Chuck the Duck, Fat Freddy, Filthy Phil, Charger Charley the Child Molester, Crazy Cross, Puff, Magoo, Animal and at least a hundred more...tense for the action, long hair in the wind, beards and bandanas flapping, earrings, armpits, chain whips, swastikas and stripped-down Harleys flashing chrome as traffic on 101 moves over, nervous, to let the formation pass like a burst of dirty thunder...

Heat flow analysis provides a simple rule of thumb: If an unused charger isn’t warm to the touch, it’s using less than a penny of electricity a day. For a small smartphone charger, if it’s not warm to the touch, it’s using less than a penny a year. This is true of almost any powered device.1

Perhaps there was a secret door down low in the wall, a door only large enough for a child. If I stepped through that door, I would be in another world, in fairyland perhaps. It would be warm and bright there, and I would have a magical wand to protect myself. I'd ride on the back of a dragonfly, swooping through the forest. I'd battle dragons and talk to birds and have all kinds of grand adventures. Later, I found that small door into fairyland could be conjured any time I needed it. The world beyond the door was different every time. Sometimes, I found a little stone house in the woods where I could live with just Nanette and my sister, Marie, and a tabby cat who purred by the fire. Sometimes, I lived in a castle in the air with a handsome prince who loved me. Other times, I was the prince myself, with a golden sword and a white charger.

With the toss of one last cardigan, I reveal … nothing. The suitcase is empty. I blink. My charger isn’t here. There is literally nowhere else it could be. I know it’s not in my purse. I check my purse for a third time anyway. It’s not even like I can borrow one. Deciding to be an Android in an iPhone family? Literally the worst decision ever right now.

Whipped cream isn't whipped cream at all unless it's been whipped with whips. Everybody knows that.

Worry and guilt and regret may serve a function—as a turbo-charger of conscience—but in excess they are useless and incapacitating.

Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear

It is easy to have sex in dark but difficult to plug in your charger.

Bobby Tom told me he’s not afraid of the Chargers’ defense.” “Bobby Tom’ll tell you he’s not afraid of nuclear war, so I wouldn’t put too much stock in his opinion.

To have an extra ordinary result you must have an extra ordinary mindset. Your mindset is the only game charger to play the game of success and win.

Worry and guilt and regret may serve a function—as a turbo-charger of conscience—but in excess they are useless and incapacitating. Yet I cannot silence them.

To shrink back from all that can be called Nature into negative spirituality is as if we ran away from horses instead of learning to ride. There is in our present pilgrim condition plenty of room (more room than most of us like) for abstinence and renunciation and mortifying our natural desires. But behind all asceticism the thought should be, ‘Who will trust us with the true wealth if we cannot be trusted even with the wealth that perishes?’ Who will trust me with a spiritual body if I cannot control even an earthly body? These small and perishable bodies we now have were given to us as ponies are given to schoolboys. We must learn to manage: not that we may some day be free of horses altogether but that some day we may ride bare-back, confident and rejoicing, those greater mounts, those winged, shining and world- shaking horses which perhaps even now expect us with impatience, pawing and snorting in the King’s stables. Not that the gallop would be of any value unless it were a gallop with the King; but how else— since He has retained His own charger—should we accompany Him?

I'm over it. All the little costs of having ADHD that add up in the long run. Lost customers. Overdue bills. Replacement phone chargers. Time spent looking for things. The way it makes me feel, like a child. As if everyone else is a real adult and I'm just pretending. The frustration that I can't do the simple, everyday things that most people can. Like laundry, and making phone calls, and remembering to take out something from the freezer for dinner. It's the missed deadlines for opportunities I could've had. The broken relationships. How people think I'm lazy and selfish. How they think I don't care. How I think I'm lazy and selfish, even though I know I care.

had no courage to think that at first, heavenly kind as was your welcome to me. But soon I began to hope, and then I said, 'I will haf her if I die for it,' and so I will!" cried Mr. Bhaer, with a defiant nod, as if the walls of mist closing round them were barriers which he was to surmount or valiantly knock down. Jo thought that was splendid, and resolved to be worthy of her knight, though he did not come prancing on a charger in gorgeous array.

To all of you alive people walking around, taking your multivitamins and busy being Lutheran or getting colonoscopies, you need to invest in a good-quality, long-lasting wristwatch with day and date functions. Don't count on getting any cell phone reception in Hell, and don't think for a second you'll have the forethought to die with your charger cord in hand or even find yourself locked inside a rusted jail cell with a compatible electrical outlet.

Mr. Darcy regains my interest. As if he ever lost it. “Mmhmm, thanks.” The phone clicks back in its charger. My sister springs up from the floor mummy-style. “That traitor!” Okay, Darcy, see you later. I close the book. “Who was that?

And that's the last oath I shall ever be able to swear," she thought; "once I set foot on English soil. And I shall never be able to crack a man over the head, or tell him he lies in his teeth, or draw my sword and run him through the body, or sit among my peers, or wear a coronet, or walk in procession, or sentence a man to death, or lead an army, or prance down Whitehall on a charger, or wear seventy-two different medals on my breast. All I can do, once I set foot on English soil, is to pour out tea and ask my lords how they like it. D'you take sugar? D'you take cream?" And mincing out the words, she was horrified to perceive how low an opinion she was forming of the other sex, the manly, to which it had once been her pride to belong.

Imagine three days of God gone missing. Now, imagine my lifetime of it. Better to build your own sepulcher inside an idling Charger - gorged and crimson. I’d rather roll up on God’s pearly in a blood-red Benz or BMW. Any fancy casket will do.

As she fought the slick roads, her phone rang. She cursed herself for not plugging it into her car charger, at least then she could’ve answered through the hands free device. The next bend was coming up, she knew from her daily drives up and down. Her knuckles were white from the death grip she had on the steering wheel.

The Charger whined as I drove far beyond the speed limit back to my father's. I stumbled into the living room, and Thomas handed me a bottle of whiskey. They all had some in a glass. "You told them?"I asked Trenton, my voice broken. Trenton nodded. I collapsed to my knees, and my brothers surrounded me, placing their hands on my head shoulders for support.

the habit of bed making is correlated with a sense of greater well-being and higher productivity. Other common broken windows include having a messy car; accumulating piles of laundry or trash; not being able to find important items, like a passport or a phone charger; hanging on to stacks of newspapers, magazines, and catalogs; wearing pajamas or sweats all day; or not shaving or showering

At a play-off game with the Chargers, goose bumps ran down my arms as I rushed through the smoke-filled tunnel onto the field. The energy and voices of 70,000 screaming fans can turn even a veteran player’s determined squint into the wide eyes of a child on Christmas morning. While the cheerleaders performed and urged on the crowd, running back Danny Woodhead turned to me. “Can you believe we get to do this?

Billy had not been her first lover, but he was the first she could not dance and dandle at her whim. Before him her boys had been clever marionettes with clear, pimple-free faces and parents with connections and country-club memberships. They drove their own VWs or Javelins or Dodge Chargers. They went to UMass or Boston College. They wore fraternity windbreakers in the fall and muscle shirts with bright stripes in the summer.

The fairy let her go and pulled aside a piece of bright gold-and-pink silk hanging on the wall. Behind it was the fairy's own private room. She had a soft bed of bright green moss with several iridescent feathers for a counterpane. A shelf mushroom served as an actual shelf displaying an assortment of dried flowers and pretty gewgaws the fairy had collected. There was a charming little dining table, somewhat bold in irony: It was the cheery but deadly red-and-white amanita. The wide top was set with an acorn cap bowl and jingle shell charger. In the corner, a beautifully curved, bright green leaf collected drops from somewhere in the celling much like the water barrel did, but this was obviously for discreet fairy bathing. An assortment of tiny buds, rough seeds, and spongy moss were arranged neatly on a piece of gray driftwood nearby to aid in cleansing.

flutes of champagne bubbled, champagne with raw strawberries, champagne with whipped cream." This evocative description highlights the luxurious and decadent atmosphere of the party, showcasing whipped cream as part of a lavish culinary experience.

This is true of any device that uses power, which is a handy thing to know. For example, people worry about leaving disconnected chargers plugged into the wall for fear that they’re draining power. Are they right? Heat flow analysis provides a simple rule of thumb: If an unused charger isn’t warm to the touch, it’s using less than a penny of electricity a day. For a small smartphone charger, if it’s not warm to the touch, it’s using less than a penny a year. This is true of almost any powered device.

Most of the time, however, people being afraid of you is aggravating, embarrassing, and dispiriting. You take steps to allay the fear. You look down on the elevator. You wear your college T-shirt, and conspicuously display your work ID. You love the Dodge Charger, but if you buy the Mini Cooper you won’t get pulled over as much. You try not to care. But it comes to feel like you are apologizing for your existence. It eats you up inside because it is relentless. Every time you leave your home, you are the star of a bizarre security theater.

Twice a day the small white compact moved, for meals, she guessed, or bathroom breaks, and about four times a day the Hummer and the Charger swapped positions, but there was apparently no coordination between the agencies, because once a day in the early morning everyone was missing at the same time, for about twenty minutes. Zero agents, zero hour. The street went back to its normal self. Some kind of logic issue, she supposed, or simple math, like in class, with x number of cars, and y number of locations, and z number of hours to cover. Something had to give.

XII.—LOCHINVAR. Oh! young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone; So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone; He swam the Esk river, where ford there was none; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late; For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all; Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword - For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word - "Oh! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" "I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar - "Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume: And the bride's-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung. "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

don’t know about justice. I’ve never seen myself on a white charger, righting wrongs – but we have to catch people so that they can’t create all this again. And so that other people get the message – you will be caught, you will pay. We never know how many selfish acts we prevent when we show people the consequences, but we have to keep showing them the consequences. These are the consequences.’ Smith had raised a hand, palm open towards the new grave. ‘You think it’s just selfishness?’ ‘Just? Makes it sound trivial. All crime is caused by selfishness, I say. It’s the ‘Me first, my needs first’ attitude.

But what offering can I consecrate to you, oh Master? - You, who have bestowed hearing upon all creatures? - My memory of one spring day, In the evening, in Russia, - a stallion ... Running alone from the hamlet across to us The pale horse, a tethering-peg dangling from his fetlock, To spend a night solitary in the meadow; How he shook his tangled mane, Tossed in time to his haughty step, Despite his clumsily impeded gallop. How the fountains leapt up of his charger’s blood! He intuited the vastnesses and, oh from that He sang! He heard! - yes, your cycle of legends Was embraced within him. His image: that I offer.

Pour écrire vite, il faut avoir beaucoup pensé, — avoir trimballé un sujet avec soi, à la promenade, au bain, au restaurant, et presque chez sa maîtresse. E. Delacroix me disait un jour : « L’art est une chose si idéale et si fugitive, que les outils ne sont jamais assez propres, ni les moyens assez expéditifs. » Il en est de même de la littérature ; — je ne suis donc pas partisan de la rature ; elle trouble le miroir de la pensée ... Couvrir une toile n’est pas la charger de couleurs, c’est ébaucher en frottis, c’est disposer des masses en tons légers et transparents. — La toile doit être couverte — en esprit — au moment où l’écrivain prend la plume pour écrire le titre.

Her Grace dispatched me to figure out what has you lot glowering like a matched set of gargoyles.” Percival, the Duke of Moreland, surveyed his three sons, all of whom were clutching their drinks with the grim resignation of grown men being sociable under duress. This was odd, since all of his children were more than comfortable in social settings. “We’re that obvious?” Valentine asked. “To Her Grace, all is transparent when it comes to her family. I suppose we’re waiting for Sophie’s swain to come to his senses and gallop up the drive on his white charger?” St. Just stood by the window, peering through a crack in the drapes. “It’s a bay, actually, and the idiot man is finally here.

Though in many natural objects, whiteness refiningly enhances beauty, as if imparting some special virtue of its own, as in marbles, japonicas, and pearls; and though various nations have in some way recognised a certain royal preeminence in this hue; even the barbaric, grand old kings of Pegu placing the title “Lord of the White Elephants” above all their other magniloquent ascriptions of dominion; and the modern kings of Siam unfurling the same snow-white quadruped in the royal standard; and the Hanoverian flag bearing the one figure of a snow-white charger; and the great Austrian Empire, Caesarian, heir to overlording Rome, having for the imperial color the same imperial hue; and though this pre-eminence in it applies to the human race itself, giving the white man ideal mastership over every dusky tribe; and though, besides, all this, whiteness has been even made significant of gladness, for among the Romans a white stone marked a joyful day; and though in other mortal sympathies and symbolizings, this same hue is made the emblem of many touching, noble things— the innocence of brides, the benignity of age; though among the Red Men of America the giving of the white belt of wampum was the deepest pledge of honor; though in many climes, whiteness typifies the majesty of Justice in the ermine of the Judge, and contributes to the daily state of kings and queens drawn by milk-white steeds; though even in the higher mysteries of the most august religions it has been made the symbol of the divine spotlessness and power; by the Persian fire worshippers, the white forked flame being held the holiest on the altar; and in the Greek mythologies, Great Jove himself being made incarnate in a snow-white bull; and though to the noble Iroquois, the midwinter sacrifice of the sacred White Dog was by far the holiest festival of their theology, that spotless, faithful creature being held the purest envoy they could send to the Great Spirit with the annual tidings of their own fidelity; and though directly from the Latin word for white, all Christian priests derive the name of one part of their sacred vesture, the alb or tunic, worn beneath the cassock; and though among the holy pomps of the Romish faith, white is specially employed in the celebration of the Passion of our Lord; though in the Vision of St. John, white robes are given to the redeemed, and the four-and-twenty elders stand clothed in white before the great-white throne, and the Holy One that sitteth there white like wool; yet for all these accumulated associations, with whatever is sweet, and honorable, and sublime, there yet lurks an elusive something in the innermost idea of this hue, which strikes more of panic to the soul than that redness which affrights in blood.

Since the time I had ridden Vodalus’s charger out of Saltus, I had supposed in my innocence that all mounts might be divided into two sorts: the highbred and swift, and the cold-blooded and slow. The better, I thought, ran with the graceful ease, almost, of a coursing cat; the worse moved so tardily that it hardly mattered how they did it. It used to be a maxim of one of Thecla’s tutors that all two-valued systems are false, and I discovered on that ride a new respect for him. My benefactor’s mount belonged to that third class (which I have since discovered is fairly extensive) comprising those animals that outrace the birds but seem to run with legs of iron upon a road of stone. Men have numberless advantages over women and for that

Get a move on, Perico, and go ask him for the battery charger," and the apprentice hurried out, but everything was like a dream and what was the point of any of it: battery chargers, wrenches, mechanics, and he felt sorry for the terrified little boy because, he thought, all of us are dreaming and why punish kids and why fix cars and have crushes on nice boys and then get married and have children who also dream that they're alive, who have to suffer, go off to war or fight or give up hope all on account of mere dreams. He was simply drifting along now, like a boat without a crew swept along by shifting currents, and moving mechanically like those invalids who have lost almost all will and consciousness and yet allow themselves to be moved by the nurses and obey the instructions they are given with the obscure remains of that will and that consciousness without knowing why. The 493, he thought, I go as far as Chacarita and then I take the subway to Florida and then I walk from there to the hotel. So he got on the 493 and mechanically asked for a ticket, and for half an hour continued to see ghosts dreaming of things that kept them very busy; at the Florida stop he went out the exit on the Calle San Martin, walked along the Corrientes to Reconquista and from there headed for the Warszawa rooming house, Accommodations for Gentlemen, went up dirty, dilapidated stairs to the fourth floor, and threw himself on the wretched bed as though he had been wandering through labyrinths for centuries.

Chapter One: The Dawn and the Dread Heartbeat, heartbeat comes from Valhallan way, To meet down in judgment, to ply its trade. Two →swords← to join in worthy cross, Actions to be rendered, one to be lost. She did come now from ’yond northern slope, A day of reckoning did she again once hope. A devout meeting was her qwesterly bane, To stay her hand was to go insane. St. Kari of the Blade to meet her past, A wicked enemy, peerless of match. Rode Kari she her charger on down, Past the Dead Land where Gaul sat crowned. A killing job, yea, she desired to lastly kill, To set things right so her heart might lie still. Upon the mist and roaring plain, She entered in, a soul uncontained. A fierce wind in deed, and forever freed, Enemies she annihilhates (’tis hur’ creed). Her own advanced guard of a sort, Multitudes to follow in her report. Know this Valkyrie from on cold, An ancient maiden soft and bold. A warrior spirit from Ages past, A fragmented mind like broken glass. Solid in stature this eternal framed being, Yet crippled within from internaled bleedings. A sword saint so refined in the poetic art, A noble character yet with a banshee’s heart. Rhythmed horse now to the beats, Kari emboldened amid the sleet. Beyond the mountain she does come, Unto southern fields wherein rules hot sun. Far from that murderous Deadlands ground, The land up swells; the dead still abound. Traverses she those bygones of leprous civilizations Those cities crumbled by the exhalted of oblivions. Stark traces etched now bare in the land, That are no more again, save dust in the hand. A cool stream now in desert sans (Does more good when one is damned). Stopped she her mount to admire the flow, A lovely stream with skeletons packed below. Blue air whisps; dragon flied motion. Flintsteel striking!!! Sparked of commotion. Cold water chortles rushtish with tint, Told of past carnage, it whetted her glint. Fallen warriors, they are no more, Swirls and eddies mark their discord. Gurgled shouts slung and gathered, Faces glazed while steel lathered. Refreshing though it was to her mouth, She smelled an air; she flared about. Came up that ridge of loud, sanded hill, Below a man and his half-score of kills. Kari’s eyes waxed in smug contempt, Possibilities ran deep with no repent . . . On Kari, Valkyrie, Cold Steel Eternity Vol. II

You called?" Sounding casual is difficult when it feels like you're heart's river-dancing in your rib cage. "Yes. I just wondered where you were. You didn't answer your cell. Is everything okay?" She sighs, but I can't tell if it's in relief or parental aggravation. "Everything's fine. My battery is dead, but Galen bought me a charger to keep over here, so it's charging." "How sweet of him," she says, knowing good and well she instructed him to do so. "Well, just wanted to check in. Should I wait up for you? I don't appreciate you missing curfew the last few nights. Technically, staying over there until four in the morning is a coed sleepover, which I don't allow, or had you forgotten? Your trip to Florida with Galen's family was a special circumstance." "I stayed the night at Chloe's all the time with JJ there." JJ is Chloe's eight-year-old brother. Not a great comeback, but it will have to do.

Give me that charger, you fucking BITCH, you haven't got any guys to talk to on the phone anyway! Everyone knows you WISH you'd been raped but there's no one who WANTS to do it!" Tails doesn't remember exactly what happened after that. He remembers Elisabeth desperately tugging at his arms from behind, trying to make him let go. His son is dangling, horrified, in the grip of his father's huge hands, and Tails hits him against the wall time and time again, shouting at him. His daughter opens her door, numb with shock. Elisabeth finally manages to wrestle her almost 220-pound husband to the floor, and he lies there hugging his son. They're both crying, one out of fear and the other out of shame. "You can't become that sort of man. I won't let you ... I love you, I love you so much . . . you need to be better than me ," Tails repeats, over and over again, in his son's ear, without letting go of him.

Shanti posa sa main sur la mienne et me dit avec compassion: «Alors, arrête de charger ton bocal de sable, Maëlle. Vis tes rêves, prends soin de toi, de ton cœur, de ton corps, de tes envies, des gens que tu aimes. Remplis-toi de ce que tu es et cesse d’avoir peur de souffrir, c’est cette peur qui t’empêche d’être heureuse et t’enferme dans tes blessures.» Je fixai Shanti, en pleurs. Il poursuivit: «Prends le risque de vivre et d’être ce qui t’habite. Emplis ton bocal, caillou par caillou, gravier par gravier, grain de sable par grain de sable en considérant chacune de tes priorités. À chaque fois que tu poses un élément, il doit prévaloir sur tous les suivants. Choisis par primauté la première pierre, puis ajoute la deuxième en te disant que tu ne sacrifieras jamais la première pour la deuxième. Et continue avec le même raisonnement, jusqu’au dernier grain. Mais fais attention à ce que tu veux, car tu risques de l’obtenir!»

From Bralloc’s mounted position he could see over the heads of most of his men, but the thickening darkness of evening coupled with the storm made it impossible to see more than a few yards. He jerked at the reins and swung his horse around, pushing into the crowd. The large grey charger was nearly as mean-spirited as her owner; she snorted and bucked her head, then nipped, stomped and shoved her way through, giving every indication that she was enjoying herself. His men drew to either side, and the crawling excitement in Bralloc’s belly became an angry swarm of insects. The scout – the ballsy woman whose name he could never remember - stood several paces away. Bralloc paid her no heed, however, and the mixture of nervousness, relief and fear on her face didn’t even register in his mind: his eyes were locked on the captive at her side. His lips twitched into a smile and he licked them, like a ghoul eyeing a fresh corpse. He forced himself to move slowly, deliberately – sucking each individual drop of marrow from the bones of his anticipation..." -From 'Feral

Dans tout mon langage, dans tout mon langage avec toi, il y a eu dès le début ce noyau de silence. Je ne dis pas cela pour me charger ni pour décharger qui que ce soit. L’effort que me coûte d’écrire ces mots me garantit une sorte de paix, au-delà de tout jugement. C’est ainsi, ce noyau de silence était en moi, il faisait partie de moi. Je l’ai, lui aussi, apporté avec tout le reste dans notre histoire et comme je ne pouvais rien contre lui, il y a pris sa place, s’est installé et s’est imposé. Je faisais naturellement semblant de ne pas le voir mais il était là. Je le recouvrais de discours de protection, diversion, il était toujours là, parfois invisible, parfois tacitement oublié, mais toujours là. Il ne trompait personne parmi les intéressés. Il ne te trompait pas, en tout cas malgré tous les efforts pour conclure avec lui et moi à demi-mots, un pacte d’oubli. Au fond de tout tu l’as accepté avec moi, mais tu ne l’as jamais accepté ; tu ne pouvais pas. Tu as fait tout ton possible en ton pouvoir pour le réduire, puis pour l’oublier. Un moment est venu où tu n’as plus pu résister au silence que par le silence, par un second silence sans aucun rapport avec le premier mais un silence. Un silenzio l’unico modo di non tacere.

From the bonny bells of heather, They brewed a drink long syne, Was sweeter far than honey, Was stronger far than wine. They brewed it and they drank it, And lay in blessed swound, For days and days together, In their dwellings underground. There rose a King in Scotland, A fell man to his foes, He smote the Picts in battle, He hunted them like roes. Over miles of the red mountain He hunted as they fled, And strewed the dwarfish bodies Of the dying and the dead. Summer came in the country, Red was the heather bell, But the manner of the brewing, Was none alive to tell. In graves that were like children’s On many a mountain’s head, The Brewsters of the Heather Lay numbered with the dead. The king in the red moorland Rode on a summer’s day; And the bees hummed and the curlews Cried beside the way. The King rode and was angry, Black was his brow and pale, To rule in a land of heather, And lack the Heather Ale. It fortuned that his vassals, Riding free upon the heath, Came on a stone that was fallen And vermin hid beneath. Roughly plucked from their hiding, Never a word they spoke: A son and his aged father – Last of the dwarfish folk. The king sat high on his charger, He looked down on the little men; And the dwarfish and swarthy couple Looked at the king again. Down by the shore he had them: And there on the giddy brink – “I will give thee life ye vermin, For the secret of the drink.” There stood the son and father And they looked high and low; The heather was red around them, The sea rumbled below. And up spoke the father, Shrill was his voice to hear: “I have a word in private, A word for the royal ear. “Life is dear to the aged, And honour a little thing; I would gladly sell the secret”, Quoth the Pict to the King. His voice was small as a sparrow’s, And shrill and wonderful clear: “I would gladly sell my secret, Only my son I fear. “For life is a little matter, And death is nought to the young; And I dare not sell my honour, Under the eye of my son. Take him, O king, and bind him, And cast him far in the deep; And it’s I will tell the secret That I have sworn to keep.” They took the son and bound him, Neck and heels in a thong, And a lad took him and swung him, And flung him far and strong And the sea swallowed his body, Like that of a child of ten; And there on the cliff stood the father, Last of the dwarfish men. “True was the word I told you: Only my son I feared; For I doubt the sapling courage, That goes without the beard. But now in vain is the torture, Fire shall not avail: Here dies in my bosom The secret of the Heather Ale.

(Some are dealing with the injured chargers: it’s a tense and bloody business, for damaged equoids don’t simply scream piteously and wait to die like horses.)

the invention of the stirrup gave the armed knight on horseback a formidable assault capability. He could now attack at full speed and not be thrown from the saddle by the impact of his lance striking a target. The military value of the heavy cavalry was further enhanced by an Asian, invention that penetrated through Western Europe in the tenth century; the nailed iron horseshoe. This further improved the durability of the horse on the road.27 Also adding to the improved effectiveness of the armed knight were the contoured saddle, which made it easier to wield heavy weapons, the spur, and the curb bit, which enabled a rider to control the horse with one hand while fighting.28 Together, these apparently minor technological innovations dramatically devalued the military importance of the smallholders, who could not afford to maintain war-horses and arm themselves. The cheaper of the horses specially bred for war, the large chargers known as destriers, were worth four oxen or forty sheep. The more expensive warhorses cost ten oxen or one hundred sheep. Armor also cost a sum that no small holder could afford, equivalent to the price of sixty sheep.29

Water. Drinking water, water purification system (or tablets), and a water bottle or canteen. Food. Anything that is long lasting, lightweight, and nutritious such as protein bars, dehydrated meals, MREs24, certain canned goods, rice, and beans. Clothing. Assure it’s appropriate to a wide range of temperatures and environments, including gloves, raingear, and multiple layers that can be taken on or off as needed. Shelter. This may include a tarp or tent, sleeping bag or survival blanket, and ground pad or yoga mat. A camper or trailer is a fantastic, portable shelter, with many of the comforts of home. If you own one keep it stocked with supplies to facilitate leaving in a hurry, as it can take several hours load up and move out if you’re not ready. In certain circumstances that might mean having to leave it behind. Heat source. Lighter or other reliable ignition source (e.g., magnesium striker), tinder, and waterproof storage. Include a rocket stove or biomass burner if possible, they’re inexpensive, take very little fuel, and incredibly useful in an emergency. Self-defense/hunting gear. Firearm(s) and ammunition, fishing gear, multi-tool/knife, maps, and compass, and GPS (it’s not a good idea to rely solely on a GPS as you may find yourself operating without a battery or charger). First aid. First aid kit, first aid book, insect repellant, suntan lotion, and any needed medicines you have been prescribed. If possible add potassium iodide (for radiation emergencies) and antibiotics (for bio attacks) to your kit. Hygiene. Hand soap, sanitizer, toilet paper, towel, toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, and garbage bags. Tools. Hatchet (preferably) or machete, can opener, cooking tools (e.g., portable stove, pot, frying pan, utensils, and fuel), rope, duct tape, sunglasses, rubber tubing, and sewing kit. Lighting and communications. LED headlamp, glow sticks, candles, cell phone, charger (preferably hand crank or solar), emergency radio (preferably with hand crank that covers AM, FM, and Marine frequencies) and extra batteries, writing implements, and paper. Cash or barter. You never know how long an emergency will last. Extensive power outages mean no cash machines, so keep a few hundred dollars in small bills, gold or silver coins, or other valuables on hand.

— Fonce, papa! Gloria m'envoie un double pouce levé qui achève de charger mes batteries. Noël a peut-être de la magie, tout compte fait.

Don’t wear all of your luggage Budget airlines keep the fare down by providing the bare minimum. A seat. And that’s it. Anything else, like a bag or a biscuit or a bit of dignity, is going to cost you extra. That’s why the canny travellers wear layer upon layer of clothing and stuff their pockets with phone chargers, shoes, iPads, bottled water, crushed up bags of McDonald’s and other snacks, and then sew their jewels and valuables into the hems of their coats. Okay, maybe I made that last one up, but it’s a fine line between wearing a few extra items to save on luggage costs and looking like you’re escaping a fascist regime.

What are you doing!?” I shriek as Nero speeds away from the cops. Two squad cars chase after us, sirens wailing furiously. The police are driving Chargers, basically the most aggressive cop car ever built.

It happens at times that men can outlive themselves and persevere, like wraiths, by carrying out the actions they have always carried out; their souls are mute but not their voices, and their hands and feet do not stop moving. Seeing them in the street or riding in the saddles of their chargers, no one would think that their minds had lost their hum, that the blood in their veins was heatless and spent; nor do the women they still hold tight to their bosoms ever imagine such a tremendous absence... And in the city there's no lack of them... Often, even, the more vacuum inside them is pierced, the more grandiosely they act, giving shows of themselves, fashioning great spectacles of gaiety, dauntlessness and brio.

The horsebreaker's art would be easy if one could turn horses into chargers by definition.

That dialogue pictures Julius arriving at the gates of heaven on a great military charger and being rejected by St. Peter, who cannot be made to understand how the vicar of Christ could have turned from humility, service, and devoted spiritual life to warfare and diplomacy.

There was the ibuprofen in a tiny white bottle. A canteen that was half full and three energy bars. A pack of Band-Aids, two empty plastic bags. A sleeping bag. A poncho. Two pairs of thick, tall socks, and something that looked like a solar phone charger.

Well,” Stern was saying, “you’ll have to scan your document at a fairly high resolution, and send it to us. Do you have a scanner there?” Hastily, Chris rummaged through the equipment on the field table, looking for a spare radio. He didn’t see one; all the charger boxes were empty. “The police department doesn’t have a scanner?” Stern was saying, surprised. “Oh, you’re not at the—well, why don’t you go there and use the police scanner?” Chris tapped Stern on the shoulder. He mouthed, Radio. Stern nodded and unclipped his own radio from his belt. “Well yes, the hospital scanner would be fine. Maybe they will have someone who can help you. We need twelve-eighty by ten-twenty-four, saved as a JPEG file. Then you transmit that to us.…

Caught you in 82k ultra I9 10980XE 4.6GHz & intel core i7 10700K 5.0GHz THREE nvidia RTX 3090s flat screen tv 66 inches curvy browser enabled search engine 25 db-A acoustical noise16 Gigs ram, lightning cable 240 GB solid state drive max air flow at zero static pressure 0.43 m3/min 15.02 CFM HDR GEFORCE RTX, TI-80 texas insturments, Triple A duracell battery graphics processor 1440 X 900 resolution ultrapower100 charger usb c 5g connection 802.11ac Wi-Fi

He’d seen one like it before—that day in the sea off Ydra. She’d thrown one into the water then, and the Depth Charger had appeared.

Hunt scoured his memory for what had happened to Sofie’s corpse after they’d found it in the morgue aboard the Depth Charger.

This book was inspired by these words.” “The young man was a blacksmith in the village, a magnificent white charger horse was brought to him, and he was ordered to put iron shoes onto the horse's hooves. After doing this he took the horse for a ride in the open field, and thereby a Brook he met a fair maiden. He fell madly in love with her instantly, he claimed that he was a decorated knight, but she could see he was poor, and was a blacksmith. His black working hands betrayed him, but she never mentioned this to the young man. After talking, for about fifteen minutes, in perfect harmony and calm, their meeting was broken up when two ladies that were approached the maiden.” “The maiden took out her handkerchief and gave it to him, he took it without taking his eyes off of her. The maiden dashed off running towards the two women, assuring them that she was alright. That evening a guard came from the castle, took the white charger with the new horseshoes and left. The dashing young man got to work instantly. Making himself a beautiful sword like no other. He then made himself a silver shining armour, beautiful as any knight.” “The young man made wooden replicas of men in battle, and he would practice for hours, finding new ways of defeating the enemy. All of this because of a chance meeting in a field, and the handkerchief he kept pressed against his chest. The danger was looming and there was talk of an invasion, from another country. To preserve the dignity and the honour of the village and the castle that employed all the villagers. “ “The king asked for volunteers for the impending battle. The blacksmith went to the castle as one of the volunteers. He showed up on an old brown horse, that would not be able to stand the first charge in battle. Proudly he was dressed in his silver knight's armour, holding his handmade sword. One of the guards came and took away his horse, the young man looked on sadly as others around the courtyard mocked him. Another guard approached him with the white charger that he nailed the shoes to his hooves; “this will be your steed, the guard said and he helped him onto the horse. There was silence around the forecourt, he turned and rode with the knights out to meet the enemy.” “After five hours of battle, they had secured a brave victory. The young man performed above and beyond the call of duty. He was chosen to be knighted. As he entered the great hall in the castle, there were people on both sides of the hall as he walked up to the spot where he was to be knighted. Waiting patiently, to perform the ceremony of knighthood, was none other than the king himself, and next to him, his young daughter, a princess he met by chance in a field, after the ceremony of knighthood, the princess stepped forward and said, thank you for bringing my horse back to me, a young woman who overlooked his poverty, have him her white horse, and encouraged him with giving him her handkerchief, by speaking to him in a field with kindness, her father the king was rewarded with a knight of chivalry and virtue. All because of accidental meeting and events, that encouraged someone ready in life, to step forth, and take control of his dreams, as impossible, as they seemed at the time.

Fuck it. I’m going to bed. I storm up the stairs, turn off the T.V., and slip back into my bed, connecting my phone to the charger, and then toss the blanket over my head.  Under here, the monsters can’t get me. I’m safe. Untouchable.

Silence is like a battery charger for you and me, just like the mode of your phone as it is charged in the silence of the night.

i love when i plug the charger into the wall and see a little spark but i survive. we live so close to dying every day. and in this terror our hearts only delight

Give me any day a politician who has been special adviser to the agriculture minister over a man on a white charger come to purify the nation and sweep away its corruption. For I well know who will be doing the sweeping and who will be the swept.

Every morning is a new hope; every evening is an energy charger of your life.

But the epitaph for which he has ever since been remembered was written by Erasmus, in the witty but savage dialogue “Julius Exclusus.” That dialogue pictures Julius arriving at the gates of heaven on a great military charger and being rejected by St. Peter, who cannot be made to understand how the vicar of Christ could have turned from humility, service, and devoted spiritual life to warfare and diplomacy.

I started telling him about how when we first got to America, we had to live in Old Man Jimmy’s garage. Old Man Jimmy was an out-of-work truck driver who rented half his garage to us for $200 a month. I would go to sleep curled up next to his Dodge Charger, Shelby, and wake up every morning to the jingle of his keys. Even when we moved out, my parents’ jobs were barely enough to pay for a small one-bedroom apartment. That’s when we applied for a job working and living at the Calivista Motel. But of course the owner, Jason’s dad, turned out to be a real miser.

Let me take this.” Matteo reaches for the bag. “I grabbed your laptop, charger and a little white journal with a pen and set them by the door for you. I figured you might need them for our meeting tomorrow.” I look at him completely dumbfounded as he guides me from the room with a hand on the small of my back.

And Miss Marvina, could you bring me my charger? And something to eat from your kitchen? The food here is horrible." The request for food never landed on better ears. "You got it." Marvina whipped up a batch of chicken salad using some of the chicken breast from the Christmas meal surplus. After peeling off the crispy fried skin, the tender meat made for a perfect light sandwich filling. But just in case Kerresha wanted the extra seasoning flavor, Marvina grabbed her container of seasoning, wrapped sandwiches, a bag of chips, and napkins to take back to the hospital. She made enough chicken salad sandwiches to feed all four of them, including Falcon, as well as anyone else who might want a taste 'cause that's what folks with the gift of hospitality do,

And Miss Marvina, could you bring me my charger? And something to eat from your kitchen? The food here is horrible." The request for food never landed on better ears. "You got it." Marvina whipped up a batch of chicken salad using some of the chicken breast from the Christmas meal surplus. After peeling off the crispy fried skin, the tender meat made for a perfect light sandwich filling. But just in case Kerresha wanted the extra seasoning flavor, Marvina grabbed her container of seasoning, wrapped sandwiches, a bag of chips, and napkins to take back to the hospital. She made enough chicken salad sandwiches to feed all four of them, including Falcon, as well as anyone else who might want a taste 'cause that's what folks with the gift of hospitality do.

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Lastly, I’ll need a charger. The same vendor on AliExpress that I got my BMS from, Greentime, also sells chargers. I’ll select a 42.2 V charger, as that’s the appropriate voltage for my 10s li-ion battery. An aluminum shell charger rated for 2 A charging will do nicely. That should give me about 5-6 hours for a full charge. Plenty of time for my needs. If I wanted a faster charger though, I can choose anything up to 4.5 A, as my cells are rated for around 1.5 A each for charging current. I don’t want to push them too hard though, so 2 A total is fine for me. And that’s it! That’s all I need to

My phone lights up with a text from Logan—guess he got that charger—but I don’t bother reading it. Just like he didn’t bother with me.

Overidentifying with just one aspect of yourself can also be dangerous. Take Junior Seau, a linebacker who played twenty years in the National Football League. He led his team, the San Diego Chargers, to a Super Bowl championship and was voted to a record twelve-straight Pro Bowls. But less than three years after retiring, Seau tragically committed suicide.

My cramps surged and I clutched my stomach with a grimace. I was in the throes of another epic period. This, coupled with hunger, the events from earlier, and the 3:00 a.m. police drama at my house that I wasn’t telling Sloan about, had me in a fine mood. I was so tired I’d just tried to plug my charger into my coffee cup instead of my phone.