Charlie's Angels Quotes

At the edge of madness you howl diamonds and pearls.

They were on the side of the angels, even if the angels weren't entirely sure that this was a good thing.

Who the hell do you think you girls are? Charlie's Angels?

I'll love you forever," I hear her whisper. And even though I've said it a hundred times. A thousand. I say it again. "I love you, angel. Forever.

Some revelations came only with the sound of dirt falling on a coffin:the ones that mattered, the ones that made for regrets.

Families,” said Angel, with some feeling. “Can’t live with them, can’t have them killed without complications.

My grandfather used to say that if God did not allow a man to be reunited with his dogs in the next life He was no God worth worshipping; that if a dog did not have a soul, then nothing had.

You named your cats after Charlie’s Angels?” he asked. “They don’t fight crime. They mostly just shed, eat, nap and make me feel inferior. But they’re still beautiful.

When I near Charlie’s house, I notice she’s standing in the doorway with a spatula in her hand. Despite being on edge, I can’t stop myself from grinning. I feel like such a chick around her sometimes, like I’m seconds away from buying a tiara and starting my period.

His grandfather used to say that there were angels whom devils would greet on the street. If that were true, thought Parker, then let the devils raise their hats to him. It would just make them easier to identify and destroy.

Charlie is already outdated, Zheraldin! Sooner or later, instead of white silk to the scene, you will have to wear black to go to my grave. Now I do not want to bother. Only from time to time look in the mirror, there will see me. My blood runs in your veins. I even when in my veins the blood dried up, not to forget his father – Charlie. I was not an angel, but as far as could be stremyah to be a man. Try it and you.

I know historians aren’t supposed to fall in love with their own theories, but I was head over heels about the notion of an entire band of female French agents, like a nineteenth-century Charlie’s Angels. Only better. It made the Pink Carnation’s organization look positively humdrum.

And I am going to have another opportunity. I am going to have a week-end with him at his home in Easton, a week-end with Wells at home, with just his family. That alone is worth the entire trip from Los Angeles to Europe.

Good will attract good to itself, and those involved will unite toward a common goal. Evil, in turn, draws evil men, but they will never truly act as one. They will always be distrustful, always jealous. Ultimately, they seek power for themselves alone, and for that reason they will always fall apart at the end.

The beam caught the bowed head of Angel. He glanced up into Bobby Sciorra’s eyes and smiled. Sciorra looked puzzled for a moment and then his mouth opened in slow-dawning realization. He was already turning to try to locate Louis when the darkness seemed to come alive around him and his eyes widened as he realized, too late, that death had come for him too.

Contentment is a very underrated feeling, but you only learn that as you get older, and with it comes regret that it took you so long to realize what you’d been missing.

You've got to kiss an Angel good morning.

After all, what is hell but the eternal absence of God? To exist in a hellish state is to be denied forever the promise of hope, of redemption, of love. To those who have been forsaken, hell has no geography.

In San Francisco one felt the spirit of optimism and enterprise. Los Angeles, on the other hand, was an ugly city, hot and oppressive, and the people looked sallow and anaemic. It was a much warmer climate but had not the freshness of San Francisco; nature has endowed the north of California with resources that will endure and flourish when Hollywood has disappeared into the prehistoric tar-pits of Wilshire Boulevard.

So you’re telling me it’s okay to make these promises, place rings on each other’s fingers, make vows before God, your family and friends, only to walk away when something better comes along?” "Not something better, Charlotte. Something right. And yes, I would walk away, if that's what you're asking.

He had loved her as much as a man can love his wife, and so nothing more need be said.

whirled around on my lounge chair and brought my hands up in the karate position that all of Charlie’s Angels used.

The beatings didn't begin until the third week of the new relationship. Scotty didn't climb in bed with Angel until the forth week.

He covered her face with a pillow and lay on it. She got half a breath before he crushed her, and she thrashed like hell but in that second she knew it was foolish.

When she opened her eyes, the outside door was filled with flame. The propane tank by the kitchen could blow any minute. That left the bedroom back window.

Most criminals are kind of dumb, which is why they’re criminals. If they weren’t criminals, they’d be doing something else to screw up people’s lives, like running elections in Florida

It was perhaps even more of a remarkable phenomenon for being so inconspicuous, so entirely understated. Nothing else had moved backwards, only time. There had been no Charlie Chaplin moments. No pile of broken dishes had reassembled themselves in a stack. No steps had been retraced, no events had repeated themselves, and no stretch of road had been the same. The sun had stayed still or had swung back and forth, and time had travelled backwards as though in a capsule apart from the rest of the world, while every earthly action it encompassed had unfolded with unstoppable forward momentum.

God would even have forgiven Judas Iscariot, had he asked for His forgiveness. Judas wasn’t damned for betraying Christ. He was damned for despairing, for rejecting the possibility that he might be forgiven for what he had done.

be close to another human being at that instant was enough to convince one, however briefly, that something beyond understanding passed from the body with that final sigh, that some essence began its journey from this world to another.

On the wall in the living room, not far from Hinman’s body, were the words POLITICAL PIGGY, printed in the victim’s own blood. Whiteley also told Buckles that they had arrested a suspect in connection with the murder, one Robert “Bobby” Beausoleil, a young hippie musician. He had been driving a car that belonged to Hinman, there was blood on his shirt and trousers, and a knife had been found hidden in the tire well of the vehicle. The arrest had occurred on August 6; therefore he had been in custody at the time of the Tate homicides. However, it was possible that he hadn’t been the only one involved in the Hinman murder. Beausoleil had been living at Spahn’s Ranch, an old movie ranch near the Los Angeles suburb of Chatsworth, with a bunch of other hippies. It was an odd group, their leader, a guy named Charlie, apparently having convinced them that he was Jesus Christ. Buckles, Whiteley would later recall, lost interest when he mentioned hippies. “Naw,” he replied,

So Nan told Charlie about the whole thing. How the baby Jesus was born in a basket and how a wicked king tried to kidnap him but then a big bearded angel named Father Christmas fought the king. “And then he tossed the baby Jesus down the chimney of a girl named Mary, and that was the first Christmas present.

Weetzie could not even cry and make Kleenex roses. She remembered the day her father, Charlie, had driven away in the smashed yellow T-bird, leaving her mother Brandy-Lynn clutching her flowered robe with one hand and an empty glass in the other, and leaving Weetzie holding her arms crossed over her chest that was taking its time to develope into anything

There’s a kind of evil that isn’t even in opposition to good, because good is an irrelevance to it. It’s a foulness that’s right at the heart of existence, born with the stuff of the universe. It’s in the decay to which all things tend. It is, and it always will be, but in dying we leave it behind.” “And while we’re alive?” “We set our souls against it, and our saints and angels, too.

Please, Dex. There’s so much we still have to do, so much I want. I want us to get married, have a dog, kids…. You’ll be such an amazing dad. We can embarrass our kids together. Get a minivan, grow old together. You can’t go before we’ve begun, angel. You just can’t. It’s taken this long for us to find each other. You can’t leave now. Please—” Sloane choked on his sob. “Oh God, please don’t leave me.” A

I am not the best gauger of destitution, my judgment having been warped by years of reporting in Detroit. By comparison, in cities like St. Louis and Chicago and Los Angeles, the “ghettos” appear relatively nice. Livable. No falling-in porches. In West Side Chicago, the streets were paved and swept. The apartment buildings occupied. The grass cut and the stores full. What was more, there was foot traffic.

Independent Women Lucy Liu... with my girl, Drew... Cameron D. and Destiny Charlie's Angels, Come on Uh uh uh Question: Tell me what you think about me I buy my own diamonds and I buy my own rings Only ring your cell-y when I'm feelin lonely When it's all over please get up and leave Question: Tell me how you feel about this Try to control me boy you get dismissed Pay my own fun, oh and I pay my own bills Always 50/50 in relationships The shoes on my feet I've bought it The clothes I'm wearing I've bought it The rock I'm rockin' 'Cause I depend on me If I wanted the watch you're wearin' I'll buy it The house I live in I've bought it The car I'm driving I've bought it I depend on me (I depend on me) All the women who are independent Throw your hands up at me All the honeys who makin' money Throw your hands up at me All the mommas who profit dollas Throw your hands up at me All the ladies who truly feel me Throw your hands up at me Girl I didn't know you could get down like that Charlie, how your Angels get down like that Girl I didn't know you could get down like that Charlie, how your Angels get down like that Tell me how you feel about this Who would I want if I would wanna live I worked hard and sacrificed to get what I get Ladies, it ain't easy bein' independent Question: How'd you like this knowledge that I brought Braggin' on that cash that he gave you is to front If you're gonna brag make sure it's your money you flaunt Depend on noone else to give you what you want The shoes on my feet I've bought it The clothes I'm wearing I've bought it The rock I'm rockin' 'Cause I depend on me If I wanted the watch you're wearin' I'll buy it The house I live in I've bought it The car I'm driving I've bought it I depend on me (I depend on me) All the women who are independent Throw your hands up at me All the honeys who makin' money Throw your hands up at me All the mommas who profit dollas Throw your hands up at me All the ladies who truly feel me Throw your hands up at me Girl I didn't know you could get down like that Charlie, how your Angels get down like that Girl I didn't know you could get down like that Charlie, how your Angels get down like that Destiny's Child Wassup? You in the house? Sure 'nuff We'll break these people off Angel style Child of Destiny Independent beauty Noone else can scare me Charlie's Angels Woah All the women who are independent Throw your hands up at me All the honeys who makin' money Throw your hands up at me All the mommas who profit dollas Throw your hands up at me All the ladies who truly feel me Throw your hands up at me Girl I didn't know you could get down like that Charlie, how your Angels get down like that [repeat until fade]

that ideal had become as ossified as the statue of Benjamin Franklin up there. From New York to Los Angeles, American newspapers were yellow and stale before they even came off the press. Dog-beaten by a dwindling readership, financial losses and partisan attacks, editors had stripped them of their personality in an attempt to offend no one. And so there was no more reason to read them. Safety before Truth. Grammar over Guts. Winners before Losers. My eyes traveled down from Franklin to the iron sconces above the entrance.

She watched Delta try to pull herself into a pitiful looking crouch. Delta was far from coordinated, though, so her feet slipped out from under her. For a second, she almost looked like she was trying to run in place with her feet slipping and sliding all over the place. Finally, Delta stopped her pathetic running man imitation so that she ended up in a squat. Her hands held out in front of her, clasped together with her pointer finger and thumb in the shape of a gun. Good Lord, her sister looked like a Charlie’s Angel reject. - Elena

Chaplin left the Keystone studios on a Saturday night in December after cutting his last film, without bidding farewell to any of his erstwhile colleagues; he spent Sunday in his room at the Los Angeles Athletic Club and on the following day he turned up for work at the Essanay Studios in Niles, California. Of course, everyone at Keystone knew about his imminent departure, but he could not bring himself to make a speech or shake hands. He just left. Sennett said later that 'as for Charles Spencer Chaplin, I am not at all sure that we know him'. He had never really been part of the team; he would never become a member of any group.

When he met Buffett, Munger had already formed strong opinions about the chasms between good businesses and bad. He served as a director of an International Harvester dealership in Bakersfield and saw how difficult it was to fix up an intrinsically mediocre business; as an Angeleno, he observed the splendid prosperity of the Los Angeles Times; in his head he did not carry a creed about "bargains" that had to be unlearned. So in conversations with Buffett over the years he preached the virtues of good businesses. By 1972, Blue Chip Stamps, a Berkshire affiliate that has since been merged into the parent, was paying three times book value to buy See's Candies, and the good-business era was launched.7

But what of the lives that I had taken? Was I not equally culpable, and was that not why there now so many names, of both good men and bad, carved upon that palimpsest I bore, and for each of which I might justifiably be called to account? I could argue that by committing a smaller evil, I had prevented a greater one from occurring, but I would still bear the mark of that sin upon me, and perhaps be dammed for it. Yet, in the end, I could not stand by. There were sins that I had committed out of anger, touched by wrath, and for those I had no doubt that I would at last be charged and found wanting. But, the others? I chose to act as I did, believing that the greater evil lay in doing nothing. I have tried to make reparation, in my way. The problem is that, like cancer, a little corruption of the soul will eventually spread throughout the whole. The problem is that there are no small evils.

Bloody hell,” Charlie gasped. “That’s twenty-five quid each, Isaac.” “Language.” “Shit.” Isaac blew out a breath. “A hundred quid, Mum.” “Isaac, language.” “Hey no,” Dex said, holding up a hand. “I mean a hundred each. I could use these as stencils. At this size I could pretty much charge double that, if not more, each time they’re used. Probably twice again if they have them in colour.” The three of us looked at Dex in awe. He wanted to buy my talented boy’s drawings for a hundred pounds each. “Well?” I prompted. “Fuck yeah.” “Language,” I said, barely above a whisper, still in a state of shock. “It’s a deal.” Dex grinned. “Speaking of which, I said I’d show you my designs, but I gotta be honest, I’m not sure they’re as good as these.” “Oh fuck,” I muttered. “Language,” Charlie cried. As Dex stripped off his shirt, I genuinely thought I heard a choir of angels sing and saw a shaft of light shine through the darkness outside and into my lounge. There was only one word for what I was looking at – wondrous. He could honestly market himself as a tourist attraction and sell tickets.

Charlie Hall!” José called. “Long time. You don’t like us anymore?” He was standing in a little knot with Katelynn and Suzie Lambton, who had made that comment to Doreen about Charlie being like the devil. “Have you heard from him?” José demanded as she approached. He worked at a tiny gay bar called Malebox, where he’d met his ex, the one who’d moved to Los Angeles for a guy and stuck Charlie with double shifts. Charlie shook her head. “But Odette might have an address to send his last check on file, if you want to send him a haunted object or something. Or there’s a service that ships packages filled with glitter to your enemies. They don’t call it the herpes of crafting for nothing.” He gave her a wan smile but was clearly sunk in misery. “He’s probably basking in the sun, happy, eating avacodos off the trees in his backyard, having sex with a hot surfer every night. Meanwhile I will never find love.” “I told you,” Katelynn said, “I’ll fix you up with my cousin.” “Isn’t he the one who ate a dead moth off the bathroom floor?” José raised his eyebrows. “As a child! You can’t hold that against him,” Katelynn protested. “I should just get a gloom to cut my feelings right out of me,” José declared dramatically. “Maybe then I’d be happy.” “You can’t be happy without feelings,” Katelynn said, pedantic to the end.

Theirs was a human evil, a product of their own flawed natures. Faulty genetics might have played a part in what they became, or childhood abuse. Tiny blood vessels in the brain corrupting, or little neurons misfiring, could have contributed to their debased natures. But free will also played a part, for I did not doubt that a time came for most of those men and women when they stood over another human being and held a life in the palms of their hands, a fragile thing glowing hesitantly, beating furiously its claim upon the world, and made a decision to snuff it out, to ignore the cries and whimpers and the slow, descending cadence of the final breaths, until at last the blood stopped pumping and instead flowed slowly from the wounds, pooling around them and reflecting their faces in its deep, sticky redness. It was there that the true evil lay, in the moment between thought and action, between intent and commission, when for a fleeting instant there was still the possibility that one might turn away and refuse to appease the dark, gaping desire within. Perhaps it was in this moment that human wretchedness encountered something worse, something deeper and older that was both familiar in the resonance that it found within our souls, yet alien in its nature and its antiquity, an evil that predated our own and dwarfed it with its magnitude. There are as many forms of evil in the world as there are men to commit them, and its gradations are near infinite, but it may be that, in truth, it all draws from the same deep well, and there are beings that have supped from it for far longer than any of us could ever imagine.

Así eran las vidas: cuando sus caminos se cruzaban, quedaban alteradas para siempre por el encuentro, unas veces de una manera leve, casi invisible, y otras de forma tan profunda que ya nada podía ser después igual. El residuo de otras vidas nos contagia, y nosotros a nuestra vez lo transmitimos a quienes encontramos más adelante

I was a stranger in a familiar land.

What are we, Charlie's Angels?

Not something better, Charlotte. Something right. And yes, I would walk away, if that's what you're asking.

Jesus, Eddie,” said Fred when he first saw them. “I didn’t know you read so much.” “Gotta do somethin’ when you’re a single man. Whatta you do with your time?” Fred had shrugged. “Watch TV a lot, I guess.” “Well, I got one. Don’t watch much myself, though I liked that Charlie’s Angels show. And Milton Berle. Not much worth watching now.” “How come you keep all these?” “The books? I keep ’em long enough I forget I read ’em, so it’s like readin’ a new book.

In the farthest corner of the third floor, Jonto—Emery’s skeletal paper butler—hung by a noose from a nail in the ceiling, hovering over a mess of rolled paper tubes, tape, and symmetrical cuts of paper. Emery, wearing his newest coat, a maroon-colored one, stood on a stool beside him, affixing a six-foot-long bat wing to Jonto’s spine. Ceony blinked, taking in the sight. She really shouldn’t be surprised. “I thought I had a few more years before I saw the angel of death,” she said, folding her arms under her breasts. “Even just half of him.

I used to think this was all about good and evil,” said Rickett, “but it’s not.” “No?” “There’s a kind of evil that isn’t even in opposition to good, because good is an irrelevance to it. It’s a foulness that’s right at the heart of existence, born with the stuff of the universe. It’s in the decay to which all things tend. It is, and it always will be, but in dying we leave it behind.” “And while we’re alive?” “We set our souls against it, and our saints and angels, too.” He patted Parker on the shoulder. “Especially the destroying ones.

Sometimes the road is level and easy, and the birds are singing and the way is wonderful. But sometimes the road is rocky and bumpy, and we hear no music and feel no helping hand. Then what? Complain? Give up? No, that’s the time to remember God’s promise: “For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.” God’s invisible army is at your service, and God can see you through. Charlie

In the years following WWII, American helicopter pioneers like Sikorsky, Frank Piasecki, Larry Bell, Stanley Hiller, Charlie Kaman and others continued their research and development, making progress in improving performance and reliability.

In his book about boys, Dobson found occasion to denounce Hillary Clinton, “bra burners,” political correctness, and the “small but noisy band of feminists” who attacked “the very essence of masculinity.” He praised Phyllis Schlafly and recommended homeschooling as “a means of coping with a hostile culture.” He advised girls not to call boys on the telephone (to do so would usurp the role of initiator) and encouraged fathers to engage in rough-and-tumble games with their sons. He lamented that films presenting moral strength and heroism had given way to “man-hating diatribes” like Thelma & Louise and 9 to 5, and that “lovely, feminine ladies” on the small screen had been replaced by “aggressive and masculine women” like those in Charlie’s Angels. Mel Gibson’s The Patriot, a tale in which Gibson starred as a Revolutionary militia leader who ruthlessly avenged his son’s death, proved the exception to the rule. 10

Some revelations came only with the sound of dirt falling on a coffin; the ones that mattered, the ones that made for regrets.

The angel escorted Einstein to meet his roommates, saying, “This is your first roommate. She has an IQ of 180!” “That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Einstein. “We can discuss mathematics!” The angel then said, “Here is your second roommate. His IQ is 150!” “Why, that’s wonderful,” responded Einstein. “We can discuss physics!” The angel finally said, “Here is your third roommate. His IQ is 100!” “That’s wonderful!” said Einstein. “Where do you think interest rates are headed?

The Catholic Church was not short of lawyers, especially in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, as anyone who had dealt with the archdiocese in the course of the recent abuse scandals could attest.

Revelation, Charlie explained, predicted that locusts would come, and locusts were, of course, beetles—the Beatles. John said that the locusts would have “scales like iron breastplates”—according to Charlie, these were the Beatles’ guitars. And there was more: Revelation also told of angels coming to earth, with the first four being the Beatles. The fifth, “given the key to the shaft of the bottomless pit,” was Charlie.

were pressed into service, although

Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl The Rational Optimist by Matt Ridley The Better Angels of Our Nature by Steven Pinker Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari Poor Charlie’s Almanack by Charlie Munger

All told, there must have been more than a hundred people there, milling about between the makeshift tricycle track in the parking lot and the fraternity house. The freshmen had come sporting a variety of attire, from the East Coasters in polos to Southern Californians in tank tops, most trying too hard to look cool and casual at the same time. All the brothers were wearing yellow t-shirts for rush; the front depicted Curious George passed out next to a tipped-over bottle of ether. The lower right side of the back showed a small anchor with the fraternity’s letters, KΣ, on each side—it was Evan’s signature. The anchor was his way of saying, “This is an Evan Spiegel production.” Evan was born on June 4, 1990, to a pair of highly successful lawyers. His mother, Melissa Thomas, graduated from Harvard Law School and practiced tax law as a partner at a prominent Los Angeles firm before resigning to become a stay-at-home mother when Evan was young. His father, John Spiegel, graduated from Stanford and Yale Law School and became a partner at Munger, Tolles & Olson, an elite firm started by Berkshire Hathaway’s Charlie Munger. His clients included Warner Bros. and Sergey Brin.

Evan was born on June 4, 1990, to a pair of highly successful lawyers. His mother, Melissa Thomas, graduated from Harvard Law School and practiced tax law as a partner at a prominent Los Angeles firm before resigning to become a stay-at-home mother when Evan was young. His father, John Spiegel, graduated from Stanford and Yale Law School and became a partner at Munger, Tolles & Olson, an elite firm started by Berkshire Hathaway’s Charlie Munger. His clients included Warner Bros. and Sergey Brin. Evan and his two younger sisters, Lauren and Caroline, grew up in Pacific Palisades, an upper-class neighborhood bordering Santa Monica in western Los Angeles. John had the kids volunteer and help build homes in poor areas of Mexico. When Evan was in high school, Melissa and John divorced after nearly twenty years of marriage. Evan chose to live with his father in a four-million-dollar house in Pacific Palisades, just blocks from his childhood home where his mother still lives. John let young Evan decorate the new home with the help of Greg Grande, the set designer from Friends. Evan decked out his room with a custom white leather king-size bed, Venetian plaster, floating bookshelves, two designer desk chairs, custom closets, and, of course, a brand new computer.

The spider carried the larvae as they developed, and they in turn altered its behavior, causing it to change the webs that it spun, so that when the larvae finally erupted from its body they would have a cushioned web upon which to rest while they fed on the remains of the arachnid in which they had gestated. Epstein had told me that there were entities who did the same to men—dark passengers on the human soul, carried unawares for years, even decades, until it came time to reveal their true natures, and then they consumed the consciousness of their hosts.

Cooper. Who would one day likely turn that innocent gaze of his on Ian’s daughters. “You tell your boy to keep his hands to himself.” Alex groaned. “Oh god. I hadn’t even thought about that. You’re going to be that dad. You know the one who thinks his girls are perfect angels and all the boys around them are the devil? Can we wait until they’re born before you accuse Coop of trying something with them?” Ian kind of thought Cooper eyed Charlie’s baby bump as though he knew something good was going to come out of there. “You’re wrong. I know my girls won’t be angels, and that’s why I intend to keep an eye on them at all times. And they’re going to look like Charlie so they’ll be gorgeous. No doubt about it. Those girls are going to be trouble.

Get your ass to an A.A. meeting. Today,” Charlie commanded, and I was ready to oblige. But then I received an unimaginable stroke of good fortune: the West Los Angeles Courthouse had somehow misplaced the file on my first DUI arrest. They simply lost the docket. Thus, I was never prosecuted for that offense. “I don’t know who is looking out for you from above,” Charlie said, shaking his head, “but this never happens. Ever.

combed the areas that he might visit, and were in place even before he arrived. And so, on September 24, Vanunu arrived at Leicester Square, a favorite site for tourists and visitors. By a newspaper stand, he saw a girl “that looked very much like Farrah Fawcett, the star of the TV show Charlie’s Angels.” She was a pretty blonde and to him she looked “beautiful and angelic.” He stared at her longingly while she stood in line in front of the newsstand. She turned her head

I’m afraid I’d leave you unsatisfied, Madame.” Charlie shakes her head. “You then?” The widow asks me. “You’re so big. It only makes sense that—” “He’s a eunuch.” Charlie cuts in. “Lovely singing voice. Like an angel, truly.

He was going to take Effie away?” Slowly, it starts to connect. “He was going to kill her.” I look at her. “That’s why you stepped in. To save Effie.” “Pace killed Charlie to protect me,” she says, the expression on her face somber yet knowing. “And she’s more than just a bird to him, isn’t she? She’s… she’s his heart.” Holding my eyes, her head tilts pensively. “It’s like he was afraid of having a soul, so he gave it to her to keep safe. Something untainted that would love him back.

You,” Angel seethed, and my eyes adjusted to where she stood in the room behind Charlie. Her face was makeup-free, red and blotchy and shining with freshly shed tears as she stood. She was in a silky white robe that said “bride” in gemstones on the right breast, and she pointed one hard, shaky finger right at me. “This is all your fault!

Charlie. He'd often insisted that angels were the worst sinners because they stood by watching the helpless, suffering masses and did nothing. He had long been a firm believer that if you had the ability to change things, help others and make a difference, then you should do it without question.

Calder stopped at the conference room door where Robby sat snuggling his demonic looking dog. "Come on, angel face. I'm gonna give you a ride." Charlie choked on a laugh. "Well, damn, Calder. Right here in the conference room. I thought only Linc was allowed to do that." "Get thee behind me, hooker Barbie. I have no time for your forked tongue today.

Every angel deserves a warrior to protect them. Let me be yours.

The first angel sounded his trumpet, and there came hail and fire mixed with blood, and it was hurled down upon the earth. A third of the earth was burned up, a third of the trees were burned up, and all the green grass was burned up. The second angel sounded his trumpet, and a third of the sea turned into blood, and a third of the ships were destroyed.

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape—the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show. —Andrew Wyeth (1917

His figures should have been through the roof; the economy was still unsteady, the president was hog-tied by his own compromised idealism, and Davis and his kind had succeeded in vilifying unions, immigrants, and welfare cases, making them carry the can for the greed of bankers and Wall Street sharks, thereby somehow convincing sane people that the poorest and weakest in the nation were responsible for most of its ills. What never ceased to amaze Tate was that many of those same individuals (the dirt-poor, the unemployed, the welfare recipients) listened to his show, even as he castigated those (the union organizers, the bleeding-heart liberals) who most wanted to help them.

Flurries of snow obscured the view through the windows, but they were halfhearted and ultimately inconsequential, like the parting shots of a defeated army. Angel

Angel and Louis in particular could have catalyzed a coma victim back to consciousness. He knew where Parker and the others were

This,” said Angel to Louis, “is the best fucking idea anyone ever had since, like, Columbus bought a boat.” The two men, along with Parker, were sitting

God, they were only children when they went off to fight, virgins, and virgin children had no call to be holding guns and firing them at other children. When he looked at his grandchildren, and saw how cosseted and naïve they were despite the air of knowingness that they maintained, he found it impossible to visualize them as he had once been.

What I love about you is your humility, Scarlet,” Lexi said. Scarlet smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” “You should,” said Lexi. “You have so much to be humble about, after all.” Hawke rolled his eyes. “Can we just stop the cat-fighting, please? It feels like Charlie’s Angels in here and meanwhile Lea’s down there in the middle of a bloody war zone.

Most people who talked about angels seemed to picture a fusion of Tinker Bell and a crossing guard...

Livy’s nape tingled at the flinty look in Charlie’s eyes. The lady reminded her of a bumblebee: golden elegance that housed a deadly stinger.