Click By My Son Quotes

Every time the telephone rings, my stomach constricts. Long after the euphoria from meth is no longer attainable—Tennessee Williams described the equivalent with alcohol in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof: “I never again could get the click”—addicts are agitated and confused, and most stop eating and sleeping. Parents of addicts don’t sleep, either.

You haven’t been replying to my calls or letters. Why?” “I told you why.” I click the magazine in place. “In fact, I told you the reason four years ago when I left.” “I will not be accepting that nonsense. As my eldest son, it’s your duty to inherit the empire and lead the Morozov family.

Spring Azures In spring the blue azures bow down at the edges of shallow puddles to drink the black rain water. Then they rise and float away into the fields. Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy, and all the tricks my body knows-- the opposable thumbs, the kneecaps, and the mind clicking and clicking- don't seem enough te carry me thorugh this world and I think: how I would like to have wings- blue ones- ribbons of flame. How I would like to open them, and rise from the black rain water. And then I think of Blake, in the dirt and sweat of London- a boy staring through the window, when God came fluttering up. Of course, he screamed, seeing the bobbin of God's blue body leaning on the sill, and the thousand-faceted eyes. Well, who knows. Who knows what hung, fluttering, at the window between him and the darkness. Anyway, Blake the hosier's son stood up and turned away from the sooty sill and the dark city- turned away forever from the factories, the personal strivings, to a life of imagination.

Did you mean to hang up on me, Gunnar? You haven’t spoken for a while,” I said neutrally. “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on,” he growled. “I take it you found the owner?” I asked. I heard him dismiss the agent before speaking to me. “The report declares that a certain Gunnar Randulf and Nathin Temple have owned this 2012 Land Rover Defender Hard Top for the last three months. Funny, because I don’t remember ever using my home as collateral for a…” I heard a few more clicks. “$80,000 SUV.” “I remember you having it, but you sent it off to Vilnar for customization, which added on close to $100,000, if I remember correctly.” “Hmmm… It’s not as expensive as the Aston Martin,” he said disappointedly. “You destroyed the Aston Martin in less than 12 hours. This thing has bulletproof glass, and all sorts of other additions that would make it practically impossible to total. Unless you wanted to play chicken with an armored truck heading out of Fort Knox. That might be a different story. Then again, with as much as was spent on this guy, the armored truck might just die in shame.

Are you ready, children?” Father Mikhail walked through the church. “Did I keep you waiting?” He took his place in front of them at the altar. The jeweler and Sofia stood nearby. Tatiana thought they might have already finished that bottle of vodka. Father Mikhail smiled. “Your birthday today,” he said to Tatiana. “Nice birthday present for you, no?” She pressed into Alexander. “Sometimes I feel that my powers are limited by the absence of God in the lives of men during these trying times,” Father Mikhail began. “But God is still present in my church, and I can see He is present in you. I am very glad you came to me, children. Your union is meant by God for your mutual joy, for the help and comfort you give one another in prosperity and adversity and, when it is God’s will, for the procreation of children. I want to send you righteously on your way through life. Are you ready to commit yourselves to each other?” “We are,” they said. “The bond and the covenant of marriage was established by God in creation. Christ himself adorned this manner of life by his first miracle at a wedding in Cana of Galilee. A marriage is a symbol of the mystery of the union between Christ and His Church. Do you understand that those whom God has joined together, no man can put asunder?” “We do,” they said. “Do you have the rings?” “We do.” Father Mikhail continued. “Most gracious God,” he said, holding the cross above their heads, “look with favor upon this man and this woman living in a world for which Your Son gave His life. Make their life together a sign of Christ’s love to this sinful and broken world. Defend this man and this woman from every enemy. Lead them into peace. Let their love for each other be a seal upon their hearts, a mantle upon their shoulders, and a crown upon their foreheads. Bless them in their work and in their friendship, in their sleeping and in their waking, in their joys and their sorrows, in their life and in their death.” Tears trickled down Tatiana’s face. She hoped Alexander wouldn’t notice. Father Mikhail certainly had. Turning to Tatiana and taking her hands, Alexander smiled, beaming at her unrestrained happiness. Outside, on the steps of the church, he lifted her off the ground and swung her around as they kissed ecstatically. The jeweler and Sofia clapped apathetically, already down the steps and on the street. “Don’t hug her so tight. You’ll squeeze that child right out of her,” said Sofia to Alexander as she turned around and lifted her clunky camera. “Oh, wait. Hold on. Let me take a picture of the newlyweds.” She clicked once. Twice. “Come to me next week. Maybe I’ll have some paper by then to develop them.” She waved. “So you still think the registry office judge should have married us?” Alexander grinned. “He with his ‘of sound mind’ philosophy on marriage?” Tatiana shook her head. “You were so right. This was perfect. How did you know this all along?” “Because you and I were brought together by God,” Alexander replied. “This was our way of thanking Him.” Tatiana chuckled. “Do you know it took us less time to get married than to make love the first time?” “Much less,” Alexander said, swinging her around in the air. “Besides, getting married is the easy part. Just like making love. It was the getting you to make love to me that was hard. It was the getting you to marry me…” “I’m sorry. I was so nervous.” “I know,” he said. He still hadn’t put her down. “I thought the chances were twenty-eighty you were actually going to go through with it.” “Twenty against?” “Twenty for.” “Got to have a little more faith, my husband,” said Tatiana, kissing his lips.

There’s something I need to talk to you about,” Akos said. “I was wondering when you’d get to the point,” Jorek said. Ara set a plate down in front of Akos. There wasn’t much on it--a roll, probably a little stale by now, some dried meat, some pickled saltfruit. She brushed the crumbs off her fingers and sat down next to her son. “What Jorek means is, we like having you here, but we know you don’t do things without a good reason,” Ara said, flicking the side of her son’s nose to chastise him. “And crossing the galaxy is no small thing.” Jorek rubbed his nose. “Not everyone can wait things out on Ogra. Some of us have to get our hands dirty,” Akos said. “But those who can stay safe, should,” Ara said. Akos shook his head. “I had to get my hands dirty, too. Call it…fate.” “I call it a choice,” Jorek said. “And a dumb one.” “Like leaving your girlfriend--and your mother and brother--without a word of explanation,” Ara said, and she clicked her tongue. “My mother and brother don’t need me to leave word to know where I am. And this is how things are between Cyra and me,” Akos said, defensive. “She plotted for weeks to send me away without telling me about it. How is this different?” “It is not particularly different,” Ara said. “But that doesn’t make it right, either time.” “Don’t scold him, Mom,” Jorek said. “He was basically born scolding himself.

I wasn’t sure about a lot in life, but I was sure about one thing. I loved my son. I loved him something fierce. And if somebody were ever stupid enough to fuck with him, I’d be there, Glock in hand. Cock. Click. Boom. Fuckin’ try me.

You think my son was sick? Or his son? Or Tangerine? You think they deserve to die because you can’t deal with who you are?” Ike asked. Gerald said nothing. Ike straightened himself. “The funny thing is, if my boy was here, he’d feel sorry for you. If his son was here he’d probably forgive you,” Ike said. Buddy Lee opened his knife. It clicked as he locked the blade in place. “But they ain’t here, are they?” Buddy Lee asked. “No, they ain’t,” Ike said.

Jackson shrugged off Gentry’s hand. “You want to worry about drugs in your parish, Agent Broussard, why don’t you check my sister’s bag? Or is it okay for your agents to be racing around with guns while they’re buzzing on painkillers? Is it okay for her to work four months after she tried to slit her wrists with a f**king utility knife?” A chill washed across Jena’s shoulders. Who was this person? The brother she’d known her whole life would never try to throw her under the squad car. “We aren’t talking about your sister, who, by the way, is a skilled law-enforcement agent who took two bullets in the line of duty a few months ago, son.” Gentry’s voice was low, but serious. “We’re talking about you, an unemployed twenty four year old who had almost an ounce of an illegal synthetic drug stashed in his bedroom, not to mention what’s probably still in your system. All we’d need is one simple blood test.” Gentry paused. “We’re talking about jail time, Jackson. Do you understand what kind of trouble you could be in?” Time seemed to stretch into slow motion. Jackson turned like an enraged devil, tightened his fingers around Gentry’s throat, and squeezed. He moved so fast that Gentry wasn’t able to get his hands up to protect himself and was left trying to breathe and pry Jacks’s hands off at the same time. Jackson wasn’t nearly as strong as Gentry, so it had to be the drugs. Jena had heard stories of users having almost superhuman strength. She ran toward them, but Adam got there first. He kicked Jacks’s legs out from beneath him and, by the time her brother hit the floor, Meizel was kneeling on his back, one hand pressing his head against the tile. The handcuffs clicked shut with a loud scrape of metal, and Meizel jerked Jacks to his feet. It was over in a matter of seconds. All four of them stood still for a moment. Until Jacks, his chin bleeding from hitting the floor, began spewing more accusations at Jena, laced with a liberal dose of f-bombs. Then life sped up again. Meizel held one of Jacks’s arms while Gentry held the other. The deputy had started his Miranda by the time they’d gotten Jacks out the front door, shoving him toward the patrol car none too gently.

I was hoping to talk to you, Nic.” Oh? “You have to do something about that dog.” Oh. “Tiger?” “What other dog roams this town at will and always manages to get in my way? This must be the last town in America not to have leash laws on the books.” “Actually, I agree with you about that. It’s not safe for the animals, and it’s something Eternity Springs will need to address once we have more visitors to town. What did he do now?” “I had a breakfast meeting at the Mocha Moose this morning. He was sitting at the door when I left, and he followed me back here. He’s been hanging around all day. You were supposed to find a home for him. That was the deal, was it not?” “Yes, and I’m still trying.” She licked her lips, then offered a smile just shy of sheepish. “Dale Parker has agreed to consider taking him.” Gabe jerked his stare away from her mouth as he asked, “So why is he underfoot every time I turn around?” “I explained that to you before. He’s adopted you.” “He’s a dog. It’s not his choice!” “Oh, for crying out loud,” Sage said. “Give it up, Callahan. I saw you slip that dog a hunk of your sandwich earlier. Way to chase him away.” Gabe didn’t bother defending himself, but watched Nic for a long minute before asking, “And where might I find Dale Parker?” “He owns the Fill-U-Up.” “That grumpy old son of a gun? No wonder the mutt has taken to hiding out with me. Is he the best you could do?” She watched it register on his face the moment he realized the mistake. Nic decided to take pity on him, mostly because her embarrassment lingered and she needed distance. “Where’s Tiger now?” “Here, at the foot of the stairs.” “He can stay with us.” She lifted her voice and called, “Tiger? Here, boy. C’mere, boy.” Four paws’ worth of nails clicked against the wooden floor. The boxer paused in the doorway and rubbed up against Gabe’s legs. “Awww,” Sage crooned as Sarah said, “He’s so cute. Gabe is right. He’s too sweet to hang with Dale Parker.” Nic dropped her hand and wiggled her fingers. Reluctantly the boxer approached. “You willing to take him home, Sarah?” “I can’t. Daisy and Duke are all I can handle. You know that.” She referred to the three-year-old golden retrievers who refused to leave the puppy stage behind. Nic scratched the boxer behind the ears and said, “What about you, big guy? Wanna watch the basketball game with us?” When the boxer climbed up on her knees and licked her face, she smiled and looped a finger through his leather collar. “We’ve got him. Sorry for the trouble, Callahan.” Gabe nodded, then glanced at the television and fired a parting shot. “You do know that Coach Romano has a twin brother who coaches at Southern Cal, don’t you?” Seated

At this moment, I know that the answer has to be yes. I am defeated. By my own father. How Darth Vader.

I should have known that today would be the day this would happen, I thought to myself, as I turned the key in the ignition and heard nothing. Not the choke of the engine trying to turn on. Nothing. Just a click. “Goddammit,” I hissed as I banged my forearms on the steering wheel and hissed out, “Mother-fucking-son-of-a-bitch-ass-whore. FUCK ME!

I change the font to white and type the stuff that’s just for me: P.S. Deep in my core, I find you insufferable. There are times, when you’re on the phone fake laughing or retelling someone the same story about your toenail surgery, that make me consider joining a cult as a preferable alternative to staying here with you. Also, I’m fairly certain you can’t legally brag about your son since you named him “Carl.” As I click send, I halt my breath. The rush of adrenaline hits as a flutter in my abdomen. It’s a safe high, since she won’t actually see the message.

smirk as I take a step forward, pressing that barrel right up against my temple with my hands still raised. His eyes widen fractionally, but he masks all other signs of surprise. “I’m the girl you sent your son to kill. I’d hoped you see the devil you loved through clearer eyes, but I guess you never did and never will.” Confusion only lights his eyes for the barest of moments before recognition slides over his face. “No,” he says in a rasp whisper. But then his eyes turn to ice, and the resonating sound of a dead click rattles around the room that is otherwise cloaked in silence. Fear replaces determination when I smile. And he pulls the trigger again, and again, and again…all while I take a step back. “Hope you don’t mind, Sheriff. I took the liberty of emptying all the bullets from every other gun in the house, sans your service weapon you left in the other room.

her throat a single row of humble seed pearls. ‘Bertie gave me these.’ Tenderly she fingered the hard cream-coloured pearls. A tear shone proud in her eye. ‘I might have married again after him.’ A sadness scarred her voice. ‘If anyone had asked. But no one ever did. None of them did.’ Trailing a slim hand over the long grey plait that hung gracefully over one shoulder, she moved away, her eyes now fixed on the small, circular table by the window. Peter had placed it there, at the furthest distance from her bed. Another little ploy to make her life more difficult. A few more steps and she was there. Softly, she picked up the receiver. With trembling fingers she began to dial, saying the numbers aloud as she did so. ‘Three, four, six . . .’ Here she paused, momentarily unsure, before going on again: ‘Two, one.’ After a series of ringing tones there was a click at the other end, then a man’s voice, authoritative and crisp. ‘Carter here!’ Realising that her son might come into the room at any minute, Ada lost no time. ‘There’s something I want you to do,’ she told her solicitor. ‘Right away!’ Attentive as always, he remained silent while she outlined her plan. Downstairs, Peter Williams held the receiver to his ear. Careful not to breathe too loudly, or make a sound, he listened intently; his dark eyes tightly closed, his handsome face contorting with rage as he followed the conversation. After a while, Ada brought the exchange to a close. ‘My son knows nothing of this,’ she warned. ‘It must remain a secret between you and me, for now at least.’ ‘Of course.’ The solicitor was an old friend. ‘You can rely on me.’ Shaken by what he had heard, Peter Williams softly replaced the receiver. The conversation only confirmed what he had long suspected. For a time he paced the floor, his mind unsettled. Presently, he stopped by the window, his face a mask of loathing. ‘I’m sorry, Mother.’ He smiled, a not unpleasant smile – unlike his thoughts. ‘I can’t allow it,’ he murmured. ‘It simply won’t do.

only grace I’d been given was that the window I’d climbed out of wasn’t the one facing the street but rather the one blocked by Wisher’s Grove. Only the hawks could see me…or witness my fall. The sound of ice clinking against glass caused me to swallow a groan. He’d already been in the room for at least thirty minutes, and I was betting that he was on his second glass of whiskey. I had no idea what he was doing. With the Rite kicking off in just hours, I imagined he was busy meeting with the new Ladies and Lords in Wait, and the parents who would be giving their third sons and daughters to the Temples. But no, he was here, drinking whiskey by himse— A knock on the door sounded. I closed my eyes, lightly banging the back of my head against the wall. Company? He was going to have visitors? Maybe the gods had been watching me this whole time, and this was yet another punishment. “Come in,” he called out, and I heard the door clicking shut a few moments later. “You’re late.” Oh, dear. I recognized that cold, flat tone. The Duke was not pleased. “My apologies, Your Grace. I came as soon as I could,” came the response. It was a male voice, one I didn’t immediately recognize, which meant it could be any number of people. Ascended Lords. Stewards. Merchants. Guards. “Not soon enough,” the Duke replied, and I cringed for whoever was surely on the receiving end of

We had a one-night stand. I got pregnant, tried to contact him. He tried to contact me. We lost contact for five years. I thought he’d abandoned me, I hated him. But he didn’t even know he had a child because I raised Arthur, that’s our son, by myself, until he showed up at one of my work events and wouldn’t leave me alone until . . .” She wiggles her ring finger and clicks her tongue. “Now we’re finally back on track and getting our happy ending.

Stuck on "on": how to manage a Sympathetic response 1. Say to yourself, "I am having trauma response. This is a physiological process. I'm not crazy." 2. Make a list of people, places, and things that you love. Notice how your body feels as you think about hugging your best friend, sitting on a beach, or curling up with your favorite book. 3. Use your senses. Weighted blankets. Essential oils. Soft music. Warm tea. These can all help your nervous system come back down. 4. Count backward from the number 31. 5. Notice 5 things you can see, 4 things you can hear, 3 things you can touch, and 1 thing you can taste. 6. Push as hard as you can against a door or a wall. Notice your muscles firing. Step back, take a break. Repeat three times. 7. Do simple math problems in your head. Simple thinking tasks will help your brain reorientate itself. 8. Name the sensations inside your body. Say to yourself out loud, "I feel tension in my neck. I feel tightness in my stomach. I feel he at in my face." Then look for one place in your body where you feel neutral or calm. Most people can access neutral by noticing random areas like their left knee cap or right ring finger. Focus your attention first on the neutral area, then on the tense area, then on the neutral area. Do this for four minutes. 9. Don't ask why you feel panic. Do ask who or what will help you feel safe. 10. If you have a dog or a cat, gently put your hand on their heart and count their heartbeat for three minutes. Stuck on "off": how to manage a high tone dorsal vagal state. 1. Remind yourself that you are not lazy or unmotivated. Tell yourself, "I am having a trauma response. This is a thing. I am not crazy." 2. Get cold. Splash ice-cold water on your face. Hold ice cubes in your hand. Put an ice pack on your neck. Or jump into the coldest possible shower you can stand. 3. Hum or sing. There's a reason people have changed "Ommm" since the 6th century. 4. Social connection is powerful medicine. Connect with a human over the phone: good. Over video chat: better: In person: best. 5. Don't ask why you're feeling frozen. Do ask who or what might help you feel safer. 6. Don't use hyperbolic exaggerated language like "I feel buried" or "I'm drowning." This language reinforces the stress response. Instead, get really specific." I need to call my son's teacher, pick up my prescription and finish a proposal for work." Write down the specific tasks. This will help your brain click back into solution mode. 7. Suck on a lemon. This sounds weird, but it can help suck your brain out of shutdown mode. 8. Open and close your mouth. Then move your head. Then stretch your arms and legs. 9. Grab both ends of a blanket and wring it out as you would if it was soaking wet. Notice your muscles firing as you do this. Take a break. Repeat three times. 10. If you have a safe and willing friend or partner, make eye contact with them for 2-3 minutes. It's super awkward, but you will get a bonus dose of energy if you both end up laughing.

7 The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge: but fools despise wisdom and instruction. 8 My son, hear the instruction of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother: 9 For they shall be an ornament of grace unto thy head, and chains about thy neck.

Under the pink wash of dawn, an unexpected foot of snow suffocates the landscape. The sight of so much transcendent white causes me to stare for minutes on end, mesmerized. More than mesmerized. In absolute awe. I've experienced this one other time: freshman year of high school, a ten-day trip to Italy with my school.... It was the first and only time I've seen Michelangelo's -La Pietà-. It took a moment to realize what it was, but then it clicked. This was Mary holding the body of her son. I had seen a thousand images of Jesus on the trip, but this sculpture grabbed my heart and squeezed so hard I stopped breathing. At that age, I cared little for art and had no connection with Jesus, but in that moment, I was so transfixed by this sculpture -- -how could it be so smooth?- --that I began to weep. Right there. Tears fell, and I thought I was having some kind of religious experience. But it wasn't that. It was the combination of profound beauty and sadness at such an exquisite level that it left me no option other than to cry. I hadn't experienced anything like that again. Until now. This snowfall. The beauty enveloping the sadness. With the tears welling in my eyes, I think once again about death. The rainbow in the cornfield. It's all so gorgeous, and it's all so tragic. The extremes of human emotion and how ironic that thoughts of dying fill me with such life. I'm still staring transfixed at the world outside when my father's voice resonates behind me. 'What a fuckhole of a mess out there.' And the beauty is gone. The sadness, however, remains. [Rose Yates]

Very much as I expected," Mason said cautiously."And do you want to do something that is for the best interests of your client?" "Very much. " "If," the voice said, "you will adhere to the bargain I outlined to you, you should be able to score another triumph over the prosecution, have the defendant released and have the case thrown out of court."Both my son and I are in a position to testify, if necessary, that when we entered that unit the man was lying on the floor breathing heavily and we thought he was drunk. And I will testify that I was the one who made the phone call to the manager of the motel. " "Suppose I simply subpoena you and put you on the stand?" Mason asked. She laughed and said, "Come, come, Mr.Mason, you're a veteran attorney. You could hardly commit a booboo of that sort. Think of what it would mean if I should state the man was alive and well when I left. " "And your price?" Mason asked."You know my price.Complete, utter silence about matters which will affect my property status and my social status.Good-by, Mr.Mason. " The receiver clicked at the other end of the line. Della Street raised inquiring eyebrows. Mason said, "Paul, you're going to have to pick up lunch somewhere along the line. I want you to go out to the Restawhile Motel. I want you to take a stop watch. I want you to get the manager to walk rapidly from the switchboard, out the front door, down to Unit to. I want you to have her open the door, walk inside, turn around, walk back, pick up the telephone, call police headquarters and ask what time it is. See how long it takes and report to me. " "Okay," Drake said."What time do you want me back here?" 171

I stared at my son’s face, peaceful in sleep. Rally. “Rally Ramsey,” I murmured, trying it out to see how it sounded. “Huh?” Faye asked. “What if we named him Rally?” She hummed. “Rally Gannon Ramsey.” It clicked. Instantly. “That’s his name.” “That’s his name.” Faye smiled, letting out a quiet laugh. “I guess we have to stop calling him Squish.

Once she's tucked under her covers, which I damn wished I did myself, I open my laptop on the kitchen counter and search for the sign she made after our dance. The one I didn't get. Clicking on a video, my jaw drops to the floor, and my heart tightens at the same time, so f*ckin' much it hurt. Mine. That's what she said as she was signing on my chest. Mine.

How do I get a human on Expedia? Stuck in a maze of automated options and just want to talk to a real human on Expedia? Don't worry, we've got the key to get you out! Call directly and speak to a real Expedia agent: