Coleman Love Quotes

Be careful whom you choose to love. This decision will impact your future life and happiness in ways you cannot yet imagine.

Love is the bee that carries the pollen from one heart to another.

Why does everyone think a guy who prefers love to people is missing something in his life?

I am part of everyone I ever dated on OK Cupid.

You can't worry about the rest of the world, never mind the rest of the universe. All you can do is look to your left and your right and try to be kind to whoever is there.

When cops are on the job they love lawyers like lions love hyenas, only minus the mutual respect.

Trying to make someone love you is like trying to climb uphill during an avalanche.

If you want what visible reality can give, you're an employee. If you want the unseen world, you're not living your truth. Both wishes are foolish, but you'll be forgiven for forgetting that what you really want is love's confusing joy.

And that's what it's about, isn't it? Love? Love's about making it last, making it stick, making it count - even when it hurts, when times are hard, when people change, when life changes them. If you love someone, then you have to want to love them, whoever they are.

In the front yard lives the oldest thing around, a white oak That I used to say is my love for the world, That I now would just call love as it is. Belonging to nobody, no metaphor, the very.

The feeling of how much I loved you almost drowned me - it was like I couldn't catch my breath.

They'd had fun, for sure. They laughed and enjoyed being together. But if she was painfully honest with herself, something was missing. Something in the way Tim looked at her. She remembered her mom's word. "I saw the way he looked at you...he adores you." Maybe that was it. Tim looked at her on a surface level. He smiled and seemed happy to see her. But When Cody looked at her, there were no layers left, nothing her didn't reveal, nothing he couldn't see. He didn't really look at her so much as he looked into her. To the deepest, most real places in her heart and soul.

Do not miss me, because I will always be with you. In every drop of rain that touches your tongue, in every breath of air you inhale. In the tips of the leaves that you brush with your fingertips as you pass by. I will be there, in every moment. I am not gone, I am only altered, from this state of matter to another. For a moment, for too brief a moment, I was the man that loved you, but now that I am changed, I am the air, the moon, the stars. For we are all made of stars, my beloved. You and I, and all of life, we were all born out of the death of a star, millions of billions of years ago. A star that lived long and then, before its death, burned at its brightest, its fiercest - an enflaming supernova. But when it died, it did not cease to exist; instead everything it was made of became part of the universe once again, and everything that is part of the universe will once more become part of us. So do not miss me, because I do not die; I transform - into the wind in the tops of the trees, the wave on the ocean, the pebbles under your foot, the dust on your bookshelves, the midnight sky. Wherever you look, I will be there.

We were all born by accident but this wandering caravan will make camp in perfection Forget the nonsense categories of there and here, race, nation, religion, starting point and destination You are soul, and you are love,... No more questions now as to what it is we're doing here

We sometimes make spiderwebs of smoke and saliva, fragile though-packets Leave thinking to the one who gave intelligence Stop weaving and watch how the pattern improve

You see, our physical bodies, they break down, eventually returning to dust, but energy, energy is never destroyed. And what is love, if it isn’t the most powerful energy we know of?

I think it’s love that lasts. It’s love that remembers us. It’s love that is left, when we are gone. I think those feelings are more real than our bodies and all the things that can go wrong with them.

Love is a funny thing," he says, breaking the silence. "Sometimes, I'd like to be better with words, so that I could talk about it more. It seems so wrong to me that there is this condition that affects all of us, more than anything else in our lives ever will, and only the poets and song writers get to talk about it with any sort of authority.

I used to always worry about money and where it would come from, but now I know that God is the supplier and the giver of good gifts.

Love is the religion and the universe is the book.

Falling in love doesn't wait to happen at mutually convenient times.

He wished he had feelings for Andi, wanted to be interested in her...But there were 10 quick reasons why he wasn't interested. The biggest: Bailey Flanigan. He could hear her laugh from across the room. He sighed, and it felt like it came from the basement of his soul.

Many Americans first fell in love with the poetry of the thirteenth century teacher and spiritual leader Jelalludin Rumi during the early 1990s when the unparalleled lyrical grace, philosophical brilliance, and spiritual daring of his work took modern Western readers completely by surprise. The impact of its soulful beauty and the depth of its profound humanity were so intense that they reportedly prompted numerous individuals to spontaneously compose poetry.

WHAT WAS TOLD, THAT What was said to the rose that made it open was said to me here in my chest. What was told the cypress that made it strong and straight, what was whispered the jasmine so it is what it is, whatever made sugarcane sweet, whatever was said to the inhabitants of the town of Chigil in Turkestan that makes them so handsome, whatever lets the pomegranate flower blush like a human face, that is being said to me now. I blush. Whatever put eloquence in language, that's happening here. The great warehouse doors open; I fill with gratitude, chewing a piece of sugarcane, in love with the one to whom every that belongs!

One Decision Makes All the Difference

Who thought up the dumb idea to arrange the memoir section in the bookstore by subject?

I loved being inside that cage. It felt like a secret, like hiding in a cupboard when you were a child and tapping the back to see if you could reach Narnia.

So, dream big, ask for help, embrace failure, take the shot, and continue to climb one step at a time.

Because I wondered what it's like to be in love,' she said. 'I thought you might have been. I read about it in books, of course, but I just wonder what it's like.' 'Like butterflies and rainbows, I think,' I say. 'And feeling crazy and exhilarated and high, and sometimes terrible and sad.But mostly feeling like you and the person you love are part of your own little universe that just the two of you have made, and everyone else doesn't really matter. I think it's probably like that.

Fana is what opens our wings, what makes boredom and hurt disappear. We break to pieces inside it, dancing and perfectly free. We are the dreamer streaming into the loving nowhere of night. Rapt, we are the devouring worm who, through grace, becomes an entire orchard, the wholeness of the trunks, the leaves, the fruit, and the growing. Fana is the dissolution just before our commotion and mad night prayers become silence. Rumi often associates surrender with the joy of falling into the freedom of sleep.

Passion doesn’t count the cost. Pascal said that the heart has its reasons that reason takes no account of. If he meant what I think, he meant that when passion seizes the heart it invents reasons that seem not only plausible but conclusive to prove that the world is well lost for love. It convinces you that honour is well sacrificed and that shame is a cheap price to pay. Passion is destructive. It destroyed Antony and Cleopatra, Tristan and Isolde, Parnell and Kitty O’Shea. And if it doesn’t destroy it dies. It may be then that one is faced with the desolation of knowing that one has wasted the years of one’s life, that one’s brought disgrace upon oneself, endured the frightful pang of jealousy, swallowed every bitter mortification, that one’s expended all one’s tenderness, poured out all the riches of one’s soul on a poor drab, a fool, a peg on which one hung one’s dreams, who wasn’t worth a stick of chewing gum.

Maybe knowing what it is that you want, the future that you have been fighting for, is what it will take to make it happen. It's easy to admit defeat and let go of people you love, or dreams you have, because it's difficult. Fighting for them is what takes courage. Fighting for them is what matters.

It is undeniably the case that in our society we do not easily accept that death is a natural part of life, which results in a perpetual sense of insecurity and fear, and many are confused at the time of the death of a loved one, not knowing what they can do to help the one that has passed away or how to address their own grief. Exploring ways of overcoming our fear of death and adopting a creative approach at the time of bereavement, that is, focusing one’s energy on supporting the one that has passed away, are both extraordinary benefits of the insights and practices that are so beautifully expressed in the Tibetan Book of the Dead. When I think of these things I often remember the Dalai Lama saying: ‘When we look at life and death from a broader perspective, then dying is just like changing our clothes! When this body becomes old and useless, we die and take on a new body, which is fresh, healthy and full of energy! This need not be so bad!’ Graham Coleman Thimpu, Bhutan

HEART: Think of the real stars that populate the heavens, Lerita. They don’t have to do anything to shine. It’s similar to the lovely flowers in your garden. They don’t try to be beautiful, they just are. That’s because they are fulfilling their purpose. And anything or anybody who is fulfilling his or her purpose in this world naturally shines and spreads joy. LERITA: Hmm, that sounds very astute. I shouldn’t try to be a star? HEART: Lerita, we all know a star when we see one—human or otherwise. They shine because they are not letting anything block the Divine Light that shines through them. LERITA: Whoa. I need to think about that. You’re saying that I need to be myself and I need to please God.

Love is the only way to win the free response of men, and this is possible only by the presence of Christ within the heart.

Beautiful men stay beautiful forever. That which is lovely remains so, preserved behind glass in one's mind.

You need to get the job, that gets you the experience, to get the job you want.

Never regret love,” she says. “That’s my motto. I don’t ever regret having loved someone too much, only not loving someone enough.

What is the body? That shadow of a shadow of your love, that somehow contains the entire universe

A man with an experience is not at the mercy of a man with an opinion.

You can feel yourself falling in love, not out of it.

Mi queridísima Leigh, al margen de lo que pase, recuerda siempre, siempre, que todos los días hay que hacerle saber a persona que amas lo mucho que la quieres, y todo irá bien.

Nothing will lead a man to more suffering than misplaced love.

What we love teaches us how to love.

If you were in love with life, with what you do, you wouldn’t be concerned about what others are doing or not doing.

Stating your fears out loud helps diffuse them. It’s like turning the light on in a dark room.

I was more confused than a chameleon in a bowl of Skittles.

I have learned that all anyone ever wants is to feel at peace with the sadness and love they have cobbled together into a life, with opportunities missed and those misguidedly taken...

Realistic expectations actually make you stronger. They cushion the blow when the unexpected happens. And they give you extra stamina when things don’t go as you hoped. This makes you less vulnerable to discouragement and defeat and less likely to bail completely on your dream.

He was wonderful, your dad – the love of my life. I knew he was the one for me. He listened to me. He always paid attention. There is no greater way to show love than by paying full attention. Inspecting the tiny details of someone else’s character like they are precious diamonds,

....at the brink of the end, have I really known what it means to be alive, to dance, to love, to fear and to want. But that's just what I want, not what I must do . . . And somehow, want it is enough. It's almost enough; wanting life so badly means that I have lived it, at least.

I was in my room that night when Shay called me. Grateful for Missy’s absence, like always, I answered and leaned back in my chair. “What’s up, Coleman?” He paused a beat before laughing under his breath. “Coleman. Okay. I get it. We’re like chill buddies? Is that it?” Was there a better description for us? I shrugged to myself. “We kinda hate each other but still seek each other out. I figured it’s time to move on from calling you ‘That Guy I Hate’ in my head to a name. Last names seem fitting. You can keep calling me Clarke.” “I never know what I’m going to get with you

Osho was very generous with his genius. When I went to Poona in 1988, he answered a question of mine. “Rumi says, ‘I want burning, burning.’ What does this burning have to do with my own possible enlightenment?” “You have asked a very dangerous question, Coleman. Burning has nothing to do with your enlightenment. This work you have done with Rumi is beautiful. It has to be, because it is coming out of Rumi’s love. But for you these poems can become ecstatic self-hypnosis.” He pretty much nailed me to the floor with that one. Sufism is good, but end up with Zen. It was a fine hit he gave me. I am still drawn to the Sufi longing and love-madness, but clarity is coming up strong on the inside. I have not assimilated his wisdom yet, but I mean to. I am very grateful to him. But it is not wisdom for everyone. Osho crafted his words to suit the individual. Ecstatic self-hypnosis might be just the thing for someone else. He was showing me a daylight beyond any beloved darkness, an ecstatic sobriety beyond any drunkenness.

These last few months, I have simply been a woman waiting to be loved once again, loved in a way that I let define me. But I existed before Vincent loved me. I existed before he became lodged in my heart. And if I have lost him, I must still be able to exist. What choice is there when a man stops loving you? You can’t really just let yourself blow away on the wind, can you?

Most of us do not like not being able to see what others see or make sense of something new. We do not like it when things do not come together and fit nicely for us. That is why most popular movies have Hollywood endings. The public prefers a tidy finale. And we especially do not like it when things are contradictory, because then it is much harder to reconcile them (this is particularly true for Westerners). This sense of confusion triggers in a us a feeling of noxious anxiety. It generates tension. So we feel compelled to reduce it, solve it, complete it, reconcile it, make it make sense. And when we do solve these puzzles, there's relief. It feels good. We REALLY like it when things come together. What I am describing is a very basic human psychological process, captured by the second Gestalt principle. It is what we call the 'press for coherence.' It has been called many different things in psychology: consonance, need for closure, congruity, harmony, need for meaning, the consistency principle. At its core it is the drive to reduce the tension, disorientation, and dissonance that come from complexity, incoherence, and contradiction. In the 1930s, Bluma Zeigarnik, a student of Lewin's in Berlin, designed a famous study to test the impact of this idea of tension and coherence. Lewin had noticed that waiters in his local cafe seemed to have better recollections of unpaid orders than of those already settled. A lab study was run to examine this phenomenon, and it showed that people tend to remember uncompleted tasks, like half-finished math or word problems, better than completed tasks. This is because the unfinished task triggers a feeling of tension, which gets associated with the task and keeps it lingering in our minds. The completed problems are, well, complete, so we forget them and move on. They later called this the 'Zeigarnik effect,' and it has influenced the study of many things, from advertising campaigns to coping with the suicide of loved ones to dysphoric rumination of past conflicts.

I’ve never in my life had someone put their hands on me and my mind is racing about how to escape. He grabs me tighter and pushes me against the wall, knocking one of the gold plaques off-center. He pins both of my arms against the wall. I’m writhing in his grip but he’s so much stronger than me. “You let him hit it and not me, huh?” His eyes are wide and glassy. “I get you into a good situation and you still want to act like a bougie-ass bitch!

MARY'S HIDING Before these possessions you love slip away, say what Mary said when she was surprised by Gabriel, I'll hide inside God. Naked in her room she saw a form of beauty that could give her new life. Like the sun coming up, or a rose as it opens. She leaped, as her habit was, out of herself into the divine presence. There was fire in the channel of her breath. Light and majesty came. I am smoke from that fire and proof of its existence, more than any external form.

I can barely hear him, though I realize he’s calling me every name under the sun. His voice is this low buzz while I literally search for anything I can grab hold of to knock him over the head. What makes a person like this? What makes a person think they have some type of entitlement to a woman? His crazed look is terrifying, his whole face distorted. His grip gets tighter and sweat is starting to form on his forehead as we tussle. I desperately yank and pull to free my wrists, but it only

The road from sick A to well B is not straight or paved. It winds; there are obstacles; you will fall on the path. Are you willing to get back up again? And again? You will feel as if you are groping in the dark. Will you trust that there is light at the end? Until you get there, can you work with the shadows? You will need community. Can you trust those who love you? Can you hold tight with one hand and release with the other? You will have to trust in the process. You will need faith. Do you want to be made well?

You know Shay Coleman?” the guy asked, sounding doubtful. The girl was still laughing. She had no clue what was going on. “I’m in a class with him. It’s all good. I’m not like a stalker or anything.” I shuddered at that thought, and as the girl pulled me forward and into a large crowd in the bar, I couldn’t help but think about the control a stalker had. They chose when to say something. They chose when to approach, when to look, when to retreat. They had all the control. That was creepy as fuck. I never wanted to be a stalker. Why was I thinking about that?

Studies show that the most effective parents are authoritative.110 Authoritative parents are defined as being affectionate and loving with their children, but strong in their ability to set limits and make demands. Authoritative parents are contrasted with authoritarians, who are highly controlling and show little affection or tenderness toward their children. They’re also contrasted with permissive parents, who are loving and affectionate but unable to set appropriate limits. Both authoritarian and permissive parents are less likely to raise well-adjusted children than authoritatives.

I am a teacher. I am a writer. I am a poet. I am a minister. I am church. I am dance. I am the breath of the ancestors. I am the joy of God. I am my grandmother’s prayers. I am my grandfather’s dreaming. I am incense burning. I am a woman. I am the natural dread. I am a woman who loves the company of other women. I am a woman who honors the ancestors. I am sister. I am daughter. I am a daughter of Oshun. I am a person who feels deeply. I am alive. I am whole. I am a woman who believes in freedom. I am a woman who fights for freedom. I am a co-journeyer. I am a friend. I am loved by many.

In those years, my early twenties, when I was bursting into my faith with a burning-hot first fervour, many of my friends and I wanted to see the miracles of the New Testament. I still do. But as the years have passed and that first fervour has given birth to a deeper and more persistent and admiring second love, I've come to see that kindness is a miracle, self-control a shocking characteristic, gentleness and humility rare commodities, and Christian unity almost worthy of greater awe than dead-raising. We were looking for the "grand" stuff, but surprisingly, the "little" stuff was harder to come by.

Not everything happens for a reason. You didn’t get estranged because you were supposed to be taught some purposeful lesson in order to become stronger, wiser, whatever. God didn’t deliver this nightmare to teach you how to become better at suffering. You were probably pretty good at it before you became estranged. You became estranged because bad things happen to good people. And even if you made monstrously terrible decisions with your children, nothing makes you deserving of a life without them in it. If your kids are unable to see you as worthy of love, acceptance, and forgiveness, then you have to find redemption in that small crack in the continuum of catastrophe, as Walter Benjamin put it. And guard it with your life.

He’s coming off the bridge,” said Serge. “The rocks will start soon.” “Rocks?” “It’s local tradition, and another reason I love the Keys.” Serge stood and put on his sneakers. “It’s our version of when those people went out to the overpasses and waved at O. J. Simpson during the slow-motion chase. Except in the Keys, when there’s a high-speed pursuit on TV heading south, the locals line the road and wait for the car to come off the bridge to Key Largo. Last time was around Christmas.” “You’re right.” Coleman pointed at the TV again. “They’re lining the side of the road. They’re throwing rocks.” “And we’re at Mile Marker 105, so that gives us about three minutes.” Serge tightened the Velcro straps on his shoes. “Let’s go throw rocks.

Perhaps it was the weeks in the cage alone. Perhaps it was the lack of control. Perhaps it was the heat and the fire and the fear. Her instincts would have told her to go to water perhaps. I don't know. All I know is that she's done this thing that she's been too scared to do for all the years she's been here, sitting for endless hours at her beach. I am so proud of her, it swells in my throat and I find it difficult to swallow. All I can see is the back of her head, brown in the sun, splattered with water droplets and lagoon sludge, the slick pale tips of her ears and the dark tuft of her tail swishing through the water. Everything that I feel for her swells up too, unexpected and completely flooring. I'm absolutely wrecked, my body broken and my mind shattered. Is this love? I don't know. All I know is that I've never felt anything like this before in my life.

As I turn into our road, I wonder what it is that I have lost. I know that I have lost myself, and I don't know where to look for here, the strong, funny, capable woman I used to be. The woman who knew what to do in a crisis. The woman who never failed. I think I must have left her by the roadside one nigh, concentrating so hard on running away that I stopped running after what I wanted, or to the people I love. I stop in front of windows of the corner shop and look at my reflection in the glass. I'm soaked through to the bone. My feet are shoeless and wet. I'm exhausted and pale. I'm a half person, living a half life, surrounded by death. I'm a ghost, a shadow. I hear the long sound coming before I realize that I am making it, low like a moan. It is grief, and it is mine. Slowly, it builds into one wrenching sob after another and I realize I am mourning, I am mourning for the life I once had. The exciting job that made a difference, that brought people back from the brink of death, the strong, handsome, brave husband who adored me. I am grieving for the girl who always knew what she wanted and knew how to be alive in this terrifying world. That girl is gone. She is lying in pieces somewhere and I miss her. I miss her and I want her back.

However, it is also true that sometimes people are transformed by their marriages in negative and hostile ways. I think this occurs as an attempt to resolve what Leon Festinger in 1957 referred to as cognitive dissonance. Festinger writes that we’re all powerfully driven to experience ourselves as consistent in our thought processes. As a result, if we become aware of an inconsistency in our beliefs, we’ll change one or more of the beliefs to make them more internally consistent. How might the theory of cognitive dissonance explain why Sam changed from being a kind and considerate family member to being critical and angry? Here’s how the shift in personality might work: Belief: My parents and sisters are good people who deserve my love and respect. Belief: Maria hates my family and thinks they brainwashed me into thinking that they were good to me when they really weren’t. Since Sam loves both his family and Maria, he’s in a quandary. If he remains committed to Maria, he’ll produce endless fights by disagreeing with her or pushing her into being more involved with his family; she has already said that she doesn’t like them and doesn’t feel comfortable being in their presence. He will also feel guilt toward Maria if he remains in contact with them, as she’s made it clear that he needs to choose her over him and being close to them is therefore a betrayal of her. Since Sam has to come home to Maria each night, his path of least cognitive dissonance is to accept her version of his parents as the correct one.

The door was still open, so I shut it and was returning to my desk when I braked. There was a backpack resting on the other side of my desk chair. It wasn’t mine. It wasn’t Missy’s. I was pretty sure it wasn’t Holly’s or the cousin’s. “Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “Huh?” she barked, her head swinging around to me. A quick glance confirmed what I already knew. She was drunk. “Nothing.” She pulled out one of her shirts, but it wasn’t her normal pajama top. She was really drunk. I picked up Shay’s bag and checked the contents to make sure it was his. It was. I saw his planner with his name scrawled at the top, so I zipped that bag and put it in the back of my closet. No one needed to go through it. I didn’t think Missy would, but I just never knew. Dropping into my chair, I picked up my phone to text Shay as Missy fell to the floor. I looked up to watch. I couldn’t not see this. I was tempted to video it, but I was being nice. For once. As Missy wrestled with her jeans and lifted them over her head to throw into her closet, I texted Shay. Me: You left your bag here. Missy let out a half-gurgled moan and a cry of frustration at the same time. She didn’t stand, instead crawling to the closet. She grabbed another pair of pants. Those weren’t her pajamas, either. As she pulled them on—or tried since her feet kept eluding the pants’ hole—my phone buzzed back. Coleman: Can I pick it up in the morning? I texted back. Me: When? Missy got one leg in. Success. I wanted to thrust my fist in the air for her. My phone buzzed again. Coleman: Early. My playbook is in there. I groaned. Me: When is early? I’m in college, Coleman. Sleeping in is mandatory. Coleman: Nine too early for you? I can come back to get it now. Nine was doable. Me: Let’s do an exchange. You bring me coffee, and I’ll meet you at the parking lot curb with your bag. Coleman: Done. Decaf okay? I glared at my phone. Me: Back to hating you. Coleman: Never stop that. The world’s equilibrium will be fucked up. I have to know what’s right and wrong. Don’t screw with my moral compass, Cute Ass. Oh, no! No way. Me: Third rule of what we don’t talk about. No nicknames unless they reconfirm our mutual dislike for each other. No Cute Ass. His response was immediate. Coleman: Cunt Ass? A second squeak from me. Me: NO! I could almost hear him laughing. Coleman: Relax. I know. Clarke’s Ass. That’s how you are in my phone. The tension left my shoulders. Me: See you in the morning. 9 sharp. Coleman: Night. I put my phone down, but then it buzzed once again. Coleman: Ass. I was struggling to wipe this stupid grin off my face. All was right again. I plugged my phone in, pulled my laptop back toward me, and sent a response to Gage’s email. I’ll sit with you, but only if we’re in the opposing team’s section. He’d be pissed, but that was the only way. I turned the computer off, and by then Missy was climbing up the ladder in a bright pink silk shirt. The buttons were left buttoned, and her pajama bottoms were a pair of corduroy khakis. I was pretty sure she didn’t brush her teeth, but before my head even hit the pillow, she was snoring

While we all wish that love were a place of unconditional approval and acceptance, real-life marriage doesn’t work that way. The reality is that each of us constantly evaluates whether we’re getting as much out of the bargain as the other. When we are getting enough, our needs to strategize and negotiate recede into the background and a kind of harmony is achieved. When we’re not, we have to reexamine what we’re getting, what we’re not, and how we’re gonna go and get it. Women often feel more guilty engaging in this kind of hard-boiled, strategic thinking in marriage because they’re socialized to be more empathic and self-sacrificing.

Coleman, respect your elders!” said Serge. “I know I do. I see some ninety-year-old dude driving ten miles an hour, clutching the steering wheel to his face. Everyone else impatiently honks, but I say, ‘Rock on!’ and shoot him a gray-power fist salute. You have to give a guy like that credit, if only for excellent attendance.” Serge turned to the group of seniors nearest him and waved. “You’re my heroes! I love absolutely everything you’re doing with this whole ‘not dying’ thing!

Serge,” said Coleman. “Are we shopping?” “No, I just love coming to the mall at Christmas, digging how stores tap into the whole holiday spirit, especially the bookstores with their special bargain displays.” “Displays?” asked Coleman. “Big ones near the front,” said Serge. “If you want to show someone you put absolutely zero thought into their gift, you buy a giant picture book about steam locomotives, ceramic thimbles, or Scotland.” “But why are we wearing elf suits?” “To spread good cheer.” “What for?” “Because of the War on Christmas.” “Who started the war?” asked Coleman. “Ironically, the very people who coined the term and claim others started the war. They’re upset that people of different faiths, along with the coexistence crowd who respect those faiths, are saying ‘Season’s Greetings’ and ‘Happy Holidays.’ But nobody’s stopping anyone from saying ‘Merry Christmas.’ ” “And they’re still mad?” Serge shrugged. “It’s the new holiness: Tolerance can’t be tolerated. So they hijack the birth of Jesus as a weapon to start quarrels and order people around. Christmas should be about the innocence of children—and adults reverting to children to rediscover their innocence. That’s why we’re in elf suits. We’re taking Christmas back!

Dear friends and enemies, Season’s greetings! It’s me, Serge! Don’t you just hate these form letters people stuff in Christmas cards? Nothing screams “you’re close to my heart” like a once-a-year Xerox. Plus, all the lame jazz that’s going on in their lives. “Had a great time in Memphis.” “Bobby lost his retainer down a storm drain.” “I think the neighbors are dealing drugs.” But this letter is different. You are special to me. I’m just forced to use a copy machine and gloves because of advancements in forensics. I love those TV shows! Has a whole year already flown by? Much to report! Let’s get to it! Number one: I ended a war. You guessed correct, the War on Christmas! When I first heard about it, I said to Coleman, “That’s just not right! We must enlist!” I rushed to the front lines, running downtown yelling “Merry Christmas” at everyone I saw. And they’re all saying “Merry Christmas” back. Hmmm. That’s odd: Nobody’s stopping us from saying “Merry Christmas.” Then I did some research, and it turns out the real war is against people saying “Happy holidays.” The nerve: trying to be inclusive. So, everyone … Merry Christmas! Happy Hannukah! Good times! Soul Train! Purple mountain majesties! The Pompatus of Love! There. War over. And just before it became a quagmire. Next: Decline of Florida Roundup. —They tore down the Big Bamboo Lounge near Orlando. Where was everybody on that one? —Remember the old “Big Daddy’s” lounges around Florida with the logo of that bearded guy? They’re now Flannery’s or something. —They closed 20,000 Leagues. And opened Buzz Lightyear. I offered to bring my own submarine. Okay, actually threatened, but they only wanted to discuss it in the security office. I’ve been doing a lot of running lately at theme parks. —Here’s a warm-and-fuzzy. Anyone who grew up down here knows this one, and everyone else won’t have any idea what I’m talking about: that schoolyard rumor of the girl bitten by a rattlesnake on the Steeplechase at Pirate’s World (now condos). I’ve started dropping it into all conversations with mixed results. —In John Mellencamp’s megahit “Pink Houses,” the guy compliments his wife’s beauty by saying her face could “stop a clock.” Doesn’t that mean she was butt ugly? Nothing to do with Florida. Just been bugging me. Good news alert! I’ve decided to become a children’s author! Instilling state pride in the youngest residents may be the only way to save the future. The book’s almost finished. I’ve only completed the first page, but the rest just flows after that. It’s called Shrimp Boat Surprise. Coleman asked what the title meant, and I said life is like sailing on one big, happy shrimp boat. He asked what the surprise was, and I said you grow up and learn that life bones you up the ass ten ways to Tuesday. He started reading and asked if a children’s book should have the word “motherfucker” eight times on the first page. I say, absolutely. They’re little kids, after all. If you want a lesson to stick, you have to hammer it home through repetition…In advance: Happy New Year! (Unlike 2008—ouch!)

And this...was the natural order: love everywhere, and also, a terrible mess.

1 Timothy 2:11-15: Women should listen and learn quietly and submissively. I do not let women teach men or have authority over them. Let them listen quietly. For God made Adam first, and afterward he made Eve. And it was the woman, not Adam, who was deceived by Satan, and sin was the result. But women will be saved through childbearing and by continuing to live in faith, love, holiness, and modesty.

Father In the Name of Jesus, I thank you that you love me with an everlasting love. I have known and believed the love that you have for me. I thank you that as Jesus is so am I in this world. I thank you that there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. I thank you that the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set me free from the Spirit of sin and death. Today I receive the abundance of your grace and your gift of righteousness by which I am destined to reign in this life. I thank you that I am the righteousness of God In Christ Jesus because Jesus became sin for me at the cross. I thank you that you have given me power and authority over every work of the enemy and nothing shall by in any way hurt or harm me. Now address the addiction (It works for every addiction!) In the Name of Jesus therefore I command every addiction in my life (you can name the addiction) to be plucked up by its roots and cast into the sea In Jesus Name. I declare my freedom because whosoever the Son sets free is free indeed. Thank you Father I am free In Jesus Name.

Love is a funny thing," he says, breaking the silence. "Sometimes, I'd like to be better with words, so that I could talk about it more. It seems so wrong to me that there is this condition that affects all of us, more than anything else in our lives ever will, and only the poets and song writers get to talk about it with any sort of authority.

If you truly love God and want to be ferocious, then you must do what it takes to break free from pain, sorrow, anguish, and anything else weighing you down

he stops to show me the label. ‘This is one of my favourite local wines: Costa d’Amalfi Tramonti Bianco. Tenuta San Francesco grow their wines on the steep terraced hills in Tramonti, in the heart of the Amalfi Coast. Try it – I bought this specially for us to enjoy tonight.’ Nico passes me a glass and I pretend to know

Not everything happens for a reason. You didn’t get estranged because you were supposed to be taught some purposeful lesson in order to become stronger, wiser, whatever. God didn’t deliver this nightmare to teach you how to become better at suffering. You were probably pretty good at it before you became estranged. You became estranged because bad things happen to good people. And even if you made monstrously terrible decisions with your children, nothing makes you deserving of a life without them in it. If your kids are unable to see you as worthy of love, acceptance, and forgiveness, then you have to find redemption in that small crack in the continuum of catastrophe, as Walter Benjamin put it. And guard it with your life. AFTERWORD The truest form of wealth is social, not material. Jonathan Rauch, The Happiness Curve

As Stanford researcher Philip Zimbardo wrote, “A remarkable thing about cult mind control is that it’s so ordinary in the tactics and strategies of social influence employed. They are variants of well-known social psychological principles of compliance, conformity, persuasion, dissonance,…emotional manipulation, and others that are used on all of us daily to entice us: to buy, to try, to donate, to vote, to join, to change, to believe, to love, to hate the enemy…Cult mind control is not different in kind from these everyday varieties, but in its greater intensity, persistence, duration, and scope.

Es que no hay forma de decir en voz alta que se puede odiar a alguien por morirse, como yo la odio a ella

Every day that we’re not together is one day we’ll never get back, isn’t it?

Oh that? That was a man who’s watching the woman he wants be with someone else.

I do think you are one of the best things that has happened to this firm in a while, I will give you the choice. Do you want to keep seeing him or do you want your job?” She clasps her hands together.

Dylan has a thing for you, Carli. I don’t know how you missed it over the last maybe year or so, but he does. And that’s making this whole situation a little more complicated,” she says, rubbing her temples.

when y’all are done with Pretty Boy so we can finish up this real music and move on. I’m sure you’ll have some good material after homeboy screws you over like he does everyone else.

He grabs my leg and kisses up to my thigh. It’s like lightning is striking all over my body and the more I try to control it, the more electric the feeling. It had been a long time since I let anyone touch me. I couldn’t believe it was him. I wasn’t sure if I even still knew how to do this with someone.

My mom used to tell me, “If you want to keep a secret, you keep it to yourself.

Nothing. You don’t get it. Two years we’ve been working together.” He mutters something else but I don’t catch it. “You know what, never mind. It’s all good. Just don’t be that girl, Carli,” he sneers.

No, you earned the opportunity. Lesson number one: You do not get what you deserve, you get what you negotiate. Always remember, you are not here by happenstance, but because you bust your tuchus to get here.

Tau was someone special, but I hadn’t anticipated the jolt of electricity I felt when kissing Dylan.

Humming the melody as I skip down the stairs, the title comes to

me. “Good Morning, Love.” That was the name. They normally came to me after the song was complete.

Really? So she’s fucking Tau Anderson and now she’s too good to speak. Funny,” he says while making a sucking sound with his teeth.

Maybe now I can see what’s so fucking special about it. Does glitter shoot out of it or something?” He’s so close his hot-ass breath is violating my nose. “Get the hell off me, Meck!” I shout, but I’m sure no one can hear me through the thick soundproof door. My skin is flushed.

makes my skin burn. I kick at him, and he dodges until I stick one right in his balls like my dad always taught me. He grabs for his junk and reaches back for me with a balled fist, but I sidestep him and the door swings open. Red. Mark. Tau.

Yo, get this dude the fuck out of here, Mark, before I kill him.” Tau presses into Meck’s side harder with his sneaker. “I let you slide the first time with the shit you talked. But you put your hands on her? On my girl?

Mark rushes over and lifts Meck off the floor like he’s a child. Hoisting

him up by his arms, he drags him toward the door.