Cracked Kingdom Quotes

I wanted to crack his soul open and read him like a book, discovering the deepest secrets and stories of how he came to be.

His knuckles brushed against her skin and lightning cracked through him, left him paralyzed, rooted to the earth. His heart should not be making that sound.

Why the net, Kaz?" Yes, why the net? Why something that could complicate the assault he'd planned on the silos and leave them twice as open to exposure? I couldn't bear to watch you fall. "I just went to a lot of trouble to get my spider back. I didn't do it so you could crack your skull open the next day.

I wasn’t seeking a place, but a person. I’d come home.

Elide saw the sorrow on her face before she reached her. The dullness and pain in the golden eyes. She went still. "Who?" Manon's throat bobbed. "All." All of the Thirteen. All those fierce, brilliant witches. Gone. Elide put a hand to her heart, as if it could stop it from cracking. But Manon closed the distance between them, and even with that grief in her battered, bloodied face, she put a hand on Elide's shoulder. In comfort. As if the witch had learned to do such things.

How he’s my sun, my warmth, my guiding star. My East. How I’m his soul, his purpose, his love. His Hart.

Distance is the journey. Displacement is the result.

There was something in the moonlight tonight. It was stroking the stonework and spires, leaning into cracks between the cobblestones, caressing the stained-glass windows. She felt her heart lift with magic.

I’d rather stick my dick in the exhaust pipe of my truck than in you,

Cooking was magic and music combined. The crack of shells, the hiss of pancetta hitting a hot pan, the metallic clang of a whisk beating the side of a bowl, even the rythmic thwack of a cleaver against a wooden cutting board.

A groan rumbled through the mountain beneath them. Morath shuddered. Maeve’s eyes widened further. A crack louder than thunder echoed through the stones. The tower swayed. Dorian’s mouth curved upward. You didn’t think I spent all those hours merely searching, did you?

Seriously, though, I know who my family is. Gid, Reed, and the twins are my brothers. Ella’s my sister. Callum’s my dad. Maria’s my mom. And you, you’re my heart.

I’m a Royal because I’m loved by Easton Royal. There’s nothing more pure and wondrous in the world than that.

The world is made of more than particles. It's made of things you can't hold in your hand, like fear, love, loss, hope, truth.

I'm a piece of glass with a crack spreading across me, spidering off in all directions, waiting to shatter me completely.

Girlfriend stuff is the planned-out shit because you’re trying to impress someone. Marriage stuff is the laidback things you really enjoy doing and you’re comfortable enough with the person that you don’t have to impress them.

Aelin smiled at the thought as she slipped on her dressing robe, shuffling her feet into her shearling-lined slippers. Even with spring fully upon them, the mornings were chill. Indeed, Fleetfoot lay beside the fire on her little cushioned bed, curled up tightly. And as equally exhausted as Rowan, apparently. The hound didn’t bother to crack open an eye.

This is why I drove here. I wasn’t seeking a place, but a person. I’d come home.

How about we meet at midnight tomorrow and try this. I close my eyes, believe in you, and there you'll be.

Been thinking of my grandfather, whose wayward brilliance skipped my father’s generation. Once, he showed me an aquatint of a certain Siamese temple. Don’t recall its name, but ever since a disciple of the Buddha preached on the spot centuries ago, every bandit king, tyrant, and monarch of that kingdom has enhanced it with marble towers, scented arboretums, gold-leafed domes, lavished murals on its vaulted ceilings, set emeralds into the eyes of its statuettes. When the temple finally equals its counterpart in the Pure Land, so the story goes, that day humanity shall have fulfilled its purpose, and Time itself shall come to an end. To men like Ayrs, it occurs to me, this temple is civilization. The masses, slaves, peasants, and foot soldiers exist in the cracks of its flagstones, ignorant even of their ignorance. Not so the great statesmen, scientists, artists, and most of all, the composers of the age, any age, who are civilization’s architects, masons, and priests. Ayrs sees our role is to make civilization ever more resplendent. My employer’s profoundest, or only, wish is to create a minaret that inheritors of Progress a thousand years from now will point to and say, “Look, there is Vyvyan Ayrs!” How vulgar, this hankering after immortality, how vain, how false. Composers are merely scribblers of cave paintings. One writes music because winter is eternal and because, if one didn’t, the wolves and blizzards would be at one’s throat all the sooner.

As if I didn't have enough to worry about. My kingdom is threatened by war, extinction, or both, and the only way to solve it is to give up the only thing I've ever really wanted. Then Toraf pulls something like this. Betrays me and my sister. Galen cant imagine how things could get worse. So he's not expecting it when Emma giggles. He turns on her. "What could be funny?" She laughs so hard she has to lean into him for support. He stiffens against the urge to wrap his arms around her. Wiping tears from her eyes, she says, "He kissed me!" The confession makes her crack up all over again. "And you think that's funny?" "You don't understand, Galen," she says, the beginnings of hiccups robbing her of breath. "Obviously." "Don't you see? It worked!" "All I saw was Toraf, my sister's mate, my best friend, kissing my...my..." "Your what?" "Student." Obsession. "Your student. Wow." Emma shakes her head then hiccups. "Well, I know you're mad about what he did to Rayna, but he did it to make her jealous." Galen tries to let that sink in, but it stays on the surface like a bobber. "You're saying he kissed you to make Rayna jealous?" She nods, laugher bubbling up again. "And it worked! Did you see her face?" "You're saying he set Rayna up." Instead of me? Galen shakes his head. "Where would he get an idea like that?" "I told him to do it." Galen's fists ball against his will. "You told him to kiss you?" "No! Sort of. Not really though." "Emma-" "I told him to play hard to get. You know, act uninterested. He came up with kissing me all on his own. I'm so proud of him!" She thinks Toraf is a genius for kissing her. Great. "Did...did you like it?" "I just told you I did, Galen." "Not his plan. The kiss." The delight leaves her face like a receding tide. "That's none of your business, Highness." He runs a hand through his hair to keep from shaking her. And kissing her. "Triton's trident, Emma. Did you like it or not?" Taking several steps back, she throws her hands on her hips. "Do you remember Mr. Pinter, Galen? World history?" "What does that have to do with anything?" "Tomorrow is Monday. When I walk into Mr. Pinter's class, he won't ask me how I liked Toraf's kiss. In fact, he won't care what I did for the entire weekend. Because I'm his student. Just like I'm your student, remember?" Her hair whips to the side as she turns and walks away with that intoxicating saunter of hers. She picks up her towel and steps into her flip-flops before heading up the hill to the house. "Emma, wait." "I'm tired of waiting, Galen. Good night.

The cynics, they can only speak of the dark, of the obvious, and this is not hard. For all it’s supposed sophistication, it’s cynicism that’s simplistic. In a fallen world, how profound is to see the cracks? The sages and prophets, the disciples and revolutionaries, they are the ones up on the ramparts, up on the wall pointing to the dawn of the new Kingdom coming, pointing to the light that breaks through all things broken, pointing to redemption always rising and to the Blazing God who never sleeps.

Aelin let out a sob that cracked something in him. "I can't feel me — myself anymore. It's like she snuffed it out. Ripped me from it. She, and Cairn, and everything they did to me." She gulped down air, and Rowan wrapped her in his arms and pulled her onto his lap. "I am so tired," she wept. "I am so, so tired, Rowan.

Monologue At 3 AM" Better that every fiber crack and fury make head, blood drenching vivid couch, carpet, floor and the snake-figured almanac vouching you are a million green counties from here, than to sit mute, twitching so under prickling stars, with stare, with curse blackening the time goodbyes were said, trains let go, and I, great magnanimous fool, thus wrenched from my one kingdom.

Because he’s Easton Royal and I have zero self-control, because my sore heart needs all the sun it can get, because I love him back, I throw myself into his arms and kiss him.

We take each other’s breath and give it back until we’re one unit, one heart, one body. It’s erotic and intoxicating—a high that I never want to come down from.

The kingdom of sleep demands its forfeits, and the world looks very different through eyes cracked and yellow with its denial.

Do you think there could be a universe next door?

I wanted to crawl into his embrace and ask him to hold me until this nightmare was all over.

Instead, I can be a Royal and open my heart up to receive all the precious love that Easton wants to shower on me. So I wrap my arms around the sun and let him warm me from the inside out.

We’re both smiling as we go our separate ways, and once again I’m struck by the magic that is Easton Royal. The one person in my life who—at my lowest or my highest—never fails to put a smile on my face.

Your jacket is worth a couple of mortgage payments. I don't think anyone is going to mistake you for a burglar." "Of course it is.” She rolls her eyes. “Do you get an allergy if your clothes cost less than four figures?” “Yes. Yes, I do. And my dick shrinks, too.

The hills below crouched on all fours under the weight of the rainforest where liana grew and soldier ants marched in formation. Straight ahead they marched, shamelessly single-minded, for soldier ants have no time for dreaming. Almost all of them are women and there is so much to do - the work is literally endless. So many to be born and fed, then found and buried. There is no time for dreaming. The life of their world requires organization so tight and sacrifice so complete there is little need for males and they are seldom produced. When they are needed, it is deliberately done by the queen who surmises, by some four-million-year-old magic she is heiress to, that it is time. So she urges a sperm from the private womb where they were placed when she had her one, first and last copulation. Once in life, this little Amazon trembled in the air waiting for a male to mount her. And when he did, when he joined a cloud of others one evening just before a summer storm, joined colonies from all over the world gathered fro the marriage flight, he knew at last what his wings were for. Frenzied, he flied into the humming cloud to fight gravity and time in order to do, just once, the single thing he was born for. Then he drops dead, having emptied his sperm into his lady-love. Sperm which she keeps in a special place to use at her own discretion when there is need for another dark and singing cloud of ant folk mating in the air. Once the lady has collected the sperm, she too falls to the ground, but unless she breaks her back or neck or is eaten by one of a thousand things, she staggers to her legs and looks for a stone to rub on, cracking and shedding the wings she will never need again. Then she begins her journey searching for a suitable place to build her kingdom. She crawls into the hollow of a tree, examines its walls and corners. She seals herself off from all society and eats her own wing muscles until she bears her eggs. When the first larvae appear, there is nothing to feed them, so she gives them their unhatched sisters until they are old enough and strong enough to hunt and bring their prey back to the kingdom. That is all. Bearing, hunting, eating, fighting, burying. No time for dreaming, although sometimes, late in life, somewhere between the thirtieth and fortieth generation she might get wind of a summer storm one day. The scent of it will invade her palace and she will recall the rush of wind on her belly - the stretch of fresh wings, the blinding anticipation and herself, there, airborne, suspended, open, trusting, frightened, determined, vulnerable - girlish, even, for and entire second and then another and another. She may lift her head then, and point her wands toward the place where the summer storm is entering her palace and in the weariness that ruling queens alone know, she may wonder whether his death was sudden. Or did he languish? And if so, if there was a bit of time left, did he think how mean the world was, or did he fill that space of time thinking of her? But soldier ants do not have time for dreaming. They are women and have much to do. Still it would be hard. So very hard to forget the man who fucked like a star.

My attention is diverted when Easton walks up from behind the floral arch with his oldest brother behind him. I nearly swallow my tongue. Easton Royal in a tux should be illegal. I wonder how many other women in the audience are getting pregnant just from looking at the two Royal brothers.

It’s better worth being late for a chance of winning you than being in time for any other girl in the world. Don’t cry, my dear. If it’s for me, I’m a hard nut to crack; and I take it standing up. If that other fellow doesn’t know his happiness, well, he’d better look for it soon, or he’ll have to deal with me. Little girl, your honesty and pluck have made me a friend, and that’s rarer than a lover; it’s more unselfish anyhow. My dear, I’m going to have a pretty lonely walk between this and Kingdom Come. Won’t you give me one kiss? It’ll be something to keep off the darkness now and then.

Because I’m a helpful, giving man, I’m going to answer some questions for y’all before classes start so you can concentrate on your shit inside, instead of spending the class period making up your own stories. Yes, Hartley and I are together. Yes, my family is okay with that.” He taps Ella, who nods. “Yes, Hartley still has amnesia and yes, I will beat the shit out of anyone who even makes her frown. If you make her cry, you’ll have so many broken bones that it’ll take an entire fleet of Chinese steel to put you back together.

Third, I love you, Hart. So yeah, if you want to join the circus or sell magazines door to door or work as a clerk at the mall, then I’m all for it. Whatever makes you happy.

I guessed sometimes you had to watch your walls crack and crumble so you could figure out how to build a better kingdom.

What do you have under there? Thirty-six D? You look juicy.

He clasps me against his broad chest, his warm arms gathering me close, whispering that he’ll never let me go, never stop loving me, never, never, never, never.

Form two naturals into a dual-mage team, and they could undo this fog, cracking this kingdom open like an egg.

The fools thought they could treat her like a flower-take away her sunlight and water so she would shrivel up and die. But she was more the stubborn plant, the kind that thrived anywhere if that's what it took to live. Their first mistake was in thinking obstacles gave them an upper hand. Little did they know, she would always find a way to grow through cracks in the stone.

what happens to patients who don’t have the energy or the means to persevere in connecting their disconnected doctors, he said, “They fall through the cracks, and they suffer in their own world, alone.

It would be wonderful if everyone, everywhere, could slip so easily into the kingdom of heaven, and just as easily stay there forever. But alas! the facts of human nature forbid it. People require teaching, training, purifying, disciplining, and preparing, before they can do so […] Purification of the heart and calming of the mind are necessary prerequisites for penetrating into the Overself […] The attempt to ignore order of development in the Quest, to leap from the lowest to the highest stages, to miss all the intervening ones, is an attempt to get something for nothing. It cannot succeed. For the influx of Spirit needs a chalice clean enough to be fit for it, large enough to hold it. What would happen if the influx were poured into a dirty, cracked, tiny, and weak vessel? […]  the mind, nerves, emotions, and body of the man shall be gradually made capable of sustaining the influx of the Solar Force, or Spirit-Energy.

No breath, no sound, except at times the muffled cracking of stones being reduced to sand and cold, came to disturb the solitude that surrounded Janine. After a moment, however, it seemed to her that a king of slow gyration was sweeping the sky above her. In the depths of the dry, cold night thousands of stars were formed unceasingly and their sparkling icicles, no sooner detached, began to slip imperceptibly towards the horizon. Janine could not tear herself away from the contemplation of these shifting fires. She turned with them, and the same stationary progression reunited her little by little with her deepest being, where cold and desire now collided. Before her, the stars were falling one by one, then extinguishing themselves in the stones of the desert, and each time Janine opened a little more to the night. She was breathing deeply, she forgot the cold, the weight of beings, the insane or static life, the long anguish of living and dying.

Sawyer: Seb woke up There’s a twenty-minute delay. From the other messages, it appears he called Dad in Dubai and Dad rounded up the troops. Ella: I just heard from Callum. OMG I’m on my way! Reed: Fuck yeah! Gideon: Reed & I will drive down tomorrow. Reed’s got a test at 1. Hold down the fort. Reed: I’m skipping that. Gideon: We’ll be down after Reed’s test.

The British and American governments were reluctant to crack down on these exiled centers of opposition Saudi politics. Some of the exiles embraced the language of democracy. It was an article of faith in Washington and London during the early 1990s that a little outside pressure, even if it came from Islamists, might help open up the Saudi kingdom to new voices, creating healthier and more stable politics in the long run.12

Elton Trueblood (1900–1994) wrote the following in Confronting Christ: Security is itself a barrier to spiritual growth. The broken and the needy are far closer to the Kingdom than are those who feel adequate and successful. God reaches us most easily when there is a crack in our armor. The barriers of our own making, which effectively exclude us from the Kingdom, are real and in some cases almost insurmountable, but with God all is possible.*

Everything I saw was in such perfect harmony with the landscape, and the people fitted in so well with their surroundings and lived a life in such perfect accord with their needs and beliefs - that the whole structure formed a solid entity with never a crack, and at times I began to wonder whether any other way of life really existed. Was I living in a dream, an illusion (or at times a nightmare)? No false note broke the spell and brought me back to myself.

Upon finding the letter, I had one of those out of body experiences that come only after poring over archival material for nine hours straight, most of it dull as dust, but then something like this appears and you look around at the two or three other glaze-eyed researchers and want to go around the room and give everyone a high-five, but instead you just get up and quietly go to the water fountain, then make a notation for photocopy, and crack the next folder.

Dating yes. But she thinks we're, uh, more than dating." "Oh," he says, thoughtful. Then he grins. "Oh." The reason her lips are turning his favorite color is because Emma's mom thinks they've been dating and mating. The blush extends down her neck and disappears into her T-shirt. He should probably say something to make her feel more comfortable. But teasing her seems so much more fun. "Well then, the least she could do is give us some privacy-" "Ohmysweetgoodness!" She snatches her backpack from the seat and marches around her car to the driver's side. Before she can get the door unlocked, he plucks the key from her fingers and tucks it into his jeans' pocket. She moves to retrieve it, but stops when she realizes where she's about to go fishing. He's never seen her this red. He laughs. "Calm down, Emma. I'm just kidding. Don't leave." "Yeah, well, it's not funny. You should have seen her this morning. She almost cried. my mom doesn't cry." She crosses her arms again but relaxes against her door. "She cried? That's pretty insulting." She cracks a tiny grin. "Yeah, it's an insult to me. She thinks I would...would..." "More than date me?" She nods. He steps toward her and puts his hand beside her on the car, leaning in. A live current seems to shimmy up his spine. What are you doing? "But she should know that you don't even think of me like that. That it would never even cross your mind," he murmurs. She looks away, satisfying his unspoken question-it has crossed her mind. The same way it crosses his. How often? Does she feel the voltage between them, too? Who cares, idiot? She belongs to Grom. Or are you going to let a few sparks keep you from uniting the kingdoms? He pulls back, clenching his teeth. His pockets are the only safe place for his hands at the moment. "Why don't I meet her then? You think that would make her feel better?" "Um." She swipes her hair to the other side of her face. Her expression falls somewhere between shock and expectation. And she had every right to expect it-he's been entertaining the idea of kissing her for over two weeks now. She fidgets the door handle. "Yeah, it might. She won't let me go anywhere-especially with you-if she doesn't meet you first." "Should I be afraid?" She sighs. "Normally I would say no. But after this morning..." She shrugs. "How about I follow you to your house so you can drop off your car? Then she can interrogate me. When she sees how charming I am, she'll let you ride to the beach with me." She rolls her eyes. "Just don't be too charming. If you're too smooth, she'll never believe-just don't overdue it, okay?" "This is getting complicated," he says, unlocking her car. "Just remember, this is your idea and your fault. Now would be the time to back out." He chuckles and opens the door for her. "Don't lose me on the road.

Acornology Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, there was a kingdom of acorns, nestled at the foot of a grand old oak tree. Since the citizens of this kingdom were modern, fully Westernized acorns, they went about their life with a purposeful energy; and since they were mid-life baby-boomer acorns, they engaged in a lot of self-help courses. There were seminars called “Getting All You Can out of Your Shell” and “Who Would You Be Without Your Nutty Story?” There were woundedness and recovery groups for acorns who had been bruised in their fall from the tree. There were spas for oiling and polishing those shells and various acornopathic therapies to enhance longevity and well-being. One day in the midst of this kingdom there suddenly appeared a knotty little stranger, apparently dropped out of the blue by a passing bird. He was capless and dirty, making an immediate negative impression on his fellow acorns. And to make things worse, crouched beneath the mighty oak tree, he stammered out a wild tale. Pointing up at the tree, he said, “We … are … that!” Delusional thinking, obviously, the other acorns concluded, but they continued to engage him in conversation: “So tell us, how do we … become that tree?” “Well,” said he, pointing downward, “it has something to do with going into the ground … and cracking open the shell.” “Insane!” they responded. “Totally morbid! Why then we wouldn’t be acorns anymore.

And again it snowed, and again the sun came out. In the mornings on the way to the station Franklin counted the new snowmen that had sprung up mysteriously overnight or the old ones that had been stricken with disease and lay cracked apart--a head here, a broken body and three lumps of coal there--and one day he looked up from a piece of snow-colored rice paper and knew he was done. It was as simple as that: you bent over your work night after night, and one day you were done. Snow still lay in dirty streaks on the ground but clusters of yellow-green flowers hung from the sugar maples.

Greta's cedar hope chest Is full of pamphlets Glass shelves of romantic vignettes A journal laced with sedimentary prose Norma gathers and collects vintage photoplays Hair combs valentines Lillian allows the animals to scratch And the leather crack And the mail collect in the box as coatings peel Agnes veiled cathedral dweller Smiles with benevolent pain But it's Katrina's fair Tuesday morning As she with caution unlatches the flat door She alone cascades to the basement Careful not to spoil her Calico printed pinafore Composite traits and mannerists All others dissipate Marguerite vigilant She dwells upon frigid casements Sarah's thoughts in high velocity Accusations always pierce and pass Clara abandons her passions for distastes A Miss Lenora P. Sinclair Early for coffee in the pool "I'm resituating all your words" Capital Space Colon Paragraph Sylvia keeps beasts in jars labeled by Kingdom Phylum Class Order Family Genus Species But it's Katrina's fair Tuesday morning As she with caution unlatches the flat door She alone cascades to the basement Careful not to spoil her Calico printed pinafore Composite traits and mannerists All others dissipate Down the way a silk design This face is mine Tis I, Katrina! Katrina, I.

Trilliums 'Every spring among the ambiguities of childhood the hillsides grew white with the wild trilliums. I believed in the world. Oh, I wanted to be easy in the peopled kingdoms, to take my place there, but there was none that I could find shaped like me. So I entered throughh the tender buds, I crossed the cold creek, my backbone and my thin white shoulders unfolding and stretching. From the time of snow-melt, when the creek roared and the mud slid and the seeds cracked, I listened to the earth-talk. the root-wrangle, the arguments of energy, the dreams lying just under the surface, the rising, becoming at the last moment flaring and luminous - the patient parable of every spring and hillside year after difficult year.

THERE WERE LAUGHS, TOO. One night, after playing a college in Orlando, as I found myself sitting on the floor, full of a cheap red blend and organic tobacco smoke in a hotel room so sparse and lonely that even Bukowski would’ve been like, “They should get a fern in here or something,” my pity party was strangely and hilariously interrupted. Turned out, my hotel was right next to Disney World. And turned out, Disney World has fireworks every night. Gorgeous, sensational fireworks. Imagine a man, drunk and alone, trying to get a good cry going, slurring along to Adam Duritz playing out of an iPhone speaker, as every joyful color bounces and pops, splashing into the night sky as a barely visible Tinker Bell zips lines to and from the Magic Kingdom, literally granting wishes to the hope-filled children below, all of them audibly cheering and gasping with delight as I lie on the floor motionless, like a pair of sad pants kicked off and waiting for laundry day. I had to laugh. There I was, Depressed Guy, being depressed as gigantic speakers blasted over the cracking fireworks, You can fly! You can fly! You can flyyyy!

speed in which he shifts nearly stops my heart. One moment I’m talking to him, the next a gigantic feline prowls over the long dining room table, batting plates aside and growling as he stalks toward me. Scooting my chair back, properly terrified, I quickly say, “Apparently I was wrong.” The lion still appears as if he’s going to attack. “A lion is impressive, yes, but what about an elephant?” I continue. “Can you change into a beast that large? Surely not.” With a loud crack and flying wood, the table collapses as the lion morphs into a creature so gigantic, there is scarcely room for him. Dishes, settings, and candelabras fly this way and that. The elephant holds a huge foot over me. “Are you impressed yet, Carabas?” “Quite,” I squeak and then clear my throat. “But, now that I think of it, it’s only natural that a large creature such as yourself can change into other large creatures. Not that difficult, really.” Slowly, the ogre-elephant lowers his foot, looking as if he’s about to gore me with his tusks. Standing, hoping to put a little distance between me and the beast, I add, “But to change into something tiny, something insignificant—now that would be a feat.” “Like what, Carabas?” the ogre glares at me with foreign eyes. “A rabbit? A grouse?” I shrug. “Certainly, but what about something as tiny as…a mouse? That would be quite impossible, would it not?” And just like that, the elephant is gone, vanished before my very eyes. I frantically look for him in the broken plates, splintered table, and mess of molten wax on the floor. Before I even spot the rodent the ogre shifted into, Puss leaps into the middle of the mess, pouncing with outstretched paws and a greedy look in his bright green eyes. A tiny gray tail disappears into the cat’s mouth, and that is my very last glimpse of the ogre. I stare at Puss with disbelief. The world slows, and the steady thrum of the grandfather clock in the corner is the only thing that tells me that time hasn’t actually stopped. “It

I decided I didn't want to remeber. My brain decided that I should forget about certain things and so that's what I was going to do.

Tucked away in a tiny corner of heaven, away from all the grand mansions and streets of gold, there is a cramped little stable. It doesn’t look like much inside or out, but on a clear night you can see the stars shine bright amidst the cracks, and you can feel the warm breeze caress your skin. In this kingdom, that is where I live, and you would be welcome to live there with me.

Don't let the case from 1995 fool you. Early Bill Gates Beige is just a color. Many wonders lurk therein." "Many wonders?" "A fast-as-hell processor. Shit-tons of memory. A hard drive that could crack nuts. And best of all, for our purposes, some very expensive audio editing software that I did not pay for." "Ah. And the rest of this stuff--over here on the bookcase?" "External drives. A CD burner. Extra parts. And that thing on the end that looks like a little hot plate is a mug-warmer my grandmother gave me for Christmas. So that's not part of FrankenHal.

When we are man and wife you will do as I say. You will never speak of this again!” Samuel came forward and loomed over her, his thick breath clouding the air in front of her face. “When you are mine, you will obey me.” “I will not be your wife. I refuse to marry a man who is dishonest.” “I have never been dishonest with you.” Fresh malice boiled in Eliza’s belly. “You said you would not harm Thomas if I promised to return here and marry you, did you not?” “I did.” “So why did you tell Donaldson to burn Thomas’s property after we were married? I refuse to be your wife, since you have rescinded on our agreement.” A monster unleashed before her. Samuel shoved Eliza against Father’s rows of books, their hard covers stabbing into her back just as Samuel’s eyes stabbed into her chest. “If you do not marry me, not only will his house burn, but Thomas will as well.” Eliza’s blood escaped her face and she braced herself as the room twisted around her. “You wouldn’t.” Samuel’s eyes narrowed into small black slits. “I would.” Her bones wanted to crack under the weight of his words and her voice refused to work, but somehow she found her ability to speak. “If I find that you have done anything to him after we are married I will do everything in my power to leave you, make no mistake.” Samuel relaxed his numbing grip, a wicked laugh rumbling in his chest. “You can’t leave me, Eliza. Not after everything I’ve done for you.” “I can, and I will!” Samuel roared and without warning slapped her across the face, causing her to tumble sideways. She hit Father’s chair and landed in a rough heap on the floor. He rushed to her, panic lighting his features, as if it had been someone else who had struck her. “Eliza, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Are you hurt?” A trickle of warm liquid ran down her cheek. He tried to touch her face, but she slapped his hand away. “Don’t you dare touch me.” His face drained of all color and he sputtered as he spoke, his voice quiet. “I’m so sorry, Eliza, I—” “Thomas would have never dreamed of hitting me, Samuel.” She straightened to her full height, breathing in deep heaves. “He lets me speak my mind and ask questions. He believes that what I think matters. He loves me!” Samuel lowered his brow and his tone rumbled in his chest as he shook her shoulders. “You will never speak of Thomas again. Today we will be married, and you will be mine forever and you will love me! As far as you are concerned, Thomas never existed.” The finality of his statement sluiced over her, causing her knees to buckle. She gripped the row of books behind her to steady her stance. “So be it, Samuel Martin,” she said, filling her voice with razors. “But know this, there is only one man that I will ever love—dead or alive. And it will never be you!

Did you do it?” “Did I... did I do what?” The fury in his eyes drained the blood from her face.  His jaw ticked. “Were you or were you not involved in the theft of the powder from the magazine?” Her lungs started a desperate quest for air. What could she say? The ugly truth must be exposed, but didn’t he already know? Nathaniel stepped closer. “Deny it. I must hear you deny it.” Thomas neared, his own tone heavy. “What is he speaking of, Kitty?” Eliza came to stand behind Kitty and held her shoulders. “Nathaniel, come now, you know she would never do any such thing.” Kitty reached out to grip the chair beside her as the room wavered. Dear Lord, give me strength! Nathaniel stepped closer, looming only inches from her, his hazel eyes now darker than night. “Say it!” “’Tis not what you think Nathaniel, if you’ll only let me explain!” Nathaniel’s face contorted and he stepped back as if she were riddled with pox. The anger in his soft tone ripped the strength from her legs and she clutched the chair to stay erect. “You knew full well our desperation to keep the powder out of enemy hands and now I discover you were complicit!” “Nay!”  “You are the enemy, Kitty.” “Nay!” She lunged forward, choking on her tears. “Nathaniel please, I didn’t have a choice! If you will listen—” “Enough!” A crack of thunder shook the house as he stormed to the door.  Kitty stumbled forward. “Wait!” She gripped his arm, her limbs unstable under the weight of his deadly glare. “Nathaniel, listen to me. This note was bound for Plymouth. James gave it to Henry, but he dropped it and I—” “I refuse to listen to your lies.

Tell me something about you I don’t know.” “Heavens, Nathaniel, I’m sure you know everything.” “I do not.” He rested his elbow on his one raised knee, while the other leg folded underneath it. “If I did, then I would have known all about the infamous James Pigley, so I must assume there are more secrets to you that need discovering.” “Secrets?” Her voice cracked. Chest heaving, she turned away. Did he have to use such a word? She struggled to find something within her stalled mind to ease the suffocating silence.  “Come now Kitty, don’t play coy with me.” Nathaniel’s inviting timbre woke her from the shadows. The playful glint in his face pulled a full smile from her lips when he continued. “Here is what I know of Miss Katherine Campbell formerly of Boston. She enjoys Shakespeare and is a gifted cook. I know she is fascinated with medicine and I know her political standings. She loves God and family...” He grinned wider, a gentle kind of grin that sparkled in his eyes. “But I desire to know more.” The warmth in his stare eased around Kitty as real as if it had been an embrace, soothing away the tension that clung to her neck and shoulders. She leaned one hand on the ground and rested against it. “You’re very kind, Nathaniel, but I don’t know what to tell. I’m quite ordinary.” “Ordinary? I should say not.” Nathaniel reached for a small stick and played with it in his fingers before he snapped it in half and tossed the pieces in the water. He cast his eyes her direction and glared playfully. “No matter. If you choose to be so demure then I shall ask questions. Do you enjoy the ocean?” “Aye, the seaside is very calming, but I don’t care for boats.” He nodded with his lips pursed in thought. “I’ll keep that in mind. Do you play an instrument?” “Nay, much to my mother’s disappointment.” She sighed and looked heavenward with a tiny laugh, remembering the hours of practice that produced embarrassingly little results. Kitty sat up and hugged her knees. “Do you enjoy reading?”  Nathaniel scowled. “This conversation isn’t supposed to be about me.” “Well, do you?” She grinned wider. He shook his head with a disapproving lift to his brow, but the smoldering grin expressed his merriment. “I enjoy reading. Especially Milton.” “Milton? I adore Milton.

The door opened and Kitty jerked free from the remaining bands of sleep, hurling back to the dank night that surrounded her. Struggling to her feet, she gripped her stomach as the soldier entered. Closing the door, he stalked forward. Fear raged through her like a rabid animal.  She pressed harder against the wood. “Don’t touch me!” He lunged and covered her mouth. “Quiet!” Kitty writhed under his strong hands, struggling to get free. She tried to scream but his grasp was too tight. “Be still, Kitty, please!” All fight left her limbs in an instant and she dropped her arms to her sides. Blinking, she tried to clear the dream from her vision. It couldn’t be… He removed his hand from her mouth and stroked her cheek, his husky tone warm with concern. “Are you hurt?” She could hardly breathe. “I... I don’t believe it.” Her words quivered as much as her body.  “Believe.” Nathaniel studied her face and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “’Tis I.” Kitty took in quick short bursts of air and her voice cracked as tears burned her eyes. “I thought... I thought...”  “I was a fool.” He tugged her to him, holding her hard against his chest. His deep whisper caressed her heart. “Forgive me.” “Nay.” She pushed away from him, gazing up into his shadowed face. The words she harbored for so many weeks suddenly poured from her mouth like a river surging beyond its banks. “’Tis I who must beg forgiveness—” “Shhh.” He placed a finger to her lips. “There isn’t time, my love.” “But I must explain—” “Later. Come, we must take you away from here.” He tugged her toward the door.  “Not yet.” Kitty tugged at his arm. “I must get to Plymouth. They must know what’s coming.” “Nay, you mustn’t worry about Plymouth.” Nathaniel’s tone dropped. “The British believe you are the second courier.” A smile tilted one side of his mouth. “But you are not.” The meaning of his words settled upon her like dew. “So, the message has gotten through.” Nathaniel nodded and the solemn expression in his eyes softened to longing as his gaze lowered to her mouth. ***

Once upon a time, in a not-so-far-away land, there was a kingdom of acorns, nestled at the foot of a grand old oak tree. Since the citizens of this kingdom were modern, fully Westernized acorns, they went about their business with purposeful energy; and since they were midlife, baby-boomer acorns, they engaged in a lot of self-help courses. There were seminars called “Getting All You Can out of Your Shell.” There were woundedness and recovery groups for acorns who had been bruised in their original fall from the tree. There were spas for oiling and polishing those shells and various acornopathic therapies to enhance longevity and well-being. One day in the midst of this kingdom there suddenly appeared a knotty little stranger, apparently dropped “out of the blue” by a passing bird. He was capless and dirty, making an immediate negative impression on his fellow acorns. And crouched beneath the oak tree, he stammered out a wild tale. Pointing upward at the tree, he said, “We… are… that!” Delusional thinking, obviously, the other acorns concluded, but one of them continued to engage him in conversation: “So tell us, how would we become that tree?” “Well,” he said, pointing downward, “it has something to do with going into the ground …and cracking open the shell.” “Insane,” they responded. “Totally morbid! Why, then we wouldn’t be acorns anymore.” 3

their outdoor homes in grassy meadows. Some mice don’t enjoy getting rained on or being cold in the winter. These mice look at the castles in magic kingdoms, and they notice that the castles have lots of cracks and crevices to live in. They notice there are lots of crumbs of food to snack on. And so lots of mice in lots of kingdoms move into the castles. It’s a fact. Many

Juniper was dreaming about riding Sparkles the unicorn to the white waterfall in the southern part of Wildflower Kingdom. Her room was decorated in pink and yellow, with lots of hearts and polka dots. Everyone else in the castle was also asleep. The wizard who did magic, the castle’s chef, the shoemakers, the castle guard–all were asleep. Even the castle’s one cat, Henry the Eighth, was asleep. Then, suddenly– Crack! Princess Olivia’s eyes flew open. Boom! Juniper’s eyes flew open. Boom! Crack! Kapow! Olivia looked around her bedroom, wondering what had made the loud noises. However, seeing nothing, she ran out of her room to find Juniper. Juniper also ran out of her room, clutching her stuffed llama, so that she could find Olivia. Princess Olivia and Princess Juniper were the only two children in Wildflower Castle, and so they were best friends. Sometimes they quarreled, and sometimes they were cross with one another, but when there was trouble, they looked out for each other. The two girls collided in the dark hallway.

Everything smelled of dust trapped in light, cracked leather and wayward dreams. Breathing in and out through her nose, Tella looked down at the Map of All. It had transformed once they'd entered the library. It now revealed an entire kingdom made of books that could either have been a book lover's nightmare or their wish come true. There was a Broken Spine Castle, an Unread River, a Ravine of Ripped Pages, a Poetry Valley, a set of Novel Mountains, and then finally, the Ruscica and Books for Advanced Imaginations. The most direct route to this room was through an area referred to as The Zoo. Tella wondered if it would have books in cages, but The Zoo didn't even have bookshelves. The books all roamed freely in this room as they clung together to take the shapes of different animals. Tella spied bookish rhinos, paper-mache elephants and very tall giraffes that milled about in an oddly peaceful silence. The elephant sniffed at Tella with its leathery-grey trunk of books, while a paper bunny made of loose pages noiselessly hopped after Legend. The bunny continued to follow as they left The Zoo and reached The Reading Chamber, where books formed couches and chairs and one massive throne.

Shut up,” I snarled, thrusting the bloodstone blade deep into her chest. Duchess Teerman’s eyes widened only a fraction in surprise. I met her stare, holding the dagger there until the cracks formed in her skin, until the light went out of her eyes and her body caved in around the blade of the wolven bone and bloodstone dagger. And just like an Ascended, I felt nothing but a sudden iciness as I watched Duchess Teerman turn to ash.

This is a cracking fact, and one that shows the animal kingdom can do eggineering

That if today's a shit day, I should be glad because even if tomorrow's another hellish experience, you know that you can make it.

A year later, in 115 AC, there came a tragic mishap, of the sort that shapes the destiny of kingdoms: the “bronze bitch” of Runestone, Lady Rhea Royce, fell from her horse whilst hawking and cracked her skull upon a stone.

To the Ari’s out there who’ll burn it all for the ones they love and crack jokes as they do it.

His cock and balls flapped around like two rotund people straining to stick a pole on top of an ass crack.

With unexpected speed, he took hold of her head with both hands and twisted sharply. The girl’s neck broke with a loud crack. She crumpled to the ground, her wide eyes now blank and glazed and absent of life.

The population, who was not part of the destruction process, kept silent, closed their eyes, raised no questions, expected no explanation. Few and far between were some compassionate individuals, who hid a Jew here and there. Those were the exceptions that proved the rule. The ones who survived lived in places where one had a chance to slip through the cracks. In some areas of Europe, for example, the Old Kingdom of Romania (Moldavia, Oltenia, Muntenia), most of the Jewish population survived. In Bulgaria and in Italy, the majority of their small Jewish communities survived, lived to see the end of the Second World War. There happened to be a few, too few, areas where our brothers and sisters survived.

How could I ever ask him to do it?” “Because it is not your burden alone, that’s why. Dorian knows this. Has accepted it. Because the alternative is losing you. I would go in your stead, if I could.” Her own heart cracked. “I know.

Home. Home. Home. It was not the end. She was not finished. She willed herself, willed the world to halt. Just as the Wyrdgate slammed shut with a thunderous crack, all other doors with it. And Aelin plunged back into her own body.

Nothing personal, but there is literally no way I would trust you enough to crack this door open to allow even an inch of fresh air to enter your chamber.

My father's fist slammed into my jaw with a sickening crack, instantly sending a metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth.

From the heights of the mountains, to the depths of the sea. Such marvelous mysteries YOU unfold to me. Rain is locked up in the clouds and snow in boxes hid. Suddenly we hear the sound as thunder cracks the lid. Water falling to the earth brings life to dying land. Dormant seeds beneath the earth like soldiers rise and stand. Rainbows spring to life and dance like brides upon a hill. Reminding us of covenant; GOD's most perfect will. Flowers face the Shining SON and perfume is their praise. Bees and birds and beck-ning winds bring song throughout the day. And I am humbled by this truth of love beyond degree. For GOD has given space to hear my muted melody. So I shall join Creation's throng of thankful heart's and say: "Forever I will worship YOU and forever starts today." -copyright MD©️

My son trusted you. He loved you. You gave him a family when he couldn’t claim one at home,” his voice cracked, and I could sense Tory’s discomfort. She hadn’t been as close to Diego as Darcy had, but I knew their friendship had been real enough, even if it had been a little fraught at times. “And I think he would have wanted me to tell you this. He would have wanted me to trust you too.” “Trust me with what?” Tory asked, and I leaned closer as I felt the importance of this revelation rising in the room. “I was born in a secluded part of the kingdom, hidden from all outsiders through years of careful and diligent work. We broke our allegiance with others of our kind when we decided to resist the call of la Princesa de las Sombras. We saw through the lies she was spinning and came to understand the taint she had placed upon the shadows we had once loved and wielded so dearly. So we left them, six entire tribes of Nymphs left and hid ourselves away from those who wished to continue down her path. We worked to cleanse a small portion of the shadows of her vile corruption so that we could use them without her input, so that we wouldn’t be polluted by her desires and become maddened with the need to steal magic from Fae. There are even Fae who live among us peacefully. They have married our kind and live full lives with us, giving up their power only when death comes calling at their door and even then, they only do so if they wish it.

A powerful, maybe old protector of kingdoms. Far from seeming traditional. Might as well be a monster in the body of a horse. Might as well have stepped on skulls as easily as on the stones. Every single one of them cracking under its weight. 

A part of the answer to these questions is that Christians have no more moral duty to read and study Greek and Roman literature than ancient Israelites had a duty to study the myths of Baal and Asteroth. Nor should Christian homeschoolers think that they can have a good Christian education only if the "classics" are prominent in the curriculum. The goal of Christian education is to train a child to be faithful in serving God and His kingdom in a calling, and certainly this goal can be achieved by a student who never cracks the cover of a Homeric epic. page 18

I went to the Torre,” Yrene said, her voice cracking. “I took the money you gave me, and went to the Torre. And I became the heir apparent to the Healer on High. And now I have come back, to do what I can. I taught every healer I could the lessons you showed me that night, about self-defense. I didn’t waste it—not a coin you gave me, or a moment of the time, the life you bought me.” Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene’s face. “I didn’t waste any of it.” Aelin closed her eyes, smiling through her own tears, and when she opened them, she took Yrene’s shaking hands. “Now it is my turn to thank you.

The swamp goblins were difficult to find, she told Glenna, for they moved their kingdom once every thirteen moons by riding the currents of underground rivers ‘til they found a blooming hawthorn tree. There they lived deep beneath its roots, sapping the tree’s life force until it withered. When spring came, the kingdom dislodged in search of another hawthorn. Upon finding a new tree, the earth cracked open to reveal their foul waters for one day, the perfect time to snatch the goblet.

You know, people say you don’t feel it when your heart breaks. I did. I heard the cracking sound and felt it tear apart.

Every time I look at you, I see a gift I'm not worthy of.' My breath caught as my heart swelled. It wasn't new- him saying things like that. What was new was me believing him. 'You are worthy,' I told him. 'Most of the time.' He cracked a grin. 'I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.

You’re married? To the Prince of Atlantia?” Pitch-black eyes lifted to mine as a wide smile broke out across her face, revealing the fangs of both her upper and lower jaw. “If I’d known, none of this would’ve been necessary. You. Born of flesh and fire. The Queen will be so thrilled to learn you’ve done what she could never accomplish. Seized Atlantia right out from under them, under her. Our Queen will be so proud of—” “Shut up,” I snarled, thrusting the bloodstone blade deep into her chest. Duchess Teerman’s eyes widened only a fraction in surprise. I met her stare, holding the dagger there until the cracks formed in her skin, until the light went out of her eyes and her body caved in around the blade of the wolven bone and bloodstone dagger. And just like an Ascended, I felt nothing but a sudden iciness as I watched Duchess Teerman turn to ash.

One of the Ascended came after us, cornered us, and he…he told me everything. Taunted me with it. Shea had been caught when she and Malik had split up while looking for me. The Ascended were going to kill her, and she told them who she was with. She gave up my brother in exchange for her life.” “Oh, gods,” I whispered, heart cracking as his pain reached out to me, mingling with my own. “They thought she was going to leave me behind. That’s why they agreed. A two for one special.” He laughed, but it was harsh. “They weren’t prepared for Malik to put up such a fight. That was how Shea got me out. I didn’t believe the Ascended. I tried to protect her, and then she tried to barter again. My life for hers. And I…once it seeped through the haze, through the hunger, that she was the reason they had my brother instead of me, and that she would hand me over to them again, I lost it. I killed the Ascended. I killed her. With my bare hands. I don’t even know if it was panic that drove her actions. It had to be. She wasn’t a bad person, but it couldn’t have been love.

Victor didn't allow himself to live within echoes of the past anymore. The burden of things lost was what broke people. He hadn't realized until he was clinging to the memories with cracked and bloodied fingers, teeth bared, and consciousness darker than sin. But just as there was agony in loss—power came from pain.

There are breakers of castles, breakers of chains, breakers of kings and kingdoms,” she said, her voice iron. “You are a realm breaker Taristan, You would crack this world apart and build an empire from it’s ruins.

Another wave of laughter surges from my chest, but it crashes over me in time with a wave of tears because, though my mother healed my superficial wounds, I’m still riddled with tiny cracks that will end up sinking me if I don’t find a way to plug them up, and quickly at that. I cannot afford to sink. I need to swim.

(Female) I experienced what I can only describe as pure awareness, though not self-identified. An awareness that travels in search of more, ever increasing, ever expanding and unattached – free of any limit, binding or density. It was pure awareness moving through space, though not like a dark starry sky, rather like the intervals between everything all combined. The “I” or “me” was gone. It was an experience of no individuality yet I had very definite awareness and full existence. I said “I need help” – expressing a desire for the attention of others to enable me to focus, maneuver and navigate in such an unknown dimension. With the group attention, we journeyed to the “left-overs” of God, as Carlos Castaneda put it, or the outer limits of God. Then jointly we journeyed beyond, co-creating, co-realizing and traveling – exploring out into the very “nothing” beyond the universe, and then into the somethingness of form, like the energy of somethingness at the atomic or molecular level. We began recapitulating the evolution into form, rapidly entering all phases and kingdoms – the elemental, mineral, vegetable, animal…each with a new found awareness, understanding and capability. An experience of “Hey, look what I can do” of grand proportions. Each evolution finding itself, experiencing the opportunity of intention – particularly in the human form, and delighting in it, deliriously and hysterically. It literally cracked me up, through all the episodes of evolution.

as the increasing power of the nomarchs had put a crack in the central government,

As any parrot owner will tell you, pet birds can give serious bites. The nut-cracking beak of the African gray parrot, for example, can sever fingers. In 1998, the Labour Party’s John Prescott, deputy prime minister of the United Kingdom, was engaged in a publicity event for environmental issues when a captive macaw, clearly a Tory, fetched him a bruising bite on the finger.

La dualidad esta dentro de nosotros todos estamos compuestos de absolutamente si y absolutamente no, de norte y sur, oscuridad y luz, todos somos héroes y todo lo contrario, podemos volar y caer.

Imagine that a father who owns a business has to go away on an important trip, so he puts his son in charge during his absence. Do you think the son will fail to show up at work? Do you think he will allow the books to go unbalanced or the employees to stay home all day? God forbid! Why, then, do many people think that they are to simply hide at home and look for Jesus to crack the sky? The Lord wants believers to be about His business of advancing the kingdom, one soul at a time, one act of obedience at a time.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

The 'world-as-it-is,' as activists call it, is rife with possibility. It's ready to break open into the world-as-it-should-be. Part of crossing over the barrier is acting like we're already there. This is why protesting and working for change are not the only practices of revolution. We must dance, sing, cook, eat, and meet one another in love. Many call it foolishness, but we are cracking open the tomb and letting God's world break in.