Dane Quotes

But remember. Just because you don't believe in something doesn't mean it isn't real.

Listen, I'm bossy. I can't help it. It's who I am and what I do. I'm pushy and I like to take over. But I'm going to work really hard not to do so much and your going to try and accept me the way I am. Flaws and all. Because I'm good in bed and I can carry heavy things and reach all the high shelves.

Ja sam sakupljač neobičnih stvari. Neka drugi sakupljaju značke i marke. Ja sakupljam dane, časove i trenutke.

Of course mothers and daughters with strong personalities might see the world from very different points of view.

No more Dane,” he eventually said with unnerving finality. I tried to be funny. “I can't decide if that means you don't want me to see him again or if you're planning to kill him.” “It means if the first thing happens, the second thing is likely to follow.

He trailed off as he saw the books. Piles and stacks of them beside the sofa, another stack on the coffee table, a sea of them on her dining table. Jesus Christ, Dane, you need treatment.

I guess this means that our conflict is finally over. Perhaps we should celebrate." – Saint Dane Perhaps you should bite me." Bobby

Courtney came over to me and touched my cheek. I winced. It hurt. You look like hell," Courtney said. I shrugged. She looked at Saint Dane, then back at me. "He looks worse." She smiled. "Awesome.

Like I need to play on the Wii when you're there willing to f*** me. Video games are what men invented to fill the sex void. Any man who chooses video games over sex deserves to live in his mother's basement with his mint-condition, in box Star Wars figurines and his real doll.

I see you brought along your violent little girlfriend. What a nice surprise!" - Saint Dane (The Reality Bug)

Defeat is most devastating at the moment of victory" Saint Dane

Can I ask you a question?" "I'd be disappointed if you didn't." "How many of those suits do you have? Do you like, send them to the laundry, or throw them out and put on a new one when it gets all gamey?" - Bobby talking to Saint Dane, RR

Made Made Dane.

Dont you know... I'm the boggyman."-St. Dane

Gregory: Go to hell. Dane: I'd be glad to leave you in it.

You want to kill me, don't you? And here I thought you and your friends were so righteous. You are just as capable of evil as anyone. Perhaps more so. Yet you believe your brand of evil is justified, so long as it serves your own misguided purposes." --Saint Dane

His fear came from needing her. It was the danger to her life that frightened him.

We all make mistakes and do things we wish we could take back, but it is what we do after that truly matters…and I like your after.

Life inspires me. Life is unfair, unkind and unforeseeable. It knocks you down when you least expect it.

It was a huge comfort to have a person who'd keep you honest with yourself and who also gave you safe harbour.

Looks like it's time to liven up this dead little town!" - Saint Dane (The Reality Bug)

Ah, I feel a sadness on me, Dane. That's how the Irish people say it. In their language, you can't say, "I am sad," or "I am happy". They understood what we English have long forgot. We're not our sadness. We're not our happiness or our pain but our language hypnotizes us and traps us in little labelled boxes.

She was always puzzled that people say that darkness falls. To her it seemed instead to rise, massing under trees an shrubs, pouring out from under furniture, only reaching the sky when the spaces near the ground were full.

You know me now. I’m only good at beginnings.

The cumulative testimony of the four Gospels is that when Jesus Christ sees the fallenness of the world all about him, his deepest impulse, his most natural instinct, is to move toward that sin and suffering, not away from it.

Sugar, I am not playing a game. This is serious. I mean to woo you, so shut up and let me do it.

It is the most counterintuitive aspect of Christianity, that we are declared right with God not once we begin to get our act together but once we collapse into honest acknowledgment that we never will.

I hope she doesn't break up with Dane. He's the hottest guy in school and he's nice. That means you both have the hottest, nicest guys in school and in town. This means good things for my future because I'm up next.

I'm so ready you could drive a truck straight up my ass and I would bend over and push back until it was in to the rear bumper.

I'm not running away from my fears," I told Dane. "I'm running away from my relatives.

Just because you don't believe it[] [...]doesn't mean that it's not true.

... if you're not happy with who you're waking up with most mornings, make a change -- if you want something (or someone) else, go for it.

friends will sit your ass down and give you the 'Come To Jesus' talk when you need it most.

Dane: Damn it, Aerin you don't have a plane Aerin: I'll take yours. Dane: The hell you will!

We never pay anyone Dane-geld, no matter how trifling the cost. For the end of that game is oppression and shame and the nation that plays it is lost!

You? A man? Wants to come shopping with a woman? For clothes?” “Ah, but not for clothes, not for skirts or shoes.” He shuddered. “For lingerie. And that, my love, is a whole different story. Any time you want to shop for silky underwear, I’ll gladly accompany you.

I learned a long time ago that most of my family and friends had plastic hearts. Plastic hearts are made so they cannot be broken. Cracked maybe, but never broken.

Dude you say the best stuff. You're so getting lucky.

A Great Dane can still make a Chihuahua pregnant,” Liz points out. “Guess which one you are.

It’s like a Great Dane and a Chihuahua trying to mate, but they somehow make it work.

If you are in Christ, you have a Friend who, in your sorrow, will never lob down a pep talk from heaven. He cannot bear to hold himself at a distance. Nothing can hold him back. His heart is too bound up with yours.

Bro! Tell me we still know how to speak of kings! In the old days,   everyone knew what men were: brave, bold, glory-bound. Only   stories now, but I’ll sound the Spear-Danes’ song, hoarded for hungry times.

You don't always choose who you love, sometimes it just happens.

I don’t want this,” Sirus uttered, his voice stripped bare. “Me either.” Grey sounded as if he were in agony. Swearing, they flew at each other in a furious kiss.

Back to what? A guy who bails on you when you need him? What's Dane doing now that's more important than helping you? Fighting for the rights of endangered ferns?" I stiffened and pushed away from him, irritation jolting me out of my fugue-state. "You have no right to judge Dane or my relationship with him." Jack made a scoffing sound. "That half-assed excuse for a relationship was over the moment Dane told you not to bring the baby to Austin. You know what he should have said?...'Hell, yes, Ella, I'll stand by you no matter what you do. Shit happens. We'll make it work. Come home now and get in bed.

This doesn't have fuck-all to do with independence. You're scared because you know if you start something with me, it'll go to a place you and Dane never went. He won't stand by you--he's already proved it. He went pussy on you. And now he gets laid for that?" ---Jack Travis

The closest you will ever come to seeing vampires burnt by daylight is by inviting a group of Danes for a hygge dinner and then placing them under a 5,000K fluorescent light tube. At first, they will squint, trying to examine the torture device you have placed in the ceiling. Then, as dinner begins, observe how they will move uncomfortably around in their chairs, compulsively scratching and trying to suppress twitches.

King Edmund of East Anglia is now remembered as a saint, as one of those blessed souls who live forever in the shadow of God. Or so the priests tell me. In heaven, they say, the saints occupy a privileged place, living on the high platform of God’s great hall where they spend their time singing God’s praises. Forever. Just singing. Beocca always told me that it would be an ecstatic existence, but to me it seems very dull. The Danes reckon their dead warriors are carried to Valhalla, the corpse hall of Odin, where they spend their days fighting and their nights feasting and swiving, and I dare not tell the priests that this seems a far better way to endure the afterlife than singing to the sound of golden harps. I once asked a bishop whether there were any women in heaven. “Of course there are, my lord,” he answered, happy that I was taking an interest in doctrine. “Many of the most blessed saints are women.” “I mean women we can hump, bishop.” He said he would pray for me. Perhaps he did.

Christ was sent not to mend wounded people or wake sleepy people or advise confused people or inspire bored people or spur on lazy people or educate ignorant people, but to raise dead people.

From what I was able to hear," Dane said, "Tara dumped off a surprise baby with your mother, who's planning to sell it on eBay." "Social Services," I said. "She hasn't thought of eBay yet.

Gregory: Well, Dane, you could share your impression with my alma mater instead. Dane: It's a challenge. Gregory: Glad to hear that hasn't changed. And which part do you find the most challenging? Dane: Living up to your reputation.

Life can be about taking chances and finding really great things and yes, failing sometimes. Or it can be about wondering what if because you never dared to try.

I want inside, and I want it bare.

In the stillness of headstones, Darkness is my blanket. And forever is my song. In the arms if stone angels, I'm not afraid. Because finally and completely, I belong.

Physical strength doesn't mean a damn thing when you're all cut up and bleeding inside.

I hope you find a place in your life when you can let go and be happy. But I’m not a dirty secret. I’m not bad and wrong for being comfortable with myself, and I won’t let you make me feel that way.

Chcę przez to powiedzieć, że nieważne, jak długo dane ci będzie kogoś kochać. Miesiące czy całe lata, to nie ma znaczenia. Ostatecznie nie liczy się to, ile, ale czy kochałaś.

Mada Mada Dane

I realized that my kisses with Dane had become a form of punctuation, the quotations or the hasty dash at the end of a conversation

I carry this thing between us, like a weight. A good weight, in my pocket. I reach out and hold it from time to time like a wonderful secret. I will always have that. I will never feel this way about another woman, ever. My heart will be yours forever, no matter who shares your bed, no matter whose children you bear. I’m here.” He tapped her chest. “And you’re here.” He tapped his own.

Most people living in rich, stable developed countries have no idea how Denmark itself got to be Denmark—something that is true for many Danes as well. The struggle to create modern political institutions was so long and so painful that people living in industrialized countries now suffer from a historical amnesia regarding how their societies came to that point in the first place.

Redemption isn’t something that comes fast and easy. You have to put all your effort and heart into it to make it work.

Did you become a Christian in your nunnery?' I asked her. 'Of course not.' she said scornfully. 'They didn't mind?' 'I gave them silver.' 'Then they didn't mind.' I said. 'I don't think any Dane is a real Christian.' she told me. 'Not even your brother?' 'We have many gods,' she said, 'and the Christian god is just another one. I'm sure that's what Guthred thinks. What's the Christian god's name? A nun did tell me, but I've forgotten.' 'Jehovah.' There you are, then. Odin, Thor and Jehovah. Does he have a wife?' 'No.' 'Poor Jehovah.' she said.

Dane touched my chin and lifted my face upward, and kissed me gently. Only then did I understand that Dane had always been a friend I had slept with, and how entirely different that was from having a lover who could be a friend.

There was no 'I' in team, but there was meat in team. And we were all dead meat.

It's better to die free than live life in a cage.

Now that may be a first. A girl who has no interest whatsoever in the handsome, emotionally unavailable, Dane Wright.

Jer jedino tako, živeći svaki trenutak odvojeno i ne gledajući ni napred ni natrag, može se ovakav život podneti i živ čovek sačuvati za bolje dane.

Remember: Danes are direct descendants of Vikings, so we enjoy watching things burn: bonfires, candles, villages. It's all good.

Not yours,” Dane finished. “They’re my rings on her finger. It’s my name she’s taken. It’s my bed she shares. She is mine. So whether you care for her or not isn’t fucking relevant.

To become a Christian is to become alive to beauty.

A journey takes time. And the lessons we learn best, they come from the journey, not the destination.

A good friend of mine once said, "I have never met a bigot who was a reader as a child.

You shut up. I'm older and I'm not going to stay at your palace of decadence and deviance." --Brody to Erin.

Thomas Goodwin said, “Christ is love covered over in flesh.

Sirus let his gaze drop and linger over the fine lines of Grey’s body that no amount of winter clothing could hide, and he cursed under his breath at the waste of such a thing of perfection attached to such an asshole of a person.

You don’t need to unburden or collect yourself and then come to Jesus. Your very burden is what qualifies you to come. No payment is required; he says, “I will give you rest.” His rest is gift, not transaction. Whether you are actively working hard to crowbar your life into smoothness (“labor”) or passively finding yourself weighed down by something outside your control (“heavy laden”), Jesus Christ’s desire that you find rest, that you come in out of the storm, outstrips even your own.

I knew what Saint Dane was sensing. I knew why he was confused. he thought I was done. He thought we were done. He was wrong, and that's what he was sensing. He felt our presence. I figured I might as well confirm things for him. "Pendragon, don't--," Patrick warned. I stepped out fron behind the pillar into the light. "Man, that suit is just wicked cool!" I called out.

I am no Christian. These days it does no good to confess that, for the bishops and abbots have too much influence and it is easier to pretend to a faith than to fight angry ideas. I was raised a Christian, but at ten years old, when I was taken into Ragnar’s family, I discovered the old Saxon gods who were also the gods of the Danes and of the Norsemen, and their worship has always made more sense to me than bowing down to a god who belongs to a country so far away that I have met no one who has ever been there. Thor and Odin walked our hills, slept in our valleys, loved our women and drank from our streams, and that makes them seem like neighbours. The other thing I like about our gods is that they are not obsessed with us. They have their own squabbles and love affairs and seem to ignore us much of the time, but the Christian god has nothing better to do than to make rules for us. He makes rules, more rules, prohibitions and commandments, and he needs hundreds of black-robed priests and monks to make sure we obey those laws. He strikes me as a very grumpy god, that one, even though his priests are forever claiming that he loves us. I have never been so stupid as to think that Thor or Odin or Hoder loved me, though I hope at times they have thought me worthy of them.

Dane was shaking his head firmly. "Don't bring it here, Ella. No babies." I gave him a dark look. "What if it were a baby polar bear or a baby Galapagos penguin? I bet you'd want it then." "I'd make an exception for endangered species," he allowed. "This baby is endangered. It's with my mother.

I once knew an Episcopalian lady in Newport, Rhode Island who asked me to design and build a doghouse for her Great Dane. The lady claimed to understand God and His Ways of Working perfectly. She could not understand why anyone should be puzzled about what had been or about what was going to be. And yet, when I showed her a blueprint of the doghouse I proposed to build, she said to me, "I'm sorry, but I never could read one of those things." Give it to your husband or your minister to pass on to God," I said, "and, when God finds a minute, I'm sure he'll explain this doghouse of mine in a way that even YOU can understand.

Umm, let me see. Hmmm, what to say, what to say? Oh, I know. Fuck you.

When you don’t follow your nature there is a hole in the universe where you were supposed to be.

When you come to Christ for mercy and love and help in your anguish and perplexity and sinfulness, you are going with the flow of his own deepest wishes, not against them.

Why are you taking your breasts away?” -Dane “Cernunnos” Hearne

One day,” Dane snarled, “I’m going to put your nuts in a grinder and make a testicle salad sandwich.

This is my Vienna,” said Dane, his voice loaded with possession.

No brilliant idea was ever born in a conference room,” he assured the Dane. “But a lot of silly ideas have died there,” said Stahr. —F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Last Tycoon

the most vivid and arresting element of the portrait, is the way the Holy Son of God moves toward, touches, heals, embraces, and forgives those who least deserve it yet truly desire it.

Not everyone deals with what they don't like or understand in a positive way. Some people are going to judge you. Sometimes it's someone you really love and being rejected by them is incredibly painful.

If you get one taste of that man, you will never go back to polos and khakis. That boy is going to rock your world.

...that's what friends did. Let each other off the hook when they didn't want to talk.

Hello?" "How's it going?" Dane asked. I relaxed at the familiar voice. "I'm having a fling with a younger man," I told him. "He's kind of short for me, and there's a little incontinence problem . . . but we're working to get beyond all that.

Xingu!" she scoffed. "Why, it was the fact of our knowing so much more about it than she did—unprepared though we were—that made Osric Dane so furious. I should have thought that was plain enough to everybody!

Death has a body like a model, the clothes of a poet and the smile of your best friend. She wears a top hat for fun, her ankh necklace for power, and carries a big black umbrella for travelling to the 'sunless lands.' I wonder what she smells like? I'm sure it's fresh and clean and her laugh must be rinkly or maybe it's warm and chuckly, but whatever it is, Death laughs a lot. We talk about the 'miracle of birth' but what about the 'miracle of death'? We have the science of death pretty much figured out, but death's magic and inevitability have been feared and ignored for a long time now. What if Death is a person?

That’s love. Real love is scary. Because you know what you stand to lose.

It is the nature of stories to leave out far more than they include.

I know your game, you know. You get nasty when you're backed into a corner.

Most people saw her as supremely confident and self assured but beneath that were the doubts.

Sleep. I’m here to catch you.

I had learned to hide my soul, or perhaps I was confused. Northumbrian or Dane? Which was I? What did I want to be?

Well, sometimes," Dane said, "Just because someone uses something wrong doesn't mean it's useless.

There had been no one thing at which to point blame. The break-up was the accumulation of months of dissatisfaction. But if there was one thing that had tipped her over the edge, it was the toothpaste.

But deep under the earth, where the corpse serpent gnaws at the roots of Yggdrasil, the tree of life, there are three spinners. Three women who make our fate. We might believe we make choices, but in truth our lives are in the spinners' fingers. They make our lives, and destiny is everything. The Danes know that, and even the Christians know it, Wyrd biõ ful araed, we Saxons say, fate is inexorable.

Jack Travis was a novelty in my experience, an old-fashioned man's man. None of the boys I had gone to college with had been anything more than that, just boys trying to figure out who they were and what their place in the world was. Dane and his friends were sensitive, environmentally aware guys who rode bikes and had Facebook accounts. I couldn't imagine Jack Travis ever blogging or worrying about finding himself, and it was pretty certain that he didn't give a damn about whether or not his clothes were sustainably produced.

Put another way, I love all of you dog lovers, but I have to spoil your fun a little with a fundamental truth. There is, in an important evolutionary sense, no such thing as a specific breed of dog. If a Great Dane has sex with a dachshund, you get a dog. If a Standard Poodle has sex with a Jack Russell terrier, you get a dog. If a mutt has sex with a so-called purebred, you get a dog.

Our tendency is to feel intuitively that the more difficult life gets, the more alone we are. As we sink further into pain, we sink further into felt isolation. The Bible corrects us. Our pain never outstrips what he himself shares in. We are never alone. That sorrow that feels so isolating, so unique, was endured by him in the past and is now shouldered by him in the present.

There are two ways to live the Christian life. You can live it either for the heart of Christ or from the heart of Christ.

I’m a nosy old woman, it’s a perk of getting old. You can be annoying and people just call you eccentric.

You’re weird. I thought brothers were supposed to pretend their sisters were sexless.” … “I’m your brother, not an idiot. If he hurts you, I’ll crush him, but I want you to be happy. You want him and that’s enough for me.

It sounds like if it weren't for your boyfriend, you'd be eating meat." "Probably," I admitted. "But I agree with Dane's take on the issues, and most of the time it's not a problem for me. Unfortunately, I'm temptable." "I like that in a woman. It almost makes up for your conscience.

Dane picked up on the second ring. "How's Operation Baby Rescue going?" "I've rescued the baby. Now I'd like someone to rescue me." "Miss Independent never needs to be rescued." I felt the hint of a genuine smile appear on my face, like a crack in the winter ice. "Oh, right. I forgot.

The shock of having to pull herself up in the midst of a spontaneous reaction — I must remember to tell Dane about this, he’ll get such a kick out of it — that was what hurt the most. And because it kept on occurring so often, it prolonged the grief.

They howled again, and Loghain raise his voice even further. 'Your prince is not here! But when he returns to us, we shall hand to him his stolen throne! Here at the River Dane is where the Dragon Age begins, my friends! Today they will hear us roar!

Did you really think you could quit?" He moved closer, his steps slow, purposeful. "Just fax me a damned piece of paper and I‘d be forced to let you walk away from me?" "You don‘t have a choice." Lydia swallowed the lump in her throat and moved around the chair. Putting furniture between them seemed like a smart idea. "I quit, end of story." "The hell it is," he growled as he stopped and crossed his arms over his chest. "I‘ve given you space, Lydia, but it‘s time we talk." "There‘s nothing to say." He pointedly glanced at the chair and quirked a brow. "Afraid, little Lydia?" Afraid of her own ability to keep her hands off him, yeah. "You don‘t scare me, Dane. You‘d never hurt me." "Then quit acting so skittish and come here.

Only as we drink down the kindness of the heart of Christ will we leave in our wake, everywhere we go, the aroma of heaven, and die one day having startled the world with glimpses of a divine kindness too great to be boxed in by what we deserve.

Assumption is the mother of all fuckups...

You’re a pain in my ass.” “I was a pain in the ass long before I met you, Roman. Don’t take it personally.

He growled a sigh and her insides got all warm and gooey. She really needed to date nice men who didn't growl. -Lily Travis

Astrology is a Language. If you understand this language, The Sky Speaks to You.

Oh, just you wait. I'll have, like Great Danes and pygmy goats and maybe even a baby panda living with me. That is what panic does to people if the attacks get bad enough.

My plastic heart became glass the day I met Dane Wright.

Do you ever leave your arrogance at home or does it follow you wherever you go? - Alex This isn't arrogance, I'm just honest and soon enough you'll be honest with yourself and admit that you want me as much as I want you. - Dane

It’s no wonder Danes are so happy. They have an obscenely good quality of life. Yes, it’s expensive here. But it’s Denmark – it’s worth it. I don’t mind paying more for a coffee here because I know that it means the person serving me doesn’t a) hate me or b) have a crappy life. Everyone is paid a decent wage, everyone is looked after, and everyone pays their taxes, just as I pay mine. And if we all have marginally less money to buy more stuff that we don’t really need anyway as a result, well I’m starting to think it’s a deal worth making.

Loving someone more than they love you is a sucky thing. But I’m over it.

It feels good to have something to bring to the table,” Ren said. “I will agree with that. But don't mistake having money or stuff as being the same as being worthy.

You can't work me, Liv. I know you're a bitch, I know you're cranky, I know you're loving, I know you're smart and funny, I know you're giving and generous. I'm not walking off because you're not flawless. I don't want a diamond, I want a wife. - Marc to Olivia

...You can have this whole entire life, with all your opinions, your loves, your fears. Eventually those parts of you disappear. And then the people who could remember those parts of you disappear, and before long, all that's left is your name in some ledger. This...person -- she had a favorite food. She had friends and people she disliked. We don't even know how she died...I guess that's why I like preservation better than history. In preservation I feel like I can keep some of it from slipping away.

I think the question is, can you live without her? Watch her fall in love with someone else?.....If the fear of some random thing happening in the future is bigger than the reality of her being with another guy, walk away now when it'll merely sort of kill you to do it. But you can't have this doubt between you. Man up. Love her the way she deserves it, or let another man do it.

Sometimes I worry about how attached I am to this dog. About the fact that the primary relationship of my life is with a canine. That at the end of a terrible day I look forward to nothing more than coming home and lying on the bed, under the covers, with a giant Great Dane.

The last thing I want to do is harm her. Especially now. She’s in me. I breathed her in. I kissed her and took a good long taste. This is not just a female I enjoy. This one is so much more than that. My beast has chosen and the man seems to agree.

You do like them thin, don't you?" Pyrlig said, amused. "Now I like them meaty as well-fed heifers! Give me a nice dark Briton with hips like a pair of ale barrels and I'm a happy priest. Poor Hild. Thin as a ray of sunlight, she is, but I pity a Dane who crosses her path today.

All right. And if any of you get hurt I'm going to be really mad. I sleep with a Glock next to my bed so don't think I'm joking. I will shoot you if you don't make sure Gibson gets back here safely

Nina, before you i never spent the night with women. I had sex and left. I didn't bring them here. They served a purpose and it was a body-to-body thing. You are everything. Body, soul, heart to my body, soul and heart. You're it. We're it.

By far the greatest functional heresy I believe is that holiness is boring and lustful selfishness is fun.

Baby, you two are my girls. I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you both.

I know what pheromones are! But that’s mumbo jumbo. You’re just horny, I’m just horny. It’s not science.

Erin, I’d like to know you again. Can we do that?” He brushed the back of his knuckles down her cheek.

That’s love. A part of what makes it so awesome is the level of real, true intimacy, and the risk you take by opening yourself up that way to someone who has the power to gut you.

I didn’t want a wedding at all until this certain girl popped into my life. Now I want whatever she wants. I would do anything to make her happy.

For all her talk of being or so progressive and free...all she really is is full of shit!

In his voice resonated the timbre of a man who thinks he has convinced himself of an idea, but masks his own doubt by laboring to persuade others.

Bull. Look, sometimes certain kinds of pain bring important lessons. Those lessons harden you, prepare you for your life and the only way to learn them, the only way to be a better, stronger and yes, harder person to survive the world outside is to learn those lessons first hand. Pain forges strength.

Meek. Humble. Gentle. Jesus is not trigger-happy. Not harsh, reactionary, easily exasperated. He is the most understanding person in the universe. The posture most natural to him is not a pointed finger but open arms.

I know, I know," Moore said. "Mad beliefs like that, eh? Must be some metaphor, right? Must mean something else?" Shook his head. "What an awfully arrogant thing. What if faiths are exactly what they are? And mean exactly what they say?" "Stop trying to make sense of it and just listen," Dane said. "And what," Moore said, "if a large part of the reason they're so tenacious is that they're perfectly accurate?

Look at it, Dane. Look at the city and the world in its proud array, like a cask of jewels laid open for you. It'll offer you everything you ever wanted but it's just pictures on billboards; dream cars, dream women, dream houses. Time to wake up now and say goodbye. Remember, Dane: there's other worlds out there. It's only empty air here. Jump out of the world, jump to the place I showed you and you'll not fall. Are you ready? Are you ready to jump right off the edge of everything?

But DNA isn’t really like that. It’s more like a script. Think of Romeo and Juliet, for example. In 1936 George Cukor directed Leslie Howard and Norma Shearer in a film version. Sixty years later Baz Luhrmann directed Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes in another movie version of this play. Both productions used Shakespeare’s script, yet the two movies are entirely different. Identical starting points, different outcomes.

Hi there! You’re cute. Do you have any girlfriends? ‘Cause Gran says Momma needs a man in her life. Then Pops says, ‘Pfft, Martine, the last thing Elise needs is a man!’ But I think my Gran is right.” “Rennie, for tonight, let’s play the think-about-what-we-say-before-we-say-it-game.

What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.

You weren’t just my first love, you were my once in a lifetime.

Patriotism is the product of successful systematic indoctrination.

We writers can use our own longing - and frequently do - without ever having to understand or analyze it. That is why our stories are often wiser than we are.

Everyone has wounds as want healing. Seems like they all find me.

Looking inside ourselves, we can anticipate only harshness from heaven. Looking out to Christ, we can anticipate only gentleness.

Every Spring is the only Spring, a perpetual astonishment. It bursts upon a man every year, thought Cadfael, contemplating it with delight in spite of all anxieties, as though it had never happened before, but had just been shown by God how to do it, and tried, and found the impossible possible.

I am the interpretation of the prophet I am the artist in the coffin I am the brave flag stained with blood I am the wounds overcome I am the dream refusing to sleep I am the bare-breasted voice of liberty I am the comic the insult and the laugh I am the right the middle and the left I am the poached eggs in the sky I am the Parisian streets at night I am the dance that swings till dawn I am the grass on the greener lawn I am the respectful neighbour and the graceful man I am the encouraging smile and the helping hand I am the straight back and the lifted chin I am the tender heart and the will to win I am the rainbow in rain I am the human who won’t die in vain I am Athena of Greek mythology I am the religion that praises equality I am the woman of stealth and affection I am the man of value and compassion I am the wild horse ploughing through I am the shoulder to lean onto I am the Muslim the Jew and the Christian I am the Dane the French and the Palestinian I am the straight the square and the round I am the white the black and the brown I am the free speech and the free press I am the freedom to express I will die for my right to be all the above here mentioned And should threat encounter I’ll pull my pencil

As long as you fix your attention on your sin, you will fail to see how you can be safe. But as long as you look to this high priest, you will fail to see how you can be in danger. Looking inside ourselves, we can anticipate only harshness from heaven. Looking out to Christ, we can anticipate only gentleness.

That God is rich in mercy means that your regions of deepest shame and regret are not hotels through which divine mercy passes but homes in which divine mercy abides. It means the things about you that make you cringe most, make him hug hardest. It means his mercy is not calculating and cautious, like ours. It is unrestrained, flood-like, sweeping, magnanimous. It means our haunting shame is not a problem for him, but the very thing he loves most to work with. It means our sins do not cause his love to take a hit. Our sins cause his love to surge forward all the more. It means on that day when we stand before him, quietly, unhurriedly, we will weep with relief, shocked at how impoverished a view of his mercy-rich heart we had. 

In any case, in general, I prefer to avoid conflict when I can. Not because I'm afraid or because I'm too weak to fight back. But because conflict eats up your time. It is exhaustive in terms of energy you have to expend to be involved in it. More if you mean to win, and I'd never do it if I didn't mean to win. I'd rather spend my time on other things and in general, most people aren't worth that much of my time and energy.

He lowered his voice. "You are a true shield-maiden; you do not turn from a scar on a man's face."I looked at him and did not lower my eyes. "My father was an ealdorman, and his brother ealdorman after him. He taught me that a scar is the badge of honour of the warrior, and this I believe."He regarded me for a long moment. "I think I am glad we did not face your father and his brother in battle," he said, "for they were of better stuff than what we have found here."In saying this, he gave my dead kinsmen much praise. I felt that praise came rarely from the Danes, and took a strange pleasure in hearing him say this. I did not speak, but he lifted his cup to me, and I again took up mine. - Sidroc the Dane to Ceridwen

I love you … in this lifetime and in any that follow, I will always love you.

Change is scary. You’re going to be all right. You’re tough.

love the printed page because I get to picture the world myself. A book can be different for everyone who reads it and I love being able to interpret an author’s world on my own.

I do what I do because I am who I am. Don't make me over.

Elise ran back to her room to freshen up. Just because she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend didn’t mean she couldn’t look nice enough to inspire some wank bank fantasies for Brody.

Best greeting ever.” He grinned … “You totally objectified me. It was awesome.

A few seconds behind, Dane freezes with his mouth half-open when he finally spots her. Then, his brow jumps and he’s taking it all in, the details I refuse to find appealing about her—tight little waist, sun-kissed skin, legs for days, nice size rack, pretty face. Not the typical, magazine-class pretty face, either. It’s unique and ethereal, makes you want to stare. Makes you want to get closer. She’s the human equivalent of oleander. Beautiful. Delicate. Dangerous.

Astrid Dane. . . Her long colorless hair was woven back into a braid, and her porcelain skin bled straight into the edges of her tunic. Her entire outfit was fitted to her like armor; the collar of her shirt was high and rigid, guarding her throat, and the tunic itself ran from chin to wrist to waist, less out of a sense of modesty, Kell was sure, than protection. Below a gleaming silver belt, she wore fitted pants that tapered into tall boots (rumor had it that a man once spat at her for refusing to wear a dress; she’d cut off his lips). The only bits of color were the pale blue of her eyes and the greens and reds of the talismans that hung from her neck and wrists and were threaded through her hair. . . “I smell something sweet,” she said. She’d been gazing up at the ceiling. Now her eyes wandered down and landed on Kell. “Hello, flower boy.

I want to make love to you, Rhone. I want to fill your ass with my penis and fuck you until you love it just as much as I do. I want to suck your dick and eat your balls until your cum coats my tongue and throat. I want you to do the same to me. I want to come inside you, in your mouth, in your ass, on your chest, marking you as mine in a way you can feel even when I’m not by your side. That’s what I want. It’s what I’ve wanted ever since you told me I could have a different, better life and then took the time to care and to show me how to care about myself. I want everything you can give, and I want to offer you everything that I am.

He knew he’d be back, because he had a bit of a like on for the very charming, blushing Elise. Like was a good thing between two single adults. Especially if it entailed naked and horizontal moments.

Admirable? And she’s related to Rey? How come he’s such a weasel then?” “There’s a messed up weasel in every family. Look at you.” Lex smirked at his brother as he heaved himself off the couch and headed down the hall to the kitchen. He bent to grab a beer from the fridge and tossed one to Cade. “Ha ha, very funny. Call me Alpha when you say that,” Cade growled.

The power of fiction is that it gives us, as readers, the opportunity to move inside another human being, to look out through that person's eyes, hear with her ears, think with his thoughts, feel with her feelings. It is the only form of art which can accomplish that feat so deeply, so completely. And thus it is the perfect bridge for helping us coming to know the other - the other inside as well as outside ourselves. (x)

Pine Billy je došao u posjet. Ostao je kod nas i po cijele dane sjedio pokraj djeda. Djed je želio slušati njegovu violinu i Pine Billy mu je svirao. Stajao je u svjetlu lampe, dugog vrata povijenog nad violinom dok su mu pramenovi kose, nejednakih duljina jer se sam šišao, visjeli preko ušiju. Suze su mu tekle niz lice, kapale na violinu i s violine na tregerhlače. „Prestani plakati, Pine Billy“, rekao je djed. „Kvariš muziku. Želim slušati tvoju violinu!“ Pine Billy je rekao: „Ne plačem. Samo sam pre-e-hlađen“, a glas mu je zvučao kao da ga nešto steže u grlu. Onda je ispustio violinu, pao na koljena i zario lice u plahte pokraj djedovih nogu. Plakao je i ramena su mu se trzala. Pine Billy nije bio Čovjek koji bi bio u stanju suzdržati osjećaje. Djed je tad malo podignuo glavu i viknuo slabašnim glasom: „Prokleti idiote, prosipaš Red Eagle duhan po plahtama!“ Što je Pine Billy zaista i učinio. I ja sam plakao. Ali tako da djed to ne vidi. Djedova tjelesna pamet je postala umorna i počela je sve više i više spavati. Jedino je još njegova duhovna pamet bila budna. Dosta je razgovarao s Willow Johnom. Baka bi mu podvukla ruku pod glavu i šaptala mu nešto u uho. Djedova tjelesna pamet se još jednom vratila. Htio je da mu donesem njegov šešir; otišao sam po njega. Stavio ga je na glavu. Držao sam ga za ruku i on se osmjehnuo. „Život je bio dobar, Malo Drvo. Sljedeći put će biti još bolji. Vidjet ćemo se.“ A onda je i njegov duh otišao, kao i duh Willow Johna.

You could choose to live in either America or Denmark. In high-tax Denmark, your disposable income after taxes and transfers would be around $15,000 lower than in the States. But in return for your higher tax bill, you would get universal health care (one with better outcomes than in the US), free education right up through the best graduate schools, worker retraining programs on which the state spends seventeen times more as a percentage of GDP than what is spent in America, as well as high-quality infrastructure, mass transit, and many beautiful public parks and other spaces. Danes also enjoy some 550 more hours of leisure time a year than Americans do. If the choice were put this way—you can take the extra $15,000 but have to work longer hours, take fewer vacation days, and fend for yourself on health care, education, retraining, and transport—I think most Americans would choose the Danish model.

Your Eminence, it doesn’t matter,” said Dane softly. “What you say doesn’t make you any less my conception of the perfect priest. I think you don’t understand what I mean, that’s all. I don’t mean an inhuman automaton, above the weaknesses of the flesh. I mean that you’ve suffered, and grown. Do I sound presumptuous? I don’t intend to, truly. If I’ve offended you, I beg your pardon. It’s just that it’s so hard to express my thoughts! What I mean is that becoming a perfect priest must take years, terrible pain, and all the time keeping before you an ideal, and Our Lord.

Kasha didn't say a word as we ate. She sat with her back to us, staring at a mountain range far in the distance. Yorn and I made small talk about the birds, but my mind was on Kasha, wondering what she was thinking. She was the Traveler from Eelong. We needed her. Eelong needed her. Heck, Halla needed her. I wished I knew how to convince her of that. When she finally did speak, I was surprised at her question. "How many territories are there?" she asked. "Ten in all," I said. "At least that's what I've been told. They're all part of Halla." "Explain to me what halla is," she said. It was an order more than a question. I didn't know why she suddenly had this interest, but if she was willing to listen, I was ready to talk. "The way it was told to me, Halla is everything. Every time, every place, every person and creature that ever existed. It all still exists." "And you understand that?" she asked. "Well, not entirely," I answered honestly. "But you're willing to risk your life and the lives of those around you to protect Halla from Saint Dane?" Good question. I'd asked myself the same question more than once. "I wasn't at first," I began. "Far from it. I didn't want any part of Travelers or flumes and especially of Saint Dane. But since then I've been to a bunch of territories and seen the evil he's capable of." Kasha scoffed and said,"Evil? You're a fool, Pendragon. A tang is evil. What possible evil could a gar cause that's worse than that?" "I'll tell you," I said. "He's killed more people than I want to count, all in the name of creating chaos. He fueled a war on Denduron and tried to poison all of Cloral. Then he nearly crushed three territories at once, my home territories of Earth. But each time the Travelers stopped him. Until Veelox. We failed on Veelox. An entire civilization is going to collapse, millions will die, all because we failed. And Saint Dane wil be there to pick up the pieces. Or step on them." "It's all mildly interesting," she said calmly. "But like I said before, it has nothing to do with me. I don't care." That's when I snapped. Okay, I admit, maybe I should have been cool, but Kasha's total lack of concern had finally gotten to me. I jumped to my feet and said, "Well, you'd better start!" "It's all right, Pendragon," Yorn said calmly. "Relax." "Relax?" I shouted, getting more amped up by the second. "Why? So I won't upset Kasha? She should be upset. People have died fighting Saint Dane. People I've loved, people she's loved." I looked right at Kasha and said, "You don't care? I'll tell you what I don't care about. I don't care that your life is a mess. Sorry, it's true. You've got way bigger problems coming, kitty cat. You want to pretend like none of this affects you? Fine. You're wrong. If we fail, Eelong will crumble and everything you care about will crash along with it. And whether you like it or not, you're a Traveler. So why don't you just grow up and accept it!

A laugh burst from Nina's lips. "Not as awkward as it must be for you. Honey, please. If you bent around any harder trying to let me know you fucked Lex to try and make me feel bad, you'd be a pretzel. Although you're about as smart as one.

I wanted to say that I was sorry, but not for the obvious. I was sorry that I had turned out to be such a big disappointment. Sorry that I couldn’t make things better. Sorry that everything I touched turned to crap. Seeing Mom cry had torn me up. Until finally she said something. “What happened to your hair? Did you do that?” At that moment, I hated Britney Spears.

First of all, I was running scams when you were at keggers at Kappa Kappa Werewolf. You don’t know much about me but I am way smarter than Gabriel was. I’m a consummate liar. I can street fight with the best of them and I can cheat at cards like nobody’s business. This on top of my computer skills. I may not howl at the moon and have superhuman strength but I can hold my own.

Dane discarded his speargun with visible relief. As a paladin of the Church of God Kraken, he had few options. Like many groups devoid of real power and realpolitik, the church was actually constrained by its aesthetics. Its operatives could not have guns, simply, because guns were not squiddy enough. It was a common moan. Drunk new soldiers of the Cathedral of the Bees might whine: “It’s not that I don’t think sting-tipped blowpipes aren’t cool, it’s just…” “I’ve gotten rally good with the steam-cudgel,” a disaffected Pistonpunk might ask her elders “but wouldn’t it be useful to…?” Oh for a carbine, devout assassins pined.

Do not minimize your sin or excuse it away. Raise no defense. Simply take it to the one who is already at the right hand of the Father, advocating for you on the basis of his own wounds. Let your own unrighteousness, in all your darkness and despair, drive you to Jesus Christ, the righteous, in all his brightness and sufficiency.

The world is starving for a yearning love, a love that remembers instead of forsakes. A love that isn’t tied to our loveliness. A love that gets down underneath our messiness. A love that is bigger than the enveloping darkness we might be walking through even today. A love of which even the very best human romance is the faintest of whispers.

Ben told me when I was in middle school that girls loved boys who liked to dance. I can’t lie. I totally started dancing at the dances to get girls.” … “It seems to work for you” He took her hand and kissed it… “Does it? ‘Cause I’m working it, beautiful Ella, I’m working it.

That was totally different from what the Danes did. When the Germans approached them rather cautiously about introducing the yellow badge, they were simply told that the King would be the first to wear it, and the Danish government officials were careful to point out that anti-Jewish measures of any sort would cause their own immediate resignation. It was decisive in this whole matter that the Germans did not even succeed in introducing the vitally important distinction between native Danes of Jewish origin, of whom there were about sixty-four hundred, and the fourteen hundred German Jewish refugees who had found asylum in the country prior to the war and who now had been declared stateless by the German government.

Look, wolf boy, he’s gone. He came by, borrowed money,” she snorted, “took money—it’s not like I’ll ever see it again—and headed out. Told me that the Pack was looking for him, wanting to kill him. Even if I knew where he ran to, which I don’t, I certainly wouldn’t tell someone out to hurt him.

If we never come to him, we will experience a judgment so fierce it will be like a double-edged sword coming out of his mouth at us (Rev. 1:16; 2:12; 19:15, 21). If we do come to him, as fierce as his lion-like judgment would have been against us, so deep will be his lamb-like tenderness for us (cf. Rev. 5:5–6; Isa. 40:10–11). We will be enveloped in one or the other. To no one will Jesus be neutral.

Reading, like other types of art appreciation, is intensely personal. So what appeals to people is going to depend on who they are. It depends on what is happening in their life at any given moment. On what has happened to them over the course of their personal history and what makes them feel any number of things. The value of art, when it comes to being appreciated by the beholder makes the person consuming it part of that process. Failing to appreciate that integral part of the process is done at your own peril. [*Pulls Ranty Pants Up* In Which Lauren Dane Discusses Art, Publishing, Trash and Writing What you Want, Blog Post, May 16, 2013]

So I had this date last night,” Dane goes on, ignoring my order. “Do you remember that girl from Sigma Kappa Whatever? She was at the gig last night, and everything was going great, both of us eye-fucking for like four frickin’ hours…” He pauses and turns to me, his voice turning urgent. “She takes me home, dude, and I’m sitting in the living room while she’s in the bathroom, and I’m so ready, because she’s so hot, right? And who walks in?” “Dane.” I close my eyes, willing him to shut the fuck up. “Her mom, dude!” he bursts out. “Her mom in her light pink nightie with legs for days. And let me tell you, man…Stacy’s mom has got it going on?” I can’t help myself. I break out in a laugh at the song reference and pinch the bridge of my nose, tired but a fraction more relaxed, even if I’d never admit it to him. Such an idiot.

Cyclic knowledge is mind — knowledge — however vast and encompassing the mind may be. It is structural knowledge. It is only one mode of knowing; but this mode is all-important in situations where disorder, confusion, and emotional biases prevail. It does not take the place of direct experience, whether at the personal or the spiritual level; but it enables the experiencer to place his experience in a frame of reference which reveals their eonic significance — i.e. the function they occupy within the entire life-span.

Slow to anger.” The Hebrew phrase is literally “long of nostrils.” Picture an angry bull, pawing the ground, breathing loudly, nostrils flared. That would be, so to speak, “short-nosed.” But the Lord is long-nosed. He doesn’t have his finger on the trigger. It takes much accumulated provoking to draw out his ire. Unlike us, who are often emotional dams ready to break, God can put up with a lot. This is why the Old Testament speaks of God being “provoked to anger” by his people dozens of times (especially in Deuteronomy; 1–2 Kings; and Jeremiah). But not once are we told that God is “provoked to love” or “provoked to mercy.” His anger requires provocation; his mercy is pent up, ready to gush forth. We tend to think: divine anger is pent up, spring-loaded; divine mercy is slow to build. It’s just the opposite. Divine mercy is ready to burst forth at the slightest prick.

« A bit of useful information. My name is Victoria “call me Vicki” DeVine. I used to be Mrs. Yorick Dane, but giving up my married name was one of the conditions of my receiving valuable property—aka The Jumble—as part of the divorce settlement. Apparently the second official Mrs. Dane didn’t like the idea that someone else had had the name first. Fortunately, she didn’t seem as possessive about Yorick’s Vigorous Appendage. I could have told her that a couple dozen other women had had it before she took possession. But it wasn’t likely that she would keep solo possession of the appendage for long, so let her figure things out the hard way like I did. Of course, if she had been one of those indulgences, then she already knew the signs and might be able to nip them in the bud. »

Why is it so important for me to forgive that son-of-a-bitch? I’m not the one at fault here. It shouldn’t be about me. He’s the one that did wrong. Screw his feelings. He should feel like he’s hated for what he did.” Lisa added another used tissue to the growing pile on the table. Lyn warmly smiled. “Forgiving Byron isn’t for his sake, it’s for yours. The block in your life’s road can only be removed if you forgive him for what he did. If you don’t, you’ll just keep bumping into that block again and again. The life you live will be miserable. You’ll never be able to break the chains of the past.” Lisa listened and let the words sink into her subconscious. She realized the only way to get to the end of the road was to take the first step. There was a block preventing her from moving forward in life. She had to find a way past it.

Dogs don’t know what they look like. Dogs don’t even know what size they are. No doubt it’s our fault, for breeding them into such weird shapes and sizes. My brother’s dachshund, standing tall at eight inches, would attack a Great Dane in the full conviction that she could tear it apart. When a little dog is assaulting its ankles the big dog often stands there looking confused — “Should I eat it? Will it eat me? I am bigger than it, aren’t I?” But then the Great Dane will come and try to sit in your lap and mash you flat, under the impression that it is a Peke-a-poo… Cats know exactly where they begin and end. When they walk slowly out the door that you are holding open for them, and pause, leaving their tail just an inch or two inside the door, they know it. They know you have to keep holding the door open. That is why their tail is there. It is a cat’s way of maintaining a relationship. Housecats know that they are small, and that it matters. When a cat meets a threatening dog and can’t make either a horizontal or a vertical escape, it’ll suddenly triple its size, inflating itself into a sort of weird fur blowfish, and it may work, because the dog gets confused again — “I thought that was a cat. Aren’t I bigger than cats? Will it eat me?” … A lot of us humans are like dogs: we really don’t know what size we are, how we’re shaped, what we look like. The most extreme example of this ignorance must be the people who design the seats on airplanes. At the other extreme, the people who have the most accurate, vivid sense of their own appearance may be dancers. What dancers look like is, after all, what they do.” — Ursula Le Guin, in The Wave in the Mind (via fortooate)

She didn't think in terms of "dom" being capitalized and "sub" being lowercase. To Erin, D/s wasn't about one person being worthy of a capital letter and the other not. It wasn't about unequal worth; it was about two equals sharing power, sharing sex and emotion. She didn't submit to him because she wanted to be debased or harmed, because she needed to be lesser than anyone. She was aware some people got off on that, and hey, whatever floats your boat. But when he dominated her, she felt cherished and adored, cosseted in those cherished moments between them-in a way she never achieved with anyone else.

We all tend to have some small pocket of our life where we have difficulty believing the forgiveness of God reaches. We say we are totally forgiven. And we sincerely believe our sins are forgiven. Pretty much, anyway. But there's that one deep, dark part of our lives, even our present lives, that seems so intractable, so ugly, so beyond recovery. "To the uttermost" in Hebrews 7:25 means: God's forgiving, redeeming, restoring touch reaches down into the darkest crevices of our souls, those places where we are most ashamed, most defeated. More than this: those crevices of sin are themselves the places where Christ loves us the most. His heart willingly goes there. His heart is most strongly drawn there. He knows us to the uttermost, and he saves us to the uttermost, because his heart is drawn out to us to the uttermost. We cannot sin our way out of his tender care.

Consider what Jesus is saying. A yoke is the heavy crossbar laid on oxen to force them to drag farming equipment through the field. Jesus is using a kind of irony, saying that the yoke laid on his disciples is a nonyoke. For it is a yoke of kindness. Who could resist this? It’s like telling a drowning man that he must put on the burden of a life preserver only to hear him shout back, sputtering, “No way! Not me! This is hard enough, drowning here in these stormy waters. The last thing I need is the added burden of a life preserver around my body!

HOW ENGLISH BECAME A DOUBLE LANGUAGE After the Romans conquered England in the first century AD, they hired German and Scandinavian mercenaries from Anglia and Saxony to help fend off pirates and put down rebellions by the native Picts and Celts. When the Roman Empire abandoned England in 410 AD, more Anglo-Saxons migrated to the island, marginalizing the Gallic-speaking Celts, wiping out the Latin of the Romans, and imposing their Germanic tongue throughout England. But 600 years later Latin came back this roundabout way: In 911 AD Danish Vikings conquered territory along the north coast of France and named it after themselves, Normandy, land of the Norsemen. After 150 years of marriage to French women, these Danes spoke what their mothers spoke, a thousand-year-old French dialect of Latin. In 1066 King Wilhelm of Normandy (a.k.a. William the Conqueror) led his armies across the English Channel and defeated the English king. With that victory, French came to England. Throughout history, foreign conquests usually erase native languages. But England was the exception. For some mysterious reason, the Germanic language of the Anglo-Saxons and the Latinate French of the Normans merged. As a result, the vocabulary of what became modern English doubled. English has at least two words for everything. Compare, for example, the Germanic-rooted words “fire,” “hand,” “tip,” “ham,” and “flow” to the French-derived words “flame,” “palm,” “point,” “pork,” and “fluid.

I love you, Levi.” “Thank God for it because I love you too.” Her laugh was back in his house again. Her scent on his sheets. Her crap on his bathroom counter and her stuff in the drawers in his armoire. She lived in him and he had no plans to ever let that change. It didn’t matter that she was younger than he was. All that mattered was that she loved him and he loved her. The rest they could work out as time passed. She’d keep him in line. Decorate their house and fill it with music and love. And one day with children. They had time, he realized. Time to be in love and be engaged. Time for her art and his job, time for weddings and honeymoons and nesting. She was his, forever. As deeply as he was hers. Made the groveling worth it. ~~Sway

Grey refused to shy away from the intensity heating in Sirus's eyes to charcoal. As he waited for the man to roll over, Grey watched, unwavering, challenging the fire burning hot in Sirus's gaze. Sirus lifted up to his elbows, but didn't make any effort to shift his position. In fact, he looked downright defiant, and Grey's pulse started to race. "I want a nice view of my cock taking your sweet ass." "You want me to flip you over and hold you down, fuck you that way?" "Yeah, you want it." Grey said to Sirus. "But is it the fucking that has you leaking so damn hard, or is it the thought of force?" "Don't try to overtake me," Sirus bit Grey's lower lip and tugged, letting it pull through his teeth until it released, "unless you're ready to be the one who ends up on the bottom, with my cock buried in your ass." Grey wrapped his hand around Sirus's throat, yanked the man's head back and took his mouth in a hard, thrusting kiss, going deep and aggressive enough to make Sirus jerk and go compliant. An almost silent whimper escaped the man, begging without words for more. Knowing he was in charge fully once again, Grey reached between their bodies, positioned the head of his cock and drove his length home.

And so, it is not our own life that we live, but the lives of the dead, and the soul that dwells within us is no single spiritual entity, making us personal and individual, created for our service, and entering into us for our joy. It is something that has dwelt in fearful places, and in ancient sepulchres has made its abode. It is sick with many maladies, and has memories of curious sins. It is wiser than we are, and its wisdom is bitter. It fills us with impossible desires, and makes us follow what we know we cannot gain. One thing, however, Ernest, it can do for us. It can lead us away from surroundings whose beauty is dimmed to us by the mist of familiarity, or whose ignoble ugliness and sordid claims are marring the perfection of our development. It can help us to leave the age in which we were born, and to pass into other ages, and find ourselves not exiled from their air. It can teach us how to escape from our experience, and to realise the experiences of those who are greater than we are. The pain of Leopardi crying out against life becomes our pain. Theocritus blows on his pipe, and we laugh with the lips of nymph and shepherd. In the wolfskin of Pierre Vidal we flee before the hounds, and in the armour of Lancelot we ride from the bower of the Queen. We have whispered the secret of our love beneath the cowl of Abelard, and in the stained raiment of Villon have put our shame into song. We can see the dawn through Shelley's eyes, and when we wander with Endymion the Moon grows amorous of our youth. Ours is the anguish of Atys, and ours the weak rage and noble sorrows of the Dane. Do you think that it is the imagination that enables us to live these countless lives? Yes: it is the imagination; and the imagination is the result of heredity. It is simply concentrated race-experience.