Dart Double Quotes

No!" he said, and shoved his hands in his hair, which hadn't grown back long enough yet to support the drama of the gesture, and muttered, "I don't know what to do with myself," plaintively. "I know what to do with you," I said, by which I meant kicking him into next week where maybe he'd have got over himself, only he actually had the nerve to say "Yeah?" in a challenging, pretending-to-be-suave double-entendre sort of way that lasted only long enough for him to hear it coming out of his own mouth, at which point he went red and embarrassed and then darted a look around the room with nobody but us in it and turned even more red, and I went out of the place like a shot and ran straight back to Liu's just to escape.

To write, to be able to write, what does it mean? It means spending long hours dreaming before a white page, scribbling unconsciously, letting your pen play round a blot of ink and nibble at a half-formed word, scratching it, making it bristle with darts and adorning it with antennae and paws until it loses all resemblance to a legible word and turns into a fantastic insect or a fluttering creature half butterfly, half fairy. To write is to sit and stare, hypnotized, at the reflection of the window in the silver ink-stand, to feel the divine fever mounting to one's cheeks and forehead while the hand that writes grows blissfully numb upon the paper. It also means idle hours curled up in the hollow of the divan, and then the orgy of inspiration from which one emerges stupefied and aching all over, but already recompensed and ladened with treasures that one unloads slowly on to the virgin page in the little round pool of light under the lamp. To write is to pour one's innermost self passionately upon the tempting paper, at such frantic speed that sometimes one's hand struggles and rebels, overdriven by the impatient god who guides it — and to find, next day, in place of the golden bough that bloomed miraculously in that dazzling hour, a withered bramble and a stunted flower. To write is the joy and torment of the idle. Oh to write! From time to time I feel a need, sharp as thirst in summer, to note and to describe. And then I take up my pen again and attempt the perilous and elusive task of seizing and pinning down, under its flexible double-pointed jib, the many-hued, fugitive, thrilling adjective.… The attack does not last long; it is but the itching of an old scar.

You didn’t allow me anything! I allowed you! I allowed you to fool yourselves into thinking you had a choice!” Strom took a breath. When he had his anger under control, he spoke again. “You are clearly unfit to serve as Grand Mage,” he announced, “and all three of you are unfit to serve on the Council of Elders. By the authority vested in me by the international community I am hereby taking command of this Sanctuary. You are relieved of your duties.” Nobody moved. Valkyrie was frozen to the spot, though her eyes darted from person to person. Moving slowly, Grim reached for his jacket, and Skulduggery drew his revolver and pointed it into his face. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Skulduggery said. The bodyguard raised his hands. Strom’s eyes widened. “What you just did is illegal.” “We’re in charge,” Ravel told him. “You think we’re going to roll over just because you tell us to? Who the hell do you think you are?” “I am a Grand Mage, Mr Ravel, a title I earned because of hard work and dedication. Whereas you, on the other hand, are Grand Mage because nobody else wanted the job.” “Whoa,” said Ravel. “That was a little below the belt, don’t you think?” “None of you have the required experience or wisdom to do what is expected of you. I know you’ll find it hard to believe, but we didn’t come here to take control. We came here to help.” “And now you want to take control anyway.” “You have proven yourselves incompetent. And what are you doing now? You’re holding a Grand Mage at gunpoint?” “Technically, Skulduggery is only holding a Grand Mage’s bodyguard at gunpoint. Which isn’t nearly as bad.” “You all seem to be forgetting that I have thirty-eight mages loyal to the Supreme Council in this country.” “And you seem to be under the illusion that we find that intimidating.” “If I go missing—” “Missing?” Ravel said. “Who said anything about going missing? No, no. You’re just going to be in a really long and really important meeting, that’s all.” “Don’t be a fool,” said Strom. “You can’t win here, Ravel. There are more of us than there are of you. And the moment our mages get wind of what’s going on down here, the rest of the Supreme Council will descend on you like nothing you’ve ever seen.” “Quintin, Quintin, Quintin... you make it sound like we’re going to war. This isn’t war. This is an argument. And like all arguments between grown-ups, we keep it away from the kiddies. You’ve got thirty-eight mages in the country? Ghastly, how many cells do we have?” “If we double up we’ll manage.” “Don’t make this any worse for yourselves,” said Strom. “An attack on any one of our mages will be considered an act of war.” “There’s that word again,” said Ravel. “This is insanity. Erskine, think about what you’re doing.” “What we’re doing, Quintin, is allowing our people to do their jobs.” “This is kidnapping.” “Don’t be so dramatic. We’re just going to keep you separated from your people for as long as we need to resolve the current crisis. Skulduggery and Valkyrie are on the case. When have they ever let us down?” Ravel turned to them, gave them a smile. “You’d better not let us down.” Skulduggery inclined his head slightly, and Valkyrie went with him as he walked away. “Holy cow,” Valkyrie whispered when they were around the corner. “Holy cow indeed.

Vous n'êtes que chaos, confusion, marmelade de souvenirs et de peurs et de fantômes et de vaines anticipations, mais quelqu'un de plus calme, à l'intérieur de vous, veille et fait son rapport. Evidemment, l'alcool et les drogues font de cet agent secret un agent double, pas fiable du tout. Pourtant je continuais, j'ai toujours plus ou moins continué et si je m'obstine à écrire ce livre, ma version à moi de ces livres de développement personnel qui marchent si bien en librairie, c'est pour rappeler ce que disent rarement les livres de développement personnel : que les pratiquants d'arts martiaux, les adeptes du zen, du yoga, de la méditation, de ces grandes choses lumineuses et bienfaisantes que j'ai toute ma vie courtisées, ne sont pas forcément des gens calmes, apaisés et sereins, mais quelques fois, mais souvent, des gens comme moi, pathétiquement névrosés, et que ça n'empêche pas, et qu'il faut, selon la forte phrase de Lénine, "travailler avec le matériel existant", et que même s'il ne vous conduit nulle part on a raison malgré tout de s'obstiner sur ce chemin.

[Onto the highway] the milky stares darted along the interstate, southward bound. Past black tar wriggling with mirages of colonial gunpowder. Past old lynching forests where the trees had doubled over, as if to keep a man's feet on the ground. Past hand-hewn crosses beside dented guardrails and bicycles painted white, their wheels eternally spinning. Past endless remembering, warping the road. The highway, a cemetery for the lost and restless. A memorial. A circulatory system running through a nation.

earth in her hand, and formed thereof a sacred serpent in the form of a dart; she did not set it upright before her face, but let it lie upon the ground in the path whereby the great god went forth, according to his heart’s desire, into his double kingdom. Now the holy god arose, and the gods who followed him as though he were Pharaoh went with him; and he came forth according to his daily wont; and the sacred serpent bit him. The flame of life departed from him, and he who dwelt among the cedars (?) was overcome. The holy god opened his mouth, and the cry of his majesty reached unto heaven; his company of gods said, ‘What hath happened ? ’ and his gods exclaimed, ‘ What is it ?’ But R could not answer, for his jaws trembled and all his members quaked; the poison spread swiftly through his flesh just as the Nile rusheth through all his land. When the great god had stablished his heart, he cried unto those who were in his train, saying, ‘Come unto me, O ye who have come into being from my body, ye gods who have come forth from me, make ye known unto Khepera that a dire calamity hath fallen upon me. My heart perceiveth it, but my eyes see it not; my hand hath not caused it, nor do I know who hath done this

When Elise’s pickle was gone, I put mine on her plate. We’d never eaten a meal together where I didn’t give her my pickle. There’d also never been a time when she hadn’t beamed at me for doing so. “Thank you, Weston. You’re my favorite person to eat sandwiches with. I always get double the pickles.” I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “I like how happy a pickle makes you.” Her cheeks flushed. “It’s the little things, you know?” Luca’s head cocked, his eyes darting from me to her. I could practically hear the gears of his mind turning, but whatever he was thinking, he chose not to speak it out loud.

The next morning, Peter is waiting in the parking lot for me when I get off the bus. “Hey,” he says. “Are you seriously taking the bus every day?” “My car is being fixed, remember? My accident?” He sighs like this is somehow offensive to him, me taking the bus to school. Then he grabs my hand and holds it as we walk into school together. This is the first time I’ve walked down the school hallway holding hands with a boy. It should feel momentous, special, but it doesn’t, because it’s not real. Honestly, it feels like nothing. Emily Nussbaum does a double take when she sees us. Emily is Gen’s best friend. She’s staring so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t take a quick pic on her phone to send to Gen. Peter keeps stopping to say hi to people, and I stand there smiling like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Me and Peter Kavinsky. At one point I try to let go of his hand, because mine is starting to feel sweaty, but he tightens his grip. “Your hand is too hot,” I hiss. Through clenched teeth he says, “No, your hand is.” I’m sure Genevieve’s hands are never sweaty. She could probably hold hands for days without getting overheated. When we get to my locker, we finally drop hands so I can dump my books inside. I’m shutting my locker door when Peter leans in and tries to kiss me on the mouth. I’m so startled I turn my head, and we hit foreheads. “Ow!” Peter rubs his forehead and glares at me. “Well, don’t just sneak up on me like that!” My forehead hurts too. We really banged them hard, like cymbals. If I looked up right now, I would see blue cartoon birdies. “Lower your voice, dummy,” he says through clenched teeth. “Don’t you call me a dummy, you dummy,” I whisper back. Peter heaves a big sigh like he’s really annoyed with me. I’m about to snap at him that it’s his fault, not mine, when I catch a glimpse of Genevieve gliding down the hallway. “Gotta go,” I say, and I dart off in the opposite direction. “Wait!” Peter calls out. But I keep darting.

Homère donne à un simple artisan le nom de sage, c'est ainsi qu'il s'exprime sur un certain Margites : « Les dieux n'en firent ni un cultivateur ou fossoyeur, ni un sage en quoi que ce soit ; il ne réussit en aucun art. » Hésiode, après avoir dit que Linus le joueur de harpe était versé dans toutes sortes de sagesses, ne craint pas de nommer sage un matelot. Il ne montre, écrit-il, aucune sagesse dans la navigation. Que dit le prophète Daniel : « Les sages, les mages, les devins et les augures ne peuvent découvrir au roi le secret dont il s'inquiète; mais il est un Dieu dans le ciel qui révèle les mystères. » Ainsi Daniel salue du nom de sages les savants de Babylone. Ce qui prouve clairement que l'Écri- 17 ture enveloppe sous la même dénomination de sagesse toute science ou tout art profane, enfin tout ce que l'esprit de l'homme a pu concevoir et imaginer, et que toute invention d'art ou de science vient de Dieu ; ajoutons les paroles suivantes, elles ne laisseront aucun doute : « Et le Seigneur parla à Moïse en ces termes : Voilà que j'ai appelé Béséléel, fils d'Uri, fils de Hur, de la tribu de Juda, et je l'ai rempli d'un divin esprit de sagesse, d'intelligence et de science, pour inventer et exécuter toutes sortes d'ouvrages, pour travailler l'or et l'argent, et l'airain, et l'hyacinthe, et le porphyre, et le bois de l'arbre qui donne l'écarlate, et pour exécuter tous les travaux qui concernent l'architecte et le lapidaire, et pour travailler les bois, etc. » Dieu poursuit de la sorte jusqu'à ces mots : « Et tous les ouvrages. » Puis il se sert d'une expression générale pour résumer ce qu'il vient de dire : « Et j'ai mis l'intelligence dans le cœur de tous les ouvriers intelligents; » c'est-à-dire, dans le cœur de tous ceux qui peuvent la recevoir par le travail et par l'exercice. Il est encore écrit d'une manière formelle, au nom du Seigneur : « Et toi, parle à tous ceux qui ont la sagesse de la pensée, et que j'ai remplis d'un esprit d'intelligence. » Ceux-là possèdent des avantages naturels tout particuliers; pour ceux qui font preuve d'une grande aptitude, ils ont reçu une double mesure, je dirai presque un double esprit d'intelligence. Ceux même qui s'appliquent à des arts grossiers, vulgaires, jouissent de sens excellents. L'organe de l'ouïe excelle dans le musicien, celui du tact dans le sculpteur, de la voix dans le chanteur, de l'odorat dans le parfumeur, de la vue dans celui qui sait graver des figures sur des cachets. Mais ceux qui se livrent aux sciences ont un sentiment spécial par lequel le poète a la perception du mètre; le rhéteur, du style; le dialecticien, du raisonnement ; le philosophe, de la contemplation qui lui est propre. Car, c'est à la faveur de ce sentiment ou instinct qu'on trouve et qu'on invente, puisque c'est lui seul qui peut déterminer l'application de notre esprit. Cette application s'accroit à raison de l'exercice continu. L'apôtre a 18 donc eu raison de dire que « la sagesse de Dieu revêt mille formes diverses, » puisque que pour notre bien elle nous révèle sa puissance en diverses occasions et de diverses manières, par les arts, par la science, par la foi, par la prophétie. Toute sagesse vient donc du Seigneur, et elle est avec lui pendant tous les siècles, comme le dit l'auteur du livre de la sagesse : « Si tu invoques à grands cris l'intelligence et la science, si tu la cherches comme un trésor caché, et que tu fasses avec joie les plus grands efforts pour la trouver, tu comprendras le culte qu'il faut rendre au Seigneur, et tu découvriras la science de Dieu. »

Fire Groove Gear is owned and operated by Lester Mooney who is one of the original founders of the business in 2005 and one of the 3 Fire Groove siblings (Hannah, Kamala, and Lester). He has been building fire props for over 13 years now and has over 15 years of Fire dance experience. Once you have mastered the skill of Meteor Rope Dart what could be more exciting than doubling your fire and adding a brand new genre of opposing momentum! Technora poi rope is quickly becoming the standard for professional and hobbyist spinners alike who fashion it for its high heat resistance (930° F), burn protection, and its astonishing strength. Our stage balls travel all the way from Italy just to unite with your hands. Made from a flexible hollow PVC giving them a nice grip and a great weight. Our Fire palm torches are hand-crafted with high quality leather and a unique connection that leaves these torches secure, comfortable, and beautiful!

Eyes darting nervously between the road and the rearview mirror, her timid driver cleared his throat. “May I be so bold as to ask a question, miss?” In the process of removing

Hildebrand turned after closing the door of his truck and the raven mocker struck. He sunk viselike talons into Hildebrand’s shoulders, flapping wildly to stay in the air, intending to distract him while he took his soul, all of it, leaving him dead on the ground. So no one would be able to go into the other world to retrieve it, because there would be no place to return it to. Hildebrand screamed as the raven mocker sucked his soul from his body through his breath. He was strong. The raven mocker filled with soul energy. He was charged with it, changed with it. Before Sky reacted Dave was out of his seat and in through the front door. He raced through the house. On the back porch he stopped, arrested by an astounding sight. A huge crow attacking Rocky, enormous, like a mastiff with wings, talons hooked into Rocky’s coveralls, flapping furiously, pecking at Rocky’s face. And something else, the bird was draining Rocky’s life. Filled with adrenalin, he perceived all this instantly; he reached down, pulling his Levi’s pants leg up with his left hand and drew the .32 Beretta in his boot with the right. He drew, aimed and fired twice in one smooth motion. He hit the son of a bitch, but all it did was piss him off. The crow dropped Rocky. Dave re-aimed and fired another double tap. The bird flew at him, growing large in his vision, filling all of it, even as John opened the door behind him and Dave fired again, absolutely sure he hit him every time he squeezed the trigger. No effect. No effect whatsoever. Talons clawed his shirt and the gun fell from his hand. The raven locked eyes and Dave felt his energy draining. He felt an invisible tentacle enter his body through his eyes. He didn’t know what was happening, psychic wrestling, not connected with anything physical; something inside him grabbed that tentacle and shoved it out. Then he was through and inside the bird’s eyes himself, reaching in there, doing something. He heard Sky’s feet stomp on the porch as he cried, “Usinuliyu Selagwutse …” in Cherokee as he scooped up the pistol. The bird flew away, cawing, straight into the sky. Dave stood on the porch, gasping, weak in the knees, as Sky darted past him and went to Rocky. He knelt beside his friend, touched his face, and said, “Let’s get him inside.

plan yet, Jaynes.” She grimaced. Probably because she hadn’t had one. “Just get as far away from the church as you can,” she instructed grimly, her satin gown hissing against the leather as she shifted into a move comfortable position. Eyes darting nervously between the road and the rearview mirror, her timid driver

Damning documentation of LSD experimentation should not have been left in the hands of CIA Director Richard Helms. On January 31, 1973, one day before retiring from the CIA, Helms destroyed files on the fates of minds shattered over the previous ten years. Helms supported the mind-altering projects—Operation Chatter, Operation Bluebird/Artichoke, Operations Mknaomi, Mkultra and Mkdelta. By 1963, four years before Monterey Pop, the combined efforts of the CIA’s Directorate of Science and Technology, Army Intelligence and U.S. Chemical Corps launched covert operations that seemed necessary. U.S. agents were able to destroy any reputation by inducing hysteria or excessive emotional response, temporary or permanent insanity, encouraging suicide, erasing memory, inventing double or triple personalities inside one mind, prolonging lapses of memory, teaching racism and hatred against specific groups, causing subjects to obey instructions on the telephone or in person, hypnotically assuring that no memory remains of their assignments. The CIA has poison dart guns to kill from a distance, tranquilizers for pets so the household or neighborhood is not alerted by entry or exit. While pure LSD is typically 160 micrograms, the CIA issued 1,600 micrograms. Some of the LSD was administered to patients at Tulane University, who already had wired electrodes in their brain. Was insanity an occupational disease in the music industry? Or does this LSD, tested and described in Army documents, explain how a cultural happening that took place place in 1967-68 could be altered radically and halted?

Jake’s helping her.” “Good luck with that.” Max scooped another helping of corn. “Just needs a little coaxing is all,” Jake said. Max shrugged. “I think you’re wasting your time. Dad tried that already, and she wouldn’t budge.” “She’s too afraid,” Ben said. Meridith’s eyes darted to Jake’s face, just a quick look. But Jake was looking back, and the quick look stretched into long seconds. “I’m a patient man.” His brown eyes warmed under her gaze. The double meaning kick-started Meridith’s heart. She couldn’t drag her eyes away until she felt warmth climbing her cheeks. Meridith

tableau /tablo/ I. nm 1. (œuvre d'art) picture; (peinture) painting voir aussi: galerie, vieux 2. (description) picture • brosser un ~ sombre de la situation | to paint a black picture of the situation • et pour achever or compléter le ~ | and to cap it all 3. (spectacle) picture • des enfants jouant dans un jardin, quel ~ charmant! | children playing in a garden, what a charming picture! • le ~ général est plus sombre | the overall picture is more gloomy • en plus, il était ivre, tu vois un peu le ~○! | on top of that he was drunk, you can just imagine! 4. (présentation graphique) table, chart • ‘voir ~’ | ‘see table’ • ~ des marées | tide table • ~ des températures | temperature chart • ~ synchronique/synoptique | historical/synoptic chart • ~ à double entrée | (Ordinat) two-dimensional array • présenter qch sous forme de ~ | to present sth in tabular form 5. blackboard • écrire qch au ~ | to write sth on the blackboard • passer or aller au ~ | to go (up) to the blackboard 6. (affichant des renseignements) board; (Rail) indicator board • ~ des départs/arrivées | departures/arrivals indicator • ~ horaire | timetable 7. (support mural) board • ~ des clés | key rack • ~ pour fusibles | fuse box 8. (liste) register (GB), roll (US) 9. short scene II. Idiomes 1. jouer or miser sur les deux tableaux | to hedge one's bets 2. gagner/perdre sur tous les tableaux | to win/to lose on all counts

Le génie véritable peut développer sans innover : il atteint la perfection, la profondeur et la puissance d'expression, d'une manière presque imperceptible, moyennant les impondérables de vérité et de beauté qui mûrissent dans l'humilité, sans laquelle il n'y a pas de vraie grandeur. Au point de vue l'art sacré ou simplement traditionnel, on ne se préoccupe pas de la question de savoir si une oeuvre est "originale" ou "copiée" : dans une série de copies d'un modèle canonique, telle copie – peut être moins "originale" qu'une autre – est une oeuvre géniale, par un concours de conditions précieuses qui n'ont rien à voir avec une affectation d'originalité ou quelque autre crispation de l'ego. Et ceci nous permet de dégager une double erreur fondamentale sans laquelle les prétentions de soi-disant artistes seraient inconcevables : à savoir qu'une originalité contraire aux normes collectives héréditaires soit psychologiquement possible en dehors des cas d'aliénation mentale, et qu'un homme puisse produire une vraie oeuvre d'art qui ne soit comprise à aucun degré par nombre d'hommes intelligents et cultivés appartenant à la même civilisation, à la même race et à la même époque que le soi-disant artiste. En réalité, les prémisses d'une telle originalité ou singularité n'existent point dans l'âme humaine normale, ni à plus forte raison dans l'intelligence pure; les singularités modernes, loin de relever de quelque "mystère" de la création artistique, ne sont qu'erreur philosophique et déformation mentale. Chacun se croit obligé d'être un grand homme; la nouveauté est prise pour de l'originalité, l'introspection morbide pour de la profondeur, le cynisme pour de la sincérité, la prétention pour du génie, si bien qu'on finit par prendre un schéma d'anatomie ou une peau de zèbre pour de la peinture; on fait de la "sincérité" un critère absolu, comme si une oeuvre ne pouvait pas être psychologiquement "sincère", mais spirituellement fausse ou artistiquement nulle. La grande erreur de ces artistes est d'ignorer délibérément la valeur objective et qualitative des formes et des couleurs et de se croire à l'abri dans un subjectivisme qu'ils estiment intéressant et impénétrable, alors qu'il n'est que banal et ridicule; leur erreur même les oblige à recourir, dans le monde des formes, aux possibilités les plus inférieures, comme Satan qui, voulant être aussi "original" que Dieu, n'avait plus d'autre choix que l'horreur.

he cannot close his eyes without being subjected to the diplopic double image of his lover's steady, supplicating and aging (!?) eyes, and then his own eyes vertical above her, darting from side to side, more concerned with how he is seen than with what he sees.