Delay Reply Quotes

It isn't that it's too soon, you're on the back of my bike, it ain't too soon. You can buy sheets. You cannot install blinds." "um..." I mumbled. "Can you explain the difference?" "Sheets are chick territory," he said without delay. "You gotta use tools, that's dick territory." "Oh," I whispered. "Don't tread on dick territory," he advised. "So, um... is a paintbrush a tool?" I asked cautiously. "If you're paintin' the side of the house, yeah. If you're painting mud colored paint in a room, no." "It's terracotta," I said softly. "Whatever," he muttered, his mouth twitching. "Or, the paint chip called it Mexican horizon. The blue is dawn sky." "Definitely chick territory," Tate replied, losing the fight with his grin. "What about...pictures for the walls?" I asked. "Chick," he answered instantly. "Um...could I ask that, instead of you getting angry and being a jerk, maybe you give me a head's up when I'm doing something stupid?

I want to hire someone to stand outside my door and knock three times, with each knock being three years apart. At the end of the nine years I’ll reply, “Who is it?” And without delay or reply, the person on the other side of the door is to find a new job.

In the ill-judged execution of the well-judged plan of things the call seldom produces the comer, the man to love rarely coincides with the hour for loving. Nature does not often say 'See!' to her poor creature at a time when seeing can lead to happy doing; or reply 'Here!' to a body's cry of 'Where?' till the hide-and-seek has become an irksome, outworn game. We may wonder whether at the acme and summit of the human progress these anachronisms will be corrected by a finer intuition, a close interaction of the social machinery than that which now jolts us round and along; but such completeness is not to be prophesied, or even conceived as possible. Enough that in the present case, as in millions, it was not the two halves of a perfect whole that confronted each other at the perfect moment; part and counterpart wandered independently about the earth in the stupidest manner for a while, till the late time came. Out of which maladroit delay sprang anxieties, disappointments, shocks, catastrophes -- what was called a strange destiny.

You are the greatest comfort for exhausted spirits. By the weight of your tenets and the delightfulness of your singing you have so refreshed me that I now think myself capable of facing the blows of Fortune. You were talking of cures that were rather sharp. The thought of them no longer makes me shudder; in fact I'm so eager to hear more, I fervently beg you for them.' 'I knew it,' She replied. 'Once you began to hang onto my words in silent attention, I was expecting you to adopt this attitude, or rather, to be more exact, I myself created it in you. The remedies still to come are, in fact, of such a kind that they taste bitter to the tongue, but grow sweet once they are absorbed. But you say you are eager to hear more. You would be more than eager to hear if you knew the destination I am trying to bring you to.' I asked what it was and she told me that it was true happiness. 'Your mind dreams of it,' she said, 'but your sight is clouded by shadows of happiness and cannot see reality.' I begged her to lead on and show me the nature of true happiness without delay. 'For you,' she said, 'I will do so gladly.

As a general, Napoleon made it his habit to delay responding to the mail. His secretary was instructed to wait three weeks before opening any correspondence. When he finally did hear what was in a letter, Napoleon loved to note how many supposedly “important” issues had simply resolved themselves and no longer required a reply. While Napoleon

Blaming yourself Do not complain to your Lord about a delayed reply to your request; but you should rather complain about yourself for your delayed (misplaced) manners.

I'll bring the rest through as quickly as I can," Honor promised after the inevitable delay. "And I'll try to make sure there's still a Star Kingdom when you do," Kuzak replied.

It’s of no consequence to us as long as we delay them for three or four days.” “You won’t last three or four hours,” Halt said flatly, and an ugly silence fell over the small group. The Skandians were too shocked by the enormity of his insult to reply. Erak was the first to recover. “If you believe that,” he said grimly, “then you have never seen Skandians fight, my friend.

Well, Harry, while we’ve still got you here, you won’t mind helping with the preparations for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, will you? There’s still so much to do.” “No--I--of course not,” said Harry, disconcerted by this sudden change of subject. “Sweet of you,” she replied, and she smiled as she left the scullery. From that moment on, Mrs. Weasley kept Harry, Ron, and Hermione so busy with preparations for the wedding that they hardly had any time to think. The kindest explanation of this behavior would have been that Mrs. Weasley wanted to distract them all from thoughts of Mad-Eye and the terrors of their recent journey. After two days of nonstop cutlery cleaning, of color-matching favors, ribbons, and flowers, of de-gnoming the garden and helping Mrs. Weasley cook vast batches of canapés, however, Harry started to suspect her of a different motive. All the jobs she handed out seemed to keep him, Ron, and Hermione away from one another; he had not had a chance to speak to the two of them alone since the first night, when he had told them about Voldemort torturing Ollivander. “I think Mum thinks that if she can stop the three of you getting together and planning, she’ll be able to delay you leaving,” Ginny told Harry in an undertone, as they laid the table for dinner on the third night of his stay. “And then what does she think’s going to happen?” Harry muttered. “Someone else might kill off Voldemort while she’s holding us here making vol-au-vents?

I move to the corner, and Roman lies down on the sofa, places his head in my lap, and closes his eyes. “Does your leg hurt?” “Yes,” he says, but there is a slight delay in his reply. “Are you lying?” “Nope.” He shakes his head. His eyes are still closed, but the corners of his mouth lift a bit. “Oh yes, you are lying.” I bend down slightly. “You just want me to pet you.” He opens his eyes and reaches up to tuck one of the strands that’s escaped my ponytail behind my ear. “Yes,” he says and closes his eyes again.

The king, enraged at this delay, hastily demanded the name of the bold man that had married a woman of her degree without his consent. Imoinda, seeing his eyes fierce, and his hands tremble, whether with a age or anger, I know not, but she fancied the last, almost repented she had said so much, for now she feared the storm would fall on the prince; she therefore said a thousand things to appease the raging of his flame, and to prepare him to hear who it was with calmness; but before she spoke, he imagined who she meant, but would not seem to do so, but commanded her to lay aside her mantle and suffer herself to receive his caresses; or, by his gods, he swore, that happy man whom she was going to name should die, though it were even Oroonoko himself. 'Therefore,' said he, 'deny this marriage, and swear thyself a maid.' 'That,' replied Imoinda, 'by all our powers I do, for I am not yet known to my husband.' 'Tis enough,' said the king, 'tis enough to satisfy both my conscience, and my heart.' And rising from his seat, he went and led her into the bath, it being in vain for her to resist.

The plane that had taken off from Baltimore was caught in bad weather, which meant the Derridas missed their connection at Boston. Derrida found this delay and the whole chaotic journey a real trial. On the flight the following day, he spent the whole time tense and hunched up, clenching his fists tightly. And when Marguerite coaxed him to relax, he replied, furiously: ‘Don’t you realize that I’m keeping the plane in the air by the sole force of my will?’ He was traumatized for a long time, and for several years he refused to get back into a plane.

In 1684 Dr Halley came to visit at Cambridge [and] after they had some time together the Dr asked him what he thought the curve would be that would be described by the Planets supposing the force of attraction towards the Sun to be reciprocal to the square of their distance from it. This was a reference to a piece of mathematics known as the inverse square law, which Halley was convinced lay at the heart of the explanation, though he wasn’t sure exactly how. Sr Isaac replied immediately that it would be an [ellipse]. The Doctor, struck with joy & amazement, asked him how he knew it. ‘Why,’ saith he, ‘I have calculated it,’ whereupon Dr Halley asked him for his calculation without farther delay. Sr Isaac looked among his papers but could not find it. This was astounding – like someone saying he had found a cure for cancer but couldn’t remember where he had put the formula. Pressed by Halley, Newton agreed to redo the calculations and produce a paper. He did as promised, but then did much more. He retired for two years of intensive reflection and scribbling, and at length produced his masterwork: the Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica or Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy, better known as the Principia.

I can’t hurt to apply,” he says with a shrug. “Right? Besides, they might change their minds once you get accepted.” “If I get accepted.” “I’m willing to bet you will.” “Wow, you’ve got a lot of confidence in someone you don’t even like.” A crash of thunder delays his reply. When it comes, it’s unexpectedly quiet. “What makes you think I don’t like you?” Feeling suddenly vulnerable, I drag a pillow into my lap. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve said so? Like, a million times.” He shakes his head. “I’ve never said I don’t like you.” “I’m pretty sure you have. Remember that fight we had a couple of weeks ago? At Mama’s party?” “You said you hated me,” he argues.

Even today, every night of the year, the Queen’s Keys are carried in great ceremony to lock up the gates of the Tower. The Chief Yeoman Warder at 9:53 meets his escort warders and they walk to the gates. They arrive at 10:00 p.m. exactly and are challenged by a sentry with a bayonet who cries loudly, “Who comes here?” The reply by the Chief is, “The Keys.” “Whose keys?” “Queen Elizabeth’s keys.” “Pass, Queen Elizabeth’s keys, and all is well.” The party passes through the Bloody Tower Archway into the fortress and halts at the Broadway Steps. At the top of the stairs, the Tower Guard presents arms and the Chief Warder raises his hat and proclaims, “God preserve Queen Elizabeth.” The sentry replies, “Amen!” Afterward, the keys are taken to the Queen’s House for safekeeping and the Last Post is sounded. This ancient ceremony was interrupted only once since the 14th century. During World War II there was an air raid on London. Bombs fell on the Victorian guardroom just as the party was coming through the Bloody Tower Archway. The noise knocked down the Chief Yeoman and one of the Warder escorts. In the Tower is a letter from the Officer of the Guard in which he apologizes to King George VI for the ceremony finishing late, as well as a reply from the King which states that the officer is not to be punished since the delay was due to enemy action.

Approaching the trail, he broke through the thicket a short distance ahead of the Empath. Causing the Empaths horse to startle as the surprised rider jerked on the reins. Cap was equally surprised to find a young girl before him instead of an older, experienced male Empath. Cap brought his horse to a quick halt. The young girl pulled a small knife from her boot and cautioned him. "I don't know where you came from, but I'm not easy prey.” Her voice shook slightly with fear as she raised the knife. Not sure how to proceed, they stared silently at each other. Cap had always believed that Empaths didn't carry weapons. This pretty, chestnut haired girl couldn't be more than 18 years old. Her long straight tresses covered the spot on her jacket where the Empathic Emblem was usually worn, causing Cap to doubt she was the one he sought. Not wanting to frighten her any more than he already had, Cap tried to explain. "I'm Commander Caplin Taylor. I’m looking for an Empath that is headed for the Western Hunting Lodge.” "My name is Kendra; I am the Empath you seek.” She answered cautiously, still holding the blade. A noise from the brush drew her attention as a small rodent pounced out, trying to evade an unseen predator. Cap was just close enough to lurch forward and snatch the dirk from her hand. Her head jerked back in alarm. "Bosen May has been mauled by a Sraeb, his shoulder is a mass of pulp." Cap spoke quickly not wanting to hesitate any longer. That was all Kendra needed to hear. She pushed her horse past him and headed quickly down the trail. "Wait!" Cap called after her, turning his horse around. Reining in the horse, she turned back to face him annoyed by the delay. "Are you a good horseman?" Cap asked, as he stuffed her dirk in his jacket. "I've been in the saddle since I was a child." She answered, abruptly. "Okay so just a few years then?" Cap's rebuke angered her. Jerking the horse back toward the trail, she ignored him. "Wait, I'm sorry!" Cap called after her. "It's just that I know a quicker way, if you can handle some rough terrain." "Let’s go then." Kendra replied, gruffly, turning back to face him. Without another word, Cap dove back into the brush and the girl followed.

A typical Virgin airline employee is the sort of person who will joke with passengers and smile, not just nod their head and say: ‘Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir.’ I shared a story about one occasion when we had a short delay before a Virgin flight and people had to queue up at the gate. One of the passengers jumped the queue and marched up to the desk. Our team member very politely asked him to get back into the queue. He turned on her and said: ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ So she picked up the intercom and announced: ‘I have a young man at gate 23, who seems to be lost – he doesn’t know who he is.’ The other passengers roared with laughter. ‘Fuck you!’ shouted the self-important man. She kept a straight face and replied: ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to get in line for that too, sir!

Do you mean to tell me,” she cried out, “that he left nothing! That Sara will have no fortune! That the child is a beggar! That she is left on my hands a little pauper instead of an heiress?” Mr. Barrow was a shrewd businessman, and felt it as well to make his own freedom from responsibility quite clear without any delay. “She is certainly left a beggar,” he replied. “And she is certainly left on your hands, ma’am--as she hasn’t a relation in the world that we know of.” Miss Minchin started forward. She looked as if she was going to open the door and rush out of the room to stop the festivities going on joyfully and rather noisily that moment over the refreshments. “It is monstrous!” she said. “She’s in my sitting room at this moment, dressed in silk gauze and lace petticoats, giving a party at my expense.” “She’s giving it at your expense, madam, if she’s giving it,” said Mr. Barrow, calmly.

For all I know,” said Gargravarr’s ethereal voice, “I’m probably at one. My body that is. It goes to a lot of parties without me. Says I only get in the way. Hey ho.” “What is all this with your body?” said Zaphod, anxious to delay whatever it was that was going to happen to him. “Well, it’s … it’s busy you know,” said Gargravarr hesitantly. “You mean it’s got a mind of its own?” said Zaphod. There was a long and slightly chilly pause before Gargravarr spoke again. “I have to say,” he replied eventually, “that I find that remark in rather poor taste.” Zaphod muttered a bewildered and embarrassed apology. “No matter,” said Gargravarr, “you weren’t to know.” The voice fluttered unhappily. “The truth is,” it continued in tones which suggested he was trying very hard to keep it under control, “the truth is that we are currently undergoing a period of legal trial separation. I suspect it will end in divorce.

Then, just when he thought he’d made it through without delay, he heard an aged, female, and very imperious voice call out his name. “Bridgerton! I say, Bridgerton! Stop at once. I’m speaking to you!” He groaned as he turned about. Lady Danbury, the dragon of the ton. There was simply no way he could ignore her. He had no idea how old she was. Sixty? Seventy? Whatever her age, she was a force of nature, and no one ignored her. “Lady Danbury,” he said, trying not to sound resigned as he reined in his mount. “How nice to see you.” “Good gad, boy,” she barked, “you sound as if you’ve just taken an antidote. Perk up!” Anthony smiled weakly. “Where’s your wife?” “I’m looking for her right now,” he replied, “or at least I was.” Lady Danbury was far too sharp to miss his pointed hint, so he could only deduce that she ignored him apurpose when she said, “I like your wife.” “I like her, too.” “Never could understand why you were so set on courting her sister. Nice gel, but clearly not for you.” She rolled her eyes and let out an indignant huff. “The world would be a much happier place if people would just listen to me before they up and got married,” she added. “I could have the entire Marriage Mart matched up in a week.” “I’m sure you could.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you patronizing me?” “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Anthony said with complete honesty. “Good. You always seemed like the sensible sort.

THE OBEDIENCE GAME DUGGAR KIDS GROW UP playing the Obedience Game. It’s sort of like Mother May I? except it has a few extra twists—and there’s no need to double-check with “Mother” because she (or Dad) is the one giving the orders. It’s one way Mom and Dad help the little kids in the family burn off extra energy some nights before we all put on our pajamas and gather for Bible time (more about that in chapter 8). To play the Obedience Game, the little kids all gather in the living room. After listening carefully to Mom’s or Dad’s instructions, they respond with “Yes, ma’am, I’d be happy to!” then run and quickly accomplish the tasks. For example, Mom might say, “Jennifer, go upstairs to the girls’ room, touch the foot of your bed, then come back downstairs and give Mom a high-five.” Jennifer answers with an energetic “Yes, ma’am, I’d be happy to!” and off she goes. Dad might say, “Johannah, run around the kitchen table three times, then touch the front doorknob and come back.” As Johannah stands up she says, “Yes, sir, I’d be happy to!” “Jackson, go touch the front door, then touch the back door, then touch the side door, and then come back.” Jackson, who loves to play army, stands at attention, then salutes and replies, “Yes, sir, I’d be happy to!” as he goes to complete his assignment at lightning speed. Sometimes spotters are sent along with the game player to make sure the directions are followed exactly. And of course, the faster the orders can be followed, the more applause the contestant gets when he or she slides back into the living room, out of breath and pleased with himself or herself for having complied flawlessly. All the younger Duggar kids love to play this game; it’s a way to make practicing obedience fun! THE FOUR POINTS OF OBEDIENCE THE GAME’S RULES (MADE up by our family) stem from our study of the four points of obedience, which Mom taught us when we were young. As a matter of fact, as we are writing this book she is currently teaching these points to our youngest siblings. Obedience must be: 1. Instant. We answer with an immediate, prompt “Yes ma’am!” or “Yes sir!” as we set out to obey. (This response is important to let the authority know you heard what he or she asked you to do and that you are going to get it done as soon as possible.) Delayed obedience is really disobedience. 2. Cheerful. No grumbling or complaining. Instead, we respond with a cheerful “I’d be happy to!” 3. Thorough. We do our best, complete the task as explained, and leave nothing out. No lazy shortcuts! 4. Unconditional. No excuses. No, “That’s not my job!” or “Can’t someone else do it? or “But . . .” THE HIDDEN GOAL WITH this fun, fast-paced game is that kids won’t need to be told more than once to do something. Mom would explain the deeper reason behind why she and Daddy desired for us to learn obedience. “Mom and Daddy won’t always be with you, but God will,” she says. “As we teach you to hear and obey our voice now, our prayer is that ultimately you will learn to hear and obey what God’s tells you to do through His Word.” In many families it seems that many of the goals of child training have been lost. Parents often expect their children to know what they should say and do, and then they’re shocked and react harshly when their sweet little two-year-old throws a tantrum in the middle of the grocery store. This parental attitude probably stems from the belief that we are all born basically good deep down inside, but the truth is, we are all born with a sin nature. Think about it: You don’t have to teach a child to hit, scream, whine, disobey, or be selfish. It comes naturally. The Bible says that parents are to “train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it” (Proverbs 22:6).

When Musk took delivery of his F1, CNN was there to cover it. “Just three years ago I was showering at the Y and sleeping on the office floor,” he told the camera sheepishly, “and now obviously, I’ve got a million-dollar car… it’s just a moment in my life.” While other McLaren F1 owners around the world—the sultan of Brunei, Wyclef Jean, and Jay Leno, among others—could comfortably afford it, Musk’s purchase had put a sizable dent in his bank account. And unlike other owners, Musk drove the car to work—and declined to insure it. As Musk drove Thiel up Sand Hill Road in the F1, the car was the subject of their chat. “It was like this Hitchcock movie,” Thiel remembered, “where we’re talking about the car for fifteen minutes. We’re supposed to be preparing for the meeting—and we’re talking about the car.” During their ride, Thiel looked at Musk and reportedly asked, “So, what can this thing do?” “Watch this,” Musk replied, flooring the accelerator and simultaneously initiating a lane change on Sand Hill Road. In retrospect, Musk admitted that he was outmatched by the F1. “I didn’t really know how to drive the car,” he recalled. “There’s no stability systems. No traction control. And the car gets so much power that you can break the wheels free at even fifty miles an hour.” Thiel recalls the car in front of them coming fast into view—then Musk swerving to avoid it. The McLaren hit an embankment, was tossed into the air—“like a discus,” Musk remembered——then slammed violently into the ground. “The people that saw it happen thought we were going to die,” he recalled. Thiel had not worn a seat belt, but astonishingly, neither he nor Musk were hurt. Musk’s “work of art” had not fared as well, having now taken a distinctly cubist turn. Post-near-death experience, Thiel dusted himself off on the side of the road and hitchhiked to the Sequoia offices, where he was joined by Musk a short while later. X.com’s CEO, Bill Harris, was also waiting at the Sequoia office, and he recalled that both Thiel and Musk were late but offered no explanation for their delay. “They never told me,” Harris said. “We just had the meeting.” Reflecting on it, Musk found humor in the experience: “I think it’s safe to say Peter wouldn’t be driving with me again.” Thiel wrung some levity out of the moment, too. “I’d achieved lift-off with Elon,” he joked, “but not in a rocket.

Olive,’ Mum said, stroking my fringe. ‘I need you to listen to me, and I need you to be brave.’ Opening my eyes again, I swallowed nervously. ‘What’s happened?’ ‘Your sister didn’t arrive at work today.’ Sukie was a typist for an insurance company in Clerkenwell. She said it was the dullest job ever. ‘Isn’t today Saturday, though?’ I asked. ‘She was due in to do overtime. No one’s seen her since she was with you and Cliff last night. She’s missing.’ ‘Missing?’ I didn’t understand. Mum nodded. The nurse added rather unhelpfully: ‘We’ve had casualties from all over London. It’s been chaos. All you can do is keep hoping for the best.’ It was obvious what she meant. I glanced at Mum, who always took the opposite view in any argument. But she stayed silent. Her hands, though, were trembling. ‘Missing isn’t the same as dead,’ I pointed out. Mum grimaced. ‘That’s true, and I’ve spoken to the War Office: Sukie’s name isn’t on their list of dead or injured but-’ ‘So she’s alive, then. She must be. I saw her in the street talking to a man,’ I said. ‘When she realised I’d followed her she was really furious about it.’ Mum looked at me, at the nurse, at the bump on my head. ‘Darling, you’re concussed. Don’t get overexcited now.’ ‘But you can’t think she’s dead.’ I insisted. ‘There’s no proof, is ther?’ ‘Sometimes it’s difficult to identify someone after…’ Mum faltered. I knew what she couldn’t say: sometimes if a body got blown apart there’d be nothing left to tie a name tag to. It was why we’d never buried Dad. Perhaps if there’d been a coffin and a headstone and a vicar saying nice things, it would’ve seemed more real. This felt different, though. After a big air raid the telephones were often down, letters got delayed, roads blocked. It might be a day or two before we heard from Sukie, and worried though I was, I knew she could look after herself. I wondered if it was part of Mum being ill, this painting the world black when it was grey. My head was hurting again so I lay back against the pillows. I was fed up with this stupid, horrid war. Eighteen months ago when it started, everyone said it’d be over before Christmas, but they were wrong. It was still going on, tearing great holes in people’s lives. We’d already lost Dad, and half the time these days it felt like Mum wasn’t quite here. And now Sukie – who knew where she was? I didn’t realise I was crying again until Mum touched my cheek. ‘It’s not fair,’ I said weakly. ‘War isn’t fair, I’m afraid,’ Mum replied. ‘You only have to walk through this hospital to see we’re not the only ones suffering. Though that’s just the top of the iceberg, believe me. There’s plenty worse going on in Europe.’ I remembered Sukie mentioning this too. She’d got really upset when she told me about the awful things happening to people Hitler didn’t like. She was in the kitchen chopping onions at the time so I wasn’t aware she was crying properly. ‘What sort of awful things?’ I’d asked her. ‘Food shortages, people being driven from their homes.’ Sukie took a deep breath, as if the list was really long. ‘People being attacked for no reason or sent no one knows where – Jewish people in particular. They’re made to wear yellow stars so everyone knows they’re Jews, and then barred from shops and schools and even parts of the towns where they live. It’s heartbreaking to think we can’t do anything about it.’ People threatened by soldiers. People queuing for food with stars on their coats. It was what I’d seen on last night’s newsreel at the cinema. My murky brain could just about remember those dismal scenes, and it made me even more angry. How I hated this lousy war. I didn’t know what I could do about it, a thirteen-year-old girl with a bump on her head. Yet thinking there might be something made me feel a tiny bit better.

Spalatin asked Luther what he thought of long engagements. He replied, "Don't put off till tomorrow! By delay Hannibal lost Rome. By delay Esau forfeited his birth right. Christ said, 'Ye shall seek me, and ye shall not find.' Thus Scripture, experience, and all creation testify that the gifts of God must be taking on the wing.

He raced to Marinella at breakneck speed, about fifty miles an hour for normal drivers. As he was passing through the village of Villaseta, a carabiniere with disc signals in hand, who’d probably been hiding behind a blade of grass, suddenly appeared in front of him, gesturing for him to stop. “License and registration.” “Why, may I ask?” “The speed limit in a residential area is thirty miles an hour. Everybody and their dog knows this.” The inspector’s irritation at this new delay and the use of a cliché triggered an unfortunate reply. “Why, don’t the cats and birds know it?” The carabiniere gave him a dirty look. “Trying to be funny, are we?” He couldn’t allow himself to get into an argument. The guy was liable to run him in, and that would be all for Angelica that night.

hall?”             “As I’ve told the mayor several times, we’re only permitted to speak with those directly involved with the loan itself,” Nate replied. “But I know you won’t take no for an answer, so I’ll fill you in. City council has requested an unusually large amount of loans this year, and we’re just trying to make sure we’re spreading the wealth fairly.”             “Has there been a delay of payments on any of the other policies?” Emmett shot back, clearly displeased with Nate’s response.             “No, that’s not it at all. We haven’t denied the loan yet,

At one point,” says Barnes, who helped with the negotiations, “the delays went on forever and he just went and told one of their executives to ‘fuck off.’ One of the Lucas team said, ‘You can’t say that to one of our EVPs.’ ‘Yes I can,’ he replied. ‘And fuck you, too.’ 

You're kidding me!" Vice Admiral Horth told her com screen. "The hell I am." There was just over a one-second transmission delay each way between Soissons Orbit One and Jefferson Field, and Admiral Marat's expression was less humorous even than the weapons fire in Horth's plot when he replied two seconds later. "We've got a rogue drop commando in an alpha-synth, Becky, and she's boosting out of here like a bat out of hell.

Dr. Adam Clarke, in his autobiography, records that when Mr. Wesley was returning to England by ship, considerable delay was caused by contrary winds. Wesley was reading, when he became aware of some confusion on board, and asking what was the matter, he was informed that the wind was contrary. “Then,” was his reply, “let us go to prayer.” After Dr. Clarke had prayed, Wesley broke out into fervent supplication which seemed to be more the offering of faith than of mere desire. “Almighty and everlasting God,” he prayed. “Thou hast sway everywhere, and all things serve the purpose of Thy will, Thou holdest the winds in Thy fists and sittest upon the water floods, and reignest a King for ever. Command these winds and these waves that they obey Thee, and take us speedily and safely to the haven whither we would go.” The power of this petition was felt by all. Wesley rose from his knees, made no remark, but took up his book and continued reading. Dr. Clarke went on deck, and to his surprise found the vessel under sail, standing on her right course. Nor did she change till she was safely at anchor. On the sudden and favourable change of wind, Wesley made no remark; so fully did he expect to be heard that he took it for granted that he was heard.

Lucas was courting a range of other potential buyers at the same time, including Siemens, Hallmark, General Motors’ EDS division, and Philips. But as one deal after another fell through, the balance of power tilted toward Steve, who didn’t need the group as much as Lucas needed the money. So he was perfectly willing to play tough himself. “At one point,” says Barnes, who helped with the negotiations, “the delays went on forever and he just went and told one of their executives to ‘fuck off.’ One of the Lucas team said, ‘You can’t say that to one of our EVPs.’ ‘Yes I can,’ he replied. ‘And fuck you, too.’ 

She says ye never left me side?”she asked. He felt his cheeks grow warm. Clearing his throat once, he finally answered. “Aye.” “Why?”she asked. Why? For the past four days, he’d imagined everything he would say to her as soon as he found her. Her illness delayed the heartfelt words he had wanted to have with her. Now, when the moment finally arrived, his mind turned blank. All the sweet words he’d planned to tell her fled on the wings of a frantically beating heart. “Ye came fer me,”she whispered. “Ye came fer me and ye killed Helmert. And ye never left me side.”Her voice was filled with disbelief. “Why?” He stammered for a moment, tripping over his own tongue. “I,”he paused, searching for the right words, the words he hoped would not terrify her. “Ye be a fine woman, Laurin. I’ve grown quite fond of ye these past weeks.” She studied him closely for a moment. “So fond of me that ye were willin’to risk yer life to save mine?”Her tone said his answer made little sense. “Aye,”he whispered. Suddenly his mouth felt dry, his tongue thick. “Fond enough to risk my own life for yours.” “Fond, like ye’d be fond of a dear friend, or somethin’more?” He could not understand why she asked that particular question. Refusing to read anything into her question, he replied. “Somethin’more, lass. Far more than friendship.” Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at him. It made his gut wrench, thinking he’d brought her a moment of discomfort or sorrow. Leaning over, he took her hand in his. “Laurin, I ken ye do no’have the same feelin’s for me as I do for ye. I ken ye may never have them, but it matters no’to me. I would be willin’to wait an entire lifetime on nothin’more than a wish and a prayer, in case, just in case some day ye might be able to return those feelins.” He’d not pressure her into anything, would not beg her for her hand or her heart. “How can ye say that?”she asked, swiping away an errant tear. “How could ye wait a lifetime for me?” With a slow shake of his head, he smiled. “Och! Lass, ye’d be well worth the wait.

difference?” “Sheets are chick territory,” he said without delay. “You gotta use tools, that’s dick territory.” “Oh,” I whispered. “Don’t tread on dick territory,” he advised. “So, um… is a paintbrush a tool?” I asked cautiously. “If you’re paintin’ the side of the house, yeah. If you’re painting mud-colored paint in a room, no.” “It’s terra-cotta,” I said softly. “Whatever,” he muttered, his mouth twitching. “Or, the paint chip called it Mexican Horizon. The blue is Dawn Sky.” “Definitely chick territory,” Tate replied, losing the fight with his grin. “What about… pictures for the walls?” I asked. “Chick,” he answered instantly.

Afternoon, Bill,” Pat replied as the older man sat down behind his desk. “Sorry about the delay, but Garrity made another smart remark about my age, so I had to remind him of how thoroughly I trounced him at racquetball over the weekend.” Pat

Afternoon, Pat,” was his greeting. “Afternoon, Bill,” Pat replied as the older man sat down behind his desk. “Sorry about the delay, but Garrity made another smart remark about my age, so I had to remind him of how thoroughly I trounced him at racquetball over the weekend.” Pat

As Ross entered the kitchen, he saw Ernest sitting at the scrubbed wooden table. The boy wolfed down a plate of breakfast as if it were the first decent meal he'd had in months. Sophia stood at the range with the scrawny cook-maid, apparently showing her how to prepare the morning's fare. "Turn them like this," Sophia was saying, expertly flipping a row of little cakes on a griddle pan. The kitchen atmosphere was especially fragrant today, spiced with frying bacon, coffee, and sizzling batter. Sophia looked fresh and wholesome, the trim curves of her figure outlined by a white apron that covered her charcoal-gray dress. Her gleaming hair was pinned in a coil at the top of her head and tied with a blue ribbon. As she saw him standing in the doorway, a smile lit her sapphire eyes, and she was so dazzlingly pretty that Ross felt a painful jab low in his stomach. "Good morning, Sir Ross," she said. "Will you have some breakfast?" "No, thank you," he replied automatically. "Only a jug of coffee. I never..." He paused as the cook set a platter on the table. It was piled with steaming batter cakes sitting in a pool of blackberry sauce. He had a special fondness for blackberries. "Just one or two?" Sophia coaxed. Abruptly it became less important that he adhere to his usual habits. Perhaps he could make time for a little breakfast, Ross reasoned. A five-minute delay would make no difference in his schedule. He found himself seated at the table facing a plate heaped with cakes, crisp bacon, and coddled eggs. Sophia filled a mug with steaming black coffee, and smiled at him once more before resuming her place at the range with Eliza. Ross picked up his fork and stared at it as if he didn't quite know what to do with it. "They're good, sir," Ernest ventured, stuffing his mouth so greedily that it seemed likely he would choke. Ross took a bite of the fruit-soaked cake and washed it down with a swallow of hot coffee. As he continued to eat, he felt an unfamiliar sense of well-being. Good God, it had been a long time since he'd had anything other than Eliza's wretched concoctions. For the next few minutes Ross ate until the platter of cakes was demolished. Sophia came now and then to refill his cup or offer more bacon. The cozy warmth of the kitchen and the sight of Sophia as she moved about the room caused a tide of unwilling pleasure inside him.

Philip of Macedonia in a message to Sparta: “You are advised to submit without further delay, for if I bring my army into your land, I will destroy your farms, slay your people and raze your city.” Sparta’s reply: “If.

I think Phelan and Beatrix should wait,” Leo said. “Nothing will be lost by waiting.” “I don’t know about that,” Cam said. “As the Rom say, ‘Take too much time, and time will take you.’” Leo looked smug. “I knew there would be a saying.” “With all due respect,” Christopher muttered, “this conversation is leading nowhere. At least one of you should point out that Beatrix deserves a better man.” “That’s what I said about my wife,” Leo remarked. “Which is why I married her before she could find one.” He smiled slightly as he contemplated Christopher’s glowering face. “So far, I haven’t been all that impressed by your flaws. You drink more than you should, you have trouble controlling your impulses, and you have a temper. All of those are practically requirements in the Hathaway family. I suppose you think Beatrix should marry a quiet young gentleman whose idea of excitement is collecting snuffboxes or writing sonnets. Well, we’ve tried that, and it hasn’t worked. She doesn’t want that kind of man. Apparently what she wants is you.” “She’s too young and idealistic to know better,” Christopher said. “I fault her judgment.” “So do I,” Leo shot back. “But unfortunately none of my sisters let me pick their husbands for them.” “Easy, the two of you,” Cam interceded calmly. “I have a question for you, Phelan…if you decide to wait indefinitely before proposing marriage to Beatrix…do you intend to continue seeing her in the meantime?” “Yes,” Christopher said honestly. “I don’t think anything could keep me away from her. But we’ll be circumspect.” “I doubt that,” Leo said. “The only thing Beatrix knows about being circumspect is how to spell it.” “Before long there would be gossip,” Cam said, “and criticism, which would harm Beatrix’s reputation. With the result that you would have to marry her anyway. There’s not much point in delaying the inevitable.” “Are you saying you want me to marry her?” Christopher asked incredulously. “No,” Cam replied, looking rueful. “But I can’t say I’m all that fond of the alternative. Beatrix would be miserable. Besides, which one of us will volunteer to tell her that she’s going to have to wait?” All three were silent.

Cowering, the barkeep gave him a small smile, and then Magnus left without waiting for a reply. Though he walked a swerving line, Magnus managed to make it back to the palace without too much delay. It wasn’t until he had the nearest gate in sight that he realized he hadn’t taken any guards with him when he’d left the palace grounds. “Don’t need them,” he grumbled. “Anyone who dares to cross the Prince of Blood will regret it.” As he neared the palace gates, he spotted Lord Kurtis, conversing with a man in a black cloak. Kurtis glanced at him, and in response Magnus laughed and made a rude gesture, then carried on right past him. Stupid arse. To think, Magnus’s childhood memories had caused him to consider Kurtis a true threat all this time. From

If deceit is at any time excusable,” replied Olivia, reluctantly, “it is when we practise it in self-defence. There are some rare situations, when it may be resorted to without our incurring ignominy, and yours is one of those. But I will acknowledge, that all the good I expect is from the delay which temporizing may procure you. The Superior, when she understands there is a probability of obtaining your consent to her wishes, may be willing to allow you the usual time of preparation for the veil, and meanwhile something may occur to rescue you from your present situation.

We didn’t drink as much as you guys did,” Landon replied, grabbing a slice of bacon from Twila, knowing she was suffering from delayed reflexes. “We also went to bed before midnight.” “And downed a bunch of water and aspirin before going to bed,” I added. “We followed that up with more water and aspirin this morning.

The gelding had a broad back, making for a comfortable ride. Yedan rode at a canter. Ahead, the hills thickened with scrub, and beyond was a forest of white trees, branches like twisted bones, leaves so dark as to be almost black. Just before them and running the length of the wooded fringe rose dolmens of grey granite, their edges grooved and faces pitted with cup-shaped, ground-out depressions. Each stone was massive, twice the height of a grown man, and crowding the foot of each one that he could see were skulls. He slowed his mount, reined in a half-dozen paces from the nearest standing stone. Sat motionless, flies buzzing round the horse’s flickering ears, and studied those grisly offerings. Cold judgement was never short of pilgrims. Alas, true justice had no reason to respect secrets, as those close-fisted pilgrims had clearly discovered. A final and fatal revelation. Minute popping sounds in the air announced the approach of dread power, as the buzzing flies ignited in mid-flight, black bodies bursting like acorns in a fire. The horse shied slightly, muscles growing taut beneath Yedan, and then snorted in sudden fear. ‘Hold,’ Yedan murmured, his voice calming the beast. Those of the royal line among the Shake possessed ancient knowledge, memories thick as blood. Tales of ancient foes, sworn enemies of the uncertain Shore. More perhaps than most, the Shake rulers understood that a thing could be both one and the other, or indeed neither. Sides possessed undersides and even those terms were suspect. Language itself stuttered in the face of such complexities, such rampant subtleties of nature. In this place, however, the blended flavours of compassion were anathema to the powers that ruled. Yet the lone figure that strode out from the forest was so unexpected that Yedan Derryg grunted as if he had been punched in the chest. ‘This realm is not yours,’ he said, fighting to control his horse. ‘This land is consecrated for adjudication,’ the Forkrul Assail said. ‘I am named Repose. Give me your name, seeker, that I may know you—’ ‘Before delivering judgement upon me?’ The tall, ungainly creature, naked and weaponless, cocked his head. ‘You are not alone. You and your followers have brought discord to this land. Do not delay me—you cannot evade what hides within you. I shall be your truth.’ ‘I am Yedan Derryg.’ The Forkrul Assail frowned. ‘This yields me no ingress—why is that? How is it you block me, mortal?’ ‘I will give you that answer,’ Yedan replied, slipping down from the horse. He drew his sword. Repose stared at him. ‘Your defiance is useless.’ Yedan advanced on him. ‘Is it? But, how can you know for certain? My name yields you no purchase upon my soul. Why is that?’ ‘Explain this, mortal.’ ‘My name is meaningless. It is my title that holds my truth. My title, and my blood.’ The Forkrul Assail shifted his stance, lifting his hands. ‘One way or another, I will know you, mortal.’ ‘Yes, you will.’ Repose attacked, his hands a blur. But those deadly weapons cut empty air, as Yedan was suddenly behind the Forkrul Assail, sword chopping into the back of the creature’s elongated legs, the iron edge cutting between each leg’s two hinged knees, severing the buried tendons—Repose toppled forward, arms flailing. Yedan chopped down a second time, cutting off the Assail’s left arm. Blue, thin blood sprayed on to the ground. ‘I am Shake,’ Yedan said, raising his sword once more. ‘I am the Watch.’ The sudden hiss from Repose was shortlived, as Yedan’s sword took off the top of the Forkrul Assail’s head.

According to the official version, he replied, ‘La Garde meurt, mais ne se rend pas’ (‘The Guard dies, but doesn’t surrender’). Rumour spread, however, that ‘le Mot de Cambronne’ was not meurt, but a different five-letter m-word. A hundred years later, French encyclopedias were still refusing to quote him exactly. 65 ‘A mistake may be admitted after one day,’ it has been said; ‘if delayed, the truth will emerge after one century.’ 66 Bertrand would survive to accompany his master on the second exile. 67 Drouot lived on, and was made famous by his great oration when Napoleon’s remains were interred in Les Invalides in 1840. 68

As a general, Napoleon made it his habit to delay responding to the mail. His secretary was instructed to wait three weeks before opening any correspondence. When he finally did hear what was in a letter, Napoleon loved to note how many supposedly “important” issues had simply resolved themselves and no longer required a reply.

Different philosophers appeal to different people at different times. Thoreau’s rebellious spirit attracts teens. Nietzsche’s flame-throwing aphorisms draw young adults. Existentialism’s emphasis on freedom appeals to the middle-aged. Stoicism is an older person’s philosophy. It is a philosophy for those who have weathered a few battles, suffered a few setbacks, known a few losses. It is a philosophy for life’s rough patches, large and small: pain, illness, rejection, annoying bosses, dry skin, traffic jams, credit card debt, public humiliation, delayed trains, death. Asked what he learned from philosophy, Diogenes, a proto-Stoic, replied: “To be prepared for every fortune.

It is little remembered that there was a second Pearl Harbor. Ten hours after being alerted to the first, Japanese planes struck Clark Field in the Philippines, destroying one hundred and two planes, including all but three of General Brereton’s B-17s. He had pleaded with MacArthur to attack Japanese air bases in Formosa. MacArthur replied through his aide, Major General Richard K. Sutherland, that he had been ordered not to make “the first overt act.” What was Pearl Harbor if not an overt act? Brereton demanded. While the debate went on, the Japanese, at first delayed by fog, hit near high noon, finding MacArthur’s planes nearly lined up in rows like the shooting gallery it was. “What the hell!” roared Air Corps chief Hap Arnold when he heard about it. • • • • • At 1458 in Honolulu, Tadeo Fuchikami finally made his delivery of Marshall’s alert to the “Commanding General” at Fort Shafter. It was thrown in a wastebasket without carrying out the request to pass it on to the Navy. “For a while I thought the Day of Infamy had been my fault,” Fuchikami mused many years later. Then I realized I was just one of the sands of time.” The Pearl Harbor attack had left eighteen warships sunk or damaged, including five battleships, and one hundred and eighty-eight planes destroyed. The raid killed two thousand four hundred and three Americans. The Japanese lost twenty-nine planes and fifty-five fliers. Kido butai returned home with three hundred and twenty-four surviving planes.

The Lord, when He has given great faith to a person, has been known to test that faith with long delays. He has allowed His servants’ voices to echo back to their own ears, as if they were bouncing off a sky made of solid brass. They have knocked at the golden gate of heaven, but it has remained immovable, as if its hinges were totally rusted. Like Jeremiah, they have cried, “You have covered Yourself with a cloud, so that our prayer cannot pass through.”[72] And so in this way many Christians have continued for a long time in patient waiting, with no reply—it’s not because their prayers were shallow or insincere, or because God did not hear or accept them. Instead, it’s simply because it pleased God, who is in total control over all things, and who gives according to His own perfect will. So, if it is His desire to have us wait, in order to exercise and grow the virtue of patience in us, doesn’t He have the right to do this, since we belong to Him?

But for all the colour of his character, his reputation was earned and maintained through his genius. There is a lovely story published in a 1965 issue of Life magazine that suggests just how highly respected he was. Henry Ford's fledgling car manufacturing company was once having trouble with one of the generators that powered the production line. They called Steinmetz in to consult on the problem and he solved it by lying down in the room where the generator was housed. For two days and nights he listened to its operation, scribbling calculations on a notepad. Eventually he got up, climbed up on the giant machine, and marked a point on the side with a chalk cross. He descended and told the engineers to replace sixteen of the generator's wire coils, the ones behind his chalk mark. They did what they were told, turned the generator back on, and discovered to their utter astonishment that it now worked perfectly. That story alone would be alone would be enough, but it gets better. From their headquarters in Schenectady, New York, General Electric sent forth a $10,000 dollar invoice for Steinmetz's services. Ford queried the astronomical sum, asking for a breakdown of the costs. Steinmetz replied personally. His itemized bill said, "Making chalk mark on generator: $1.00. Knowing where to make mark: $9,999.00" Apparently the bill was paid without further delay.

After several minutes, my cell phone rang and a White House operator announced the president. He came on the line to say he was calling “just to see how you’re doing.” I replied that I was doing fine and had a lot going on. To make conversation, I told him the attorney general seemed to have hit the ground running with a good speech about violent crime. He replied, “That’s his thing.” The awkward conversation, which lasted less than a minute, struck me as yet another effort to bring me close, to ensure I was an amica nostra, a friend of ours. Why else would the president of the United States, who presumably had a million things to do, call the FBI director just to “see how you’re doing”? I got out of the car and joined the DEA leader, apologizing that the delay was because the president just wanted to say “wassup.

Nevertheless, they felt a powerful urge to impart their wisdom to their friends at ARPA. Thanks to the legal beagles’ strictures, they were reduced to getting their points across by a weird pantomime of asking inscrutable but cunningly pointed questions. “Somebody would be talking about the design for some element and we’d drop all these hints,” Shoch recalled. “We’d say, ‘You know, that’s interesting, but what happens if this error message comes back, and what happens if that’s followed by a delayed duplicate that was slowed down in its response from a distant gateway when the flow control wouldn’t take it but it worked its way back and got here late? What do you do then?’ There would be this pause and they’d say, ‘You’ve tried this!’ And we’d reply, ‘Hey, we never said that!

Nevertheless, they felt a powerful urge to impart their wisdom to their friends at ARPA. Thanks to the legal beagles’ strictures, they were reduced to getting their points across by a weird pantomime of asking inscrutable but cunningly pointed questions. “Somebody would be talking about the design for some element and we’d drop all these hints,” Shoch recalled. “We’d say, ‘You know, that’s interesting, but what happens if this error message comes back, and what happens if that’s followed by a delayed duplicate that was slowed down in its response from a distant gateway when the flow control wouldn’t take it but it worked its way back and got here late? What do you do then?’ There would be this pause and they’d say, ‘You’ve tried this!’ And we’d reply, ‘Hey, we never said that!’” Eventually they managed to communicate enough of Pup’s architecture for it to become a crucial part of the ARPANET standard known as TCP/IP, which to this date is what enables data packets to pass gracefully across the global data network known as the Internet—with a capital “I.

He seemed surprised to hear from me now, his tone holding a note of shock. “Saint, how are you? What can I do for you?” “Kenneth. I just heard about the new volunteer counselor. I was hoping to get a copy of his credentials. As you know, the situation with some of the kids is pretty tenuous and new people scare them,” I said. “Oh! Didn’t you know he was coming? He said he had been approved months ago but he had delayed his start date due to traveling out of state for a family death. His name is Roland Cunningham. He’s been a high school counselor for fifteen years and now he’s semi-retired and wants to give back. He says that he saw so many gay kids who needed an ear.” I rolled my eyes so hard I almost hurt myself and Rio frowned at me questioningly. I shook my head and pulled in one deep breath before I spoke. “No, he hasn’t been approved for months. I’ve never heard of him. I suspect he’s a spy who belongs to Clay Greene.” I could hear Kenneth suck air, then chuckle disbelievingly. “Oh, no, Saint. That’s impossible. He had a copy of a volunteer application that you signed and dated in January. You probably just forgot, I know you’ve had a lot on your mind with your sister and everything.” I heard him click his tongue and had to work to not reach through the phone and wring his neck. “He’s going to make sure the kids have someone else to talk to. Don’t worry about it, I’m taking care of everything.” Rio’s frown had morphed into mild alarm, and I wasn’t sure what my face was doing that was causing it but whatever it was must have been interesting. He edged closer as I took several deep breaths. “Kenneth. Listen to me. You need to be cautious. Have you seen the security reports from Mr. Rao? Did make sure you let him know about this Cunningham? Did you run the background check?” “I glanced through the reports, yes, but no, I didn’t tell him about Roland. Mr. Rao is the night guard and Roland is scheduled for afternoons.” He chuckled lightly. “I didn’t see the overlap.” I did not grind my teeth, but it was a near thing. Rio hovered, not touching me, which I was grateful for. Once I got off this phone I was going to go off. “What about the background check, Ken? You know the background check policy.” “Oh, yes,” Kenneth said. “We did the background check. Completely clean, exemplary record with several awards from his career. Really, you need to calm down. I have it all under control.” “Right,” I said. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it then, Ken. Thank you.” I hung up before Kenneth could reply and Rio looked at me warily. “I am going to have him kicked off the board so fast his fucking head is going to spin. Shouldn’t be too hard, it’s full of ball bearings and broken gravel,” I snarled. “So that didn’t go well,” Rio observed quietly. He was still hovering, clearly unsure of how best to handle me.

Afternoon, Pat,” was his greeting. “Afternoon, Bill,” Pat replied as the older man sat down behind his desk. “Sorry about the delay, but Garrity made another smart remark