Disappear Like A Bubble Quotes

I think we talk about happiness all wrong. As if it’s this fixed state we’re going to reach. Like we’ll just be able to live there, forever. But that’s not my experience with happiness. For me, it comes and goes. It shows up and then disappears like a bubble.

When trees grow together, nutrients and water can be optimally divided among them all so that each tree can grow into the best tree it can be. If you "help" individual trees by getting rid of their supposed competition, the remaining trees are bereft. They send messages out to their neighbors in vain, because nothing remains but stumps. Every tree now muddles along on its own, giving rise to great differences in productivity. Some individuals photosynthesize like mad until sugar positively bubbles along their trunk. As a result, they are fit and grow better, but they aren't particularly long-lived. This is because a tree can be only as strong as the forest that surrounds it. And there are now a lot of losers in the forest. Weaker members, who would once have been supported by the stronger ones, suddenly fall behind. Whether the reason for their decline is their location and lack of nutrients, a passing malaise, or genetic makeup, they now fall prey to insects and fungi. But isn't that how evolution works? you ask. The survival of the fittest? Their well-being depends on their community, and when the supposedly feeble trees disappear, the others lose as well. When that happens, the forest is no longer a single closed unit. Hot sun and swirling winds can now penetrate to the forest floor and disrupt the moist, cool climate. Even strong trees get sick a lot over the course of their lives. When this happens, they depend on their weaker neighbors for support. If they are no longer there, then all it takes is what would once have been a harmless insect attack to seal the fate even of giants.

Parenthood was like awakening to find a soap bubble in the cup of your palm, and being told you had to carry it while you parachuted from a dizzying height, climbed a mountain range, battled on the front lines. All you wanted to do was tuck it away, safe from natural disasters and violence and prejudice and sarcasm, but that was not an option. You lived in daily fear of watching it burst, of breaking it yourself. Somehow you knew that if it disappeared, you would, too.

The May sunshine makes both the trolls and the elves disappear, he thought. They burst like soap bubbles. Only human beings remain, for a little while. We are a brief song beneath the sky, laughter in the wind that ends in a sigh. Then we too are gone.

Life at times loses its sense of reality; it appears to us like a weird, optical illusion - a phantasmagoric bubble that will disappear at the slightest breath.

It's very peaceful. Like perhaps the life of a ghost. Carefree and without worry. I naturally let the wind take me forwards when it blows. Exactly where I'm headed to... is of no real concern to me. But eventually, when it's my time to leave, I'd like to vanish like an insignificant bubble, and fade away from everyone's memories as well.

Life is basically like a soap bubble. It rides on the wind, flying here and there, …And before you realize it, pop! It’s gone. When it’s about to disappear, you think that you could’ve flown a bit higher. But by the time, it’s already too late.

As I sat here. With eyes closed softly I think deeply of "you" And I inhale stars The scent of twinkling light So fresh and alive Sparkling gentle inside me And I want to write this feeling So tentatively As it must be Like writing words on bubbles Delicate and precious Begging them not to disappear Like dreams in the morning ...

It’s not necessary to fill every moment with your own voice. Silence terrifies you. You see your own existence as so tenuous that you’re afraid you’ll pop like a bubble if, at every opportunity, you don’t remind the world that you’re alive. But wisdom begins in silence. In learning to listen. To words and to the world. Trust me. You won’t disappear. And, in time, you might find that you’ve grown into something unexpected.” “What?

Startled starlings flew up out of the high grass, their black whorl a little tornado that did not touch down and therefore did no damage. They disappeared like a momentary perception above Yancey’s head, fanning out and flying west. Or like the clotted words crammed into a cartoon bubble.

When the bubbles popped, and the jobs disappeared, and the debt soared, and the desperation hit, Americans were told to stay positive. Stop complaining—things will not be like this forever. Stop complaining—this is the way things have always been. Complainers suffer the cruel imperatives of optimism: lighten up, suck it up, chin up, buck up. In other words: shut up.

come to realise that thoughts come and go of their own accord; that you are not your thoughts. You can watch as they appear in your mind, seemingly from thin air, and watch again as they disappear, like a soap bubble bursting. You come to the profound understanding that thoughts and feelings (including negative ones) are transient. They come and they go, and ultimately, you have a choice about whether to act on them or not.

Like the Tor, the river’s called the Devil’s Way, and it runs into the Devil’s Gorge. At the base of the gorge, the water disappears into a strange sinkhole, like a bubbling cauldron.’ ‘If Charlie fell into the river, could he have been washed down the gorge and into this sinkhole?’ Ade sat back and thought for a moment. ‘The sinkhole was covered by a grate, so the boy couldn’t have gone down it. That grate would have stopped him. That’s what kept the case open and unsolved, as far as I can remember,’ he said.

like a black tide. With the sound of a thousand skittering spiders, the specter fled through the main entrance of the school and then disappeared completely. “Holy shit. That was seriously gross,” Aphrodite said. I was going to agree with Aphrodite when I heard the first, terrible cough. I felt the circle break before I saw her fall to her knees. She looked up at me and coughed again. Blood sprayed from her lips. “Didn’t think it would end like this,” she rasped. “I’m getting Thanatos!” Aphrodite called as she sprinted away. “No! This can’t be happening,” Shaunee said, dropping to her knees beside the already blood-soaked Erin. “Twin! Please. You’ll be fine!” Erin fell into her arms. Damien, Stevie Rae, and I shared a look, and then as one, we joined Shaunee while she held her friend. “I’m so sorry,” Shaunee sobbed. “I didn’t mean anything bad that I said to you.” “It’s—it’s okay, Twin.” Erin spoke slowly between wracking coughs as the blood bubbled in her throat and streamed crimson from her eyes and ears and nose. “It was my fault. I—I forgot how to feel.” “We’re here with you,” I said, touching Erin’s hair. “Spirit, calm her.” “Earth, soothe her,” Stevie Rae said. “Air, envelop her,” Damien said. “Fire, warm her,” Shaunee spoke through her tears. Erin smiled and touched Shaunee’s face. “It already has warmed me. I—I don’t feel cold and alone anymore. Don’t feel anything except tired…” “Just rest,” Shaunee said. “I’ll stay with you while you sleep.” “We all will,” I said, wiping tears from my face with the back of my sleeve. Erin smiled one more time at Shaunee, and then she closed her eyes and died in her Twin’s arms.

It is so rare to have a new tent appear that Celia considers canceling her performances entirely in order to spend the evening investigating it. Instead she waits, executing her standard number of shows, finishing the last a few hours before dawn. Only then does she navigate her way through nearly empty pathways to find the latest edition to the circus. The sign proclaims something called the Ice Garden. and Celia smiles at the addendum below which contains an apology for any thermal inconvenience. Despite the name, she is not prepared for what awaits her inside the tent. It is exactly what the sign described. But it is so much more than that. There are no stripes visible on the walls, everything is sparkling and white. She cannot tell how far it stretches, the size of the tent obscured by cascading willows and twisting vines. The air itself is magical. Crisp and sweet in her lungs as she breathes, sending a shiver down to her toes that is caused by more than the forewarned drop in temperature. There are no patrons in the tent as she explores, circling alone around trellises covered in pale roses and a softly bubbling, elaborately carved fountain. And everything, save for occasional lengths of whet silk ribbon strung like garlands, is made of ice. Curious, Celia picks a frosted peony from its branch, the stem breaking easily. But the layered petals shatter, falling from her fingers to the ground, disappearing in the blades of ivory grass below. When she looks back at the branch, an identical bloom has already appeared. Celia cannot imagine how much power and skill it would take not only to construct such a thing but to maintain it as well. And she longs to know how her opponent came up with the idea. Aware that each perfectly structured topiary, every detail down to the stones that line the paths like pearls, must have been planned.

Reason, truth, innocence." Royce sat back against the wall and folded his arms. "Unicorns, pixies, and dragons. You're not that young to believe in such such things. How is it you fancy yourself a resident of a make believe world?" "I told you, at this point it's a choice." "It's not. It's fooling yourself. "I can decide between eating fish or pork, but I can only pretend to eat unicorn meat. I can't actually eat a unicorn. The world is the world and you live in it with open eyes or choose to be blind. It's all the same to me but don't stand there pretending you're right." Hadrian grimaced. _There are so many things wrong with that statement. Only Royce could think of a unicorn eating metaphor. Where do thoughts like that bubble up from?_ ... Hadrian had a point of his own. "You always wear black and gray. That's a choice too, and it says a lot about you." "It says I don't like to be seen at night." "It says you like to hide. And people who like to hide are usually up to no good. That's a message you declare to everyone you meet, and people receive it as you might expect. Then when others don't trust you; when they avoid you; hurt or arrest you for doing nothing, your worldview is justified. "So, you're right. You can't eat unicorns in your world because they don't exist. But they do in mine. But they do in mine. Probably because in my world we don't eat them.

If water is bombarded with intense sound waves, under the right conditions, then air bubbles can form which quickly contract and then suddenly disappear in a flash of light. The conventional explanation of what is being seen here is that a shock wave, a little sonic boom, is created inside the bubble, which dumps its energy, causing the interior to be quickly heated to flash point. But a more dramatic possibility, first suggested by the Nobel prize-winner Julian Schwinger, has been entertained. Suppose the surface of the bubble is acting like a Casimir plate so that, as the bubble shrinks, it excludes more and more wavelengths of the zero point fluctuations from existing within it. They can't simply disappear into nothing; energy must be conserved, so they deposit their energy into light. At present, experimenters are still unconvinced that this is what is really happening, but it is remarkable that so fundamental a question about a highly visible phenomena is still unresolved.

Spread over the extravagant supper table was a silk tapestry of moons and stars and the six symbols of death. Talis couldn’t help but stare at the design, for the weavings glowed and the drawing was animated with a nefarious life of its own. A frightful illustration that seemed to follow his eyes as they perused the tapestry. Etched along the tassels flowed a river of blood, the river leading into the Underworld. Farther up, layers of bodies were piled high, their vicious fumes rising as incense to the lesser demons above, who devoured the mortals’ flesh. Then above them were the taskmasters of the Underworld, great demons with spiked whips. They endlessly struck the lesser demons as punishment for the act of consuming the mortals’ flesh. Arranged around the center of the tapestry were the gods themselves. At the head stood Zagros, the Lord of the Underworld, then Ractan, the Lord of the Dragons, and Ishta, the Lord of the Genie Sorcerers. At the other side hovered Nestria, the Goddess of the Sky, and Nacrea, the Goddess of the Sun, and opposite her was Satvis, the God of Darkness. Between both sets of gods sat two mythological heroes: Nyx the Destroyer and Lord Heti of Calabastria. Here were the triumphant gods, playing with the lives and flesh of all mortals. Talis stifled a groan. Atop the tapestry were glass jars filled with what looked like trapped souls. Their ghastly faces peered out, eyes desperate and longing for freedom. How did they get inside? He felt a sickness rising in his stomach. The dark sorcerers studied him with grave looks, as if they glimpsed something distasteful inside. He could tell they were suspicious of him. He was too young, from a strange land untouched by their power, and to their murmuring voices, unsuitable to attend this grand feast. Now, all he could think about was leaving this wretched city. Whatever danger lay ahead, he’d rather face it than fester here in the insidious poison seeping through the black and gold walls of Darkov. “To your charmed fortune.” A sorcerer raised a crystal vial filled with some bubbling substance. The man appeared to be hundreds of years old. Deep, harsh wrinkles lined his eyes and forehead, and yet his hands were perfectly smooth. He wore a black silk cloak fastened around his neck with a gold broach, ornately designed like the sun. He drank the vial and after a while, he appeared as youthful as a young man. Talis was taken aback at the man’s sudden transformation. He steadied his wine cup with his other hand. “Fortune smiles on you...” “Every day.” The sorcerer frowned at Talis. “You’d be wise to remember that. Without fortune shining on you daily”—he leaned in close to Talis—”your life is at risk.” Turning, the man whisked away and disappeared behind another group of sorcerers mingling in the corner of the room. Talis tried to discover where he’d gone, but the man had vanished. Just then Talis felt a cold hand settle on his right shoulder. He turned, glimpsed the eyes of Aurellia, and resisted the desire to flee. “I see you’ve finally joined us here in our illustrious

3Strengthen those who are discouraged.g Energize those who feel defeated.h 4Say to the anxious and fearful, “Be strong and never afraid. Look, here comes your God! He is breaking through to give you victory! He comes to avenge your enemies. With divine retribution he comes to save you!”i 5Then blind eyes will open and deaf ears will hear. 6Then the lame will leapj like playful deer and the tongue-tied will sing songs of triumph. Gushing water will spring up in the wilderness and streams will flow through the desert.k 7The burning sand will become a refreshing oasis, the parched ground bubbling springs, and the dragon’sl lair a meadow with grass, reeds, and papyrus. 8There will be a highway of holiness called the Sacred Way. The impure will not be permitted on this road, but it will be accessible to God’s people.m And not even fools will lose their way.n 9The liono will not be found there; no wild beast will travel on it— they will not be found there. But the redeemed will find a pathway on it. 10Yahweh’s ransomed ones will return with glee to Zion. They will enter with a song of rejoicing and be crowned with everlasting joy. Ecstatic joy will overwhelm them; weariness and grief will disappear!

He would frequently do solo dives at midnight, relishing the tranquillity of his own private world. While decompressing, he rested lazily on a tree log that had fallen into the water. He was often illuminated only by the Moon, whose light beams rippled through his exhalation bubbles, which rose like rapidly expanding flying saucers, exploding when they hit the surface. The rippling light cast eerie shadows on the rock entrance below Berman, making fish, crabs, and crayfish seem to dance in a strobe light, appearing, disappearing, and reappearing in an instant.

But in the time it takes to say now, now is already over. It’s already then. Then is the opposite of now. So saying now obliterates its meaning, turning it into exactly what it isn’t. It’s like the word is committing suicide or something. So then I’d start making it shorter . . . now, ow, oh, o . . . until it was just a bunch of little grunting sounds and not even a word at all. It was hopeless, like trying to hold a snowflake on your tongue or a soap bubble between your fingertips. Catching it destroys it, and I felt like I was disappearing, too.

disappeared into the water. Seeing this lifetime and the confusion at the moment of death, I immediately knew what I had to do. I had to rectify the confusion and explain to the dream of me that I died, that I fell off a boat and drowned. When I did this, all of a sudden the confusion from that lifetime popped like a bubble, and there was a tremendous sense of freedom. Many past life dreams appeared, and each one of them seemed to focus on something that had been in conflict, something that was unresolved from a different incarnation. I went through each one of them and unhooked the confusion. TS  Were you lying on a carpeted floor with your eyes closed, or something? ADYA No, actually, the strangest thing was that

The exposure effect is also good news for those of us who weren't born gorgeous. It means that the people who know us best—our parents and children, our best friends and true loves—ultimately 'forget' what we look like. How symmetrical or clear-skinned we are disappears into the experiences we've shared with someone.

Many people think that meditating is about stopping thoughts completely, but it isn’t. In many forms of meditation, you simply observe thoughts arising and disappearing. It’s like watching clouds or bubbles pass by while remaining aware of the vast, clear blue sky in which they float. It is entirely natural to get carried away by thoughts, getting into a mental conversation about the past or future.

She couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air in the damn tube and her father was going to do something stupid. She couldn’t tell the undines about this, not yet. All of this reaction was maybe just dramatics, and she didn’t actually have to do any of this. Maybe her father would stop it. She had to believe in him. Cool arms slid around her from behind. Immediately, all the panic disappeared. It bubbled out of her mouth and suddenly she could breathe again. She could inhale, long and slow. Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth as he drew her against his chest and held her safely in the circle of his arms. “You came,” she whispered, allowing her body to sag against his. She let her eyes drift closed, allowing him and the current to rock her gently from side to side. Together they hung there, suspended where gravity had no rule on her body. Every now and then, she felt his tail shift between her legs, flicking to keep them afloat. Finally, she was calm enough to open her eyes and practically liquid in his arms. Like he sensed it, he held something out in front of her.

It's just the two of us. She shows me more secret passageways through the woods until the trees clear to reveal a large, moonlit meadow. We stop at the edge. Emma's looking at me expectantly, and at first I'm not sure what I'm supposed to see. I see tall, unkempt grass surrounded by trees. Then, like my eyes are playing tricks on me, fluorescent green lights flash on and off in the field, some of them rising up like bubbles in a pot of boiling water, some shooting across and lighting up the ground below them. "Whoa." "Pretty, right?" Emma says, turning her neck slowly from me to the meadow. "I almost never see fireflies." "I did some research, and they're not even supposed to exist west of Kansas. I have no idea why there's so many of them here." We walk through the field together, and in the blinking green lights I can see Emma's hand inches from my own, I see the curves and dips of her face in profile and I wonder how it is that I can find the space between things beautiful. Emma stops for a second and reaches into the waist-high grass, her hand disappearing in the dark. She pulls it back out to reveal a berry I have never seen before, not in the smorgasbord of rainbow-colored fruit at American grocery stores and definitely not anywhere in Mexico. It is the size of a child's fist, and the skin is prickly, like a lychee's. "When I was a kid, if I was mad at my mom, I'd hide out here for the day, picking out berries," Emma says. "I had no way of knowing if they were poisonous, but I'd feast on them anyway." She digs her thumb into the skin to reveal a pulpy white interior. She takes a bite out of it and then hands it to me. It's sweet and tangy and would be great in a vinaigrette, as a sauce, maybe along with some roasted duck. "I don't even think anyone else knows about these, because I've never seen them anywhere else. I'm sure she'd put it on her menu if she found out about them, but I like keeping this one thing to myself." We grab them by the handful, take them with us down the hill toward the lake. Sitting on the shore, gentle waves lapping at our ankles, we peel the berries one by one. A day or two ago, I thought of Emma as pretty. Tonight, her profile outlined by a full moon, she looks beautiful to me. I wish I could drive the thought away, but there it is anyway. The water---or something else about these nights---really does feel like it can cure hopelessness.

Horizon of love The sky was blue, and like always spreading everywhere, And under this blue sky, I knew she was somewhere, Where but, I had no idea, how far, I did not know, But I bore her memories and her feelings in all my emotions and feelings low, And sometimes when I looked at the sky, the sun was everywhere and so was the moon, I wondered and hoped if she were like them; these were my thoughts one placid afternoon, Then as I watched the sun set and kiss the horizon, I remembered her with my deepest passion, Because just like the sun that sinks into the horizon and disappears in the vastness of its waiting lover, In me sink her memories, her feelings, her thoughts, creating a world that is fairer, But filled with waves of anxiety, longings; and a lot of wishes that surface as bubbles everywhere, As they are burst one by one when I look at the red sky and imagine her there somewhere, Then the sun disappears, and what remains of it are just the dying shades of red, It is then my desires leave me, my wishes forsake me too, because into her world they now tread, Into the world that is red with passions and stretching wherever my imagination takes it, For now this is how she exists in my world: She in me, I in her, and our restless desires together cast into it!

Alex: What are you doing? Lainey: Reading. Alex: What are you reading? Is it for class or for fun? It takes her a while to respond again. She begins to type, then the bubble disappears. It happens twice more until she answers. Lainey: For fun. Alex: Yeah? Is it a good read? Should I pick it up? Lainey: I don’t think it’s your vibe. Alex: I mean, I don’t read a lot, but if you like it I want to try it.

Horizon of love The sky was blue, and like always spreading everywhere, And under this blue sky, I knew she was somewhere, Where but, I had no idea, how far, I did not know, But I bore her memories and her feelings in all my emotions and feelings low, And sometimes when I looked at the sky, the sun was everywhere and so was the moon, I wondered and hoped if she were like them; these were my thoughts one placid afternoon, Then as I watched the sun set and kiss the horizon, I remembered her with my deepest passion, Because just like the sun that sinks into the horizon and disappears in the vastness of its waiting lover, In me sink her memories, her feelings, her thoughts, creating a world that is fairer, But filled with waves of anxiety, longings; and a lot of wishes that surface as bubbles everywhere, As they burst one by one when I look at the red sky and imagine her there somewhere, Then the sun disappears, and what remains of it are just the dying shades of red, It is then my desires leave me, my wishes forsake me too, because into her world they now tread, Into the world that is red with passions and stretching wherever my imagination takes it, For now this is how she exists in my world: She in me, I in her, and our restless desires together cast into it!

Maybe the wine went to my head. Maybe the weeks of battling the press had worn me down. For some reason, when the conversation took an unexpected turn, I became touchy. Then angry. Disproportionately, sloppily angry. Meg said something I took the wrong way. It was partly a cultural difference, partly a language barrier, but I was also just over-sensitive that night. I thought: Why’s she having a go at me? I snapped at her, spoke to her harshly—cruelly. As the words left my mouth, I could feel everything in the room come to a stop. The gravy stopped bubbling, the molecules of air stopped orbiting. Even Nina Simone seemed to pause. Meg walked out of the room, disappearing for a full fifteen minutes. I went and found her upstairs. She was sitting in the bedroom. She was calm, but said in a quiet, level tone that she would never stand for being spoken to like that. I nodded. She wanted to know where it came from. I don’t know. Where did you ever hear a man speak like that to a woman? Did you overhear adults speak that way when you were growing up? I cleared my throat, looked away. Yes. She wasn’t going to tolerate that kind of partner. Or co-parent. That kind of life. She wasn’t going to raise children in an atmosphere of anger or disrespect. She laid it all out, super-clear. We both knew my anger hadn’t been caused by anything to do with our conversation. It came from somewhere deep inside, somewhere that needed to be excavated, and it was obvious that I could use some help with the job.

Spencer wanted to defend his actions but knew that anything he'd say would sound hollow. Goose bumps rose on his skin. He felt as if he were shrinking before Winston, soluble in his own bullshit, his body bubbling and floating toward the sky in tiny pieces like an antacid tablet dissolving into the night. Before disappearing completely, he turned to leave.

Take off your jeans.” She smiled up at him. “I can see it is dangerous. Now, why would I want to do something that is obviously going to get me in big trouble?” His hand stroked her waist, traced each rib under her satin skin. He could feel her tremble in answer. “Because I want you to. Because you want to please me.” Shea laughed out loud, her eyebrows winging upward. “Oh, really? That’s what I want to do?” He nodded solemnly. “Above all else.” She moved away from him, deliberately enticing him. “I see. I didn’t know that. Thank you for pointing it out.” “You are welcome,” he countered gravely, his eyes following her every movement. Shea was graceful and seductive, a siren beckoning him to follow. His body stirred, and ruefully he decided the pools might be a safer place to watch her. He entered the nearest hot springs, wincing as the bubbles added to the sensation of fingers stroking his sensitive skin. Her taunting laughter followed him, brushing provocatively at his nerve endings with the very tip of a flame. Shea felt an unexpected rush of power. Jacques was such an invincible being, yet she could see his body trembling, hear his heart beating even over the roar of the falls. All for her. Deliberately she slid her jeans low, exposing her slender body, the fiery red triangle beckoning him, teasing him. Her shirt floated to the ground, and she lifted her arms skyward, a seductress tempting the heavens. Jacques’ body tightened in anticipation. His black gaze didn’t miss one graceful sway, not one rhythmic movement of her shapely form. Shea waded into the pool slowly, allowed the bubbling water to lap at her body like a sensuous tongue. She moved out into the middle of the water and finally slipped under the surface like a sleek, gleaming otter. Jacques sat on the edge of a rock, his legs under the water, bubbles lapping around his hips. He watched her swim toward him, away, her body flashing in the water, breaking the surface, disappearing once again.

wall against his back, then frowned as he heard a creaking sound coming from somewhere close by. He was about to investigate, when the house was plunged into darkness once again. * * * Ryan swung his car through the gates and was forced to reduce his speed along the narrow driveway, for which Phillips was eternally grateful. They followed the road over the little stone bridge next to the Archimedes screw and heard the water bubbling furiously through its crushing blades as they passed. They rounded a bend and the house materialised through the trees, its windows flaming brightly against the inky blue-black sky. “It doesn’t look real, does it?” Phillips said, his eyes trained on the perfect backdrop. “It’s not going to disappear before your eyes,” Ryan muttered. Then, in a moment of extreme irony, that is exactly what happened. The two men looked on in shock as the house seemed to disappear, its walls blending with the colour of the night sky and the trees surrounding it. CHAPTER 30 “What the hell?” Martin Henderson swore beneath his breath as the lights went out. He stepped away from the wall to begin feeling his way towards the doorway but the house was pitch black and he could barely see his own hand in front of his face. The circuit had blown again, he thought, which was hardly surprising when a couple of old crackpots insisted on living like Victorian throwbacks rather than relying on the National Grid like the rest of the known world. The sooner he could get away from here, the better. His fingers brushed against the architrave on the doorway and he began to retrace his steps using the wall as a guide, no longer concerned about keeping his meeting at nine o’clock. He only hoped the other person was having as much trouble as he was, finding their way through the maze of rooms in the old house. When his fingers touched nothing but air, he realised he’d reached the turning to lead him back into the small hallway outside the bedrooms and the morning room, and the lift shaft was somewhere over his left shoulder. Blind without any light source, Henderson’s other senses were heightened considerably. He shivered as he stepped in front of the doors to the lift shaft, feeling an icy breath of wind brush against his cheeks. His brain was slow to compute the fact and he did not realise the implication until it was too late. The doors were open. The figure stepped out in front of him, barely making a creak against the floorboards but it was enough to alert him to the presence of another. “For The Valiant,” they whispered. Two firm hands came up to thrust against his chest and

The quest for success allows no rest. Our sense of accomplishment seems to evaporate with the achievement of each goal, and immediately the need arises to find another goal. Is there a way off this treadmill? Are we doomed to have every achievement disappear like a soap bubble the moment we grasp it? Success doesn’t seem to produce significance, causing us to wonder: Can we find a goal that really satisfies, so that we are not continually compelled to drop each accomplishment in the dust and plunge after the next one?

You know Eric Richards? I mean, like, personally know him?” Her eyes were so large they nearly disappeared under the fringe of her bangs. “I mean, as in really, truly know him?” I was about to say something, but before I could, Meg threw herself backward onto one of the bunk beds and squealed, “He’s so cute!” “He must be the cutest boy in the entire world,” Katie added. “And the best singer,” Suzanne added. What am I doing? I wondered. The closest I’d ever been to Eric Richards was the poster I’d glued to my wall with Triple Tropical Bubble Gum.

Don’t you think that if SPYDER wants me to be part of an operation, it’d make sense for me to know what that operation is?” “Not necessarily.” Murray took a bite of his sandwich. It was ostensibly bacon, lettuce, and tomato, but it was really more like bacon, lettuce, bacon, tomato, and more bacon. Murray had been consuming an absolutely astonishing amount of bacon since getting out of prison, as well as astonishing amounts of soda, ice cream, candy, cake, and sausage, too. Even though he’d been at Hidden Forest for only a few days, he seemed to have gained several pounds in that time. Across the room, Ashley hopped out of the pool and headed for the water slide. “Why would SPYDER want to keep its agents in the dark?” I asked. Murray said, “When the Allies were about to invade France on D-day in World War Two, do you think the generals told everyone what the plan was? No. Because they knew that if they did, someone might blab it. Not on purpose, mind you. But it happens. People talk. One guy shoots his mouth off, and the next thing you know, the Allies show up on Normandy Beach to find the entire Nazi army waiting to massacre them.” Murray’s comparing SPYDER to the Allied Forces made me feel uneasy. After all, if SPYDER was anyone in a World War II scenario, it was the Nazis. “I get the need for secrecy, but at some point before D-day, the Allies told the soldiers what the plan was. They didn’t just drop them off on the beach and say, ‘Surprise! You’re invading France today!’ ” “And you will find out. When the time is right.” Murray took another bite of his sandwich. The single slice of tomato he’d put on it slipped out and plopped into the hot tub, where it quickly disappeared beneath the bubbles. Murray didn’t seem

Jacques’ body tightened in anticipation. His black gaze didn’t miss one graceful sway, not one rhythmic movement of her shapely form. Shea waded into the pool slowly, allowed the bubbling water to lap at her body like a sensuous tongue. She moved out into the middle of the water and finally slipped under the surface like a sleek, gleaming otter. Jacques sat on the edge of a rock, his legs under the water, bubbles lapping around his hips. He watched her swim toward him, away, her body flashing in the water, breaking the surface, disappearing once again. Shea’s head emerged, her green eyes enormous as they moved over his body. He was utterly still, as if carved from the very stone itself. His muscles were etched and defined, and his body was ready and aggressive. A small smile touched the corners of her mouth. She swam toward him slowly. “So you think I want to please you.” “Definitely.” The word came out a low growl. He was finding it hard to breathe. She smiled at him, a sexy, provocative, very feminine promise. “You’re right, I do want to please you. But how do I know you haven’t done your hypnotic thing on me, and it’s all your idea, not mine?” He had to reach for his voice, and when he found it, it was gravel. “I would not mind hypnotizing you to do my bidding, but somehow I think you can please me without such help.” He was finding it difficult to think straight, his mind a cloud of erotic desire. Water lapped at his hips as she moved closer. Her breasts brushed his legs, sending ripples of fire through his bloodstream. She pushed against his knees so that he was forced to open them to accommodate her. Her chin nudged his lap. “I have to think of the best way I might please you. You have all sorts of interesting ideas running around in your head. I need to find the best one, don’t you think?

Because it was the fate of the damned to run of course, not jog, run, their piss on fire and their shit molten, boiling sperm and their ovaries frying; what they were permitted of body sprinting at full throttle, wounded gallop, burning not fat—fat sizzled off in the first seconds, bubbled like bacon and disappeared, evaporate as steam, though the weight was still there, still with you, its frictive drag subversive as a tear in a kite and not even muscle, which blazed like wick, but the organs themselves, the liver scorching and the heart and brains at flash point, combusting the chemistries, the irons and phosphates, the atoms and elements, conflagrating vitamin, essence, soul, yet somehow everything still within the limits if not of endurance then of existence. Damnation strictly physical, nothing personal, Hell’s lawless marathon removed from character. ‘Sure,’ someone had said, ‘we hit the Wall with every step. It’s all Wall down here. It’s wall-to-wall Wall. What, did you think Hell would be like some old-time baker’s oven? That all you had to do was lie down on a pan like dough, the insignificant heat bringing you out, fluffing you up like bread or oatmeal cookies? You think we’re birthday cake? We’re fucking stars. Damnation is hard work, eternity lousy hours.

Be quiet,” said the Count. “It’s not necessary to fill every moment with your own voice. Silence terrifies you. You see your own existence as so tenuous that you’re afraid you’ll pop like a bubble if, at every opportunity, you don’t remind the world that you’re alive. But wisdom begins in silence. In learning to listen. To words and to the world. Trust me. You won’t disappear. And, in time, you might find that you’ve grown into something unexpected.” “What?” “A man,” said the Count.

I think we talk about happiness all wrong. As if it’s this fixed state we’re going to reach. Like we’ll just be able to live there, forever. But that’s not my experience with happiness. For me, It comes and goes. It shows up and then disappears like a bubble

I think we talk about happiness all wrong. As if it's this fixed state we're going to reach. Like we'll be able to live there, forever. But that's not my experience with happiness. For me, it comes and goes. It shows up and then disappears like a bubble.