Drake's Best Quotes

The best kind of humans are the ones who stay.

She was fierce, she was strong, she wasn’t simple. She was crazy and sometimes she barely slept. She always had something to say. She had flaws and that was ok. And when she was down, she got right back up. She was a beast in her own way, but one idea described her best. She was unstoppable and she took anything she wanted with a smile.

Love is the best revenge

It's all well and good to look back after the fact and see what we should have done, but we rarely know what path is best when we take that first step.

He went farther into the shadows to exchange his pants for the leather breeches. Too bad. When he emerged again, he looked pretty good even though it wasn’t his style. And he was lucky there were no tights, after all. He tilted his head. 'You like it.' 'Shut up.' I blushed. I hated vampire extrasensory perception. It wasn’t fair that he could hear my heartbeat or smell my skin or what ever. 'Girls are so weird.' Kieran snorted. 'No kidding.' 'Please, you two were fighting ten minutes ago, and now you’re the best of friends?' I said witheringly. 'Guys are weird.

You're our best hope." "If you call me Obi-Wan I'm going to kick you." He grinned. "Hot. say Obi-Wan again." I laughed, shoving his shoulder. "Shut up.

We have the same symptoms as tuberculosis, especially in the eyes of the Romantic Poets. Pale, tired, coughing up blood.” “That’s romantic?” I had to smile. “Romantic with a capital ‘R.’ You know, like Byron and Coleridge.” He gave a mock shudder. “Please, stop. I barely passed English Lit.” I snorted. “I didn’t have that option. One of my aunts took Byron as a lover.” “Get out.” “Seriously. It makes Lucy insanely jealous.” “That girl is . . .” “My best friend,” I filled in sternly. “I was only going to say she’s unique.

I nodded. “Where’s your hunter?” She flinched. “He went home. We thought it would be best.” Her eyes went from worried to warning. “He’s under Drake protection.” “So am I, or so I’ve been led to understand.” “Of course you are,” Lucy said, her nose pressed to the window. “Misunderstanding. No big deal.” Solange quirked a half smile. “You might try complete sentences, Lucy.” “Can’t. Busy.” I was curious despite myself. “What are you doing?” “Drooling,” Solange explained fondly.

And your people tried to kill my best friend, so you'll forgive me if I'm not overly keen on learning the secret handshake." She shook her head sadly. "You should be going on dates and hanging out at the mall. Not wearing stakes on your belt." I shrugged one shoulder. "The mall sucks.

When there's a monster under your bed sometimes it really is best not to look.

I have doubts, but I'm willing to try. It's the best I can offer. Will you try? I need you, Mira. Try for me.

I’m many things, Deun, but I ain’t a liar,” Drake lied.

I nodded. “Where’s your hunter?” She flinched. “He went home. We thought it would be best.” Her eyes went from worried to warning. “He’s under Drake protection.” “So am I, or so I’ve been led to understand.” “Of course you are,” Lucy said, her nose pressed to the window. “Misunderstanding. No big deal.” Solange quirked a half smile. “You might try complete sentences, Lucy.” “Can’t. Busy.” I was curious despite myself. “What are you doing?” “Drooling,” Solange explained fondly. “I totally am,” Lucy admitted, unrepentant. “Just look at them.” Lucy moved over to give me space. She was watching five of the seven Drake boys repairing the outside wall of the farmhouse, under our window." "Solange leaned back against the wall, bored. “Are you done yet?” “Hell no,” Lucy said. She’d left nose prints on the glass. Nicholas smirked up at her. She blushed. “Ooops. Busted.” “I told you they could hear your heartbeat,” Solange said. “Even from up here.” “I can’t help it. Even if they all know they’re pretty and are insufferably arrogant,” she added louder. “Can they hear that?” “Yes.” “Good.” She glanced at me. “Yummy, right?” “I’m sure Isabeau would rather recover, not ogle my brothers,” Solange said. “You remember how stressed you were after the Hypnos?” “Please,” Lucy scoffed. “This is totally soothing.

The day Travis met Lu he was in his best suit—dark blue, pinstripes, a necktie. Women his age would see right through his sweat and pretense. Any woman his age, she’d say, “What, you work at Men’s Warehouse now?” Yeah, a woman would know a cheap suit was like an easy costume, but the girls didn’t catch on.

It doesn’t get much more forbidden than hot, tight step-daughter pussy.

...and Lucy." She looked like she might cry. 'What about her?' "Lucy smells like food." She nearly gagged saying it. 'Sol, all that's normal. Lucy smelled good before I turned, and now she smells even better. But I haven't tried to eat her face and neither will you.' "She's not safe in this house." 'Safer than out there,' I argued, even though I agreed with her. 'Look, you used to eat hamburgers.' She blinked, confused. "So?" 'So, did you ever walk through one of the farms at a field party and suddenly try to eat a cow?' "Um, no." Her chuckle was watery but it was better than nothing. "And, ew." 'Exactly. You can crave blood and not eat your best friend.

Dont leave something good to find something better. When you realize you had the best , the best has found better.

Griffin Drake and his MacBook were the best of friends, more intimate than lovers. He slept with it. He cared for it with specially made cleaning cloths and cans of air to keep it dust free. Plants and fish had died under his watch with alarming regularity, but the computer-the computer was tended like a child.

Ross said: “I’ll tell you what is best for the other man, always, and that’s work. Work is a challenge. I’ve told you – I tried to drink myself out of my misery once. It didn’t succeed. Only work did. It’s the solvent to so much. Build yourself a wall, even if there’s hell in your heart, and when it’s done – even at the end of the first day – you feel better.

The Fifth Key Lizbet Keaton’s Breakup Playlist “Good 4 U”—Olivia Rodrigo “All Too Well” (Taylor’s version)—Taylor Swift “If Looks Could Kill”—Heart “You Oughta Know”—Alanis Morissette “Far Behind”—Social Distortion “Somebody That I Used to Know”—Gotye “Marvin’s Room”—Drake “Another You”—Elle King “Gives You Hell”— The All-American Rejects “Kiss This”—The Struts “Save It for a Rainy Day”—Kenny Chesney “I Don’t Wanna Be in Love”—Good Charlotte “Best of You”—Foo Fighters “Rehab”—Rihanna “Better Now”—Post Malone “Forget You”—CeeLo Green “Salt”—Ava Max “Go Your Own Way”—Fleetwood Mac “Since U Been Gone”—Kelly Clarkson “Praying”—Kesha

no, of course she didn’t believe in telepathy, but what was “best wishes” on a birthday card, after all, except the idea that your good thoughts might matter?

Here's a secret, too" she said. "Most adults don't grow up all the way either. Only the best ones, like your uncle, figure how to make that look good

I am so incredibly confused.” Blinking away his tears, Darling burst out laughing at Drake’s befuddled exclamation from the opposite hallway. With a shake of his head to clear his vision, he leaned against Maris and met his brother’s fierce scowl. “Yes, little brother, I’m that confidently heterosexual that I can hug my best friend in public and not feel awkward while doing it.” “Yeah, I can hug a guy, too. Just not nipple to nipple.” Drake shivered in revulsion. “That’s just a little too much bromancy for me, thank you very much.” Laughing,

There is no denying that Francis Drake was a pirate and that the enterprise he conducted four years later in Panama was highway robbery, or at best, highjacking. But it was on the scale that transforms crime into politics.

Hunter shook her head. "How much backup do you think we need?" she asked Chloe. "It's like sneaking a heard of elephants." "Jason's the best at locks," Chloe reminded her. "And I'm just here because I'm nosy," I added helpfully.

If Solange was't trying to get herself killed, Lucy was. I was beginning to think that all of my training wasn't actually about killing vampires anymore, it was about saving my girlfriend and her best friend from themselves. And it was a full-time job.

No tugs, Number One?” the Captain inquired with a definite inflection to his voice. “You’re well aware that I shall receive a complaint upon our return?” Drake shook his head. “I think not, sir. Even the Port Authority will have to admit that Princess Carla was merely showing her best. She has a fine backside and we owe it to her to show it off, now and again.

Once there were three tribes. The Optimists, whose patron saints were Drake and Sagan, believed in a universe crawling with gentle intelligence—spiritual brethren vaster and more enlightened than we, a great galactic siblinghood into whose ranks we would someday ascend. Surely, said the Optimists, space travel implies enlightenment, for it requires the control of great destructive energies. Any race which can't rise above its own brutal instincts will wipe itself out long before it learns to bridge the interstellar gulf. Across from the Optimists sat the Pessimists, who genuflected before graven images of Saint Fermi and a host of lesser lightweights. The Pessimists envisioned a lonely universe full of dead rocks and prokaryotic slime. The odds are just too low, they insisted. Too many rogues, too much radiation, too much eccentricity in too many orbits. It is a surpassing miracle that even one Earth exists; to hope for many is to abandon reason and embrace religious mania. After all, the universe is fourteen billion years old: if the galaxy were alive with intelligence, wouldn't it be here by now? Equidistant to the other two tribes sat the Historians. They didn't have too many thoughts on the probable prevalence of intelligent, spacefaring extraterrestrials— but if there are any, they said, they're not just going to be smart. They're going to be mean. It might seem almost too obvious a conclusion. What is Human history, if not an ongoing succession of greater technologies grinding lesser ones beneath their boots? But the subject wasn't merely Human history, or the unfair advantage that tools gave to any given side; the oppressed snatch up advanced weaponry as readily as the oppressor, given half a chance. No, the real issue was how those tools got there in the first place. The real issue was what tools are for. To the Historians, tools existed for only one reason: to force the universe into unnatural shapes. They treated nature as an enemy, they were by definition a rebellion against the way things were. Technology is a stunted thing in benign environments, it never thrived in any culture gripped by belief in natural harmony. Why invent fusion reactors if your climate is comfortable, if your food is abundant? Why build fortresses if you have no enemies? Why force change upon a world which poses no threat? Human civilization had a lot of branches, not so long ago. Even into the twenty-first century, a few isolated tribes had barely developed stone tools. Some settled down with agriculture. Others weren't content until they had ended nature itself, still others until they'd built cities in space. We all rested eventually, though. Each new technology trampled lesser ones, climbed to some complacent asymptote, and stopped—until my own mother packed herself away like a larva in honeycomb, softened by machinery, robbed of incentive by her own contentment. But history never said that everyone had to stop where we did. It only suggested that those who had stopped no longer struggled for existence. There could be other, more hellish worlds where the best Human technology would crumble, where the environment was still the enemy, where the only survivors were those who fought back with sharper tools and stronger empires. The threats contained in those environments would not be simple ones. Harsh weather and natural disasters either kill you or they don't, and once conquered—or adapted to— they lose their relevance. No, the only environmental factors that continued to matter were those that fought back, that countered new strategies with newer ones, that forced their enemies to scale ever-greater heights just to stay alive. Ultimately, the only enemy that mattered was an intelligent one. And if the best toys do end up in the hands of those who've never forgotten that life itself is an act of war against intelligent opponents, what does that say about a race whose machines travel between the stars?

You listen to me, Elle. He's the one who needs to be afraid, not you. You're not locked in by his psychic energy field. He doesn't have you trapped. You're strong and you're lethal. Your sisters are as well. Don't you dare sell any of them short. Hell, baby, your house makes people disappear. And we're not going to talk about me, but if that son of a bitch thinks he can take you from me, let him come and try. You're down, but you're not out. Do you understand me? Do you, Elle? Look at me. Don't turn away from me and pay lip service to what I'm saying. I'll kill the bastard for you right now. Say the word and I leave and go to work. It's what I'm best at anyway. There's nowhere he'll be safe and if you think I don't want to, you're very wrong. I dream about it, I think about it, day and night and none of what I do to him is pleasant or civilized. If you want to be scared of someone, you're scared of the wrong fucking man.

What about your pheromones?" Marcus asked thoughtfully, as he gathered the last of the blood transfusion supplies into a bag. "Were they partly Viola's as well?" "I don't know," I replied. "I can't tell." "We should try an experiment." "Make Duncan bark like a dog," Quinn suggested, jerking his head toward Duncan. "Or you could try something more difficult, like making Quinn shut up," Duncan returned. "Something simple would be best," Dad suggested drily. "And less likely to start a century-long feud.

Did I regret Cyrus’s whiteness? Truth be told, sometimes I did. If Cyrus was Bengali, I wouldn’t have to explain why chewing on the end of a drumstick was perhaps the best part of a meal, or why there were outside clothes and inside clothes and in-between clothes that you wore when you got home but weren’t ready for bed. I wouldn’t have to explain all the complicated rules about where you can and can’t put your feet, and that he could maybe kiss me in front of my parents but not on the mouth and certainly never with tongue. But what I found infinitely worse was trying to gauge whether a man had just the right amount of brown in him. He had to know about drumsticks and shoes and not hate himself, but he also couldn’t be too in love with his mother or imagine that I would change more diapers than him or ever, ever be charmed by the thought of me in a hijab. He had to be three parts Tagore, one part Drake, one part e e cummings, and that’s not even getting into whether I got a rise from smelling his face. So no, I didn’t want to ponder Cyrus’s whiteness, I just wanted to enjoy his scent and his perfectly sized dick and the fact that, of all the people I had ever met in my whole life, he felt the most like home.

Drake: "I know it;s love because I think of you night and day. I miss you when you are sitting right next to me. When I look at you my heart races and my stomach turns in the best and worst way possible. When I'm with you I feel complete, I feel whole. When I'm away from you it;s hard to breathe. When I think of my life without you I panic and tears fill my eyes. Before I met you, I didn't think I had much of a future besides being CEO at Baylor. I look at you, Morgan, and am filled with beautiful optimism at all of the things my future could have, and that is because i see you right there with me. I want to marry you, Morgan, I want to have children with you. You are my best friend, my confidant, my everything. To me that's love. You say you love me, Morgan, is that how you feel?" I ask hopefully. "Yes," Morgan says, as a confident smile crosses her face and tears fill her eyes. "Yes, that is exactly how I feel. I love you, Drake, you are my everything,

Here’s the thing, people: We have some serious problems. The lights are off. And it seems like that’s affecting the water flow in part of town. So, no baths or showers, okay? But the situation is that we think Caine is short of food, which means he’s not going to be able to hold out very long at the power plant.” “How long?” someone yelled. Sam shook his head. “I don’t know.” “Why can’t you get him to leave?” “Because I can’t, that’s why,” Sam snapped, letting some of his anger show. “Because I’m not Superman, all right? Look, he’s inside the plant. The walls are thick. He has guns, he has Jack, he has Drake, and he has his own powers. I can’t get him out of there without getting some of our people killed. Anybody want to volunteer for that?" Silence. “Yeah, I thought so. I can’t get you people to show up and pick melons, let alone throw down with Drake.” “That’s your job,” Zil said. “Oh, I see,” Sam said. The resentment he’d held in now came boiling to the surface. “It’s my job to pick the fruit, and collect the trash, and ration the food, and catch Hunter, and stop Caine, and settle every stupid little fight, and make sure kids get a visit from the Tooth Fairy. What’s your job, Zil? Oh, right: you spray hateful graffiti. Thanks for taking care of that, I don’t know how we’d ever manage without you.” “Sam…,” Astrid said, just loud enough for him to hear. A warning. Too late. He was going to say what needed saying. “And the rest of you. How many of you have done a single, lousy thing in the last two weeks aside from sitting around playing Xbox or watching movies? “Let me explain something to you people. I’m not your parents. I’m a fifteen-year-old kid. I’m a kid, just like all of you. I don’t happen to have any magic ability to make food suddenly appear. I can’t just snap my fingers and make all your problems go away. I’m just a kid.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sam knew he had crossed the line. He had said the fateful words so many had used as an excuse before him. How many hundreds of times had he heard, “I’m just a kid.” But now he seemed unable to stop the words from tumbling out. “Look, I have an eighth-grade education. Just because I have powers doesn’t mean I’m Dumbledore or George Washington or Martin Luther King. Until all this happened I was just a B student. All I wanted to do was surf. I wanted to grow up to be Dru Adler or Kelly Slater, just, you know, a really good surfer.” The crowd was dead quiet now. Of course they were quiet, some still-functioning part of his mind thought bitterly, it’s entertaining watching someone melt down in public. “I’m doing the best I can,” Sam said. “I lost people today…I…I screwed up. I should have figured out Caine might go after the power plant.” Silence. “I’m doing the best I can.” No one said a word. Sam refused to meet Astrid’s eyes. If he saw pity there, he would fall apart completely. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.

Several days later I decided to go on a good long jog, trusting that Chip would not leave Drake again. As I was on my way back I saw Chip coming down the road in his truck with the trailer on it. He rolled up to me with his window down and said, “Baby, you’re doing so good. I’m heading to work now. I’ve got to go.” I looked in the back, thinking, Of course, he’s got Drake. But I didn’t see a car seat. “Chip, where’s Drake?” she said, and I was like, “Oh, shoot!” She took off without a word and ran like lightning all the way back to the house as I turned the truck around. She got there faster on foot than I did in my truck. I sure hope no one from Child Protective Services reads this book. They can’t come after me retroactively, can they? Chip promised it would never happen again. So the third time I attempted to take a run, I went running down Third Street and made it all the way home. I walked in, and Chip and Drake were gone. I thought, Oh, good. Finally he remembered to take the baby. But then I noticed his car was still parked out front. I looked around and couldn’t find them anywhere. Moments later, Chip pulled up on his four-wheeler--with Drake bungee-strapped to the handlebars in his car seat. “Chip!” I screamed, “What in the heck are you doing?” “Oh, he was crying, and I’d always heard my mom say she would drive me around the neighborhood when I was a baby, and it made me feel better,” Chip said. “He loved it. He fell right to sleep.” “He didn’t love it, Chip. He probably fell asleep because the wind in his face made it impossible to breathe.” I didn’t go for another run for the whole first year of Drake’s life, and I took him to the shop with me every single day. Some people might see that as a burden, but I have to admit I loved it. Having him in that BabyBjörn was the best feeling in the world. Drake was a shop baby. He would come home every night smelling like candles. We had friends who owned a barbecue joint, and their baby always came home smelling like a rack of ribs. I liked Drake’s smell a whole lot better.

Harley, if you’re asking me to marry you, I’m afraid I must say no,” he joked. “I mean, we hardly know each other, and you haven’t even bothered to ask my parents for my hand.” “Will you shut up?” As much as I didn’t want to laugh, I failed. That was the good thing about Drake. He could be annoying, sure, but he knew how to lighten the mood when things became tense. “I’m being serious, Drake.” “Okay, then shoot.” “Are you like me?” As the words escaped my lips, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. “What do you think?” “Answering a question with a question doesn’t work,” I answered. “And I think you are.” “Well, then, you can rest assured knowing you’re right.” He shrugged as he turned the chair around to properly face me. “Although, I do believe I wasn’t supposed to tell you as much just yet.” “Was my father behind this?” Drake shook his head no. “The League—more specifically, the Council—had nothing to do with my arrival,” he assured me. “I came here for you, yes, but only because the clan of the vampire you killed is looking for you. And while you might not believe it, I’m your best chance at survival.

I prodded him in the chest with a finger and said, “Look here, smart mouth, I’m getting pretty sick of you already. If you know what’s best for you, keep your trap shut and do as I tell you. I still haven’t forgotten how you pushed my friend into that corpse. So unless you want to end up like that body in the underpass, do yourself a favour and keep out of my face, okay?” “Whatever you say, boss. You’re the boss, boss,” Drake said. “See, there you go again!” I snapped at him. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, boss,” Drake said. “You even say boss like a wise arse,” I shot back at him. “I don’t know what you mean b-” Drake started again. “Did I say you had to call me boss?” “It’s just that I thought…” “Don’t think!” I barked. “Just do as I say and we’ll get along just fine.” “Whatever you say,” Drake said. I glanced at Madison and she was smiling. “What’s so funny?” I asked. “Nothing,” she smiled back. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realise that I was some sort of freaking comedian. Let’s see if you think it’s so funny when another one of those dead kids shows up. Jesus, no wonder you amateurs haven’t caught this piece of scum yet – you’re probably all too busy sitting round cracking jokes and taking the piss to do any real police work.” “You are funny though,” she half-laughed. “It’s just that when you get angry, your jaw goes all tense and your nostrils flare out at the sides.” “Oh yeah, how very amusing,” I remarked. “I think you two clowns are funny – not ha-ha funny – but fucked-in-the-head funny! Now, if you two have quite finished doing your Laurel and Hardy impersonations, we’ve got a killer to catch!

Very much as I expected," Mason said cautiously."And do you want to do something that is for the best interests of your client?" "Very much. " "If," the voice said, "you will adhere to the bargain I outlined to you, you should be able to score another triumph over the prosecution, have the defendant released and have the case thrown out of court."Both my son and I are in a position to testify, if necessary, that when we entered that unit the man was lying on the floor breathing heavily and we thought he was drunk. And I will testify that I was the one who made the phone call to the manager of the motel. " "Suppose I simply subpoena you and put you on the stand?" Mason asked. She laughed and said, "Come, come, Mr.Mason, you're a veteran attorney. You could hardly commit a booboo of that sort. Think of what it would mean if I should state the man was alive and well when I left. " "And your price?" Mason asked."You know my price.Complete, utter silence about matters which will affect my property status and my social status.Good-by, Mr.Mason. " The receiver clicked at the other end of the line. Della Street raised inquiring eyebrows. Mason said, "Paul, you're going to have to pick up lunch somewhere along the line. I want you to go out to the Restawhile Motel. I want you to take a stop watch. I want you to get the manager to walk rapidly from the switchboard, out the front door, down to Unit to. I want you to have her open the door, walk inside, turn around, walk back, pick up the telephone, call police headquarters and ask what time it is. See how long it takes and report to me. " "Okay," Drake said."What time do you want me back here?" 171

Celibacy expresses an important truth about love. Before we can be happy with another person, we must learn to be happy alone. At its best, celibacy is a spiritual discipline that teaches us how to be intimate with ourselves. This intimacy restores the state of love, joy, peace and freedom into which we were born.

having fully somali children doesn’t even really matter bc as soon as they touch down on the grave, they become white they’ll start to smell of dead people, not foox or caano fadi when i touch down on the grave my brain will be devoured my broken somali will be broken down even more in the mouths of maggots you know that soft east african skin that drake keeps rapping about it’ll become even softer when it gets digested &you best believe my natural hair will then floss all the remains

Brianna’s looking for Drake,” Edilio said, thinking out loud. “You sent her out against Drake?” Albert demanded. “Sent her? Who sends Brianna out to get into a fight? She goes on her own. Anyway, it’s not like you’ve left us with anyone else.” Albert had the decency not to say anything to that. “You know, you guys put me in charge. I didn’t ask to be in charge. I didn’t want to be in charge. Sam was in charge and all you guys ever did was give him grief,” Edilio said. “You two, especially.” He pointed at Albert and Astrid. “So, okay, Astrid takes over. And then Astrid finds out it’s not so much fun being in charge. So it’s like, okay, let’s get the dumb wetback to do the job.” “No one ever—,” Astrid protested. “And me, like a fool, I’m thinking, okay, that must mean people trust me. They asked me to be in charge, be the mayor. Come to find out, I’m not making decisions; Albert’s making decisions. Albert’s deciding we need to find more water and sending our two best fighters off into the countryside. Now I’m supposed to fix everything? It’s like you go, ‘Fight a war,’ but you sent my army off on a wild goose chase.

Clearing her throat, Natale picked it up to show it to Zarya. “When Darling was little, his father would take it off and place it on his tiny finger before he made Darling recite his rules of conduct. I always waited for Darling to protest having to do it, but he was such a little man about it. All he wanted was to please his father and make him proud. He would clench his hand.” Natale demonstrated it with her own fist. “And stand tall, then repeat all twenty flawlessly. When he was done, he’d take the ring off and stare at it in awe. And every time he gave it back to his father, he’d promise that one day he would be the best governor Caron ever had.” Her eyes filled with agony, Natale covered her mouth with her hand. “Unlike Drake and Lise, he actually remembers his father. The two of them were so close. Darling worshiped the ground he stood on.” She swallowed and lowered her hand. “He’s just like his father, you know? It’s so hard to look at him sometimes when all I see is everything I’ve lost. He has Drux’s voice and his bearing and mannerisms.” She almost broke down into tears again, but somehow she caught herself. “Anyway, I should go now and leave you to him.” Zarya

If you love her, you tell her. Not with a text, or a phone call. You tell her only when you get to see the dimples on her face and the blue in her eyes. You tell her only when you can feel the sweat on your brow and the jitters in your palms. You tell her when you can hear your heart beating louder than the sound of your own voice. When there's no turning back to just being friends. Because you know, deep down, you could never just be friends with her. She's too incredible for that. You tell her when you've decided that she's the one you're after, and you don't ever plan on settling for second best. You've put all your chips on the table, ready to risk it all on the next hand. Deciding to wear your heart on your sleeve should come with a warning label: 'proceed with caution. Heart is fragile and is prone to being hurt.' To be vulnerable, and real, and honest is a rarity. You tell her. Even if it hurts you. Because the words she utters next could change everything.... [I love you too.]

Caitlin Macguire was one of the best snipers he’d ever encountered. A veteran of the Ulster Volunteer Force in Northern Ireland, she’d been responsible for assassinating half a dozen IRA members before she’d turned thirty, plus one of her own men suspected of turning traitor. The Troubles might have simmered down since then, but Faulkner had found use for her. Time and again she had proven herself a ruthless and efficient killer, and she was sitting on a rooftop with a silenced sniper rifle barely two hundred yards away. ‘If I had, do you not think I’d take it?’ It took a brave man indeed to interrupt her during her work. ‘Little bastard’s dug in tight, so he is

Last out of the bag was something she was infinitely more comfortable with – her silenced Colt M1911 automatic. She had been using that reliable old sidearm since the very start of her career as a paramilitary operative, and in her opinion it was still one of the best handguns ever produced. It had never let her down. She raised the automatic, checking that the magazine was firmly locked in place and the safety catch engaged. The M1911 was a single-action weapon with a manual safety, allowing it to be carried ‘cocked and locked’, meaning there was a round chambered and the hammer was drawn back. Satisfied that all was well, she holstered the Colt inside her jacket, adjusting her posture a little to compensate for the extra weight of the weapon plus the bulky silencer

Aged drakes sometimes will not be fertile until much later in the breeding season, when natural day length and temperatures have increased. Some drakes will remain fertile until they are ten years of age or older, but typically their best breeding age is six months to three years.

This was a thing she did not believe in at all, as she would admit if she were pressed. But the feel of it was wonderful--the feeling that she could package her feelings and put them to use, wrapping them up, and no, of course she didn't believe in telepathy, but what was "best wishes" on a birthday card, after all, except the idea that your good thoughts might matter?

There’s a fine line between demeaning… And fun, and wit. A lot of the music that me and Wayne made, for example…it’s fun, it’s witty. ‘I Wanna F*** Every Girl In The World,’ that’s one of our biggest songs. Is it to be taken literally and dissected? No. It’s more just fun, witty moments. Hip-hop has elements of comedy. Those make the best punch lines… I feel like to demean a woman is something completely different than what we do.

My brothers Rob, Bob, Tom, Paul, Ralph, Phil, Noah, William, Nick, Dennis, Christopher, Frank, Simon, Saul, Jim, Henry, Seamus, Richard, Jeremy, Walter, Jonathan, James, Arthur, Rex, Bertram, Vaughan, Daniel, Russel, and Angus; and the triplets Herbert, Patrick, and Jeffrey; identical twins Michael and Abraham, Lawrence and Peter, Winston and Charles, Scott and Samuel; and Eric, Donovan, Roger, Lester, Larry, Clinton, Drake, Gregory, Leon, Kevin and Jack — all born on the same day, the twenty-third of May, though at different hours in separate years — and the caustic graphomaniac, Sergio, whose scathing opinions appear with regularity in the front-of-book pages of the more conservative monthlies, not to mention on the liquid crystal screens that glow at night atop the radiant work stations of countless bleary-eyed computer bulletin-board subscribers (among whom our brother is known, affectionately, electronically, as Surge); and Albert, who is blind; and Siegfried, the sculptor in burning steel; and clinically depressed Anton, schizophrenic Irv, recovering addict Clayton; and Maxwell, the tropical botanist, who, since returning from the rain forest, has seemed a little screwed up somehow; and Jason, Joshua, and Jeremiah, each vaguely gloomy in his own “lost boy” way; and Eli, who spends solitary wakeful evenings in the tower, filing notebooks with drawings — the artist’s multiple renderings for a larger work? — portraying the faces of his brothers, including Chuck, the prosecutor; Porter, the diarist; Andrew, the civil rights activist; Pierce, the designer of radically unbuildable buildings; Barry, the good doctor of medicine; Fielding, the documentary-film maker; Spencer, the spook with known ties to the State Department; Foster, the “new millennium” psychotherapist; Aaron, the horologist; Raymond, who flies his own plane; and George, the urban planner who, if you read the papers, you’ll recall, distinguished himself, not so long ago, with that innovative program for revitalizing the decaying downtown area (as “an animate interactive diorama illustrating contemporary cultural and economic folkways”), only to shock and amaze everyone, absolutely everyone, by vanishing with a girl named Jana and an overnight bag packed with municipal funds in unmarked hundreds; and all the young fathers: Seth, Rod, Vidal, Bennet, Dutch, Brice, Allan, Clay, Vincent, Gustavus, and Joe; and Hiram, the eldest; Zachary, the Giant; Jacob, the polymath; Virgil, the compulsive whisperer; Milton, the channeler of spirits who speak across time; and the really bad womanizers: Stephen, Denzil, Forrest, Topper, Temple, Lewis, Mongo, Spooner, and Fish; and, of course, our celebrated “perfect” brother, Benedict, recipient of a medal of honor from the Academy of Sciences for work over twenty years in chemical transmission of “sexual language” in eleven types of social insects — all of us (except George, about whom there have been many rumors, rumors upon rumors: he’s fled the vicinity, he’s right here under our noses, he’s using an alias or maybe several, he has a new face, that sort of thing) — all my ninety-eight, not counting George, brothers and I recently came together in the red library and resolved that the time had arrived, finally, to stop being blue, put the past behind us, share a light supper, and locate, if we could bear to, the missing urn full of the old fucker’s ashes.

routine, and as the gatekeeper it was her job to make sure he kept to routine. Keep your boss happy and you’re happy. Mara sat down on a couch across from the desk. Raven remained standing. He looked at a coffee table with magazines stacked in a staggered pattern. A glance at the covers on top showed current dates, so at least Harrison didn’t keep too many old ones around. The waiting room was spare but not without decoration. Pictures of calming nature scenes, and advisories about medications, hung on the wall. He wore the Nighthawk .45 under his jacket, minus the suppressor this time. A leather sap filled the right pocket of the jacket as well. The sap’s tip, loaded with lead shot, came in handy as a persuader to those unwilling to talk. A gun wasn’t always the best threat. Whack a guy a few times with the sap, and they usually turned to Jell-O and found ways to cooperate. Raven hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. Tammy the receptionist delivered the message and said, “He’ll see you right now, Mara.” Mara bounced from the couch. “We won’t be long, I promise.” Raven followed her to a door marked Private. She walked into the inner office like she owned the place. Frank Harrison was at least in his mid-60s, but had most of his hair, most of it gray, and too long for Raven’s taste. The doctor reminded him of old hippies in the states who still wore their hair long despite being

All over the galaxy, men with the best gifts of Science and no skills but those of murder looked for patrons who would hire them to bring down civilization. Business was good.

Tim is the best Robin, but Damian is probably more fun to write. I’d say that Tim’s role is partner to Batman while Damian’s role is that of a son who needs guidance, and the role of Robin is a way of doing that. Tim no longer needs Batman’s guidance, he’s just a damned good partner.

Damn. Betrayed by her best two-wheeled buddy. She deserved it, really. Regardless of whatever caused this, she was in command of the bike, so she only had herself to blame. “Sorry, mate.” She groaned sadly at the once beautiful custom blue metal. “Rest in Pieces, Doogie.

That’s really mean, Zero. What did I say about using your words?” Kino, a handsome silver-furred fox, peeled himself away from the wall nearby, trying his best to convey an admonishing stare. “Be nice or don't speak.” “Then, I can be mean if I don't say a word?” Aya sneered. Kino blanched.

WHOA—WAIT!” Harper begged. “What the fuck is going on, Harps?” Reef lay there, giving Aya his best look of seething fury. “You know this person?” Kino asked. “Yeah. He's my friend. Can you… erm, not kill him please, Mr Aya?

Facing the consequences of one’s actions is difficult at the best of times. Facing the consequences of the actions of others is an unfortunate side effect to life, vastly indefensible, but it happens all too often nonetheless.

What we can do now, is show her the sky, marvel at its incomprehensible vastness. Let's show her the beauty of new horizons, and the value of perseverance. We can show her that no matter how dark or bleak or hopeless, that her mind is her best tool, her spirit is indomitable, and challenge is an opportunity to move, shift, pivot, and dance. Let's teach her to be a sojourner, moving through space with enough curiosity to pick her up and push her forward. We can teach her to wonder, to seek it, to love it, to challenge it. And, honestly, though it will not make the hard things easier, let her overwhelming belief in herself always motivate her.

With him went Spain’s best hope for defending itself against Drake.

What are you going to do if you can’t challenge him?” I asked, ashamed of the pathetic tone of misery in my voice. Drake smiled. His lips curled up, and his eyes went dragon as the smile grew in a way that made me thankful he was on my side. “I am wyvern of the green dragons.” “Yeah, so?” “Such a look of confusion in your beautiful face. What do green dragons do best?” “You’re not going to make love to him,” I said, scandalized for a moment even though I knew Drake couldn’t mean that. He gave me a long-suffering look. “Hardly.” “Well, good. Because I told you once I don’t share, not even with another guy, although I have to admit that…um…never mind.” One of Drake’s eyebrows rose. “Such unplumbed depths to you. I’m afraid that particular fantasy will never be fulfilled. I hold what is mine. No others will have you.” I smiled at the slightly outraged glint in his eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s not a fantasy. I always kind of wondered what it would be like to have so much attention, but then I met you, and, well, I don’t think I could survive more attention than what you give me.” “That was the correct answer,” he said, his voice rich with smugness. “Uh-huh. OK, so back to Fiat…” I pulled my mind from the delightful sensations Drake’s hands and mouth were giving me, and thought hard. If he couldn’t challenge Fiat, what could he do? Drake was a man of many talents, but I couldn’t think of one that would help him get me back without some sort of fight between him and Fiat. And then the penny dropped. I started laughing, causing Drake to pause as he unbuttoned my shirt. “Figured it out, did you?” “I’m allowed to be a bit slow. I’ve had a hell of a day. So, my darling green dragon…what treasure of Fiat’s are you going to steal?

Revenge is a dish best served cold. So is ice cream.