Fagan Quotes

Politics: “Poli” a Latin word meaning "many" and "tics" meaning "bloodsucking creatures".

Of course, you never really forget anyone, but you certainly release them. You stop allowing their history to have any meaning for you today. You let them change their haircut, let them move, let them fall in love again. And when you see this person you have let go, you realize that there is no reason to be sad. The person you knew exists somewhere, but you are separated by too much time to reach them again.

Sometimes we say that we met people at the wrong time. But maybe we meet them when we are the wrong person, when we have not yet met and fallen in love with ourselves. We are only half of a thing—even if we can imagine that there is a better version of us out there—and we are hoping that someone else will fill in the missing parts so that we don’t have to.

His eyes blazed at me, but it was the best kind of heat. He smiled, and for the first time in my life I believed that, for him, I could be more than I’d ever dreamed.

And though I am not nostalgic for what we did have, I am hopeful about life being filled with everything we didn’t.

The sky's gray and there's mizzle. It's so soft on my skin--it's nothing like rain. It's even softer than the lightest drizzle! Lift my face up, so it can kiss my skin." The Panopticon

God, save me from temperance," Tilly said. "You haven't seen a party till you get a group of Anglicans and Catholics trying to beat each other to the bottom of a bottle." "Now, that's not nice, Mrs Fagan," Father Michel said. "I've never met an Anglican that could keep up with me.

Fagan hated what his father was, but he still loved him. I reckon that's the way God is. Loving us enough to send Jesus but hating the way we live. Hating the sin, not the sinner.

Perhaps I had started to believe again in magic, or perhaps in love. Or perhaps they were the same thing.

Clowns are vicious--they're all nefarious grins--and if you hung out with a bunch of clowns in a bar, pretty soon it would turn into a horror movie. Nefarious means evil. It's nothing to do with Rastas.

One of the trickiest parts of social media is recognizing that everyone is doing the same thing you’re doing: presenting their best self. Everyone is now a brand, and all of digital life is a fashion magazine.

It’s a cliché because it is true. If you are not happy with yourself and willing to show yourself the same kind of love and respect you want to give to others, no relationship will magically fix you. And while it can certainly be tempting to jump from relationship to relationship, because the space in between them is scary and unknown, learning how to demonstrate that love and compassion for yourself is essential (and surprisingly fulfilling). Going on a solo vacation, or even spending a few days alone — leaving your laptop at home, if you can manage it — might seem like a strange way to feel loved, but if you can be happy with your own company, you can be happy with anything.

- You know what really brings the storms, Geillis? - What? - A storm arrives at the exact second when a girl learns she'll never be free

I try to pay bills as efficiently as I can, and work hard, and be comfortable in what I've achieved at the end of each day. And I try, most of all, to be a little easier on myself.

...the child of a wolf may not feel like she has fangs until she finds herself facing the moon, but they are still there the whole time regardless.

We told each other we should get coffee sometime, but did not exchange our new numbers.We knew we were not going to see each other again.

Saving money isn't about depriving yourself. It's about deciding you love Future You as much as you love Today You.

I dinnae get people, like they all want to be watched, to be seen, like all the time. They put up their pictures online and let people they dinnae like look at them! And people they’ve never met as well, and they all pretend tae be shinier than they are – and some are even posting on like four sites; their bosses are watching them at work, the cameras watch them on the bus, and on the train, and in Boots, and even outside the chip shop. Then even at home – they’re going online to look and see who they can watch, and to check who’s watching them!

The hot water pools are steaming, Fagan and Monsanto and the others are all sitting peacefully up to their necks, they're all naked, but there's a gang of fairies also there naked all standing in various bath house postures that make me hesitate to take my clothes off just on general principles. (p. 106)

When grown-ups hear a little dark door creaking in their hearts they turn the telly up. They slug a glass of wine. They tell the cat it was just a door creaking. The cat knows. It jumps down from the sofa and walks out of the room. When that little dark door in a heart starts to go click-clack click-clack click-clack click-clack so loudly and violently their chest shows an actual beat - well, then they say they've got bad cholesterol and they try to quit using butter, they begin to go for walks. When the tiny dark door in her heart creaks open, she will walk right through it. She will lie down and inside her own heart like a bird in the night.

One study found that an average high school student today likely deals with as much anxiety as did a psychiatric patient in the 1950s. The numbers are eye-opening

It's by far the best decision to find someone who, right out of the gate, is at least a moderately good person who won't constantly leave you shakily checking your phone like some lovestruck cokehead.

Living with a ghost is frightening enough, but if you change houses to escape it and the ghost is present in the new space, then you’ve confirmed that it’s not the house the ghost is haunting. It’s you.

The Highland men and women certainly dress differently than we do, even when we're out in the country. Why do you think the Scotti9sh men wear those ridiculous skirts, George?" Enough was enough. Fagan approached the table and gave her a roguish grin. "'Tisnae a skirt, lass. If I wore something under it, then it would be called a skirt.

my

A woman’s voice is a hex. She must learn to exalt men always. If she doesn’t do that, then she is a threat. A demon whore, a witch – so says everyone and the law”.

Now he knows something he did not know before—there is a totality to silence. It makes his bones ache.

I could be the lone Eskimo, friend of whales and seals." The Panopticon

The pressure to be great, not good, is unrelenting. Believing that this pressure will simply disappear once kids arrive on campus seems like wishful thinking.

Put those heels away. That click, click, click, click is Morse code for rapists. It says their sentence will be lenient or non-existent. If only she didn't wear stilettos. If only she didn't walk through a park. If only she didn't go out at night.

The worst thing about being an adult is the fact that we can do basically whatever we want. You can have Chicken McNuggets and champagne for dinner, but you know that the next day you'll feel like a whoopee cushion made of alcohol and sodium. Yeah, adulthood.

Digital life, and social media at its most complex, is an interweaving of public and private personas, a blending and splintering of identities unlike anything other generations have experienced.

As I've said before, money doesn't buy you happiness, but it buys you the Lego kit of happiness. It buys you comfort, security, and options, even if you still have to build your happiness on top of it.

My words exist in here you see, in my mind. Then they exist in your mind. Nobody else gets to see how they pass between us - it is a form of alchemy! Of all the art forms writing is the most intimate and strange.

As specimens go, they always get excited about me. I'm a good one. A show-stopper. I'm the kind of kid they'll still enquire about ten years later. Fifty-one placements, drug problems, violence, dead adopted mum, no biological links, constant offending. Tick, tick, tick. I lure them in to being with. Cultivate my specimen face. They like that. Do-gooders are vomit-worthy. Damaged goods are dangerous. The ones that are in it cos the thought it would be a step up from an office job are tedious. The ones who've been in too long lose it. The ones who think they've got the Jesus touch are fucking insane. The I can save you brigade are particularly radioactive. They think if you just inhale some of their middle-classism, then you'll be saved.

Maybe comfort exists in believing there is order in the world, even when someone is making the most disorderly decision we know: running toward death instead of away from it. In their absence, we're left trying to pin meaning to air.

tiring, but it is not confusing. You are never left wondering if you’ve made the wrong choice, or expended energy in the wrong direction, because there is only the one rung above you. Get good grades. Get better at your sport. Take the SAT. Do volunteer work. Apply to colleges. Choose a college. But then you get to college, and suddenly you’re out of rungs and that ladder has turned into a massive tree with hundreds of sprawling limbs, and progress is no longer a thing you can easily measure, because there are now thousands of paths to millions of destinations. And none are linear.

So you have chosen aloneness. You have chosen the security and the relative freedom of solitude, because there is no risk involved. You can stay up every night and watch your TV shows and eat ice cream out of the box and scroll through your Tumblr and never let your brain sit still, not even for a moment. You can fill your days up with books and coffees and trips to the store where you forget what you wanted the second you walk in the automatic sliding door. You can do so many little, pointless things throughout the day that all you can think of is how badly you want to sleep, how heavy your whole body is, how much your feet hurt. You can wear yourself out again and again on the pavement, and you do, and it feels good. No one will ever bridge that gap and point to your stomach or your hair or your eyes in the mirror and magically make you see the wonderful things about getting to be next to you. And maybe that’s it, after all, this fear that no one will ever truly feel about you the way you want to be felt about. Maybe what you want is someone to make you love yourself, to put sense into all that positive rhetoric, to make it so the aloneness of TV and blasting music in your ears at all times isn’t the most happy place you can think of. Maybe you want someone who makes you so sure of how wonderful things are that you cannot help but to tell them your feelings first, even at the risk of being humiliated. Because you will know that, when you’re telling them you love them, what you’re really saying is “I love who I become when I am with you.

The brightness of the stars! I needed them, so I did just the one thing. And it is really this they are killing me for. I went out at night. Alone.

Girls learn to shine in secret.

Some stories simply touch us more deeply as they reach right into our hearts, settle there, and never leave.

I'm going to draw up a human-rights contract that says everyone on earth must agree we are here as caretakers of the planet, first and foremost.

Our words were a shaky ladder; all I could do was climb, uncertain if I was about to surmount a glorious peak or fall and smash myself on the rocks below.

Everyone in England ate mutton, but not horse meat, especially as influential people considered horses they had ridden both noble and too close to humans for either clerics or lords to consume.

The heyday of the Norse, which lasted roughly from A.D. 800 to about 1200, was not only a byproduct of such social factors as technology, overpopulation and opportunism. Their great conquests and explorations took place during a period of unusually mild and stable weather in northern Europe called the Medieval Warm Period-some of the warmest four centuries of the previous 8,000 years.

If one only wished to be happy, this could be easily accomplished; but we wish to be happier than other people, and this is always difficult, for we believe others to be happier than they are. —Montesquieu

- What do you women do in hundreds of years from now then Iris from the ether? - We look over our shoulder far too often. - Aye. You laugh wryly. - We try to look bigger than we are sometimes. At other times we have to be smaller than we are. We do other things. Try to take down governments. Make great art. Keep others. Work without anyone noticing what we do for whole lifetimes sometimes. We hold hands. Drink too much or not at all. We traverse boundaries whilst looking ordinary. We give beauty and patience and science and our talent and our hearts and what was once firm in our bodies - we bestow our lives to this world, most often unseen. Jenni Fagan - Hex

There had been a time in high school, see, when I wrestled with the possibility that I might be gay, a torturous six-month culmination of years of unpopularity and girllessness. At night I lay in bed and cooly informed myself that I was gay and that I had better get used to it. The locker room became a place of torment, full of exposed male genitalia that seemed to taunt me with my failure to avoid glancing at them, for a fraction of a second that might have seemed accidental but was, I recognized, a bitter symptom of my perversion. Bursting with typical fourteen-year-old desire, I attempted to focus it in succession on the thought of every boy I knew, hoping to find some outlet for my horniness, even if it had to be perverted, secret, and doomed to disappointment. Without exception these attempts failed to produce anything but bemusement, if not actual disgust. This crisis of self-esteem had been abruptly dispelled by the advent of Julie Lefkowitz, followed swiftly by her sister Robin, and then Sharon Horne and little Rose Fagan and Jennifer Schaeffer; but I never forgot my period of profound sexual doubt. Once in a while I would meet an enthralling man who shook, dimly but perceptibley, the foundations laid by Julie Lefkowitz, and I would wonder, just for a moment, by what whim of fate I had decided that I was not a homosexual.

Edinburgh seduces with her ancient buildings. She pours alcohol or food down the throats of anyone passing, dangles her trinkets, leaves pockets bare. She's a pickpocket. The best kind of thief, one you think of - most fondly.

Finding your independence, experiencing the world, meeting new people and opening your eyes and your mind are just a few of the completely invaluable things that traveling brings you. It really, truly is the only thing that you buy that actually makes you richer.

When Jim was growing up, good colleges were challenging to get into, but it wasn't like it is today, when being a solid, diligent student is no longer enough. Students today must display excellence -- not just competence --- in numerous areas. The pressure to be great, not just good, is unrelenting. Believing this pressure will disappear once kids arrive on campus seems like wishful thinking.

at a seminal yet still little known moment in history, Homo sapiens developed the full battery of cognitive skills that we ourselves possess. After a surprisingly short time, perhaps a mere five thousand years, their descendants moved northward into Eurasia and Europe.

Madison and her friends were the first generation of “digital natives”—kids who’d never known anything but connectivity. That connection, at its most basic level, meant that instead of calling your parents once a week from the dorm hallway, you could call and text them all day long, even seeking their approval for your most mundane choices, like what to eat at the dining hall. Constant communication may seem reassuring, the closing of physical distance, but it quickly becomes inhibiting. Digital life, and social media at its most complex, is an interweaving of public and private personas, a blending and splintering of identities unlike anything other generations

- We take our chances if we go out after darkness. We often walk down the middle of the road at night. - Same. - We know that every close or alley or road might appear like it has an exit, but it may in fact be one without an end. - Aye. - If the State wanted us less dead, they'd do more about our murders. - They don't? - It depends.

About 15,000 BC, the Ice Age came to an end as the Earth’s climate warmed up. Evidence from the Greenland ice cores suggests that average temperatures rose by as much as fifteen degrees Celsius in a short span of time. This warming seems to have coincided with rapid increases in human populations as the global warming led to expanding animal populations and much greater availability of wild plants and foods. This process was put into rapid reverse at about 14,000 BC, by a period of cooling known as the Younger Dryas, but after 9600 BC, global temperatures rose again, by seven degrees Celsius in less than a decade, and have since stayed high. Archaeologist Brian Fagan calls it the Long Summer.

Creating a home that makes you feel wonderful is a gift you give yourself that echoes through the rest of your life. A bedroom you love is one in which you want to have an organized, well-cared-for wardrobe, which means less money spent replacing your battered items. A happy, practical, smartly appointed kitchen is one you actually *want* to cook in, which means much less money spent eating out or ordering in. A chic and comfortable living room means more entertaining at home and embracing the lost art of dinner parties (always cheaper than doing drinks and a restaurant dinner!). Even a Zen, candle-filled, clean bathroom is one in which you want to spend time doing home spa treatments instead of feeling like you have to go somewhere expensive to feel beautiful. If you create a home that is most attuned to your life and somewhere you really enjoy being, everything benefits.

I want to cry and hit my head off the wall—and scream until I pass out, but I gave that up for Lent.

A cubic meter of hazelnuts is sufficient to provide 10 percent of the annual energy needs of a mixed population of twenty people.

I’d been working too hard to listen to my instincts, which were screaming “bullshit” so loud I almost went deaf in my third ear.

As the late Harvard biologist Stephen Jay Gould once memorably remarked, we humans are all descendants from the same African twig.

Why would you clone a human when you can’t even look after the humans who already exist?

I’ve got the voice of a siren – it’s not a voice to launch a thousand ships, it’s a voice to sink them.

she reaches a pale arm up into the sky and polishes the moon

Good night, and may your nights always be bright with stars!

My ma said: only love a man who reads books and understands them properly. If they don't read books don't go their bed. Ever!

Life is so much more than we can manage it to be, it is so much more sudden than we are able to understand.

It can be helpful to remind yourself on a regular basis that you should't spend on luxuries just because you think that's the life you should be living.

I never knew I liked to be outside so much. I never knew I liked lochs and views and that, but I could seriously handle living in a cottage by the side of somewhere like this." The Panopticon

It's not unhealthy or wrong to change your mind, career wise, nor is it selfish to dream for something better than what you have, even if what you already have is "pretty good" compared to what other people have.

She didn't have to return to Philly until Sunday, yet from the moment she sat down in the car, Madison was already projecting five days into the future and anticipating the sadness that returning to campus would bring.

In the eighth century, the Catholic Church created a huge market for salted cod and herring by allowing the devout to consume fish on Fridays, the day of Christ's crucifixion, during the forty days of Lent and on major feast days.

And we're not just talking high school students; this practice of hovering often begins before they've learned how to write. Kids used to grow up in a neighborhood-- on the block or in the parks, playing games with other kids. These games had rules, but the kids themselves determined them, flexing their imaginations. Social scientists called these activities -- capture the flag, bike races, pickup baseball games -- "free play, " and it's been steadily decreasing since the 1950s. Scientists have also noted a correlation between the decreasing amount of childhood free play—any play not directed by adults—and the increasing rates of anxiety and depression among kids. As free play decreases, anxiety increases.

It’s easy to tell yourself “whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” but it’s another thing to live it, to do something so actively uncomfortable knowing that in a short time it’s going to be one of the best experiences of your life.

that the Feds would come after them for money laundering soon, too. I looked skyward and said, “Thank you, God.” I kneaded dirt from my hand. A thin layer formed over the ring. It hurt. It hurt a lot. “You’ll always be with me, Mom. You, too,

... we have to give up that vague notion of getting all our fulfillment from one thing. We have to set our goals in little, manageable steps, and embrace the idea that not all of our emotional eggs can be put in one basket. If we can love our jobs, relatively speaking, that's awesome. But we also need to love our friends and families and significant others and hobbies and time alone as much as possible, and not expect any one thing--even our Big Dreams--to make us suddenly feel whole.

. She focuses, trying to absorb the suns’ energy deep into her cells so when they descend into the darkest winter for 200 years, in the quietest minutes, when the whole world experiences a total absence of light — she will glow, and glow, and glow.

of being okay, and having everything together, and almost, like, say, even though I’m stressed, I still have time to have a perfect social life, perfect grades, to join all these clubs, and I’m super successful. But in reality people are stressed, and do feel alone, and it’s important to address those things. Peter: Picture a duck, and below the surface they are scrambling for their lives, but above the water everything appears peaceful—not a care in the world. That’s Penn Face. Kathryn: I think Penn Face also comes from the expectations we have for ourselves, and that people around us have for us at an Ivy League university—you’re supposed to be having the best four years of your life. We get this messaging everywhere. And having a hard time is not part of that messaging, which perpetuates the belief that “I’m not okay” must mean that something is wrong with you instead of something a lot of people might feel. Devanshi: Ivy League schools compile all the top students in one place and

Introspection means talking to yourself, and one of the best ways of talking to yourself is by talking to another person. One other person you can trust, one other person to whom you can unfold your soul. One other person you feel safe enough with to allow you to acknowledge things—to acknowledge things to yourself—that you otherwise can’t. Doubts you aren’t supposed to have, questions you aren’t supposed to ask. Feelings or opinions that would get you laughed at by the group or reprimanded by the authorities. This is what we call thinking out loud, discovering what you believe in the course of articulating it. But it takes just as much time and just as much patience as solitude in the strict sense. And our new electronic world has disrupted it just as violently. Instead of having one or two true friends that we can sit and talk to for three hours at a time, we have 968 “friends” that we never actually talk to; instead we just bounce one-line messages off them a hundred times a day. This is not friendship, this is distraction.

تستحق أن تكون على ما يرام، تستحق أن تعرف أن يومًا بالكاد تستطيع فيه أن تقوم من سريرك لأنك حزينٌ أو متعبٌ أو بكل ببساطةٍ لست مستعدًا لترى الخارج ليس نهاية العالم. تستحق أن تعرف بأن لحظات الضعف لا تجعلك ضعيفًا جوهريًا، بل إنسانًا بجوهرك، وبأننا أحيانًا لن نفيض بالسعادة، ولا بأس بذلك.

Second semester will get better, had to get better, Madison thought. If nothing else, through sheer force of will, perhaps she could make it better. And if she told enough people that things were going to go well this time around, said it out loud repeatedly, maybe she could even convince herself.

My clients spend their childhoods and in particular their adolescences putting their healthy development on hold, coached and managed by parents who are so fearful and anxious about helping their children succeed that there is simply no room for their children, my clients, to begin to know themselves.

Ultimately, a job, no matter how much you love it, will never hit every note for you, and it shouldn't. We should all strive to find multiple steams of fulfillment, challenges, and income. The more we rely on one role as an all-encompassing definition, the unhealthier our relationship with that role becomes.

Whilst I complain about Edinburgh, I like it here really. They say that makes me dour, it’s Scottish for miserable bastard. They gave a single word in a Gaelic that means ‘my eternal doom is upon me’, I can’t remember it right now. They are an old nation. They have a great wit at times. They need it to survive the damn weather.

We learn there are many reasons not to draw the eyes of men towards us; and if we do, there can be no gain in it. We dip our head first. We are meant not to raise our gaze, and that has been bored into us for centuries. We are meant to never let a look appear too direct. Don't be confrontational. Play nice - so nobody kills you.

We know of major floods from at least three violent storm surges that hit the German and Dutch coasts in about 1200, 1219, and 1287.14 The surge of January 16, 1219, the feast day of St. Marcellus, killed at least thirty-six thousand people. By bizarre coincidence, one of the greatest and best known medieval surges, known as the Grote Mandrenke (the Great Killing of Men) of 1362, struck on the same day as the 1219 cataclysm:

The thing is, Bill, and you know this – wealthy men make mistakes. Working-class men commit murder. Then they get hanged. Not as a deterrent tae murdering women, noh, they have little reason tae try and deter that – fear ay that and rape helps keep women in oor place, it’s why they hardly ever convict them firrit. They killed that man to warn the great unwashed – to warn other working-class men – watch yer fucking step ay. We can just fucking hang your kind!

In the classic case of the Mountain Arapesh, Margaret Mead maintained they were and had been peaceful, yet there is solid evidence that no more than a generation earlier they had engaged in substantial warfare, thus demonstrating the problem that arises involving warfare with all such studies.25 Thus research by university-trained anthropologists of the twentieth century is much less useful for understanding forager warfare than the early accounts of explorers, missionaries and patrol officers. Such early historic and ethnographic data on the Alaskan Iñupiaq and Aboriginal Australians can be extremely enlightening.26 These early accounts have the potential for bias and lack of completeness and must be used with caution, but such is the case with all data. It appears that the failure to comprehend the problems with recent, twentieth-century ethnographic studies renders the opinions of people like Douglas Fry and Brian Ferguson about peaceful societies virtually worthless.” (Steven Leblanc)

The girls changing in the gym watched her from the other side of the room the first time she went in, and one of the nuns was sitting there as well, just because Stella was there. They took her into a meeting in school and she had to say in advance that she wasn't a lesbian, or they wouldn't have let her even try to use the girls' changing room. They asked her if she was still a Christian. She explained that her family are not religious. They asked her what she knew of damnation. She asked them what they knew of autonomy. They asked her how she knew that word. She asked if they had met her mother. They said they would pray for her. She said it was not necessary. They asked if she might feel different in a few months, or if perhaps she would simply change for gym in the janitor's cupboard. She said she'd felt like this her whole life and no amount of praying was going to change it and she could use the janitor's cupboard to change, but she was a person, not a broom. They said she needed to find Jesus. She asked if it was like finding Wally? Only one nun knew what she meant. That little drawing in those old comic strips her mum had, when you look for the dweeby guy in the stripy hat.

A runner is always attempting to control everything- time, energy, form, workouts, food intake, hydration- yet simultaneously conscious that she shouldn’t become controlled by any one variable. She is the agent. It’s as if each discipline is a necklace, and a runner must know when to put one on, when to take one off, when she can handle more than one, when she can’t . If all runners lose this talent for calibration, they end up wearing all the necklaces at once, and they sink. In other words, the art of elite running is often about the negative space. It’s less about knowing when to run; more about knowing when not to.

The watching feeling is getting worse. I am not an experiment. I am not a stupid joke, or a trippy game, or an experiment. I will not go insane. Something bad is gonnae happen, though. I can feel it. It’s in the way that crisp bag has faded from the rain. I am not an experiment. If I keep saying it, I’ll start believing it. I have to try. I am not an experiment. It doesnae sound convincing. It sounds stupid. Try it in German. Ich bin nicht eine experiment. My German’s shite. Inhale slowly to the count of four, look hard at the tip of my nose and try again. This time I go for an official BBC broadcaster circa-1940 accent. Today, one finds one is not, in actual fact, a social experiment. One is a real person. This is real actual skin as seen containing the bodily organs of a real actual human being with a heart and soul and dreams. It’s true that I came from real people once too, and they were a jolly old sort, with no naked psycho-ess in any way. I, the young Miss Anais, understand wholly that I am just a human being that no one is interested in. No experiment. No outside fate. I am not that important, and that is just fine by me. I propose a stiff upper lip and onward Christian soldiers, quick-bloody-march! This is Anais Hendricks, telling the nation: to be me is really quite spiff-fucking-spoff, lashings of love, your devoted BBC broadcaster since 1938.

Early on as news of the sextuple execution in Fort Smith spread, rooted itself in the umber soil of the western Indian Nations, and grew inthe the solid stalk of legend, the men whom Marshal Fagan appointed to swell the judge's standing army abanddonded the practice of introducing themselves as deputy U.S. marshals. Instead, when they entered the quarters of local law enforcement officers and tribal policemen to show their warrants, they said: "We ride for Parker." Sometimes, in deference to rugged country or to cover ground, they broke up and rode in pairs or singles, but as the majority of the casualties they would suffer occurred on these occasions, they formed ragged escorts around stout little wagons built of elm, with canvas sheets to protect the passengers from rain and sun for trial and execution. With these they entered the settlements well behind their reputations. The deputies used Winchesters to pry a path between rubbernecks pressing in to see what new animals the circus had brought. Inside, accused felons, rounded up like stray dogs, rode in manacles on the sideboards and decks. At any given time-so went the rumor-one fourth of the worst element in the Nations was at large, one fourth was in the Fort Smith jail, and one fourth was on its way there in the 'tumbleweed wagons.' "That's three-fourths," said tenderheels "What about the rest?' "That fourth rides for Parker.

truck, shuttle drivers, baggage

Tourists go to see the major sites, but travelers travel for the experience of moving from one place to another.

Notwithstanding these developments, crime has not declined at rates that economists and politicians anticipated given the increase in harsh punishments. Documenting what Jeffrey Fagan and Tracey Meares call a “paradox of punishment,” The Wire provides a vivid narrative to amplify what we know empirically—that contemporary crime-control policies are not effective as either a specific or a general deterrent to crime.

carried the Makarov outside to watch the fireworks. Thirty yards beyond the spot where Brendan Magill lay dead was a rock wall running on a north-south axis. Gabriel took cover behind it after a 7.62x39mm round shredded the air a few inches from his right ear. Keller hit the ground next to him as rounds exploded against the stones of the wall, sending sparks and fragments flying. The source of the fire was silenced, so Gabriel had only a vague idea of the direction from which it was coming. He poked his head above the wall to search for a muzzle flash, but another burst of rounds drove him downward. Keller was now crawling northward along the base of the wall. Gabriel followed after him, but stopped when Keller suddenly opened up with the dead man’s AK-47. A distant scream indicated that Keller’s rounds had found their mark, but in an instant they were taking fire from several directions. Gabriel flattened himself on the ground at Keller’s side, the Glock in one hand, the dead man’s phone in the other. After a few seconds he realized it was pulsing with an incoming text. The text was apparently from Eamon Quinn. It read KILL THE GIRL . . . 79 CROSSMAGLEN, SOUTH ARMAGH A MID THE HEAP OF BROKEN and dismembered farm implements in Jimmy Fagan’s shed, Katerina had found a scythe, rusted and caked in mud, a museum piece, perhaps the last scythe in the whole of Ireland, north or south. She held it tightly in her hands and listened to the sound of men pounding up the track at a sprint. Two men, she thought, perhaps three. She positioned herself against the shed’s sliding door. Madeline was at the opposite end of the space, hooded, hands bound, her back to the bales of hay. She was the first and only thing the men would see upon entry. The latch gave way, the door slid open, a gun intruded. Katerina recognized its silhouette: an AK-47 with a suppressor attached to the barrel. She knew it well. It was the first weapon she had ever fired at the camp. The great AK-47! Liberator of the oppressed! The gun was pointed upward at a forty-five-degree angle. Katerina had no choice but to wait until the barrel sank toward Madeline. Then she raised the scythe and swung it with every ounce of strength she had left in her body. Two hundred yards away, crouched behind a stone wall at the western edge of Jimmy Fagan’s property, Gabriel showed the text message to Christopher Keller. Keller immediately poked his head above the wall and saw muzzle flashes in the doorway of the shed. Four flashes, four shots, more than enough to obliterate two lives. A burst of AK-47 fire drove him downward again. Eyes wild, he grabbed Gabriel savagely by the front of his coat and shouted, “Stay here!” Keller hauled himself over the wall and vanished from sight. Gabriel lay there for a few seconds as the rounds rained down on his position. Then suddenly he was on his feet and running across the darkened pasture. Running toward a car in a snowy square in Vienna. Running toward death. The blow that Katerina delivered to the neck of the man holding the AK-47 resulted in a partial decapitation. Even so, he had managed to squeeze off a shot before she wrenched the gun from his grasp—a shot that struck the hay bales a few inches from Madeline’s head. Katerina shoved the dying man aside and quickly fired two shots into the chest of the second man. The fourth shot she fired into the partially decapitated creature twitching at her feet. In the lexicon of the SVR, it was a control shot. It was also a shot of

back to the place where this all started.” “Bandit Country?” “Jimmy Fagan’s farm, to be precise.

A minimum of twenty-five thousand people, certainly many more, perished in the Great Drowning. Storm surges were even more frequent between the thirteenth and fifteenth centuries, such as the apocalyptic St.

Do something incredible – search the world, and seek perfection. Your way. 5 Lessons I Learned From Traveling Alone By Chantal Anderson I was afraid they weren’t going to let me through customs.

of fiction. Period. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, things, or events is just a lucky coincidence.

So this was how Amy Winehouse felt. And she was dead now. Something to think about it. Except I wasn’t Amy Winehouse.