Fi Love Quotes

We all know interspecies romance is weird.

Laugh as much as you breathe and love as long as you live.

In definitiv, cu cat vei ridica un zid mai inalt in jurul tau cu atat va fi mai bun cel care-l va sari.

Why do you have such faith in me, Aurelia?"  "I've told you a million times that I love you, you make me feel safe and cherished, and you care deeply for our people. Why wouldn't I have faith in you?

People should decide on the books' meanings for themselves. They'll find a story that attacks such things as cruelty, oppression, intolerance, unkindness, narrow-mindedness, and celebrates love, kindness, open-mindedness, tolerance, curiosity, human intelligence.

A celestial wizard doesn’t destroy celestial bodies. She bends them.

I'm so proud of you I could burst, but in the interest of saving the poor cleaning staff the hassle, I would, instead, like to take you to our room and lick you from stem to stern until you beg me to stop.

He shredded my wings with his words.

Ketal is not hell! It’s the K’tul homeworld. What is the difference?

Sunny, a silver boy of nine, daydreams of rescuing two princesses: “The princesses’ savior was a gallant knight. No! A prince! The valiant prince was surprisingly young. And silvered.

We Yandar are winged. We don’t succumb to adversity; we fly with it.

I will be the Vampire Lestat for all to see. A symbol, a freak of nature - something loved, something despised all of those things. I tell you I can't give it up. I can't miss. And quite frankly I am not in the least afraid." - Lestat, The Vampire Lestat, p. 532

HANG THE LAW AND FUCK THE RULES! Where is your love for others? Where is your compassion? All these warriors want is a chance to serve. Doesn’t their love supersede your rules?

Later, I would understand more fully how deep and enduring the love of a mother for her child can be, but at that time, I just knew she felt something coming, something dangerous.

Everyone on Earth knows there’s no love as strong as a mother’s love. 

Atunci am înțeles că nimic nu durează în suflet, că cea mai verificată încredere poate fi anulată de un singur gest, că cele mai sincere posesiuni nu dovedesc niciodată nimic, căci și sinceritatea poate fi repetată, cu altul, cu alții, că, în sfârșit, totul se uită sau se poate uita.

What If I still want to go?" "Then you'll go," he said. "But I wanted you to know the danger." "There's always danger." His green eyes met mine. I was starting to see It, how It could happen-Caleb and me.

Because it all derived from Superman. I mean, I love all the characters, but Superman is just this perfect human pop-culture distillation of a really basic idea. He's a good guy. He loves us. He will not stop in defending us. How beautiful is that? He's like a sci-fi Jesus. He'll never let you down. And only in fiction can that guy actually exist, because real guys will always let you down one way or another. We actually made up an idea that beautiful. That's just cool to me. We made a little paper universe where all of the above is true.

Who knew that you would be The One," I smile, "which I guess makes me your Trinity." "My Amidala." "Your Zira." "My Sylvia." "Your..." I scour my brain, trying to remember some other great sci-fi love interest. "Ha! I'm your Saphira," I settle back smugly, only for Trevor to start laughing. "Saphira is a dragon.

I will continue to write what I love to read, and the fact that it doesn't sell as well as romance or sci-fi or fantasy isn't the point.

I see you have returned, my love; and your mood is as dark as ever. Did your soldiers not adore you to your complete satisfaction?

- Nu se poate să nu te mai văd, Diana. - De ce? am întrebat, curioasă și ironică. - Nu știu... ești altfel. N-aș putea să-ți spun cum ești. Nu m-aș pricepe. Îmi placi cum nu mi-a mai plăcut nimeni. Ești singura fată lângă care nu mă plictisesc. Poate că te iubesc... nu știu. N-am mai iubit niciodată. Și nu vreau să folosesc cuvinte pe care nu le înțeleg. Am avut câteva întâlniri cu fete... Aș fi vrut să întâlnesc o femeie. Înțelegi? Tu ești și femeie, și fată, și fetiță... și copil...

Intra cu spatele drept la tine, dar ieşea fugărită de cât de tare te-ar fi iubit dacă nu te-ar fi ştiut atat de bine... atât de rau, de fapt.

What is love of one's country; is it hate of one's uncountry? Then it's not a good thing. Is it simply self-love? That's a good thing, but one musn't make a virtue of it, or a profession...Insofar as I love life, I love [my country], but that sort of love does not have a boundary-line of hate. And beyond that, I am ignorant, I hope.

A trăi înseamnă a fi neliber prin iubire.

Don’t do anything harsh, Arrov,” I say. “You’ll kill him!” Callum smirks. “No, he won’t.”
“Yes, he will,” Teague says.

His wife waved him farewell with a smile but, deep down, she had to admit that sometimes, when the night was dark and the winds stopped singing, she regretted ever meeting him, and that was true love.

We all love after-the-bomb stories. If we didn't, why would there be so many of them? There's something attractive about all those people being gone, about wandering in a depopulated world, scrounging cans of Campbell's pork and beans, defending one's family from marauders. But some secret part of us thinks it would be good to survive. All those other folks will die. That's what after-the-bomb stories are all about.

I don't want to die without telling you that I love you," Everett's voice was a faint, wavering whisper, and his lips swollen and bloodied. "I always have.

I love sex. I love thinking about it, I love doing it, and I love the feeling I get afterwards.

Stiam prea bine ca fondul sufletului meu e desgustul, apatia, mizeria. Eu nu sunt facut pentru nici o femee, nici o femee nu e facuta pentru mine, si oricare ar crede-o ar fi nenorocita. Nu iubesc nimic pentru ca nu cred in nimic si prea greoi pentru a lua vreun lucru precum se prezinta, eu nu am privirea ce infrumuseteaza lumea, ci aceea care vede numai raul, numai defectele, numai partea umbrei . Satul de viata fara sa fi trait vreodata, neavand un interes adevarat pentru nimic in lume, sunt moraliceste desalat ... Nu cred nimic, nu sper nimic si mi-e moraliceste frig ca unui batran de 80 de ani.

If I could describe myself, I'd say that I am a poetic gerd. (A geek and nerd combo) I love Shakespeare and romance, but sci-fi and action have a big slice of my heart. When I meet a man who can quote some Hitchcock out of thin air, do a perfect ''Timey Whimey'' impression, play me some classic rock when I'm sad and can give a 'Gone with the Wind' kiss, I will have my soul mate.

Like last year I took Advance Foods class (which is like cooking for nerds) after lunch, and so I usually took a nap. Which was fine, because I'm not even thrilled about regular foods, so, you know, what do I need with like advanced digital HD wi-fi foods and whatnot? -Abby

I know your fingertips will love gliding across the silk, from my toes all the way up my thighs, teasing what lies just beyond, before claiming it as yours.

Mă leg pe tine, pământule, că eu voi fi a lui Allan, și a nimănui altuia. Voi crește din el ca iarba din tine. Și cum aștepți tu ploaia, așa îi voi aștepta eu venirea, și cum îți sunt ție razele, așa va fi trupul lui mie. Mă leg în fața ta că unirea noastră va rodi, căci mi-e drag cu voia mea, și tot răul, dacă va fi, să nu cadă asupra lui, ci asupră-mi, căci eu l-am ales. Tu mă auzi, mamă pământ, tu nu mă minți, maica mea. Dacă mă simți aproape, cum te simt eu acum, și cu mâna și cu inelul, întărește-mă să-l iubesc totdeauna, bucurie necunoscută lui să-i aduc, viață de rod și de joc să-i dau. Să fie viața noastră ca bucuria ierburilor ce cresc din tine. Să fie îmbrățișarea noastră ca cea dintâi zi a monsoon-ului. Ploaie să fie sărutul nostru. Și cum tu niciodată nu obosești, maica mea, tot astfel să nu obosească inima mea în dragostea pentru Allan, pe care cerul l-a născut departe, și tu, maică, mi l-ai adus aproape.

No, I don't party; no, I don't dress in black leather and chains; that's not my style. That's how I was raised. I worry about getting good grades and I go to church and I watch sci-fi movies and I generally follow the rules. Most people would call me a geek or a nerd. You've called me that many times. But that isn't everything that defines me. I mean, look at me, sitting here in a rainstorm under a tree that's probably going to kill us when the lightning hits it, holding the hand of a pretty cool girl who really is the opposite of me, a girl that I happen to be in love with. A girl I couldn't have imagined would want to be with me. But here she is, letting me hold her hand, trying to tell me why she isn't good enough for me. That's crazy.

History repeats itself,” you sang. I wonder if that’s true. If there’s a hurt that’s buried in us, maybe it keeps fi nding its way through.

He’s a lovely guy, but there’s no spark between us whatsoever. It just goes to show, that even with all their fancy assessment tools, the government can’t legislate for chemistry.

Love? Love is about an unquenchable hunger, a passion so powerful it cannot be ignored. In the face of love,” he spoke softly, “all resistance is futile. Sex is momentary, ephemeral ecstasy at best without love. No one with a good opinion of themselves would trade sex by itself if they could have the true geld .. love with a worthy lover. It alters lives, and even the barest slice of true love … a moment, an evening, a day’s worth, can become a treasure to be pulled from the memory and ignite those feelings again many years after it has passed. It is the most powerful of all compulsions." Das

So why should anyone judge you for your thoughts? For your feelings? Feelings of love, not resentment and anger. Yes, some would judge you, but to the devil with them. Don't ever hate yourself for loving.

This choice you make, if it’s real, born out of the love your mother left for you and your family deserves, if it’s made by the part of you that can only be honest, even when facing death, yours will be a life worth the world and everything in it. If this is the Erelim you’ll become, my Cae, then your failures and sins, your misgiving and crimes, will never stop me from loving you.

My soul lightened as I realized I could help her. I rolled her body flat, like Grandpa taught me. I swept my finger inside her cold mouth to make sure her breathing passage was open, and I placed my mouth on hers, carefully pinching her nose, and breathed life into her lungs. Betsy stirred, sputtered a cough, and opened her eyes. “Now you kiss me?” she said, so weakly I could barely hear her.

«“Looks like your sci-fi prediction came true right away, Xavier.” “That can be gratifying,” mused the novelist. “But not all the time.”»

I can't explain my feelings for him...they're strange. But he says it is why we are so much alike, why I dream of him. He calls it The Craving.

Memories and emotions could be the greatest form of torture.

You should know, whenever that happens – you falling apart – whether it’s right now or tomorrow or next week or next year…fi you’ll let me, I’ll be here to pick up the pieces.

Loving someone means making sacrifices for them.

Because I am miserable and so viciously in love with her, I eat the soup.

Never knew the word Goodbye could scatter my heart into pieces. Just 1 word, could made me cry over you.

I loved him, but he didn't want me anymore. I suffered, and he laughed at my umanity. This desire will be my end.

Ceri loves Sci-Fi - " Game of Thrones " also - Harry Hole , Lisbeeth Salander, Funky Scando Fiction, Supports Swans, Nirvana,

De câte ori auzea de o femeie care și-a lăsat bărbatul pentru altul, mama-ntreba: <> Problema pentru mine n-ar fi să mă despart de cineva. De când m-am desparțit de tine, consider bărbații posibili din viața mea ca pe-o excursie, ca pe-o vacanță. O excursie, o vacanță pot fi frumoase, de neuitat, dar nu sunt un stâlp pe care să-ți sprijini existența.

Now she looked at him. She didn’t soften. Or smile. If anything, she had become a little of the ground on which they stood. Cold and lovely. But won der poured out of her eyes. Won der and something like . . . relief. And if he thought there was fi re under his skin earlier, it was nothing compared to now. Now he had swallowed the sun. Now the world had stopped lurching forward and begun an impossible dance.

«I love both her and them. I have come to understand that she is what they are. A woman accepts a man, expecting that he will change. A man takes a woman, expecting that she will never change. They are both disappointed. Yet within this very disappointment is the primal source of all new men and all new women»

Raising a child puts you in touch, deeply, inescapably, daily, with some pretty heady issues: What is love and how do we get ours? Why does the world contain evil and pain and loss? How can we discover dignity and tolerance? Who is in power and why? What’s the best way to resolve conflict? If we want to give an AI any major responsibilities, then it will need good answers to these questions. That’s not going to happen by loading the works of Kant into a computer’s memory; it’s going to require the equivalent of good parenting.

And it is a strange thing about love... it is that it can take a strength that would seem otherwise insignificant and transform it into a hardly quenchable power.

It wasn't premeditated. It was what needed to be done. So I did it.

No, love, in real life you can get all the way to death and never have finished one single story.

Not all stories need to be shared, because the act of sharing makes them vulnerable to change and exploitation.

Where there is great love there is great harmony of thought.

Human activity has brought my kind to the brink of extinction, but I don’t blame them for it. They didn’t do it maliciously. They just weren’t paying attention. And humans create such beautiful myths; what imaginations they have. Perhaps that’s why their aspirations are so immense. Look at Arecibo. Any species who can build such a thing must have greatness within them. My species probably won’t be here for much longer; it’s likely that we’ll die before our time and join the Great Silence. But before we go, we are sending a message to humanity. We just hope the telescope at Arecibo will enable them to hear it. The message is this: You be good. I love you.

In genere, femeia nu-si insala barbatul si nu-l tradeaza, daca el singur nu-i acela care sa-i strice sau sa-i calce inima singur in picioare, daca nu o dezgusta ori n-o respinge prin micimea lui, prin egoismul lui, prin ingustimea vederilor. Deci, trebuie sa iubesti. Ca ea sa nu se simta numai femela ta, ci faptura cea mai scumpa pentru tine, copilul tau, prietenul tau; poart-o la san, ca sa-i fie cald si atunci poti fi sigur de ea, atunci, cu fiecare an care trece, se va lipi tot mai mult de tine, pana cand o sa va lipiti de tot, ca gemenii siamezi. Daca nu-i dai toate astea, o strici, o dezgusti prin nimicnicia ta si se indeparteaza. Te va parasi de indata ce maini mai nobile se vor intinde spre ea, caci trebuie s-o faca, are nevoie de caldura si de consideratie ca de aerul pe care-l respira.

Un cuplu care durează este, în mod paradoxal, un cuplu care acceptă că este muritor, și se trăiește pe sine ca fiind releul unei aventuri care-l depășește. Puterea cuplului amoros stă în aceea că este imperfect și maleabil, protejat chiar de ceea ce-l face vulnerabil. Fiind imperfect, el poate fi reformat la nesfârșit. El rămâne, în ceea ce are esențial, o promisiune aruncată peste abisul îndoielii, un pariu pe longevitate, un act de încredere în puterile fecunde ale timpului.

If I got to pick anyone, anyone at all, to be stranded on a deserted planet with, it would be you, I always want to be with you. And not just... not just to talk to. When you touch me... I don't want you to stop.

In the beginning," Scripture taught, "there was the Word," and Danny would come to believe that the two great gifts his God had given to the species He loved were time, which divides experience, and language, which binds the past to the future.

Many reviews are useless because, while purporting to condemn the book, they only reveal the reviewer's dislike of the kind to which it belongs. Let bad tragedies be censured by those who love tragedy, and bad detective stories by those who love the detective story. Then we shall learn their real faults. Otherwise we shall find epics blamed for not being novels, farces for not being high comedies, novels by James for lacking the swift action of Smollett. Who wants to hear a particular claret abused by a fanatical teetotaller, or a particular woman by a confirmed misogynist?

Thank you father, thank you. I know you watched me from above and protected me. I promise I shall serve the Magnarian Confederation with all my body and soul. I shall dedicate myself fully to our confederation, the family that you so loved. And I love it too. I shall protect, love and respect it always. This is my promise and commitment. Thank you

Erau momente, ca acesta, când şi-ar fi dorit să iubească, să fie iubită, când avea nevoie de cineva care s-o ţină în braţe sau alături de care să se trezească dimineaţa.

Any male who uses brutality on a weaker female who has no chance of defense is a coward.

She was no helpless female – never had been. She was death clothed in a body of female allure and fiercely proud of it. But in sex, she needed the surrender. She craved a man strong enough to take the control out of her hands. I hunger to be dominated, for someone who doesn’t see me as a ball-busting female. She would yield everything to a man masterful enough to command her obedience. But she had never found one strong enough – or discreet enough. It wouldn’t do for the Blue Daggers to know their commander wanted domination during sex. Most of all, she had never found anyone she could trust with her desires who didn’t try to crush her – body and soul. Disappointment had followed disappointment until she had quit looking. To find strength paired with sensitivity, or dominance tempered with love? It didn’t seem to exist.

Readers of history may decide that joking while two guys are driving around through a town that has recently been slaughtered by six-foot-tall praying mantis beasts with shark-tooth-studded arms is in poor taste. It is. But that is exactly what real boys have always done when confronted with the brutal aftermath of warfare.

No, I’m no patriot, nor was I ever allowed to be. And yet, the country of my childhood lives within me with a primacy that is a form of love. It lives within me despite my knowledge of our marginality, and its primitive, unpretty emotions. Is it blind and self-deceptive of me to hold on to its memory? I think it would be blind and self-deceptive not to. All it has given me is the world, but that is enough. It has fed me language, percep- tions, sounds, the human kind .... no geometry of landscape, no haze in the air, will live in us as intensely as the landscapes that we saw as the fi rst, and to which we gave ourselves wholly, without reservation.

«“So, Sally, what’s new around here?” “Jeff Bezos just sold off two million shares.” “So, why would our sci-fi paperback bookseller need to sell that much Amazon stock?” “I think Jeff needs the cash for his private space rocket.”»

- Tu mă iubești? îl întrebă Otilia serioasă ca și când l-ar fi întrebat dacă e bolnav. Felix mărturisi cu capul. - Ce copil ești! Ți-am citit scrisoarea, dar am uitat, știi că sunt o zăpăcită. De ce să fugi? Ți-am spus eu că nu te iubesc? Felix tresări deodată înfocat. - Otilia, e adevărat? Mă iubești? - Ei, ei, nu ți-a spus nimeni că te urăște.

Love is like water,' Fi murmured, 'You can't squish it down and make it any smaller. No matter how you squeeze it,' she held Kiara close as her chest tightened. 'It just keeps busting out. So when you lose someone, you don't lose the love. It stays with you just as big in your heart as it always was. We may want the ache to go away, but we can't give up the love. So you live with both.

Cannot you see, cannot all you lecturers see, that it is we that are dying, and that down here the only thing that really lives is the Machine? We created the Machine, to do our will, but we cannot make it do our will now. It has robbed us of the sense of space and of the sense of touch, it has blurred every human relation and narrowed down love to a carnal act, it has paralysed our bodies and our wills, and now it compels us to worship it. The Machine develops — but not on our lines. The Machine proceeds — but not to our goal. We only exist as the blood corpuscles that course through its arteries, and if it could work without us, it would let us die.

In many ways sci-fi is a natural progression from the magical worlds we inhabited as children. Speculative fiction opens up parallel universes to which we can escape and exercise our love for all things beyond our ken. close off these speculative worlds at your peril.

In my experience, a lot of the boys who are real computer-heads tend to be pale-skinned sci-fi fans. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—I happen to be a pale-skinned sci-fi fan myself—but that doesn’t mean I have to fancy other seethrough geeks. So let’s hope Adam isn’t as picky as me.

She’d never had feelings about any man that were important enough to be real romantic love. Affection, lust, yes those things. Instants in time with someone that had touched her, yes that too. But she found no one for romance that she could look up to, that was real , an individual that wasn’t made up of bits and pieces of clichés, buffeted about on the tide of their wants and the opinions of others, no goal, no point of view that they understood themselves why they held it. She had researched him when she was assigned to protect him, she told him. She had not understood in the beginning. “You were a man that had it all! Worthy and courageous military action; you grew up, came of age in war. A successful career, status in letters, a full professorship at a prestigious university if you wanted it. Accrued wealth and income enough to live however you wanted. Beautiful women in your life … you do not show the full measure of your years in either looks or fitness. “You were a full fledged member of the oligarchy, though at a modest level. Yet you threw it all away! You started your novel, became a thorn in the side of the establishment,” she told him. “I didn’t understand until I read the fragment of manuscript that you had Jean Augereau print out for you. You were on a crusade … totally focused! I saw that you were something special then,” she told him, “That’s when you began to become very special to me!

We won’t let them take us,” he vowed. Ava cupped his face in her hands. “I love you, Jak’ri.” Dipping his head, he brushed his lips against hers in a tender caress. “I love you, too. More with every breath I take.” Desire flared to life as she drew him down for another kiss, this one deeper, hotter, and pulse-poundingly arousing. “Make me forget,” she pleaded, between teasing strokes of her tongue. “Make me forget everything but us and the way I feel when I’m in your arms.

I need the money, people are very coy about money, and the ladies arent just coy, they are sci fi about money… …people ask, well, dont sweet things happen? yes, indeed, many sweet things, but sweet doesnt keep you from dying, making love doesnt keep you from dying unless you get paid, writing doesnt keep you from dying unless you get paid, being wise doesnt keep you from dying unless you get paid, facts are facts, being poor makes you face facts which also does not keep you from dying.

Okay . . . let’s see. I don’t think we should take away a citizen’s right to own a gun. But I do think it should be one hell of a difficult process to get your hands on one. I think women should decide what to do with their own bodies, as long as it’s within the first trimester or it’s a medical emergency. I think government programs are absolutely necessary but I also think a more systematic process needs to be put in place that would encourage people to get off of welfare, rather than to stay on it. I think we should open up our borders to immigrants, as long as they register and pay taxes. I’m certain that life-saving medical care should be a basic human right, not a luxury only the wealthy can afford. I think college tuition should automatically be deferred and then repaid over a twenty-year period on a sliding scale. I think athletes are paid way too much, teachers are paid way too little, NASA is underfunded, weed should be legal, people should love who they want to love, and Wi-Fi should be universally accessible and free.” When he’s finished, he calmly reaches for his mug of hot chocolate and brings it back to his mouth. “Do you still love me?

An Odonian undertook monogamy just as he might undertake a joint enterprise in production, a ballet or a soap-works. Partnership was a voluntarily constituted federation like any other. So long as it worked, it worked, and if it didn't work it stopped being. It was not an institution but a function. It had no sanction but that of private conscience.

Perfecțiunea exercită o anume tiranie, aproape o epuizare, ceva care neagă privitorului un rol în propria creație și care se impune cu tot dogmatismul unei afirmații lipsite de ambiguitate. Adevărata frumusețe nu poate fi măsurată pentru că fluctuează, exostă numai câteva unghiuri din care poate fi văzută și nici atunci în orice luminp și în orice moment. Flirtează periculos cu urâțenia, își asumă riscuri, nu se aliniază confortabil cu regulile matematice ale proporției și este atrăgătoare tocmai prin acele aspecte care se pretează la urâțenie.

de cine m-am îndrăgostit eu, de fapt? M-am îndrăgostit de ideea de a te avea și de imposibilitatea ei? Sau poate m-am îndrăgostit de inabordabilitatea ta, de faptul că atenția ta este scumpă, de faptul că ești selectiv cu persoanele din jurul tău, iar egoismul meu vrea să fie hrănit prin a fi selectată de cel mai selectiv om pe care îl cunosc? Să fiu eu cea care îi ia mințile celui mai rănit, inabordabil și imposibil de avut individ. Sau poate m-am îndrăgostit de faptul că mă faci să sufăr, că mă controlezi, iar inconștient poate asta caut. Sau poate că m-am îndrăgostit de tine. Pentru ceea ce ești tu. [...] Nu știu de ce m-am îndrăgostit, Încă nu pot să îmi dau seama. [...] Dacă m-am îndrăgostit de niște idei sau de tine; asta nu știu.

Poveste sentimentală Pe urmă ne vedeam din ce în ce mai des. Eu stăteam la o margine-a orei, tu – la cealaltă, ca două toarte de amforă. Numai cuvintele zburau între noi, înainte şi înapoi. Vârtejul lor putea fi aproape zărit, şi deodată, îmi lăsam un genunchi, iar cotul mi-nfigeam în pământ, numai ca să privesc iarba-nclinată de căderea vreunui cuvânt, ca pe sub laba unui leu alergând. Cuvintele se roteau, se roteau între noi, înainte şi înapoi, şi cu cât te iubeam mai mult, cu atât repetau, într-un vârtej aproape văzut, structura materiei, de la-nceput.

Like most people, I acquired my initial sense of the era from books and photographs that left me with the impression that the world of then had no color, only gradients of gray and black. My two main protagonists, however, encountered the fl esh-and-blood reality, while also managing the routine obligations of daily life. Every morning they moved through a city hung with immense banners of red, white, and black; they sat at the same outdoor cafés as did the lean, black-suited members of Hitler’s SS, and now and then they caught sight of Hitler himself, a smallish man in a large, open Mer-cedes. But they also walked each day past homes with balconies lush with red geraniums; they shopped in the city’s vast department stores, held tea parties, and breathed deep the spring fragrances of the Tier-garten, Berlin’s main park. They knew Goebbels and Göring as social acquaintances with whom they dined, danced, and joked—until, as their fi rst year reached its end, an event occurred that proved to be one of the most signifi cant in revealing the true character of Hitler and that laid the keystone for the decade to come. For both father and daughter it changed everything.

And those who have read the trilogy tend to number it among the unapproachables—just some of those books that are simply too strange and fantastical and, well, weird to really like. I love this series deeply, but I still relate to those people. On the surface, the Ransom Trilogy bears the marks of a sci-fi adventure. But then there are all those philosophical passages, and there’s an awful lot of time spent just talking on Perelandra, and then Merlin (of all people!) shows up and don’t even get started on Mr. Bultitude… It is for these people—indeed, for my former self—that I have written this book.

Excellent,” says Gray, rubbing his hands together, a gleam in his eye. “The last person to sing gets to buy the drinks.” Ivy grins wide. “You’re on, Cupcake. I’m going to sing the house down.” We all pause, our gazes darting back and forth as a certain sense of terror falls over the table. Ivy sees us and slaps her palm onto the table. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I know what you twats are thinking! If I suck at dancing, I’ll suck at singing? Well, I don’t. I’m awesome.” Awkward silence ensues, and she snorts. “What? You think I don’t know I suck at dancing? I just don’t give a shit.” She glares at Gray, though there really isn’t any anger in the look. “So you can stop dancing like an ass now.” A strangled sound leaves him. “You knew?” “Of course.” She tosses a lock of her hair over her shoulder. “You’re too coordinated on the field, and you kind of forget to suck when you do those victory dances.” He gapes at her for a long second, then gives a bark of laughter. “I fucking love you, Special Sauce.” With that, he hauls Ivy into his lap and kisses her. Fi, however, finally snaps out of the trance she’s been in since Ivy confessed. “You sneaky shithead,” she shouts over the music. “All these years I’ve been covering for your craptacular dancing, and you knew!” She shakes a fist. “I swear to God, Ivy Weed…” “Oh, please,” Ivy counters. “You pretend you suck at baking so you don’t have to cook for family holidays.” Fi sniffs, looking guilty as hell. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ivy leans in, her eyes narrowed. “Midnight cookie baking ring a bell, Tink?” Fi’s cheeks flush, and she studies her nails with undue interest while muttering something about traitor sisters under her breath. “Those are for PMS cravings and nothing more. I was baking under duress.

Sometimes I think Earth has got to be the insane asylum of the universe. . . and I'm here by computer error. At sixty-eight, I hope I've gained some wisdom in the past fourteen lustrums and it’s obligatory to speak plain and true about the conclusions I've come to; now that I have been educated to believe by such mentors as Wells, Stapledon, Heinlein, van Vogt, Clarke, Pohl, (S. Fowler) Wright, Orwell, Taine, Temple, Gernsback, Campbell and other seminal influences in scientifiction, I regret the lack of any female writers but only Radclyffe Hall opened my eyes outside sci-fi. I was a secular humanist before I knew the term. I have not believed in God since childhood's end. I believe a belief in any deity is adolescent, shameful and dangerous. How would you feel, surrounded by billions of human beings taking Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the tooth fairy and the stork seriously, and capable of shaming, maiming or murdering in their name? I am embarrassed to live in a world retaining any faith in church, prayer or a celestial creator. I do not believe in Heaven, Hell or a Hereafter; in angels, demons, ghosts, goblins, the Devil, vampires, ghouls, zombies, witches, warlocks, UFOs or other delusions; and in very few mundane individuals--politicians, lawyers, judges, priests, militarists, censors and just plain people. I respect the individual's right to abortion, suicide and euthanasia. I support birth control. I wish to Good that society were rid of smoking, drinking and drugs. My hope for humanity - and I think sensible science fiction has a beneficial influence in this direction - is that one day everyone born will be whole in body and brain, will live a long life free from physical and emotional pain, will participate in a fulfilling way in their contribution to existence, will enjoy true love and friendship, will pity us 20th century barbarians who lived and died in an atrocious, anachronistic atmosphere of arson, rape, robbery, kidnapping, child abuse, insanity, murder, terrorism, war, smog, pollution, starvation and the other negative “norms” of our current civilization. I have devoted my life to amassing over a quarter million pieces of sf and fantasy as a present to posterity and I hope to be remembered as an altruist who would have been an accepted citizen of Utopia.

,,Acum el e un simplu idol așezat în fața ta. Asta face dragostea când iese din trup și se așează pe rafturile cele mai înalte. Știi că nimic din ce te înconjoară nu va rămâne, trupurile vor fi praf și oase ca ale animalelor pe care le găsești pe câmpie, albe, curățate de ploaie. Ce s-a ales de cadavrul mamei tale după toți anii ăștia? De abia îți mai aduci aminte de bunicii tăi, dar nu mai știi nimic mai departe de ei, despre trupurile care au lucrat în albia secolelor pentru a ajunge la al tău. Ești totul pentru tine însuți, dar nu ești nimic pentru viață".

Do you know why the lotus is one of my favorite flowers?" I cocked my head to one side so I could see his expression. He shook his head. "This beautiful flower lives in the most vile, muddy water of swamps and bogs," I said and rubbed the smooth metal of the pendant between my fingers. He frowned. "No, seriously... the grosser the environment, the better," I said. "So let me get this straight. You like a flower that lives in disgusting places?" One of his eyebrows rose. "That ain't right." "No, I love this flower," I corrected. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, "Seriously?" "What?" You don't believe me?" "Sure, I believe you. It's just weird." "I'll tell you why, but only if you promise not to laugh," I said. He nodded. Taking a cleansing breath, I rested my head against the seat, closed my eyes, and took that scary first step. "This flower stays in the mud and muck all night long." I peeked at him without moving my head. His face had become set in the smooth lines of one who listens intently. "Then, at sunrise, it climbs toward the light and opens into a pristine bloom. After the sun goes down, the bloom sinks into the mire. Even though it spends the whole night underwater, the flower emerges every morning as beautiful as the day before." Smiling, I swiveled in my seat to face him. "I love this flower because it reminds me that we get second chances every day, no matter what muck life drags us through.

Our living quarters were in the same compound as the Eastern District administration. Government offices were mostly housed in large mansions which had been confiscated from Kuomintang officials and wealthy landlords. All government employees, even senior officials, lived at their office. They were not allowed to cook at home, and all ate in canteens. The canteen was also where everyone got their boiled water, which was fetched in thermos flasks. Saturday was the only day married couples were allowed to spend together. Among officials, the euphemism for making love was 'spending a Saturday." Gradually, this regimented life-style relaxed a bit and married couples were able to spend more time together, but almost all still lived and spent most of their time in their office compounds. My mother's department ran a very broad field of activities, including primary education, health, entertainment, and sounding out public opinion. At the age of twenty-two, my mother was in charge of all these activities for about a quarter of a million people. She was so busy we hardly ever saw her. The government wanted to establish a monopoly (known as 'unified purchasing and marketing') over trade in the basic commodities grain, cotton, edible o'fi, and meat. The idea was to get the peasants to sell these exclusively to the government, which would then ration them out to the urban population and to parts of the country where they were in short supply.

No one wanted the job. What had seemed one of the least challenging tasks facing Franklin D. Roosevelt as newly elected president had, by June 1933, become one of the most intransigent. As ambas-sadorial posts went, Berlin should have been a plum—not London or Paris, surely, but still one of the great capitals of Europe, and at the center of a country going through revolutionary change under the leadership of its newly appointed chancellor, Adolf Hitler. Depending on one’s point of view, Germany was experiencing a great revival or a savage darkening. Upon Hitler’s ascent, the country had undergone a brutal spasm of state- condoned violence. Hitler’s brown- shirted paramilitary army, the Sturmabteilung, or SA—the Storm Troopers—had gone wild, arresting, beating, and in some cases murdering communists, socialists, and Jews. Storm Troopers established impromptu prisons and torture stations in basements, sheds, and other structures. Berlin alone had fi fty of these so- called bunkers. Tens of thousands of people were arrested and placed in “protective custody”— Schutzhaft—a risible euphemism. An esti-mated fi ve hundred to seven hundred prisoners died in custody; others endured “mock drownings and hangings,” according to a police affi davit. One prison near Tempelhof Airport became especially no-torious: Columbia House, not to be confused with a sleekly modern new building at the heart of Berlin called Columbus House. The up-heaval prompted one Jewish leader, Rabbi Stephen S. Wise of New York, to tell a friend, “the frontiers of civilization have been crossed.

Dacă aş fi ştiut că moare dacă nu sunt sau nu devin iubita lui m-aş fi prăbuşit de uimire şi în faţa unei forţe atât de puternice aş fi fost o nebună de nu l-aş fi înţeles sau de n-aş fi încercat să-l iubesc, eu fiind suprema şi singura fiinţă pentru el în lume - dar aşa când ştiam că din cinci în cinci minute mă schimbă cu alta, din joacă sau încercând să nu fie totul joacă, mă simţeam umilită: adică eu puteam fi schimbată cu oricine, eu nu eram o fiinţă unică şi dumnezeiască pe pământ, eram oricine, ca o cârpă, ca o gheată, ca o mie de cârpe, ca un milion de ghete, fără importanţă, bună de pipăit pe şolduri - groaznic ce sentiment!

Cyrus is quiet for a momenr. "But-" he beginds, then falls silent. It's the first crack I've seen in his composure. "But," he tries again, "she's special. To me." His words make me feel light, like ash floating away from a fire. Johann begins to laugh, bitterly, mirthlessly. "Don't tell me you love her," he spits. "You don't even know her. That's the most irrational thing I've ever heard. And no love can survive immortality." The room is quiet, filled only with the crackling of the fire, and suddenly I don't want to hear Cyrus's answer. What if he doesn't love me? What am I without him by my side? Some strange creature that no one believes exists, some freak of nature, some threat to the reassuring rhythms of normal life. Finally, Cyrus speaks. "All I know is that I'm drawn to her. You always told me there's no such thing as destiny, and I believed you. I still do. But she makes me wonder. I fI could love anyone forever, it would be her. When I'm with her, I feel complete.

Someone once asked the celebrated biologist, Sir Frederick Grant Banting, why he cared so much about daily Communion. “Have you ever reflected,” he answered, “what would happen if the dew did not fall every night? No plant would develop. The grass and flowers could not survive the evaporations and the dryness that the day’s heat brings in one way or another. Their cycle of energies, their natural renewal, the balance of their lymphatic fluids, the very life of plants requires this dew….” After a pause, he continued: “Now my soul is like a little plant. It is something rather frail that the winds and heat do battle with every day. So it is necessary that every morning I go get my fresh stock of spiritual dew, by going to Holy Communion.

The first thing anybody tells you about this business is to say what makes you unique and different, but I couldn’t and the very idea of it never sat well with me and after much deliberation, I finally realized why. Because, I’m not unique or different–I’m exactly like you and I love that. We each have a unique filter through which we interpret the world, and with this filter in place, I write stories and songs and you might find them surprising or intriguing or confronting, you may relate or you may not. They may make you laugh and sometimes, even cry. You may or may not understand what I’m trying to say and you may not understand me, however, rest assured, once we get past the filters, at our core, we are wonderfully and beautifully, exactly the same.

Because there’s such an unbelievable amount that we’re all supposed to be able to cope with these days. You’re supposed to have a job, and somewhere to live, and a family, and you’re supposed to pay taxes and have clean underwear and remember the password to your damn Wi-Fi. Some of us never manage to get the chaos under control, so our lives simply carry on, the world spinning through space at two million miles an hour while we bounce about on its surface like so many lost socks. Our hearts are bars of soap that we keep losing hold of; the moment we relax, they drift off and fall in love and get broken, all in the wink of an eye. We’re not in control. So we learn to pretend, all the time, about our jobs and our marriages and our children and everything else. We pretend we’re normal, that we’re reasonably well educated, that we understand “amortization levels” and “inflation rates.” That we know how sex works. In truth, we know as much about sex as we do about USB leads, and it always takes us four tries to get those little buggers in. (Wrong way round, wrong way round, wrong way round, there! In!) We pretend to be good parents when all we really do is provide our kids with food and clothing and tell them off when they put chewing gum they find on the ground in their mouths. We tried keeping tropical fish once and they all died. And we really don’t know more about children than tropical fish, so the responsibility frightens the life out of us each morning. We don’t have a plan, we just do our best to get through the day, because there’ll be another one coming along tomorrow.

We came to the city because we wished to live haphazardly, to reach for only the least realistic of our desires, and to see if we could not learn what our failures had to teach, and not, when we came to live, discover that we had never died. We wanted to dig deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to be overworked and reduced to our last wit. And if our bosses proved mean, why then we’d evoke their whole and genuine meanness afterward over vodka cranberries and small batch bourbons. And if our drinking companions proved to be sublime then we would stagger home at dawn over the Old City cobblestones, into hot showers and clean shirts, and press onward until dusk fell again. For the rest of the world, it seemed to us, had somewhat hastily concluded that it was the chief end of man to thank God it was Friday and pray that Netflix would never forsake them. Still we lived frantically, like hummingbirds; though our HR departments told us that our commitments were valuable and our feedback was appreciated, our raises would be held back another year. Like gnats we pestered Management— who didn’t know how to use the Internet, whose only use for us was to set up Facebook accounts so they could spy on their children, or to sync their iPhones to their Outlooks, or to explain what tweets were and more importantly, why— which even we didn’t know. Retire! we wanted to shout. We ha Get out of the way with your big thumbs and your senior moments and your nostalgia for 1976! We hated them; we wanted them to love us. We wanted to be them; we wanted to never, ever become them. Complexity, complexity, complexity! We said let our affairs be endless and convoluted; let our bank accounts be overdrawn and our benefits be reduced. Take our Social Security contributions and let it go bankrupt. We’d been bankrupt since we’d left home: we’d secure our own society. Retirement was an afterlife we didn’t believe in and that we expected yesterday. Instead of three meals a day, we’d drink coffee for breakfast and scavenge from empty conference rooms for lunch. We had plans for dinner. We’d go out and buy gummy pad thai and throat-scorching chicken vindaloo and bento boxes in chintzy, dark restaurants that were always about to go out of business. Those who were a little flush would cover those who were a little short, and we would promise them coffees in repayment. We still owed someone for a movie ticket last summer; they hadn’t forgotten. Complexity, complexity. In holiday seasons we gave each other spider plants in badly decoupaged pots and scarves we’d just learned how to knit and cuff links purchased with employee discounts. We followed the instructions on food and wine Web sites, but our soufflés sank and our baked bries burned and our basil ice creams froze solid. We called our mothers to get recipes for old favorites, but they never came out the same. We missed our families; we were sad to be rid of them. Why shouldn’t we live with such hurry and waste of life? We were determined to be starved before we were hungry. We were determined to be starved before we were hungry. We were determined to decrypt our neighbors’ Wi-Fi passwords and to never turn on the air-conditioning. We vowed to fall in love: headboard-clutching, desperate-texting, hearts-in-esophagi love. On the subways and at the park and on our fire escapes and in the break rooms, we turned pages, resolved to get to the ends of whatever we were reading. A couple of minutes were the day’s most valuable commodity. If only we could make more time, more money, more patience; have better sex, better coffee, boots that didn’t leak, umbrellas that didn’t involute at the slightest gust of wind. We were determined to make stupid bets. We were determined to be promoted or else to set the building on fire on our way out. We were determined to be out of our minds.