Go Compare Retrieve Quotes

I go with him to retrieve his backpack. The hallway’s deserted, so he and I steal a kiss against the row of lockers. Then I push him away. “I thought you were morally opposed to PDAs.” “Yeah, they’re gross,” he says, and leans in again. I hold him off with the palms of my hands against his chest. “I’d hate for you to have to do something that makes you uncomfortable.” “I’ll survive.” “Come on,” I say, and shove him toward the exit. “Let’s go. But admit you were wrong about that whole kissing in public thing. It’s not such a crime.” “It is when I’m not the one kissing you.” “Were you jealous of James? Even back then?” “I don’t know,” he says. “Not exactly. And you guys were pretty annoying. I was sincerely disgusted by you—” “Thanks.” “But I’ll admit that if I’d been standing where he was standing, I’d probably have had a different view of the whole thing.” “The funny thing is, he was jealous of you for a while there.” He snorts. “I seriously doubt that your ex has ever been the slightest bit jealous of me. Look at him. And look at me.” “I’m not comparing you two—” “Because I’d lose.” “Well, yeah, but only in looks and personality.” Now it’s his turn to thank me sarcastically.

What does it take to make you stop?” Elizabeth flinched from the hatred in the voice she loved and drew a shaking breath, praying she could finish without starting to cry. “I’ve hurt you terribly, my love, and I’ll hurt you again during the next fifty years. And you are going to hurt me, Ian-never, I hope, as much as you are hurting me now. But if that’s the way it has to be, then I’ll endure it, because the only alternative is to live without you, and that is no life at all. The difference is that I know it, and you don’t-not yet.” “Are you finished now?” “Not quite,” she said, straightening at the sound of footsteps in the hall. “There’s one more thing,” she informed him, lifting her quivering chin. “I am not a Labrador retriever! You cannot put me out of your life, because I won’t stay.” When she left, Ian stared at the empty room that had been alive with her presence but moments before, wondering what in hell she meant by her last comment. He glanced toward the door as Larimore walked in, then he nodded curtly toward the chairs in front of his desk, silently ordering the solicitor to sit down. “I gathered from your message,” Larimore said quietly, opening his legal case, “that you now wish to proceed with the divorce?” Ian hesitated a moment while Elizabeth’s heartbroken words whirled through his mind, juxtaposed with the lies and omissions that had begun on the night they met and continued right up to their last night together. He recalled the torment of the first weeks after she’d left him and compared it to the cold, blessed numbness that had now taken its place. He looked at the solicitor, who was waiting for his answer. And he nodded.

But Pippa said, “The Vanir deserve everything that’s coming to them.” Bryce grinned. “So do you, terrorizing that poor boy and then deciding he’s not worth it.” “Emile?” Pippa laughed. “He’s not the helpless baby you think he is. He found allies to protect him. By all means, go retrieve him. I doubt he’ll help the Vanir win this war—not now that we have this technology in our hands. Thunderbirds are nothing compared to this.” She ran a hand over the rim of the box. Tharion cut in, “Where’s the kid?” Pippa smirked. “Somewhere even you, mer, would fear to tread. I’m content to leave him there, and so is Command. The boy is no longer our priority.

It won’t be long now.” Such an odd old holy man, young Scytale thought. Even compared to the smells of disinfectant, medicine, and sickness, he’d always had an odd smell about him. Sounding compassionate, Yueh said, “There isn’t much we can do.” Gasping for air, old Scytale croaked out, “A Tleilaxu Master should not be so weak and decrepit. It is . . . unseemly.” His youthful counterpart tried again to trigger the flow of memories, to squeeze them into his brain by sheer force of will, as he had attempted to do countless times before. The essential past must be in there somewhere, buried deep. But he felt no tickle of possibilities, no glimmer of success. What if they are not there at all? What if something had gone terribly wrong? His pulse pounded as the panic began to rise. Not much time. Never enough time. He tried to cut off the thought. The body provided a wealth of cellular material. They could create more Scytale gholas, try again and again if necessary. But if his own memories had failed to resurface, why should an identical ghola have any better luck without the guidance of the original? I am the only one who knew the Master so intimately. He wanted to shake Yueh, demand to know how he had managed to remember his past. Tears were in full flow now, falling onto the old man’s hand, but Scytale knew they were inadequate. His father’s chest spasmed in an almost imperceptible death rattle. The life-support equipment hummed with more intensity, and the instrument readings fluctuated. “He’s slipped into a coma,” Yueh reported. The Rabbi nodded. Like an executioner announcing his plans, he said, “Too weak. He’s going to die now.” Scytale’s heart sank. “He has given up on me.” His father would never know if he succeeded now; he would perish wondering and worrying. The last great calamity in a long line of disasters that had befallen the Tleilaxu race. He gripped the old man’s hand. So cold, too cold. He felt the life ebbing. I have failed! As if felled by a stunner, Scytale dropped to his knees at the bedside. In his crashing despair, he knew with absolute certainly that he could never resurrect the recalcitrant memories. Not alone. Lost! Forever lost! Everything that comprised the great Tleilaxu race. He could not bear the magnitude of this disaster. The reality of his defeat sliced like shattered glass into his heart. Abruptly, the Tleilaxu youth felt something changing inside, followed by an explosion between his temples. He cried out from the excruciating pain. At first he thought he was dying himself, but instead of being swallowed in blackness, he felt new thoughts burning like wildfire across his consciousness. Memories streamed past in a blur, but Scytale locked onto each one, absorbing it again and reprocessing it into the synapses of his brain. The precious memories returned to where they had always belonged. His father’s death had opened the barriers. At last Scytale retrieved what he was supposed to know, the critical data bank of a Tleilaxu Master, all the ancient secrets of his race. Instilled with pride and a new sense of dignity, he rose to his feet. Wiping away warm tears, he looked down at the discarded copy of himself on the bed. It was nothing more than a withered husk. He no longer needed that old man.

Scientists are currently exploring whether Brain Dumps are more effective if written by hand versus typed; include structure (organize as you go along) vs. no structure; or include prompts (“describe how clouds are made”) versus no prompts. So far, there are no hard-hitting winners when it comes to optimal structures compared to a simple “write down what you can remember” approach.7 We encourage you to do what's practical for you and your classroom and focus on retrieval, not format.