H.h Quotes

He is one of those people who would be enormously improved by death.

I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel; For words, like Nature, half reveal And half conceal the Soul within. But, for the unquiet heart and brain, A use in measured language lies; The sad mechanic exercise, Like dull narcotics, numbing pain. In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold: But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more. In Memoriam A.H.H. Section 5

A little inaccuracy sometimes saves a ton of explanation.

For this alone on Death I wreak The wrath that garners in my heart: He put our lives so far apart We cannot hear each other speak.

The censorious said she slept in a hammock and understood Yeats's poems, but her family denied both stories.

Thus, neither of us is alive when the reader opens this book. But while the blood still throbs through my writing hand, you are still as much part of blessed matter as I am, and I can still talk to you from here to Alaska. Be true to your Dick. Do not let other fellows touch you. Do not talk to strangers. I hope you will love your baby. I hope it will be a boy. That husband of yours, I hope, will always treat you well, because otherwise my specter shall come at him, like black smoke, like a demented giant, and pull him apart nerve by nerve. And do not pity C. Q. One had to choose between him and H.H., and one wanted H.H. to exist at least a couple of months longer, so as to have him make you live in the minds of later generations. I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita.

Say ‘Ah.’” A-H-H-H-H, he fingerspelled. Doctor Frost glanced at his mother. “He just said ‘ah’ for you,” she said weakly, and smiling. “Okay, sense of humor intact,” the doctor said. “Try anyway.

Mother, may I go and maffick, Tear around and hinder traffic?

Faith is stronger than so-called reason.

And the vagueness of his alarm added to its terrors; when once you have taken the Impossible into your calculations its possibilities become practically limitless.

Tell me and I forget, teach me and I may remember, involve me and I learn." Benjamin Franklin never said those words, he was falsely attributed on a respected quotation website and it spread from there. The quote comes from the Xunzi. Xun Kuang was a Chinese Confucian philosopher that lived from 312-230 BC. His works were collected into a set of 32 books called the Xunzi, by Liu Xiang in about 818 AD. There are woodblock copies of these books that are almost 1100 years old. Book 8 is titled Ruxiao ("The Teachings of the Ru"). The quotation in question comes from Chapter 11 of that book. In Chinese the quote is: 不闻不若闻之, 闻之不若见之, 见之不若知之, 知之不若行之 It is derived from this paragraph: Not having heard something is not as good as having heard it; having heard it is not as good as having seen it; having seen it is not as good as knowing it; knowing it is not as good as putting it into practice. (From the John Knoblock translation, which is viewable in Google Books) The first English translation of the Xunzi was done by H.H. Dubs, in 1928, one-hundred and thirty-eight years after Benjamin Franklin died.

Brain: You don’t want this. Hormones: Dude, this is EXACTLY what I want. B: No, not like this—she's wasted. H: What's your point? B: She won't remember this, and if she does, she'll be angry. H: Do you see where her hand is? God, that feels good. Can't you feel that? B: She's drunk. You can't do this. It's wrong H: I want to do this. B: Really? You want to go to school and say you scored with Bethany Milbury when she was so drunk she barely knew her name? H: H: H: You're an asshole. I hate you. B: She needs to eat something and drink some water. Don't let her drink anymore beer. H: H: Yeah, I know B: She'll love you for taking care of her. She'll love that you respected her. H: Five more minutes? Just five? B: Now. H: I can't believe you're making me do this.

Tutti di solito sono convinti che le persone si separano perché una si è stancata dell'altra, per propria volontà o per volontà dell'altra persona. Ma non è così. I periodi finiscono, come cambiano le stagioni

Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar.

Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown’d, Let darkness keep her raven gloss: Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss, To dance with death, to beat the ground. —Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “In Memoriam A.H.H.

Miles away, down through an opening in the hills, he could catch glimpses of a road where motor-cars sometimes passed, and yet here, so removed from the arteries of the latest civilization, was a bat-haunted old homestead, where something unmistakably like witchcraft seemed to hold a very practical sway.

Oh-h-h-h— Hidey, tidey, Christ Almighty Who the hell are we? Flim, flam, God damn We’re the infantry…

Horror fiction seems to spawn more dumbass 'rules' than any other kind of writing, and one of the dumbest is the assumed 'requirement' of a twist ending, going all the way back to H.H. Munro. This story is also the result of a long rumination on how stories are sometimes scuttled or diminished by succumbing to such 'rules'.

There was something alike terrifying and piteous in the spectacle of these frail old morsels of humanity consecrating their last flickering energies to the task of making each other wretched. Hatred seemed to be the one faculty which had survived in undiminished vigor where all else was dropping into ordered and symmetrical decay.

It was the happiest Christmas Eve he had ever spent. To quote his own words, he had a rotten Christmas.

He was, in the words of H. H. Munro, a man whose looks made it possible for women to forgive any other trifling inadequacies.

H. H. GARNET. We need a thousand such representative

OUTCASTS! R-R-RUN FOR YOUR LIVES, YOU S-S-SSTUPID H-H-HUMANS!!!

I believe that if we build sincere friendships, without being judgmental, the chances of our message being accepted are greater.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU NANAY I am forever grateful to you, my dearest Nanay, You are the most precious being in my life. You have given us, your children so much, raised us, nurtured us and loved us unconditionally.. I can't imagine life without you. We love you Nanay.

With the memory of Dr. H. H. Holmes still fresh in their minds

Love knows no reason, no boundaries, no distance. It has a sole intention of bringing people together to a time called forever -          Unknown

There are always consequences for our actions, and sometimes we pay dearly if we fail to make good choices with our lives.

Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom. - Marcel Proust

Richie saw the empty street where nothing moved and suddenly burst into tears. Bill looked at him for a moment and then put his arms around Richie and hugged him. Richie clutched at Bill’s neck and hugged him back. He wanted to say something clever, something about how Bill should have tried the Bullseye on the Werewolf, but nothing would come out. Nothing except sobs. “D-Don’t, R-Richie,” Bill said, “duh-duh-duh-h-h—” Then he burst into tears himself and they only hugged each other on their knees in the street beside Bill’s spilled bike, and their tears made clean streaks down their cheeks, which were sooted with coaldust.

Creation is the eternal play of the Divine (Parabrahma, the Totality). You cannot adequately describe the majesty of a tree by talking about a flower, a branch or the bark. The source cannot be fully explained by describing its manifestations.

Lezer onder je gloeilamp hef je hoofd op: de trekvogels gaan, de uiltjes komen.

Take heed and beware of covetousness: for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of the things which he possesses. -                      Luke 12:15

My thu-umb!” explained Julie. “Oh-h-h-h, t’urts.

H. H. Munro. Also known as Saki. The story is called ‘The Open Window.’ Look it up. When it comes to the art of creating bullshit on the spur of the moment, it’s very instructive.

Madame la Guillotine" is the younger sister, the ideological sibling of the 2nd Amendment; both were conceived of a need to purge overbearing governments.

If you demand the collective to pay for your medical expenses, then be prepared for the collective to demand to make your medical decisions for you.

IN MEMORIAM A.H.H. by Alfred Tennyson

Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of thee, And thou, O Lord, art more than they." --Lord Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H.

Bill looked up, wiping his eyes. They were all soaked to the skin and looked like a litter of pups that had just forded a river. “Ih-It’s scuh-scuh-hared of u-u-us, you know, ” he said. “I can fuh-feel th-that. I swear to Guh-God I c-c-can. ” Bev nodded soberly. “I think you’re right. ” “H-H-Help m-m-me, ” Bill said. “P-P-Pl-Please. H-H-Help m-m-me.

If you don't follow through on your creative ideas, someone else will pick them up and use them. When you get an idea of this sort, you should jump in with both feet, not just stick your toe in the water… Be daring, be fearless, and don't be afraid that somebody is going to criticize you or laugh at you. If your ego is not involved no-one can hurt you.

Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favourite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it." Here the child's voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. "Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back some day, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing 'Bertie, why do you bound?' as he always did to tease her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window -

Um, h-h-hi,” Sophie stammered, closing the door behind her. Meeting her gaze were crystal eyes like blue shards of glass.

dream for one man is different for another and depending on what is inside that man, you would be surprised to know what a man would do to fulfil that dream.

The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time. –Abraham Lincoln

Ms. V by her inner circle – a name synonymous with sex, wealth and power.

Adoration can be misleading. The same crowd who spread palm branches for Jesus to ride upon, was the same crowd who crucified Him three days later.

There are more ways of killing a cat than by choking it with cream," he quoted, "but I'm not sure," he added, "that it's not the best way.

The 1924 Immigration Restriction Act was the primary tool used by FDR to keep Jewish refugees from reaching US shores.

Women are the spices of Life"...

Live every day as if it were your last and then some day you'll be right.

The past is behind, learn from it. The future is ahead, prepare for it. The present is here, live it. – Thomas S. Monson

People will either accept you for who you are, or they will not accept you at all.

…for He will bring our darkest secrets to light and will reveal our private motives…” –1 Corinthians 4:5 (NLT)

H-h-hey there, compadre!

I was born with the devil in me. I could not help the fact that I was a murderer, no more than the poet can help the inspiration to sing. DR. H. H. HOLMES CONFESSION 1896

Marriage is about two people coming together to share the load, not make one partner feel as if he or she is carrying it alone.

Ele disse: 'A vida não pode realmente ser resolvida por máximas admiráveis tiradas da literatura moderna. Lembre-se de que a natureza tem os dentes e as garras rubros.

I didn't have a choice." "Are you saying...What are you saying?" Is he...could he be talking about me? He runs a hand through his hair. I've never seen him this emotional before. He's always so controlled, so sure of himself. "I'm saying you're what I want, Emma. I'm saying I'm in love with you." He steps forward and lifts his hand to my cheek, blazing a line of fire with his fingertips as they trace down to my mouth. "How do you think it would make me feel to see you with Grom?" he whispers. "Like someone ripped my heart out and put it through Rachel's meat grinder, that's how. Probably worse. It would probably kill me. Emma, please don't cry." I throw my hands in the air. "Don't cry? Are you serious? Why did you come here, Galen? Did you think it would make me feel better to know that you do love me, but that it still won't work out? That I still have to mate with Grom for the greater good? Don't you tell me not to cry, Galen! I...c...c...can't h...h...help-" The waterworks soak me. Galen looks at me, hands by his side, helpless as a trapped crab. I'm bordering on hyperventilation, and pretty soon I'll start hiccupping. This is too much. His expression is so severe, it looks like he's in physical pain. "Emma," he breathes. "Emma, does this mean you feel the same way? Do you care for me at all?" I laugh, but it sounds sharper than I intended, because of a hiccup. "What does it matter how I feel, Galen? I think we pretty much covered why. No need to rehash things, right?" "It matters, Emma." He grabs my hand and pulls me to him again. "Tell me right now. Do you care for me?" "If you can't tell that I'm stupid in love with you, Galen, then you aren't a very good ambassador for the hum-" His mouth covers mine, cutting me off. This kiss isn't gentle like the first one. It's definitely not sweet. It's rough, demanding, searching. And disorienting. There's not a part of me that isn't melting against Galen, not a part that isn't combusting with his fevered touch. I accidentally moan into his lips. He takes it for his cue to lift me off my feet, to pull me up to his height for more leverage. I take his groan for my cue to kiss him harder. He ignores his cell phone ringing in his pocket. I ignore the rest of the universe. Even when headlights approach, I'm willing to overlook their intrusion and keep kissing. But, prince that he is, Galen is a little more refined than me at this moment. He gently pries his lips from mine and sets me down. His smile is both intoxicated and intoxicating. "We still need to talk." "Right," I say, but I'm shaking my head. He laughs. "I didn't come all the way to Atlantic City to make you cry." "I'm not crying." I lean into him again. He doesn't refuse my lips, but he doesn't do them justice either, planting a measly little kiss on them before stepping back.

For everything that belongs to the world – the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes and the pride in one’s lifestyle is not from the Father, but is from the world. -          1 John 2:16

Ce que croit ma raison, quoi qu'il puisse arriver, Et ce que sent mon cœur en sa douleur amère, C'est que mieux vaut l'amour suivi d'un deuil austère Que la paix de celui qui ne sut pas aimer.

Jack the Ripper became the embodiment, forever, of pure evil. Every Chicago resident who could read devoured these reports from abroad, but none with quite so much intensity as Dr. H. H. Holmes.

There was a fellow I stayed with once in Warwickshire who farmed his own land, but was otherwise quite steady.  Should never have suspected him of having a soul, yet not very long afterwards he eloped with a lion-tamer's widow and set up as a golf-instructor somewhere on the Persian Gulf; dreadfully immoral, of course, because he was only an indifferent player, but still, it showed imagination.  His wife was really to be pitied, because he had been the only person in the house who understood how to manage the cook's temper, and now she has to put "D.V." on her dinner invitations. 

H-h-holy mackeral, he was hotter than a two-dollar pistol. Literally and figuratively. He radiated heat like a blast furnace. And he was straight-up, pantiesonthefloor, legsintheair, haveatmebigboy sssssmokin' sexy.

good man often appears gauche simply because he does not take advantage of the myriad mean little chances of making himself look stylish. Preferring truth to form, he is not constantly at work upon the façade of his appearance –Alanis Morissette

P h y j s l y d d q f d z x g a s g z z q q e h x g k f n d r x u j u g I o c y t d x v k s b x h h u y p o h d v y r y m h u h p u y d k j o x p h e t o z l s l e t n p m v f f o v p d p a j x h y y n o j y g g a y m e q y n f u q l n m v l y f g s u z m q I z t l b q q y u g s q e u b v n r c r e d g r u z b l r m x y u h q h p z d r r g c r o h e p q x u f I v v r p l p h o n t h v d d q f h q s n t z h h h n f e p m q k y u u e x k t o g z g k y u u m f v I j d q d p z j q s y k r p l x h x q r y m v k l o h h h o t o z v d k s p p s u v j h d.

You came up this gut-wrenching road yesterday by yourself?" Cassie exclaimed. "You deserve a good cuffing just for driving this goat path on your own." "It's not so bad once you get used to dodging the ruts." "You've got some nerve calling these canyons ruts." "Cassandra Hudson, where is your sense of adventure?" "I dropped it off going over that last rut-crossing when only two wheels were on the ground." "Those ones are a bit exhilarating, aren't they?" Alexandra shot Cassie a quick look and wink.  "Keep your eyes on the road!" "What road?" "Exactly!

Okay, what in Hades just happened? Stones don’t glow blue or any other color and they certainly don’t burn circles on you.” The stone wasn’t talking. Alexandra considered herself well grounded, yet here she stood, talking to a stone that glowed, burned circles, and refused to answer. A thread of sensation pricked at the edges of her mind, then grew stronger. It mirrored an idea then became clear. Tell no one. What? Looking from side to side, she backed against the wall. Although it felt like someone whispered in her ear, she stood there alone. The day’s trauma must have pushed her over the edge, yet the sensation persisted. Tell no one. She froze. Her eyes darted around the room. The muscles in her legs tightened as she prepared to bolt from the room. Alexandra swallowed and licked her lips. “Who would believe me anyway?” she whispered.

Amour, love, the dream of man, Woman’s deep devoted plan. Amour Amor means no hungry child, Begging, hair blowing wild. Searching amongst the rats and mice, Left-over food, contaminated rice. Eyes, the saddest soul sight, Hidden is the child’s plight. Bleeding feet, glass cut bare, Dirty rags for a child to wear. Clambering through the bin, Society’s senseless sin. Amor, love save this child’s life, Poverty is the nefarious knife, A child of poverty and strife, Deserves amour, love of life. Maureen Brindle from Beloved Isles [Inspired by H.H. Princess Maria Amor We Care for Humanity]

If, with a warm heart and patience, we can consider the views of others and exchange ideas in calm discussion, we will find points of agreement. It is our responsibility—out of love and compassion for humankind—to seek harmony among nations, ideologies, cultures, ethnic groups, and economic and political systems.

Things were certainly coming my way so that there wasn't anything to do but to make money. It made me remember a saying of the late H. H. Rogers, of the Standard Oil Company, to the effect that there were times when a man could no more help making money than he could help getting wet if he went out in a rainstorm without an umbrella.

M-m-master, when I was on the Quasar I had a paracoita, a doll, you see, a genicon, so beautiful with her great pupils as dark as wells, her i-irises purple like asters or pansies blooming in summer, Master, whole beds of them, I thought, had b-been gathered to make those eyes, that flesh that always felt sun-warmed. Wh-wh-where is she now, my own scopolagna, my poppet? Let h-h-hooks be buried in the hands that took her! Crush them, master, beneath stones. Where has she gone from the lemon-wood box I made for her, where she never slept at all, for she lay with me all night, not in the box, the lemon-wood box where she waited all day, watch-and-watch, Master, smiling when I laid her in so she might smile when I drew her out. How soft her hands were, her little hands. Like d-d-doves. She might have flown with them about the cabin had she not chosen instead to lie with me. W-w-wind their guts about your w-windlass, snuff their eyes into their mouths. Unman them, shave them clean below so their doxies may not know them, their lemans may rebuke them, leave them to the brazen laughter of the brazen mouths of st-st-strumpets. Work your will upon those guilty. Where was their mercy on the innocent? When did they tremble, when weep? What kind of men could do as they have done—thieves, false friends, betrayers, bad shipmates, no shipmates, murderers and kidnappers. W-without you, where are their nightmares, where are their restitutions, so long promised? Where are their abacinations, that shall leave them blind? Where are the defenestrations that shall break their bones, where is the estrapade that shall grind their joints? Where is she, the beloved whom I lost?

ONE MORNING IN AUGUST 1886, as heat rose from the streets with the intensity of a child’s fever, a man calling himself H. H. Holmes walked into one of Chicago’s train stations. The air was stale and still, suffused with the scent of rotten peaches, horse excrement, and partially combusted Illinois anthracite. Half a dozen locomotives stood in the trainyard exhaling steam into the already-yellow sky

When I got back to my office Tween was there. She rose from the foyer couch as I wheezed in off the ramp. I took one look at her and said, “Come inside.” She followed me through the inner door. I waved my hand over the infra-red plate and it closed. Then I put out my arms. She bleated like a new-born lamb and flew to me. Her tears were scalding, and I don’t think human muscles are built for the wrenching those agonized sobs gave her. People should cry more. They ought to learn how to do it easily, like laughing or sweating. Crying piles up. In people like Tween, who do nothing if they can’t smile and make a habit-pattern of it, it really piles up. With a reservoir like that, and no developed outlet, things get torn when the pressure builds too high. I just held her tight so she wouldn’t explode. The only thing I said to her was “sh-h-h” once when she tried to talk while she wept. One thing at a time.

Bill nodded, but he didn’t look hopeful. “The H-H-Himalayans had a rih-hi-hitual to g-get rih-rid of i-i-it, but ih-it’s pretty gruh-gruh-gruesome.” They looked at him, not wanting to hear but needing to. “I-I-It was cuh-called the R-R-Ritual of Chüh-Chüd,” Bill said, and went on to explain what that was. If you were a Himalayan holy-man, you tracked the taelus. The taelus stuck its tongue out. You stuck yours out. You and it overlapped tongues and then you both bit in all the way so you were sort of stapled together, eye to eye.

On this particular day her father, the vicar of a parish on the sea-swept outskirts of Lower Wessex, and a widower, was suffering from an attack of gout. After finishing her household supervision Elfride became restless, and several times left the room, ascended the staircase, and knocked at her father's chamber-door. 'Come in!' was always answered in a heart out-of-door voice from the inside. 'Papa,' she said on one occasion to the fine, red-faced, handsome man of forty, who, puffing and fizzing like a bursting bottle, lay on the bed wrapped in a dressing-gown, and every now and then enunciating, in spite of himself, about one letter of some word or words that were almost oaths; 'papa, will you not come downstairs this evening?' She spoke distinctly: he was rather deaf. 'Afraid not - eh-h-h! - very much afraid I shall not, Elfride. Piph-ph-ph! I can't bear even a handkerchief upon this deuced toe of mine, much less a stocking or slipper - piph-ph-ph! There 'tis again! No, I shan't get up till tomorrow.' 'Then I hope this London man won't come; for I don't know what I should do, papa.' 'Well, it would be awkward, certainly.' 'I should hardly think he would come today.' 'Why?' 'Because the wind blows so.' 'Wind! What ideas you have, Elfride! Who ever heard of wind stopping a man from doing his business? The idea of this toe of mine coming on so suddenly!... If he should come, you must send him up to me, I suppose, and then give him some food and put him to bed in some way. Dear me, what a nuisance all this is!' 'Must he have dinner?' 'Too heavy for a tired man at the end of a tedious journey.' 'Tea, then?' 'Not substantial enough.' 'High tea, then? There is cold fowl, rabbit-pie, some pasties, and things of that kind.' 'Yes, high tea.' 'Must I pour out his tea, papa?' 'Of course; you are the mistress of the house.' 'What! sit there all the time with a stranger, just as if I knew him, and not anybody to introduce us?' 'Nonsense, child, about introducing; you know better than that. A practical professional man, tired and hungry, who has been travelling ever since daylight this morning, will hardly be inclined to talk and air courtesies tonight. He wants food and shelter, and you must see that he has it, simply because I am suddenly laid up and cannot. There is nothing so dreadful in that, I hope? You get all kinds of stuff into your head from reading so many of those novels.

Some that read this book will find its Libertarian and Constitutionalist slant a bit obtuse and maybe even off-putting. This author makes no apologies for viewing the history of the eugenics movement from this political perspective. It is the ethical and legal underpinnings of the American Revolution that remain as a guiding light while the eugenics movement continues to reemerge long after its alleged demise. Limited, or rather minimal government, goes a long way to curtail the disconnect that emerges when government grows so large that it no longer feels compelled to heed to the dictates of the governed.

One of the distinctive features of Christian Mindfulness is that it does have moral content.  In other words, the moral content is not relativistic.  It is based on an imitation of the character of Christ and the ways of God as revealed in Christian Scripture.  Christian Mindfulness which is non-judgemental in its quality seeks to avoid harsh, critical and condemning approaches to self and to others.  The accusing and condemning tongue can be destructive.  Mindful awareness creates space where we can step back and step away from judgementalism.  The new environment in which we are invited to relate to ourselves and others is one of kindness.

swirl together and our breathing clashes, my hips are busy rubbing against his. My legs spread just about as wide as I can get, forcing my pussy to open like a flower and hug his dick tight. Pushing off his chest, I lift up, grab his dick, and slam myself home. I almost can’t hear the harsh bite of his breath over my scream. I feel the rings hitting a spot deep within me that will have me begging in no time. The one pressed tight against my clit has my vision going hazy. “Have . . . to . . . move,” he warns, and once again, I find myself rolled onto my back. He doesn’t even pause when he flips and pounds into me. His hips slap against mine, his balls make a loud, wet sound as they hit my skin, and his eyes flash something I wish to God I understood. “H-h-harder!” He slams deep and leans up on his knees causing his dick to slip out almost completely. His large hands grab my hips and bring my body half off the bed. With my head still on the bed, the rest of my body hovers under his control as he pulls back and gives me my wish. My legs are dead weight, my hands clench tightly in the sheets, and my eyes hold his. The look in his eyes combined with the hard hitting of his piercings, and the awe-inspiring thrusts is enough to have me screaming. Screaming, begging, and pleading. I have lost control of my body. It is locked tight and shattering into pieces. His hips pick up speed but then slightly slow down towards the end of my release. He brings my body back down to the mattress and rocks his hips, causing a few more aftershocks to roll through my body. “Do you like my cock? Do you like having me so deep in your body you won’t be able to walk tomorrow? The way your pussy is gripping my dick and your wetness is coating my balls, I would say you fucking love it.” I whimper and he smiles. This isn’t the attractive smile he gives the public, no . . . this smile is pure fucking sexy evil. “Going to fuck you raw.” He warns before making true to his words. When he finally grabs my hips and locks our pelvises together, I have come twice and lost track of reality.

In Germany we were at a restaurant where he wanted to order a steak. None of us knew no German, and the waiter didn’t know English. “B-b-b-bring me a s-s-s-s-s-steak and sp-sp-sp-sp-spaghetti,” John Lee said. Waiter looked puzzled. John Lee started making motions with his hands to look a crawling snake. “N-n-n-n-n-n-noodles,” he said. “Y-y-y-y-you know—spaghetti.” Waiter ran to the kitchen and came back with some noodles. John Lee smiled. “O-o-o-o-o-okay, now cook me a s-s-s-s-s-s-steak.” Waiter ran back and forth from the kitchen carrying different stuff—a hot dog, a chicken, a piece of fish—but no steak. “G-g-g-g-g-g-goddamnit,” said John Lee. “I want m-m-m-m-m-me a steak!” Waiter just shrugged. John Lee snapped his fingers like he got an idea. “Okay, m-m-m-m-m-motherfucker,” he said, “h-h-h-h-h-here’s what I w-w-w-w-w-w-w-want.” John Lee started motioning his fists like he was milking a cow. Waiter still didn’t get it. That’s when John Lee took in a deep breath and came out this ear-shattering “M-m-m-m-m-m-m-mooooooooooooooooooo!” Waiter smiled and John Lee got himself his steak. After

Dot didn’t answer. The Sheriff bared his teeth at her. “You ugly, disgusting pig.” He raised his hand to strike her— Hester’s demon slammed into him, bashing the Sheriff in the groin with its horns. Before it could gore him again, a scim ripped through the demon’s claw, pinning the demon to the ceiling. The Sheriff crumpled to the floor, wailing high-pitched noises. Hester gasped, buckling against the wall, as if the wind had been crushed out of her, her skin turning white. Overhead, her red-skinned demon bleated in pain. “H-H-Hester, you okay?” Agatha sputtered. But Hester wasn’t listening, her eyes bloodshot and still fixed on the Sheriff. “Too bad for you, your daughter has friends,” she said. “Lots of friends,” Anadil seethed. “And if you ever touch Dot, you ever speak to her like that again, those friends will tear out your throat,” said Hester. “We will kill her own father to protect her and we won’t feel an ounce of guilt. You don’t know us. You don’t know what we’re capable of.” “And you don’t know the truth about your daughter either,” said Anadil, red glare slashing through the Sheriff. “She isn’t an embarrassment or ugly or any of the other lies you dump on her. She’s a miracle. You know why? Because she came from stock like you and is still the best friend anyone could ask for.” Dot’s face flooded with tears, her whole body quivering. The Sheriff sobbed in pain behind the couch.

I I I I I I t t t t t t i i i i i i s s s s s s u u u u u u n n n n n n f f f f f f o o o o o o r r r r r r t t t t t t u u u u u u n n n n n n a a a a a a t t t t t t e e e e e e t t t t t t h h h h h h a a a a a a t t t t t t t t t t t t h h h h h h e e e e e e l l l l l l i i i i i i g g g g g g h h h h h h t t t t t t t t t t t t h h h h h h a a a a a a t t t t t t m m m m m m a a a a a a n n n n n n y y y y y y o o o o o o f f f f f f u u u u u u s s s s s s h h h h h h a a a a a a v v v v v ve e e e e e i i i i i i i n n n n n n n J J J J J J Je e e e e e e s s s s s s s u u u u u u u s s s s s s s i i i i i i i s s s s s s s j j j j j j j u u u u u u u s s s s s s s t t t t t t t e e e e e e e n n n n n n n o o o o o o o u u u u u u u g g g g g g g h h h h h h h t t t t t t t o o o o o o o i i i i i i i l l l l l l l l l l l l l lu u u u u u u m m m m m m m i i i i i i i n n n n n n n a a a a a a a t t t t t t t e e e e e e e t t t t t t t h h h h h h h e e e e e e e c c c c c c c o o o o o o o r r r r r r r r r r r r r r u u u u u u u p p p p p p p t t t t t t t i i i i i i i o o o o o o o n n n n n n n i i i i i i i n n n n n n n our own lives, making ourselves look like hypocrites and making Jesus look like a peddler of contaminated water. Yet if we cleanse ourselves of our darkened deeds, or more accurately, if we allow Jesus to wash through us and within us, then we can become clean enough for the light that He offers to reflect in a positive way to the world around us.

Before long they saw in the distance the towers and flags of Dictionopolis sparkling in the sunshine, and in a few moments they reached the great wall and stood at the gateway to the city. “A-H-H-H-R-R-E-M-M,” roared the gateman, clearing his throat and snapping smartly to attention. “This is Dictionopolis, a happy kingdom, advantageously located in the Foothills of Confusion and caressed by gentle breezes from the Sea of Knowledge. Today, by royal proclamation, is market day. Have you come to buy or sell?” “I beg your pardon?” said Milo. “Buy or sell, buy or sell,” repeated the gateman impatiently. “Which is it? You must have come here for some reason.” “Well, I——” Milo began. “Come now, if you don’t have a reason, you must at least have an explanation or certainly an excuse,” interrupted the gateman. Milo shook his head. “Very serious, very serious,” the gateman said, shaking his head also. “You can’t get in without a reason.” He thought for a moment and then continued. “Wait a minute; maybe I have an old one you can use.” He took a battered suitcase from the gatehouse and began to rummage busily through it, mumbling to himself, “No … no … no … this won’t do … no … h-m-m-m … ah, this is fine,” he cried triumphantly, holding up a small medallion on a chain. He dusted it off, and engraved on one side were the words “WHY NOT?” “That’s a good reason for almost anything— a bit used perhaps, but still quite serviceable.” And with that he placed it around Milo’s neck, pushed back the heavy iron gate, bowed low, and motioned them into the city.

Tub full, she stood back to regard the mound of ice. Already the heat of her home fought to melt it. A rap came again at the entrance, more like an impatient pounding, and she cursed. The clock showed her only a few minutes away from her torture. I need whoever it is to go away. She ran to the door and slid open the peek-a-boo slot. Familiar turquoise eyes peered back. “Little witch, little witch, let me come in,” he chanted in a gruff voice. A smile curled her lips. “Not by the wart on my chinny chin chin,” she replied. “And before you try huffing and puffing, Nefertiti herself spelled this door. So forget blowing it down.” “So open it then. I’ve got a lead I think on escapee number three.” A glance at the clock showed one minute left. “Um, I’m kind of in the middle of something. Can you come back in like half an hour?” “Why not just let me in and I’ll wait while you do your thing? I promise not to watch, unless you like an audience.” “I can’t. Please. Just go away. I promise I’ll let you in when you come back.” His eyes narrowed. “Open this door, Ysabel.” “No. Now go away. I’ll talk to you in half an hour.” She slammed the slot shut and only allowed herself a moment to lean against the door which shuddered as he hit it with a fist. She didn’t have time to deal with his frustration. The tickle in her toes started and she ran to the bathroom, dropping her robe as she moved. The fire erupted, and standing on the lava tile in her bathroom, she concentrated on breathing against the spiraling pain and flames. I mustn’t scream. Remy might still be there, listening. Why that mattered, she couldn’t have said, but it did help her focus for a short moment. But the punishment would not allow her respite. Flames licked up her frame, demolishing her thin underpants and she couldn’t help but scream as the agony tore through her body. Make it stop. Make it stop. Wishing, praying, pleading didn’t stop the torture. As the inferno consumed her, her ears roared with the snap of the fire and a glance in her mirror horrified her, for there she stood – a living pyre of fire. She closed her eyes against the brilliant heat, but that just seemed to amplify the pain. Her knees buckled, but she didn’t fall. Something clasped her and she moaned as she sensed more than saw Remy’s arms wrap around her waist. It had to be him. Who else was crazy enough to break down her door and interrupt? Forcing open her eyes, eyes that wanted to water but couldn’t as the heat dried up all moisture, she saw the flames, not picky about their choice her own nightmare, she knew enough to try and push him away with hands that glowed inferno bright. He wouldn’t budge, and he didn’t scream – just held her as the curse ran its course. Without being told, once the flames disappeared, he placed her in the ice bath, the shocking cold a welcome relief. Gasping from the pain, she couldn’t speak but remained aware of how he stroked her hair back from her face and how his arm rested around her shoulders, cradling her. “Oh, my poor little witch,” he murmured. “No wonder you’ve been hiding.” Teeth chattering as the cold penetrated her feverish limbs, she tried to reply. “Wh-what c-c-can I say? I’m h-h-hot.” -Remy & Ysabel

More to the point, one cannot understand The Holocaust without understanding the intentions, ideology, and mechanisms that were put in place in 1933. The eugenics movement may have come to a catastrophic crescendo with the Hitler regime, but the political movement, the world-view, the ideology, and the science that aspired to breed humans like prized horses began almost 100 years earlier. More poignantly, the ideology and those legal and governmental mechanisms of a eugenic world-view inevitably lead back to the British and American counterparts that Hitler’s scientists collaborated with. Posterity must gain understanding of the players that made eugenics a respectable scientific and political movement, as Hitler’s regime was able to evade wholesale condemnation in those critical years between 1933 and 1943 precisely because eugenics had gained international acceptance. As this book will evidence, Hitler’s infamous 1933 laws mimicked those already in place in the United States, Britain, Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Canada. So what is this scientific and political movement that for 100 years aspired to breed humans like dogs or horses? Eugenics is quite literally, as defined by its principal proponents, an attempt at “directing evolution” by controlling any aspect of human existence that affects human heredity. From its onset, Francis Galton, the cousin of Charles Darwin and the man credited with the creation of the science of eugenics, knew that the cause of eugenics had to be observed with religious fervor and dedication. As the quote on the opening pages of this book illustrates, a eugenicist must “intrude, intrude, intrude.” A vigilant control over anything and everything that affects the gene pool is essential to eugenics. The policies could not allow for the individual to enjoy self-government or self-determination any more than a horse breeder can allow the animals to determine whom to breed with. One simply cannot breed humans like horses without imbuing the state with the level of control a farmer has over its livestock, not only controlling procreation, but also the diet, access to medical services, and living conditions.

There’s my girl.” He tossed the rag to the hearth. “Now, cuddle up. Do you know, I think you put bruises on my arse, woman?” He stretched out on his side, right smack beside her. “You have slain me, Emmie Farnum.” He sighed happily and felt cautiously for her in the dark. His hand found her hair, which he smoothed back in a tender caress. “I badly needed slaying, too, I can tell you.” He bumped her cheek with his nose and pulled back abruptly. “I would have said you were in need of slaying, as well,” he said slowly, “but why the tears, Emmie, love?” There were women who cried in intimate circumstances, a trait he’d always found endearing, but they weren’t Emmie, and her cheek wasn’t damp. It was wet. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, pulling her over his body. He positioned her to straddle him and wrapped an arm around her even while his hand continued to explore her face. He thought he’d been careful, but at the end, he’d been ardent—or too rough? “Sweetheart.” He found her cheek with his lips. “I am so heartily sorry.” “For what?” she expostulated, sitting up on him. “I am the one who needs to apologize. Oh, God, help me, I was hoping you wouldn’t learn this of me, and I tried to tell you, but I couldn’t… I just…” She was working herself up to a state. Even in the dark, her voice alone testified to rising hysteria. “Emmie.” He leaned up and gathered her in his arms. “Emmie, hush.” But she couldn’t hush; she was sobbing and hiccupping and gulping in his arms, leaving him helpless to do more than hold her, murmur meaningless reassurances, and then finally, lay her gently on her side, climb out of bed, and fish his handkerchief out of his pockets. All the while though, he sorted through their encounter and seized upon a credible source of Emmie’s upset. “You were not a virgin,” he said evenly as he tucked the handkerchief into her hand and gathered her back over him. “I was n-n-not,” she said, seizing up again in misery. “And I h-h-hate to cry. But of course you know.” I do now, he thought with a small smile, though had he thought otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so willing to bed her—he hoped. “Cease your tears, Emmie love.” He tucked her closer. “I am sorry for your sake you are so upset, and I hope your previous liaisons were not painful, but as for me, I am far more interested in your future than your past.” A moment of silence went by, his hands tracing lazy patterns on her lovely back, and then she looked up at him. “You cannot mean that.” “I can,” he corrected her gently. “I know you were without anyone to protect you, and you were in service. One of my own sisters was damned near seduced by a footman, Emmie. It happens, and that’s the end of it. Has your heart been broken?” She nodded on a shuddery breath. “Shall I trounce him for you? Flirt with his wife?” “That won’t be necessary,” she said, her voice sounding a little less shaky.

تو را چه کسی اسرافت می کند در حالی که من به ذره ذره تو محتاجم....

soon you’ll be able to control it, ya know. Come and go, free as you please. Although the island - oh she will still drag you here when she wants.’ ‘H-h-how?

Whenever a tool is handled with ease and with a minimum of false motions, so that it will produce accurate and satisfactory results, it is handled in the right way. The constant aim of every carpenter, especially the apprentice, should be to eliminate false motions in everything he does.” — Carpenter’s Tools, H. H. Seigele

De Dennen Dennebossen, scheef als dronkaards groeien van waaien; lucht; oudheid. In de grond geplante zwepen, bukkend onder de tekens des hemels. Staande of ze nog wachters waren voor de vervlogen deuren van goden. Hun denappels de handschriften van bronzen spraak; gekraakte. Door lachgas verschrompelde strottenhoofden van reuzen. Loop je s'nachts in het dennenbos, krrr diep onder de dennen is angst de jager; dennendonker is spottend duister, hun appels geen sterren, geen lampen. Luister wat ze zeggen, de 2 bijlen "tIs zo recht bij de dennen, zo ijlend, waarheid die van onderen afsterft, leugens uithangt, dóór groeit naar 't Licht.' O wandelaar de tak boven je stookt je oven, soms leunt aan je gezicht al je kist. Dennenbossen, er waait geen pluis. Dennen zijn de kelders van de luchten. Je hoort ze kreunen en zuchten 'Wij brengen jou thuis, brengen je thuis.

Grote Beuk Hij is het zwijgen rechtop de hemel in; de wind, de hitte en regen hieuwen zijn stam en takken, zijn wortels als houten fonteinen wellend uit de bronnen. Alle seizoenen krijgen kwartier, hij is het opgetaste korte en lange jaar, in de zomer fluistert nog de witte sneeuwjacht in zijn blad en bronzen herfst omarmt stormend zijn schors in de meimaand. Toen de bleke, felle bliksems kwamen die hun harpoenen plantten in jouw hart en vier takken woedend versplinterden, sapstromen dempten die opstijgen wilden na de winter, wachtte, grote beuk, achter je de kuil (doodkalm kraken slaapt in het veld) slechts voor jou daar gegraven.

H&H Denton Appliance Repair is proud to provide appliance repair for customers in Denton, TX and surrounding communities. Customers count on us to fix all major brands and models of appliances for a price they can afford. Service includes warranty and 100% satisfaction guarantee.

Horne was both a Congregational minister and a member of the British parliament. He had a reputation for eloquence in the House of Commons, and for passion in the pulpit. H. H. Asquith often went to hear him preach because, he said, “he had a fire in his belly.” Being both a politician and a preacher, he was able from personal experience to compare the two vocations, and he had no doubt which was the more influential: The preacher, who is the messenger of God, is the real master of society; not elected by society to be its ruler, but elect of God to form its ideals and through them to guide and rule its life. Show me the man who, in the midst of a community however secularized in manners, can compel it to think with him, can kindle its enthusiasm, revive its faith, cleanse its passions, purify its ambitions, and give steadfastness to its will, and I will show you the real master of society, no matter what party may nominally hold the reins of government, no matter what figurehead may occupy the ostensible place of authority.48

And it also seems likely that many Scots are directly descended from the hunter-gatherer communities of the western refuges. Very recent ancestral DNA research shows that more than 40 per cent carry markers from the mitochondrial DNA haplogroups identified as H, H1 and HVO, all of which originated amongst the people of the painted caves. Each of us carries a great deal of information in our DNA but two small parts of our genomes are especially informative about ancestry. Men carry a Y-chromosome marker inherited from their fathers and their fathers before them, away back in time, and they also inherit mitochondrial DNA, or mtDNA, from their mothers and their mothers, again away back in deep time. Women carry only mtDNA but they pass it on to their children of both genders. So, men carry mtDNA too but can only pass on their Y-chromosome marker, their fatherline, to their sons. In the act of reproduction, when the 6 billion letters of DNA we carry are passed on, tiny errors of copying are made. These are known as DNA markers and both their origin and the date when they arose can be calculated. Therefore, it is possible to say with considerable certainty that more than 40 per cent of all Scots, men and women, carry the

Mrs. De Ropp was Conradin's cousin and guardian, and in his eyes she represented those three-fifths of the world that are necessary and disagreeable and real; the other two-fifths, in perpetual antagonism to the foregoing, were summed up in himself and his imagination. One of these days Conradin supposed he would succumb to the mastering pressure of wearisome necessary things--such as illnesses and coddling restrictions and drawn-out dullness. Without his imagination, which was rampant under the spur of loneliness, he would have succumbed long ago.

Mrs. De Ropp would never, in her honestest moments, have confessed to herself that she disliked Conradin, though she might have been dimly aware that thwarting him "for his good" was a duty which she did not find particularly irksome. Conradin hated her with a desperate sincerity which he was perfectly able to mask. Such few pleasures as he could contrive for himself gained an added relish from the likelihood that they would be displeasing to his guardian, and from the realm of his imagination she was locked out--an unclean thing, which should find no entrance.

Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar." The thing was not specified. As Sredni Vashtar was a god he must be supposed to know. And choking back a sob as he looked at that other empty corner, Conradin went back to the world he so hated.

IT was autumn in London, that blessed season between  the harshness of winter and the insincerities of summer;  a trustful season when one buys bulbs and sees to the  registration of one's vote, believing perpetually in  spring and a change of Government.

I quickly placed the coke back down on the table and glanced at the others. “Did someone want diet coke?” I asked, wondering whose drink I’d ended up with by accident. As much as I argued against Geraldine getting our food and drinks all the time, she insisted on doing it and never forgot our preferences so I doubted she would have made that mistake. Before anyone could respond, Geraldine and Angelica burst into a fit of hysterical laughter, drawing our attention away from Diego’s display of self pity. “I g-g-got you diet!” she cried, barely able to force the words out between her laughter. “What?” I asked in confusion. “The mayo in your sandwich was half fat too!” Angelica added, clinging to Geraldine as she wiped tears from beneath her eyes. “Why?” I asked in confusion. “H- h -hell week!” Geraldine spluttered through her laughter, her eyes sparkling with amusement. My lips parted and I threw an extra dose of false outrage into my expression in response to the ridiculous prank, placing a hand over my heart. “How could you, Geraldine?” I gasped. “I thought we were friends!” Her laughter turned to howling and it was actually kinda addictive, forcing a laugh from me as I exchanged an amused look with Darcy. (tory)

fame,