Halo 2 Quotes

He looks immaculate. Flawless, especially as he stands here among the dirt and destruction, surrounded by the bleakest colors this landscape has to offer. He's a vision of emerald and onyx, silhouetted in the sunlight in the most deceiving way. He could be glowing. That could be a halo around his head. This could be the world's way of making an example out of irony. Because Warner is beautiful in ways even Adam isn't.

Find x if (x)=2sin3x,over the domain -2piX=Beth 'Stop goofing around!',I said. 'I'm not! I'm stating the truth.You're my solution to everything',Xavier replied. 'The end result is always you.X always equals Beth.

This was a few weeks ago," Annabeth said. "Percy told me a crazy story about meeting a boy our near Moriches Bay. Apparently this kid used hieroglyphs to cast spells. He helped Percy battle a crocodile monsters." "The Sob of Sobek!" Sadie blurted. "But my brother battled that monster. He didn't say anything about-" "Is your brother's name Carter?" Annabeth asked. An angry golden aura flickered around Sadie's head-a halo of hieroglyphs that resembled frowns, fists, and dead stick men. "As of this moment," Sadie growled, "My brother's name is Punching Bag.

A body is merely a vehicle. The deepest emotions are experienced through the soul.

I was looking forward to having a halo. It would make such a convenient reading lamp.

How could you tell children they were playing with fire if they´d never had the experience of being burned?

I started getting Mal's texts just before lunch. Mal: Awake Anne: Morning Mal: Going for a run with Jim Anne: Have fun! Mal: Back from run having lunch ... Mal:Your taste in music sucks Anne: Thanks Mal: Seriously, we need to talk it's that bad. Everything apart from Stage Dive needs to go. Anne: Wait. What are you doing? Mal:Fixing it. Anne: Mal, WTH are you doing? Mal: Making you new playlist wih decent shit. Relay Anne: K Thanks Mal: Bored again Mal: Ben's coming over to play Halo Anne: Great! But you don't have to tell me everything you do, Mal Mal: Davie says communication's important Mal: When are you on the rag? Davie said to find out if you want cupcakes or ice cream Anne: I want to not talk about this ever Mal: Bored. Ben's late Mal: Let's get a dog Anne: Apartment has no pets rule Mal: Nice green lace bra Anne: Get out of my drawers, Mal. Mal: Matching panties? Anne: GET OUT NOW. Mal: :) Mal: sext me Mal: Some on it'll be funny Mal: Plz? Mal: High level of unhealthy codependency traits exhibited by both parties relationship possibly bordeing on toxic Anne: WTF? Mal: Did magazine quiz. We need help- Especially you Anne:... Mal: Booking us couples counseling. Tues 4:15 alright? Anne: We are not going to counseling. Mal: What's wrong? Don't you love me anymore? Anne: Turning phone off now.

I hope the two of you will descend from your love bubble long enough to learn something today," he sniped cuttingly and the other kids snickered. Embarrassed, I ducked my head to avoid eye contact with them. "It's all right, sir," Xavier replied. "The bubble's been engineered to allow us to learn from within it.

She was a vision in a white gown her dark hair forming a hazy halo around her rosy heart-shaped face. Her long lashes fluttered to touch her cheeks and then her eyes opened fully in his direction. Her small round mouth flexed in an immediate and knowing smile. That's the girl I'm going to marry Henry thought.

The righteous ones are always exhausting to have around.

One does not need to lock up that which is not dangerous.

You make me feel things, Beth. That´s why you have to stay. Hell´s whole lot brighter with you in it.

(...) I don´t want a drink. I just want to know where am I? -You´re not in Kansas anymore!- Jake chuckled at his own joke.

But don’t let them talk you into anything you don’t feel comfortable with.” “They’re my friends.” “So what?” He shrugged. “If your friends walked off a cliff, would you do it too?” “Why would they walk off a cliff?” I asked in alarm. “Is someone having problems at home?

Never love that which you cannot keep.

Love has to be reciprocated for it to be real.

He smiled and scrawled something at the bottom of the answer sheet. The solution now read: Find X if (X)=2sin3X, over the domain -2πX= Beth Stop goofing around! I said. I'm not I'm stating a truth your my solution to everything. Xavier replied. The end result is always you. X always equals Beth.

Beth,” he said simply, his flawless face lit up with anticipation. “There is no doubt in my mind that we belong together, but to spend the rest of my life with you would be an honor and commitment that I would cherish.” He paused, his clear, blue eyes luminous. My breath caught in my throat, but Xavier only smiled. “Beth,” he repeated. “Will you marry me?” The look on his face was pure happiness.

How can the strength of one man stand against Jake and an army of demons?" "He can," I countered, "if he has the power of Heaven on his side. After all, Christ was a man." "He was also the Son of God, there's a difference." "Do you think they could have crucified him if he wasn't human?" I asked. "He was flesh and blood, just like Xavier. You've been here so long you underestimate the power of humans. They're a force of nature.

If you think you love me, then you don’t know what love is,' Gabriel said. 'Love has to be reciprocated for it to be real.

There was nothing else to do but call upon the Creator, praying, begging, pleading, bargaining—anything to make him protect Xavier. I couldn’t have him ripped away from me like that. I could survive emotional turmoil; I could survive the most intense physical torture. I could survive Armageddon and holy fire raining down upon the earth, but I could not survive without him.

Hubert's wife, Mindy, was a tiny powerhouse of a woman with a halo of wild blond hair and eye makeup so complex it took me a while to locate her pupils. She was clearly the brains of the operation, such as she was.

You," I surmised, and gestured round. "Thank you." "No," he denied. His pale hair floated out from beneath his cap in a halo as he shook his head. "But I assisted. Thank you for bathing. It makes my task of checking on you less onerous. I'm glad you're awake. You snore abominably." I let this comment pass. "You've grown." I observed. "Yes. So have you. And you've been sick. And you slept quite a long time. And now you're awake and bathed and fed. You still look terrible. But you no longer smell. It's late afternoon now. Are there any other obvious facts you'd like to review?

Strano come certi ridicoli rituali appaiano perfettamente sensati quando si è innamorati.

I made a vow to myself to never be fooled again by a man or a halo wearing asshole with wings.

I feel sorry for you," he said slowly. "I guess you wouldn't know what it's like to be loved or wanted by anybody. You're right, though; Beth isn't human, because humans have a soul that they struggle all the time to stay in touch with. Every day is a battle for them to listen to their conscience and do the right thing. If you knew Beth at all you'd know that she doesn't have a soul, she's ALL soul. She's filled with it, more than any human possibly could be. You wouldn't know that because emptiness and hatred is all you've ever know. But that won't win out in the end-you'll see." "You're very cocky for a mere human," the demon replied.

She’s dressed in a white her soul doesn’t reflect, a drop-dead beauty with drop-dead morals.

I looked down at Lilah, her hair around her on the pillow like a damn halo. "Baby," I rasped, you look like a fuckin' angel right now. I ain't seeing any evidence of some evil, sinful woman." Lilah's hand dropped. "That is the disguise. The devil is beautiful after all." "Then I fuckin' want the devil, Li...I want you.

There is the scent too. Wonder follows it; wonder about how a boy can smell like that when he probably has no idea. He smells like the woods in the winter or the rain when it first falls, or maybe it’s just the way he always smells and there is no way to define it.

Pick,” Emma tells her. Tira’s lip trembles. She tries to back out of sight, but someone pushes her forward. “Pick…Pick what?” Emma motions to the halo of predators above them, around them, everywhere. “Pick two. Any two you want, and I will have them divide Jagen’s body evenly.” “No!” Jagen screams, his face contorted in terror. Emma cocks her head at him. “Jagen, make up your mind. Didn’t you just say you don’t believe I have the Gift? So then why should you care if she points to some harmless sharks?” He clamps his mouth shut, but the look of panic stays. Tira says, “I couldn’t do that, Highness.” Highness! Someone called Emma “Highness!” It’s one of the many names she calls Galen when she’s mad at him. The irony is not lost on Emma. Her death glare cuts off his snickers. She turns back to Tira. “Of course you can. There’s nothing to worry about because Paca has the Gift, remember? Isn’t that what you all believe? She would never let any harm come to her own father, would she? I know I wouldn’t. So go ahead and pick. Paca will save Jagen.” Clever little angelfish. Galen smirks at Jagen, who won’t meet his eyes. Nalia and Grom make their way to the edge of the center. Grom grins at Emma like she’s his own daughter. Which is very weird for Galen.

He saw the brilliant halo around them for what it was: union. That perfect blending of acceptance, sympathy, empathy, understanding and physical need that coalesced into glue, until there was only the union between them, and both were powerless to describe it.

Countries are forged by war; perhaps girls are, too. New England and I will be reborn together in this war between the witches and the Brothers. Between Maura and me. I am newly wrought -- a girl of steel and snow and heartrending good-byes. My magic is renewed by my heartbreak. It spills out my fingertips, swirling around me. The wind picks up, bitter cold now. The rain turns abruptly to snow, haloing the gas streetlamps like iron angels. Enormous snowflakes begin to fall -- fast, faster -- obscuring my sister, hiding her and Brenna and the carriage and the gray stone building that has become my home. I am all alone in a sea of whirling white. It feels right that it should be so.

Jacob and Whistler bumped into Taberah as she charged down the corridor, her hair a fiery halo, as if the hordes of Hell were behind her.

My name was in the wind, and the wind was high above the snowbound city. There was no difference between the sound of my name and the sound of the wind. I was in the wind and the wind was in me, and beneath us were the crystalline haloes of golden light wrapped about the streetlamps, and the muffled plops of snow falling from eaves, and the dry rattles of the dead leaves clinging to the indifferent boughs.

Regardless, my most horrific discovery has been that society is nothing more than a series of carefully calculated choices based solely around economics.

It’s the apocalypse, but we’re still here, huddled on top of an upside-down world, waiting for the end, not realizing we’re in the epilogue.

She pulls her hand away and Damian feels the sensation of falling, a somersault into a foreign abyss where a girl with eggplant hair and a hoop in her brow waits in the darkness.

Transmogrification,” Langdon said. “The vestiges of pagan religion in Christian symbology are undeniable. Egyptian sun disks became the halos of Catholic saints. Pictograms of Isis nursing her miraculously conceived son Horus became the blueprint for our modern images of the Virgin Mary nursing Baby Jesus. And virtually all the elements of the Catholic ritual—the miter, the altar, the doxology, and communion, the act of “God-eating”—were taken directly from earlier pagan mystery religions.

Put it this way, how do you feel about the supernatural?” “I’m fine with it,” Molly replied coolly. “I used to watch Charmed and Buffy and all those shows.” Gabriel winced slightly. “This isn’t quite the same thing.” “Okay, well, listen to this. Last week my horoscope in Cosmo told me I was going to meet an enchanting stranger and this guy on the bus gave me his phone number. I’m a total believer now.” “Yeah, you’ve really seen the light,” Xavier said under his breath. “Did you know that Sagittarians have a problem with sarcasm?” Molly snapped. “That would be very enlightening, except I’m a Leo.” “Yeah, well, everyone knows they’re a pack of assholes!” “My God, you’re like talking to a rock.” “You’re a rock!

Was it so wrong to want to make my own choices, even if they were the wrong ones? I already had Lola Flor and the rest of my family telling me what to do, I didn’t need my romantic partner doing the same.

I only had one thought as the blackness closed in, drawing me back to my beloved earth. I was going back to the life I'd known before, the life I'd missed and longed for...but there in Xavier's arms, I was already home.

He wishes he could remember everything. Anything. He doesn’t sense a bone in his body that can feel compassion or worthiness. Self-pity hides away as well, the lowest form of emotion not even capable of resting in his wrecked mind.

What never ceased to amaze me and cast a halo around our evening was that ever since we'd met, we'd been thinking along the same lines, and when we feared we weren't or felt we were wrong-footing each other, it was simply because we had learned not to trust that anyone could possibly think and behave the way we did, which was why I was so diffident with him and mistrusted every impulse in myself and couldn't have been happier when I saw how easily we'd shed some of our screens.

Get up, Julian. Move. No rest for the weary, the wicked, or the insane, and you’re all three.

First of all, the Captain rates the honorific ‘sir.’ You will render that honorific or I will plant my foot in your ass.

I planned that Aintree Tale #1 would have a halo while the soon to be published Aintree Tale #2 in comparison would have red horns and a fork tail.

Now go to sleep before I decide to test your theory and jack your halo.

Great sex can have a hell of a halo effect.

You know what they say about angels?" she asked. "That they have wings and a halo?" "No, that they are just wild women who've had the hell screwed out of them," she said with another giggle.

as he flicked through the envelope and Brooke’s details. His stare remained glued to Brooke’s sleeping face with her wavy hair spread across the pillow like a halo. The picture had been taken with Jett’s

They want to hold a seance and go dressed as bunnies.” “What kind of bunnies?” he asked suspiciously. “Playboy, I think. Whatever that means.” “That sounds about right.” Xavier laughed. “But don’t let them talk you into anything you don’t feel comfortable with.” “They’re my friends.” “So what?” He shrugged. “If your friends walked off a cliff, would you do it too?” “Why would they walk off a cliff?” I asked in alarm. “Is someone having problems at home?” Xavier laughed. “It’s just an expression.” “It’s silly,” I told him. “Do you think I should go as an angel? Like in the film version of Romeo and Juliet?” “There would be a certain irony in that,” Xavier said, smirking. “An angel posing as a human posing as an angel. I like it.

Teaser from the soon to be released: Redemption of Fire; My Demon Master Book 2. (with Reference to the character, Cain, from Dormant Desires, Book 4; CAIN. In the oddest, surreal moment, I look out and see one lone face. It’s Cain, the chimera by curse and not birth. He’s been welcomed into Demon-kind as one of them. Almost a treasured being for all his uniqueness. In all reality, he is the most divine among us. The product of an angel and a Neanderthal. A very son of the first Eve. It is he alone who is not prostrate before me. Our eyes lock and my vision goes wonky. I can see details and colors and etched outlines like I never imagined. I see Cain’s magnificent aura as it embraces him like a full-body halo. He is watching the spectacle that is me with detached interest. It’s as if he has truly seen everything there is too see and this is nothing more than a repeat of some long forgotten original episode. He is unafraid. I can feel how calm he is. Before he drops his eyes, surrendering to the dominance of my dragon, he gives me a slightly amused expression and a small nod of encouragement.

After playing Halo 2 for 3 hours, I went out and mowed down a Red Cross blood bank, raped anything with a pulse, and trashed the local mall. Then I toasted the gods of destruction with a goblet of blood stolen from a Girl Guide's body.

Damn, damn, damn,” as he felt something wet and warm puddle on his seat.

For once, I’d love if someone reacted unpredictably to death. Chant or somersault or fucking yodel to show me you have a mind of your own.

Keep telling the truth, and you’ll forget how to lie.

I am no longer her pawn; I am the entire bloody chessboard.

Lying is what I’ve always done best. Besides murder. And drugs. And sex. Well, shit, I can’t help that I’m well rounded.

I never wanted to help, save, or protect people. I only wanted to light things on fire, blow shit up, and cut people open to see what’s inside.

Life rushes when we’re weak and drags when we’re ready, always at odds with what we need and when.

We are the people we surround ourselves with.

Forsake morals once; forsake morals forever.

The gods aren’t done till tragedy becomes ordinary, till catastrophe becomes routine, till man becomes apathetic. Even war can be comfortable. Even war can be excused.

Darkness swirls around her. … The darkness of eternity. Of hope spelled in the stars. … A promise we are not alone. A promise we are part of something greater.

A man with morals is a rarity at the end of the world.

Murder steals lives. Rape steals souls. I’d rather be dead and whole than alive and empty.

Bring it all down, love. Let it all burn.

Life’s too short to hide who you are.

Hate is easy. Love is hard. Because love makes us vulnerable.

Everyone serves a purpose, and that purpose is usually me.

You're more than your work... More than whatever contributions you think you're supposed to be making. More than whoever people think you're supposed to be.

Callum stepped up beside them. “Who we killing? Actually, don’t tell me, just point me to where we’re digging the grave.

Again a Samuelle girl sauntered away, the second one to agitate me. I’d burned with hatred before, but this girl, she turned in the elevator, a tiny Mona-Lisa smile ghosting her lips.

I blinked. “You met freaking God? The Creator?” Gabriel actually rolled his eyes. “He’s my dad, Gaia. Of course I see him.” “Well, you’ve never mentioned hanging with him before,” I mumbled.

Did you miss me?” In a flash, Gabriel scooped me up and stood on the bed. “What’re you doing?” I asked, snapping for air between titters. “Nothing. But yes, I’ve missed you, and I don’t intend to miss you anymore.

Ang unang kasal namin sa barko ay nagpapatunay na pakakasalan ko siya kahit hindi pa naaayos ang lahat, kahit walang nakakaalam at kahit halos walang bisa. Ang pangalawang kasal namin ay nagpapatunay na kaya ko rin siyang pakasalan, hadlang man ang lahat at sa gitna ng mapanuring mga mata. Ang pangatlong kasal namin ngayon ay nagpapatunay na kaya ko rin siyang pakasalan ulit habang pinapakawalan ang lahat ng sakit ng nakaraan.

He walked into the shadows of his rooms; walked into the darkness that no light penetrated. And there, under a halo of gentle red, she waited for him. In silence he stood, while the time drifted by. Days passed thus, stretching out. What of it? He had time. They had time. He touched her hand; it did not move. Very gently he lifted her body, cradling it in his dark arms. Is this what you feel, Sara? Is this what you feel when you cry?

Abulanam’s Pride emerged into a sky dominated by the heaven tree of a stellar nursery. Billowing thunderheads and swirling currents of sooty dust, silicate grains and gas aglow with the radiation of hot bright stars embedded in them. Ragged pillars, shaped by light and stellar winds, clawing across a dozen light years, spalling offshoots tipped with the blowsy haloes of stars birthing in collapsing knots of protostellar material. A vast, violent engine of creation.

Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier – Chapter three Elastic Heart by Sia – Chapter Nine Paralyzed by NF – Chapter Seventeen Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush – Chapter Twenty You Broke Me First by Tate McRae – Chapter Twenty-three Let Me Down by Jorja Smith and Stormzy – Chapter Twenty-four I Can’t Make You Love Me by Teddie Swims – Chapter Thirty Dancing with a Stranger by Sam Smith – Chapter Thirty-one Demons by Jacob Lee – Chapter Thirty-Three Halo by Beyonce – Chapter Thirty-six Play with

His gaze ran over her body again, resting on the deepest of the fracture lines in her shields. 'Come here.' Purple feathers fanned around Riana's sides. Sudden tears moistened her eyes at the unexpectedness of what Sier was offering. She sank against him, and his arms folded around her back. Her weight supported, Riana let herself float on the night and tucked her face into his neck. Sier's power closed around her in a violet wave, running into her halo, slipping though her opened shields.

O Lord, how many are Your works! In wisdom You have made them all.… —Psalm 104:24 (NAS) In her intriguing book What’s Your God Language? Dr. Myra Perrine explains how, in our relationship with Jesus, we know Him through our various “spiritual temperaments,” such as intellectual, activist, caregiver, traditionalist, and contemplative. I am drawn to naturalist, described as “loving God through experiencing Him outdoors.” Yesterday, on my bicycle, I passed a tom turkey and his hen in a sprouting cornfield. Suddenly, he fanned his feathers in a beautiful courting display. I thought how Jesus had given me His own show of love in surprising me with that wondrous sight. I walked by this same field one wintry day before dawn and heard an unexpected huff. I had startled a deer. It was glorious to hear that small, secret sound, almost as if we held a shared pleasure in the untouched morning. Visiting my daughter once when she lived well north of the Arctic Circle in Alaska, I can still see the dark silhouettes of the caribou and hear the midnight crunch of their hooves in the snow. I’d watched brilliant green northern lights flash across the sky and was reminded of the emerald rainbow around Christ’s heavenly throne (Revelation 4:3). On another Alaskan visit, a full moon setting appeared to slide into the volcanic slope of Mount Iliamna, crowning the snow-covered peak with a halo of pink in the emerging light. I erupted in praise to the triune God for the grandeur of creation. Traipsing down a dirt road in Minnesota, a bloom of tiny goldfinches lifted off yellow flowers growing there, looking like the petals had taken flight. I stopped, mesmerized, filled with the joy of Jesus. Jesus, today on Earth Day, I rejoice in the language of You. —Carol Knapp Digging Deeper: Pss 24:1, 145:5; Hb 2:14

CHARACTERISTICS OF SYSTEM 1 generates impressions, feelings, and inclinations; when endorsed by System 2 these become beliefs, attitudes, and intentions operates automatically and quickly, with little or no effort, and no sense of voluntary control can be programmed by System 2 to mobilize attention when a particular pattern is detected (search) executes skilled responses and generates skilled intuitions, after adequate training creates a coherent pattern of activated ideas in associative memory links a sense of cognitive ease to illusions of truth, pleasant feelings, and reduced vigilance distinguishes the surprising from the normal infers and invents causes and intentions neglects ambiguity and suppresses doubt is biased to believe and confirm exaggerates emotional consistency (halo effect) focuses on existing evidence and ignores absent evidence (WYSIATI) generates a limited set of basic assessments represents sets by norms and prototypes, does not integrate matches intensities across scales (e.g., size to loudness) computes more than intended (mental shotgun) sometimes substitutes an easier question for a difficult one (heuristics) is more sensitive to changes than to states (prospect theory)* overweights low probabilities* shows diminishing sensitivity to quantity (psychophysics)* responds more strongly to losses than to gains (loss aversion)* frames decision problems narrowly, in isolation from one another*

Characteristics of System 1: • generates impressions, feelings, and inclinations; when endorsed by System 2 these become beliefs, attitudes, and intentions • operates automatically and quickly, with little or no effort, and no sense of voluntary control • can be programmed by System 2 to mobilize attention when a particular pattern is detected (search) • executes skilled responses and generates skilled intuitions, after adequate training • creates a coherent pattern of activated ideas in associative memory • links a sense of cognitive ease to illusions of truth, pleasant feelings, and reduced vigilance • distinguishes the surprising from the normal • infers and invents causes and intentions • neglects ambiguity and suppresses doubt • is biased to believe and confirm • exaggerates emotional consistency (halo effect) • focuses on existing evidence and ignores absent evidence (WYSIATI) • generates a limited set of basic assessments • represents sets by norms and prototypes, does not integrate • matches intensities across scales (e.g., size to loudness) • computes more than intended (mental shotgun) • sometimes substitutes an easier question for a difficult one (heuristics) • is more sensitive to changes than to states (prospect theory)* • overweights low probabilities* • shows diminishing sensitivity to quantity (psychophysics)* • responds more strongly to losses than to gains (loss aversion)* • frames decision problems narrowly, in isolation from one another*

Civil engineers go where their work is needed. Chicago is my goal because it's the biggest challenge, and could really use this kind of change. But Shady Palms isn't perfect. I mean, it was here that I noticed which areas get the benefits of the town's services. Working in Chicago is my dream, but Shady Palms is my home. I want to make Shady Palms the safest and most equal place possible." "By overseeing construction projects?" Beth didn't bother to keep the mocking tone out of her voice, which made the other girls in the group snicker, but it didn't seem to affect Joy. Her earnestness shone through as she said, "You work for the Thompsons and are a member of their family. You know that construction projects are political---both in who gets them and which areas benefit from them.

Interstate 8" Spent 18 hours waiting stoned for space I spent the same 18 hours in the same damn place I'm on a road shaped like a figure 8 I'm going nowhere, but I'm guaranteed to be late You go out like a riptide You know that ball has no sides You're an angel with an amber halo Black hair and the devil's pitchfork Wind-up anger with the endless view of The ground's colorful patchwork How have you been? [x2] How have you? [x2] I drove around for hours, I drove around for days I drove around for months and years and never went no place We're on a pass, we're on pass I stopped for gas, but where could place be To pay for gas to drive around Around the Interstate 8 You go out like a riptide You know that ball has no sides You're an angel with an amber halo Black hair and the devil's pitchfork Wind-up anger with the endless view of The ground's colorful patchwork How have you been? [x2] How have you? [x2]

And that... that just broke me. Because while I didn't agree with her idea of what a mother's love was, I couldn't deny that for both her and my mom, that was absolutely how they showed their love. That's what their love amounted to. My mother had loved in the way that she knew how. It had never felt like enough. But maybe I needed to either let people love me in the limited way they could or learn to ask for what I needed out of a relationship. And if they couldn't provide it... maybe I needed to learn to move on.

We look amazing," I repeated, as if I could make up for our brother's rudeness. And we did look amazing. Käthe and I were dressed as an angel and a demon, but to my surprise, my sister had chosen to be the devil. She looked majestic in her gown of black velvet, her golden curls draped with black silk and lace, cleverly twisted together and pinned to resemble horns growing from her head. She had rouged her lips a bright red, and her blue eyes looked imperious from behind her black mask. For a moment, the image of moldering gowns on dress forms rose up in my mind, a polished bronze mirror reflecting an endless line of faded Goblin Queens. I swallowed. The dress my sister had made for me was nearly innocent in its simplicity. Yards and yards of fine white muslin had made a floating, ethereal gown, while Käthe had somehow fashioned a brocade cape into the shape of folded angel wings, which grew from my shoulder blades and cascaded to the floor. She had braided gold into a crown about my head for a halo, and I carried a lyre to complete the picture.

It wasn’t my idea. Gracie is all about saving the world. She’s been lecturing everyone about the importance of saving electricity, recycling, and countless other things that we need to do to be greener.” She shrugged as she turned off the stove and lifted the pot of noodles. “I’m just doing as I was told. First by Gracie and then enforced by Hawk.” I smirked. Of course it would be Gracie. The girl was sweet and full of all kinds of innocence. Hawk was in deep with her. Like the couldn’t eat, sleep…breathe without her kind of deep. I knew all about that. For six weeks Willa had been mine. For four years I’d been unable to draw a deep breath.

But then, as I’m leaving school, I see John parked out front. He’s standing in front of his car; he hasn’t seen me yet. In this bright afternoon light, the sun warms John’s blond head like a halo, and suddenly I’m struck with the visceral memory of loving him from afar, studiously, ardently. I so admired his slender hands, the slope of his cheekbones. Once upon a time I knew his face by heart. I had him memorized. My steps quicken. “Hi!” I say, waving. “How are you here right now? Don’t you have school today?” “I left early,” he says. “You? John Ambrose McClaren cut school?” He laughs. “I brought you something.” John pulls a box out of his coat pocket and thrusts it at me. “Here.” I take it from him, it’s heavy and substantial in my palm. “Should I…should I open it right now?” “If you want.” I can feel his eyes on me as I rip off the paper, open the white box. He’s anxious. I ready a smile on my face so he’ll know I like it, no matter what it is. Just the fact that he thought to buy me a present is so…dear. Nestled in white tissue paper is a snow globe the size of an orange, with a brass bottom. A boy and girl are ice-skating inside. She’s wearing a red sweater; she has on earmuffs. She’s making a figure eight, and he’s admiring her. It’s a moment caught in amber. One perfect moment, preserved under glass. Just like that night it snowed in April. “I love it,” I say, and I do, so much. Only a person who really knew me could give me this gift. To feel so known, so understood. It’s such a wonderful feeling, I could cry. It’s something I’ll keep forever. This moment, and this snow globe. I get on my tiptoes and hug him, and he wraps his arms around me tight and then tighter. “Happy birthday, Lara Jean.

Let me put the contrast in a single concrete example. The physician who finds time to give personal attention to his patients and listens to them. carefully probing inner conditions that may be more significant than any laboratory reports, has become a rarity. Where the power complex is dominant, a visit to a physician is paced, not to fit the patient's needs, but mainly to perform the succession of physical tests upon which the diagnosis will be based. Yet if there were a sufficient number of competent physicians on hand whose inner resources were as available as their laboratory aids, a more subtle diagnosis might be possible, and the patient's subjective response might in many cases effectively supplement the treatment. Thoreau expressed this to perfection when he observed in his 'Journal' that "the really efficient laborer will be found not to crowd his day with work, but will saunter to his task surrounded by a wide halo of ease and leisure." Without this slowing of the tempo of all activities the positive advantages of plenitude could not be sufficiently enjoyed; for the congestion of time is as threatening to the good life as the congestion of space or people, and produces stresses and tensions that equally undermine human relations. The inner stability that such a slowdown brings about is essential to the highest uses of the mind, through opening up that second life which one lives in reflection and contemplation and self-scrutiny. The means to escape from the "noisy crowing up of things and whatsoever wars on the divine" was one of the vital offerings of the classic religions: hence their emphasis was not on technological productivity but on personal poise. The old slogan of New York subway guards in handling a crush of passengers applies with even greater force to the tempo of megatechnic society: "What's your hurry...Watch your step!

But…but that’s tragic! To go through life without color? Unable to appreciate art, or beauty?” He laughed. “Now, sweet-hold your brush before you paint me a martyr’s halo. It’s not as though I’m blind. I have a great appreciation for art, as I believe we’ve discussed. And as for beauty…I don’t need to know whether your eyes are blue or green or lavender to know that they’re uncommonly lovely.” “No one has lavender eyes.” “Don’t they?” His gaze caught hers and refused to let go. Leaning forward, he continued, “Did that tutor of yours ever tell you this? That your eyes are ringed with a perfect circle a few shades darker than the rest of the…don’t they call it the iris?” Sophia nodded. “The iris.” He propped his elbow on the table and leaned forward, his gaze searching hers intently. “An apt term it is, too. There are these lighter rays that fan out from the center, like petals. And when your pupils widen-like that, right there-your eyes are like two flowers just coming into bloom. Fresh. Innocent.” She bowed her head, mixing a touch of lead white into the sea-green paint on her palette. He leaned closer still, his voice a hypnotic whisper. “But when you take delight in teasing me, looking up through those thick lashes, so saucy and self-satisfied…” She gave him a sharp look. He snapped his fingers. “There! Just like that. Oh, sweet-then those eyes are like two opera dancers smiling from behind big, feathered fans. Coy. Beckoning.” Sophia felt a hot blush spreading from her bosom to her throat. He smiled and reclined in his chair. “I don’t need to know the color of your hair to see that it’s smooth and shiny as silk. I don’t need to know whether it’s yellow or orange or red to spend an inordinate amount of time wondering how it would feel brushing against my bare skin.” Opening his book to the marked page, he continued, “And don’t get me started on your lips, sweet. If I endeavored to discover the precise shade of red or pink or violet they are, I might never muster the concentration for anything else.” He turned a leaf of his book, then fell silent. Sophia stared at her canvas. Her pulse pounded in her ears. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck, channeling down between her shoulder blades, and a hot, itchy longing pooled at the cleft of her legs. Drat him. He’d known she was taunting him with her stories. And now he sat there in an attitude of near-boredom, making love to her with his teasing, colorless words in a blatant attempt to fluster her. It was as though they were playing a game of cards, and he’d just raised the stakes. Sophia smiled. She always won at cards. “Balderdash,” she said calmly. He looked up at her, eyebrow raised. “No one has violet lips.” “Don’t they?” She laid aside her palette and crossed her arms on the table. “The slope of your nose is quite distinctive.” His lips quirked in a lopsided grin. “Really.” “Yes.” She leaned forward, allowing her bosom to spill against her stacked arms. His gaze dipped, but quickly returned to hers. “The way you have that little bump at the ridge…It’s proving quite a challenge.” “Is that so?” He bent his head and studied his book. Sophie stared at him, waiting one…two…three beats before he raised his hand to rub the bridge of his nose. Quite satisfactory progress, that. Definite beginnings of fluster.

What the hell's wrong with you? You look like you're about to have a seizure." - Hawk "If your halo shines any brighter, it's going to permanently damage my retinas." - Jace

May 1 Insight Not Emotion I have to lead my life in faith, without seeing Him. 2 Corinthians 5:7 (moffatt) For a time we are conscious of God’s attentions, then, when God begins to use us in His enterprises, we take on a pathetic look and talk of the trials and the difficulties, and all the time God is trying to make us do our duty as obscure people. None of us would be obscure spiritually if we could help it. Can we do our duty when God has shut up heaven? Some of us always want to be illuminated saints with golden haloes and the flush of inspiration, and to have the saints of God dealing with us all the time. A gilt-edged saint is no good, he is abnormal, unfit for daily life, and altogether unlike God. We are here as men and women, not as half-fledged angels, to do the work of the world, and to do it with an infinitely greater power to stand the turmoil because we have been born from above (rv mg). If we try to re-introduce the rare moments of inspiration, it is a sign that it is not God we want. We are making a fetish of the moments when God did come and speak, and insisting that He must do it again; whereas what God wants us to do is to walk by faith. How many of us have laid ourselves by, as it were, and said—“I cannot do any more until God appears to me.” He never will, and without any inspiration, without any sudden touch of God, we will have to get up. Then comes the surprise—“Why, He was there all the time, and I never knew it!” Never live for the rare moments, they are surprises. God will give us touches of inspiration when He sees we are not in danger of being led away by them. We must never make our moments of inspiration our standard; our standard is our duty.

What good can come from one-sidedness? A house with a single side is nothing more than a wall. Not much in the way of shelter. What good is there in chasing rainbows? Even if you found yourself haloed with prismatic light, would it promise a happy ending? Could an ending do anything but break your heart? And yet, what good would it do to shutter your windows, never dream of rainbows or find hope in promises? Why choose to walk away rather than hold your ground and fight for love?

The fact is,” Cara continues, “the data network exists, and that is ethically questionable, but I believe it can work to our advantage here. Just as the computers can access data from other factions, they can send data to other factions. If we sent the data you wished to rescue to every other faction, destroying it all would be impossible.” “When you say ‘we,’” I say, “are you implying that--” “That we would be going with you?” she says. “Obviously not all of us would go, but some of us must. How do you expect to navigate Erudite headquarters on your own?” “You do realize that if you come with us, you might get shot,” says Christina. She smiles. “And no hiding behind us because you don’t want to break your glasses, or whatever.” Cara removes her glasses and snaps them in half at the bridge. “We risked our lives by defecting from our faction,” says Cara, “and we will risk them again to save our faction from itself.” “Also,” pipes up a small voice behind Cara. A girl no older than ten or eleven peers around Cara’s elbow. Her black hair is short, like mine, and a halo of frizz surrounds her head. “We have useful gadgets.” Christina and I exchange a look. I say, “What kinds of gadgets?” “They’re just prototypes,” Fernando says, “so there’s no need to scrutinize them.” “Scrutiny’s not really our thing,” says Christina. “Then how do you make things better?” the little girl asks. “We don’t, really,” Christina says, sighing. “They kind of just keep getting worse.” The little girl nods. “Entropy.” “What?” “Entropy,” she chirps. “It’s the theory that all matter in the universe is gradually moving toward the same temperature. Also known as ‘heat death.’” “Elia,” Cara says, “that is a gross oversimplification.” Elia sticks out her tongue at Cara. I can’t help but laugh. I have never seen one of the Erudite stick out her tongue before. But then again, I haven’t interacted with many young Erudite. Only Jeanine and the people who work for her. Including my brother.

Cortana’s eyes glowed as she bent forward. “Piss off.

You don’t choose who you love.

I hold you to a higher standard than curiosity.

We all die in the end.

Discontent is the source of my success.