Hayden Quotes

Hey," says Hayden, "I'm Switzerland; neutral as can be, and also with great chocolate." "Get lost," Roland tells him. "Already am." And Hayden strolls away.

Hayden?" "Yes,Gia?" "Nothing I just wanted to say your name

That's what law is: educated guesses at right and wrong.

I gotta go to the bathroom," Emby mumbles. "You should have thought of that before you left," says Hayden, putting on his best mother voice. "How many times do we have to tell you? Always use the potty before climbing into a shipping crate.

Perhaps the greatest magic of the human spirit is the ability to laugh, at ourselves, at each other, and at our sometimes hopeless situation. Laughter normalized our lives

They signed the unwind order just to spite each other,but laugh,laugh,laugh,Hayden, because if you ever stop laughing,it might just tear you apart worse than a Chop Shop.

Teachers have three loves: love of learning, love of learners, and the love of bringing the first two loves together.

I was asking if unwinding kills you, or if it leaves you alive somehow. C'mon—it's not like we haven't thought about it." (...) What do you think, Connor?" asks Hayden. "What hap­pens to your soul when you get unwound?" Who says I even got one?" For the sake of argument, let's say you do." Who says I want an argument?

You quoted Oscar Wilde.” I smiled. Hayden laughed. “Yeah, that was, like, the height of geekdom.” “No. It was kind of cool.

Derek's the nicest guy I know. He would never...you know." "He better not...you know!" Hayden bit out.

Listen to me, Ember. I couldn’t hurt you. I can’t.” Hayden settled his eyes on me. They were softer than I’d ever seen. “I love you— I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.

How can you pass laws about things that nobody knows?" "They do it all the time," says Hayden. "That's what law is: educated guesses at right and wrong.

Safety is the most basic task of all. Without sense of safety, no growth can take place. Without safety, all energy goes to defense

Don’t ever touch her again,” Hayden growled. Kurt looked up, eyes wide. “Are you threatening me— over her? I’m like your brother, Hayden!” “Not anymore.

What are you still doing up?” I twisted around, spotting Hayden in the doorway. “Watching the… uh,” I turned back, frowning at the screen, “the… way tigers mate.” I sighed. Damn you, Discovery Channel. He chuckled deep in his throat. “Didn’t know that kind of thing interested you.” “Oh. Yeah, always wanted to know how they picked their boyfriends.

He`s quite extraordinary with his moves and spins. I think he was a baton girl in a past life [on his co-star Hayden Christensen].

Hunger gnawed at my stomach, but I was afraid someone would be in the kitchen again. So I found myself staring at the front door. Freedom seemed just a doorknob-turn away. When I did open the door, freedom didn't wait — a half-naked Hayden did.

Hayden’s gaze fell to my lips. My heart did a stupid little jump that made me all warm and fuzzy. He liked me— really liked me. Even after seeing my scars. It was like hitting the jackpot of awesome guys.

Everyone has scars, Tenley. If we're lucky, they're only on the outside".

You had a bet. You couldn't lose a bet. If you had a choice between me and winning, you'll choose winning every time. It's still true.

What if . . . what if . . . "What if it's a harvest camp after all?" says Emby. Connor doesn't tell him to shut up this time, because he's thinking the same thing. It's Diego who answers him. "If it is, then I want my fin gers to go to a sculptor. So he can use them to craft something that will last forever." They all think about that. Hayden is the next to speak. "If I'm unwound," says Hayden, "I want my eyes to go to a photographer — one who shoots supermodels. That's what I want these eyes to see." "My lips'll go to a rock star," says Connor. "These legs are definitely going to the Olympics." "My ears to an orchestra conductor." "My stomach to a food critic." "My biceps to a body builder." "I wouldn't wish my sinuses on anybody." And they're all laughing as the plane touches down.

Unlike Bec and I, Hayden didn’t yell anything angry, but the speed at which his ball hit the glass made me think that maybe he did have a few demons.

Art is not escape, but a way of finding order in chaos, a way of confronting life.

I’m pregnant.” Brent dropped his bag on the driveway. “What?” “I’m pregnant and you almost got blown up, you ass,” Hayden said shakily. “I’m never speaking to you again.” He went toward her slowly, laying a reverent hand on her belly. “There could be a mini-duchess in here?” His exhale sounded shaky. “Holy shit.

We must not be frightened nor cajoled into accepting evil as deliverance from evil. We must go on struggling to be human, though monsters of abstraction police and threaten us. Reclaim now, now renew the vision of a human world where godliness is possible and man is neither gook nigger honkey wop nor kike but man permitted to be man.

So tell us," says Connor, "in The World According to Hayden, when do we start to live?" A long silence from Hayden, and then he says quietly, uneasily, "I don't know." Emby razzes him. "That's not an answer." But Connor reaches out and grabs Emby's arm, to shut him up- because Emby's wrong. Even though Connor can't see Hayden's face, he can hear the truth of it in his voice. There was no hint of evasion in Hayden's words. This was raw honesty, void of Hayden's usual flip attitude. It was perhaps the first truly honest thing Connor had ever heard him say. "Yes, it is an answer," Connor says. "Maybe it's the best answer of all. If more people could admit they really don't know, maybe there never would have been a Heartland War.

I like your hair down." He twisted his fingers through the curls. My eyes drifted shut as I relaxed next to him. "It's a mess. I need to get a haircut." Hayden's fingers stilled. "No. You shouldn't cut your hair. It's beautiful." I would never cut my hair. Ever.

But I can tell you this, Mr. James, I refuse to be treated with disrespect." "Disrespect?" Burnett growled. And then everything went to hell. Burnett and Hayden exchanged colourful verbal blows. According to Hayden, Burnett was a prick, and according to Burnett, Hayden was an overconfident jerk who had lied. She didn't know if she felt confident the tension wouldn't elevate to physical blows, or if she was simply too tired to care anymore. If they broke each other's noses, so be it.

You made this fucking sound, Hayden. The first time you spread your legs to take my cock. I hear it everywhere I go. This goddamn…moan? Sob? I don’t know. All I know is if I don’t fuck that sound out of you again soon, I’m going to completely lose my mind.

Nick might have enjoyed making out with me. He might even want to be with me. But more than anything, Nick wanted to win. And winning me over wasn't enough.

Hayden Winstead! Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare marry someone else. We will fix this, do you understand me? If it means I have to work ten jobs. Your family will be fine. You don’t have to do this. Please, please don’t do this.” He banged his head against the door, grateful for the pain somewhere besides his heart. “I know I’m an asshole but I’m working on it. I’m sorry for what I said. So sorry. Hurting you…it might be the worst thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve this. If you marry him, Hayden, I won’t recover. I only got to spend one night holding you, but it was enough to know I have to hold you every single night.

No one ever answered my question," Hayden says. "Looks like no one has the guts" "Which one?" Asks Connor. " You've got questions coming out of you like farts on Thanksgiving.

Hayden's ovaries stood up and delivered a thundering ovation.

Who’s got you feeling out of control, duchess?” Hayden shook her head, knocking against his chin in a way he found so endearing, his throat hurt. “Tell me so I can set them straight.

Hayden felt ready to snap. She felt out of control. She needed something. Unfortunately, she had a feeling that something was the six-foot-five hormone-whisperer walking beside her, whistling the Happy Days theme song.

I could stand in the middle of Front Street shrieking like a banshee and nobody would notice me. You don't need magic to be invisible in a town like this. Being poor works just the same. So stand behind me and think quiet thoughts.

Hayden shouts, "To the new Teen Uprising!

In the worship of security we fling ourselves beneath the wheels of routine-and before we know it our lives are gone.

It's a funny place, this world. Hate has rights. Love has none.

Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he'd call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love's austere and lonely offices?

Jesus can always reject his father, But he cannot escape his mother's blood. He'll scream and try to wash it off of his fingers, But he'll never escape what he's made up of.

Kowkosvki? You handling this?” “I am.” The suit turned and stared at me with his dark eyes. “Detective Hayden. I take it you’re the shooter?” “I am.” “And you are?” “Jack Ludefance. I’m a PI hired by Mr. Kingsley to investigate the murder of Professor Zambear.” “Oh, yeah, I heard about you. Who’s in the bedroom?” “Rudy Orkut. My computer tech.” “Computer tech, huh? Any idea who this dead body is?” “Not a clue.

God loves you, but not enough to save you.

What are you still doing up?” I twisted around, spotting Hayden in the doorway. “Watching the… uh,” I turned back, frowning at the screen, “the … way tigers mate.” I sighed. Damn you, Discovery Channel.

No, it's not!" says Emby. "Hey—he wanted my opinion, I gave it." "But it's wrong!" "You see, Hayden? You see what you started?" "Yes!" Hayden says excitedly. "It looks like we're about to have our own little Heartland War. Pity it's too dark for us to watch it.

The Admiral's using us," he says to the kids around him. "Don't you see that?" Most of the kids just shrug, but Hayden's there, and he never misses an opportunity to add his peculiar wisdom to a situation. "I'd rather be used whole than in pieces," Hayden says.

Memang sangat sulit mengubah pribadi yang sudah terbentuk oleh lingkungan selama ini, tapi sekalipun sedikit bukanlah sesuatu yang tidak mungkin

The dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked with dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed.

Ilya hadn’t realized how much fun it would be to confuse Hayden with compliments. He would have to do it more often.

It had come with a cost, however, whose payment had led her into alleys of herself she scarcely knew; at the end of one she’d found Hayden.

Cold and anger were not a good mix. "Hayden," Nick called from behind me. Oh, good! Just what this walk needed: a double-shot of ex to go with that cold and anger.

I'm sure my parents must be proud. Or horrified. Or are bitterly arguing about whether they're proud or horrified, and have already hired lawyers to resolve the dispute. -Hayden Upchurch

Connor bangs his head back sharply against the wall, hoping to jar loose the bad thoughts clinging to his brain. This is not a good place to be alone with your thoughts. Perhaps that's why Hayden feels compelled to talk.

Why speak of the use of poetry? Poetry is what uses us.

She looked up. "What I can't figure out is why the good things always end." "Everything ends." "Not some things. Not the bad things. They never go away." "Yes, they do. If you let them, they go away. Not as fast as we'd like sometimes, but they end too. What doesn't end is the way we feel about each other. Even when you're all grown up and somewhere else, you can remember what a good time we had together. Even when you're in the middle of bad things and they never seem to be changing, you can remember me. And I'll remember you.

Em, you have a soul.” “How can you be so sure of that, Hayden? How many people die and come back?” “No one dies and comes back. You did because of your sister, and you have a gift. Maybe that played a role in your coming back, but you have a soul. You aren’t evil. There’s nothing you can say that will make me think that.” I looked up and our gazes locked. “And there’s nothing you can say to make me feel differently.” He lowered his eyes. Thick lashes fanned his cheeks. “I know you do, because I wouldn’t want to… to kiss you if you didn’t have a soul.” I froze. “You… you want to kiss me?

Hayden gave me a lopsided smile before turning to Olivia. “Aunt Liz is baking cookies.”Her eyes lit up like someone shoved a diamond in her face. “Cookies? Coca chip?”“Uh-huh, but isn’t it your bedtime?” asked Hayden. “You probably missed out on the chance.”“Nooo.” She dragged the word out, eyes wide.I shook my head, smiling. “So wrong.

Look, if I were straight, you'd be grandparents before your time. You should be relieved that I'm gay. Aren't you grateful?

Look, it’s true that I think there are a lot of people to blame for all of this, but I’m one of them.” For a second, my mind flashed back to the party, to the last words I’d ever said to him. Fuck you, Hayden. Some kind of best friend I was. “And it’s not my job to decide who should pay.

Yellowstone, a place so special and awe-inspiring that after exploring it in 1871, the Hayden Expedition conceived of the original concept of the world’s first national park—a set-aside of 2. 2 million acres containing more than ten thousand thermal features, canyons, waterfalls, and wildlife—so no man or corporation could ever own it.

To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise, you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen who play with their boats at sea... "cruising" it is called. Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about. "I've always wanted to sail to the south seas, but I can't afford it." What these men can't afford is not to go. They are enmeshed in the cancerous discipline of "security." And in the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine - and before we know it our lives are gone. What does a man need - really need? A few pounds of food each day, heat and shelter, six feet to lie down in - and some form of working activity that will yield a sense of accomplishment. That's all - in the material sense, and we know it. But we are brainwashed by our economic system until we end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert our attention for the sheer idiocy of the charade. The years thunder by, The dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed. Where, then, lies the answer? In choice. Which shall it be: bankruptcy of purse or bankruptcy of life?

Deep down behind those hostile eyes was a very little girl who had already learned that life really isn't much fun for anybody; and the best way to avoid further rejection was to made herself as objectionable as possible. Then it would never come as a surprise to find herself unloved. Only a simple fact.

To be truly challenging, a voyage,like a life,must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise you are doomed to a routine traverse.

A poem is not an expression, nor it is an object. Yet it somewhat partakes of both. What a poem is Is never to be known, for which I have learned to be grateful.

but laugh, laugh, laugh, because if you ever stop laughing, it might just tear you apart

Society often accepts difference in children, but it’s not ‘acceptance’ so much as it is a confidence that those differences will fade.

Are you calling me stupid?"says Emby. "I think I just did." Hayden laughs. "Hey, the Mouth Breather's right-unwinding does help people. If it wasn't for unwinding, there would be bald guys again-and wouldn't that be horrible?

If you TRY, and you just BELIEVE, you CAN; you WILL.

Yeah, it's hard. It's really, really hard. But 'hard' is not 'impossible'.

Some people ask me whether I'm a "mama's girl" or a "papa's girl". I'm *nobody's* girl. My brother clings to our parents; I'm the one shoving them out the door.

I will no longer ask for more than you have freely given or can give.

Once you go digging into the actual technical mechanisms by which predictability is calculated, you come to understand that its science is, in fact, anti-scientific, and fatally misnamed: predictability is actually manipulation. A website that tells you that because you liked this book you might also like books by James Clapper or Michael Hayden isn’t offering an educated guess as much as a mechanism of subtle coercion.

why are we then determined to change the child, rather than the world around them? Why do we validate the wrong just because it’s normalised, and ostracise the right just because it’s not?

Learning to walk sets you free. Learning to dance gives you the greatest freedom of all: to express with your whole self the person you are.

It’s amazing what desperation can do to a person. It can seep into the heart. Turn us into the very monsters we fight." -Vexis

But walking a path alone for a while longer is better than sharing it with someone who’s going to make that path more difficult.

I know what you mean. I usually take it out on my older sister. You can lease her for a weekend or something if you need a psychological punching bag. I'll even give you a discount.

Do you think God truly meant for us to keep Him locked in the church? Is He our Sunday pocket watch we only pull out for weddings and funerals and church services? He wishes for us to think about Him wherever we are. And a voice singing His praises at a ball is far less irreverent than a stone-cold heart sitting in a pew on Sunday morning.

We all know how it goes, The more it hurts, the less it shows.

I hated meatloaf. It was like something that Satan pooped out after an eternity of constipation. So I told Mom because I was honest that way. I sat back, squared my shoulders, and met her eyes, all confident-like. "Mom, meatloaf's like something that Satan pooped out after an eternity of constipation. It should be outlawed, frankly, and serving it for dinner is like child abuse and should carry with it some pretty stiff penalties.

You’re dead,” Amyot said, bearing down upon Benedict. Benedict flashed an exhausted grin. “I don’t think Death likes me,” he said breathlessly. “We keep running in to each other before deciding to go our separate ways.

Two gorgeous guys slaving in the kitchen. Doesn't get any better than this.' 'You have low standards,' Chait grinned over his shoulder and dropped bread into the toaster. 'If I had two hot girls in my kitchen, I'd want them naked.' I stood immobile, seeing Chait and Hayden in my minds eye. Naked, cooking for me. Hayden glanced my way and chuckled as I dashed away.

Ember, he’s not going to—” I pushed off the car. “Please. Hayden, please don’t tell him. I’m all Olivia really has. Please.” My voice cracked, and I looked away, embarrassed. “She’s all I have.” Hayden made a soft noise deep in his throat. Then he clasped my elbows and pulled me right up against him. His arms carefully snaked around my waist, trapping me in a hug. It could have been the bunny. Hell, it could’ve been the last two years that suddenly made me want to stay in Hayden’s embrace. Surely— surely not the way his heat thawed the ice encasing my entire body. Or how hard his chest felt under the sweater… or how perfectly I fit against him. And he was a chivalrous type of guy. Right? He wanted to help me control my gift, as ridiculous as that sounded. Comfort— he offered comfort, and I needed to remember that. His arms around my waist made it hard, really hard to keep that in mind, though. “Okay.” Hayden’s breath stirred the hair around my ear. “Even though I think I should tell him, I won’t. But I will figure out who did this.

She hated colds. There was nothing romantic about them. Fainting spells were dramatic, life-threatening illnesses were interesting, and a handsome prince could always rescue you in the case of a twisted ankle, but all colds produced were puffy eyes and a red nose.

If you like being cuffed, I have no problem accommodating you, baby.” “Actually,” she returned, drawing the word out, “I was thinking I would cuff you.” She held her breath. Any minute now, he’d scoff at her request and this charade would be over. Funny, she wasn’t quite as ready to walk away as she had been moments ago. In fact, the thought of Brent’s big body, restrained by handcuffs, was surprisingly appealing. That fluttering in her stomach had graduated into a constant tug, confusing her further. “Done.” Hayden hid her shock as Brent leaned close and spoke gruffly near her ear. “Be warned, though. If you take away the use of my hands, I’ll only make up for it with my mouth.

She and I went to school with Shay Mitchell and Hayden Panettiere, Megan Fox was prom queen, Chris Hemsworth was prom king." I make a clicking noise with my tongue. "And there was Natalie's worst enemy, a cheerleader who tried to steal Damon away from her in tenth grade; Natalie said she was the slutty version of Nina Dobrev - none of these people really looked like them, not really anyway. Natalie is just...odd

She had a keen sense of revenge, that knew no limits. When crossed she retaliated with devastating force. Her intelligence made it all the more frightening, because she could quickly perceive what was most valuable to a person and that is what she abused.

When the rooms were warm, he'd call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, Speaking indifferently to him, Who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know Of love's austere and lonely offices?

I'm a savant when it comes to character judgment," he tells her. "For instance, most people wouldn't see anything in you besides attitude and a need for stronger deodorant, but I think you can handle the storks almost as well as Connor handled the Graveyard." Bam gives him a halfhearted glare. "Can you ever give a compliment without also making it an insult?" "No," he admits. "Not possible. It's the essence of my charm.

Hey, is this what they call the gay agenda?" Spirit Wire called. "Gay boys indoctrinating two innocent, uber straight girls with dirty same-sex kissing?" "What, are you feeling a little gay yet? No? Okay, let me kiss him some more and see what happens," Calais yelled back. I thought I heard Miss Pyro snort and giggle.

One thing in our favor: some of this “becoming kinder” happens naturally, with age. It might be a simple matter of attrition: as we get older, we come to see how useless it is to be selfish — how illogical, really. We come to love other people and are thereby counter-instructed in our own centrality. We get our butts kicked by real life, and people come to our defense, and help us, and we learn that we’re not separate, and don’t want to be. We see people near and dear to us dropping away, and are gradually convinced that maybe we too will drop away (someday, a long time from now). Most people, as they age, become less selfish and more loving. I think this is true. The great Syracuse poet, Hayden Carruth, said, in a poem written near the end of his life, that he was “mostly Love, now.

The closest that either Voltaire or the other historical geniuses of the age -- Hume and Gibbon -- came to understanding unreason's creative potentialities was in their Ironic criticism of themselves and in their own efforts to make sense out of history. This, at least, led them to view themselves as being as potentially flawed as the cripples they conceived to be acting out the spectacle of history.

Nick looked for his coat on the rack.I snagged mine and shrugged it on without stopping.I swung open the front door of the restaurant.The frigid night wind blew snow into my eyes. "Hayden," Nick called me. "Close the door," hollered the couples in the booths nearest us. I let go of the door handle, then turned to Nick in the warm room. When he just stood there,staring down at me,I walked back to him. "On second thought,"he said, "I don't know about this." I was not going to get dissed again.I said brightly, "Oh,don't be scared.It's easy!" I jerked his puffy parka down from the rack and held it open for him. "Try one arm at a time." Glaring at me,he took the coat and shrugged it on. "Close the door!" shouted the couples around us as we walked outside.

So I got to witness firsthand how those metal links got broken. The muscles in his upper arms pumped to the size of grapefruits, and the fabric of the T-shirt tightened around them almost to tearing… Then the metal gave way with a musical twang, and the chain snaked noisily from the grate, falling to the rain-softened earth with a clunk. “By all means,” John said, brushing his hands together in a self-satisfied way, “let’s call Mr. Smith.” I ducked my head, hiding my blushing cheeks by pretending to be busy putting my cell phone back in my bag. Encouraging his occasional lapses into less than civilized behavior seemed like a bad idea, so I didn’t let on how extremely attractive I’d found what he’d just done. “You know,” I remarked coolly, “I’m already your girlfriend. You don’t have to show off your superhuman strength for me.” John looked as if he didn’t for one minute believe my disinterest. He opened the grate for me with a gentlemanly bow. “Let’s go find your cousin,” he said. “I’d like to be home in time for supper. Where’s the coffin?” “It’s at my mom’s house,” I said. “What?” That deflated his self-satisfaction like a pin through a balloon. He stood stock-still outside the door to his crypt, the word HAYDEN carved in bold capital letters above his head. “What’s it doing there?” “Seth Rector and his girlfriend and their friends asked me if they could build it in my mom’s garage,” I said. “They said it was the last place anyone would look.” John shook his head slowly. “Rector,” he said, grinding out the word. “I should have known.” I threw him a wide-eyed glance. “You know Seth Rector?” “Not Seth,” he said, darkly.

I already knew what I’d research. I wrote the words ‘Courtly love’ on my notepad in swirly script, then caught Hayden peering at it. ‘Courtly love? Sorry, Aurora, but I think I’ve already got that one in the bag.’ ‘I think you’d better think again, because I’ve already claimed it,’ I replied. ‘You just said you’re not the Mills & Boon type and, technically, courtly love could be considered historical romance.’ He grinned. ‘As you don’t want to pollute your mind with any clichéd topics, you should probably leave that one to me.’ ‘You, discussing romance? Ha!’ Hayden put on a hurt face. ‘I think I might be alright at it. After all, I’ve been doing a lot of observing lately.’ He gave me a significant look. ‘Observing?’ I repeated, curiosity getting the better of me. ‘Well, you keep accusing me of spying on your dates,’ he said, and shrugged. ‘So, technically, I guess I’m learning about romance firsthand. It seems kind of brutal, judging from the goodnight ritual I saw last night.’ My blood wasn’t boiling, but it was pretty warm. Despite that, I was not going to lose my temper. I was determined that this year Hayden Paris wasn’t going to destroy my composure.

Everett Walsh!" Chloe exclaimed. I fell off the bed laughing. Liz folded her arms and tried to scowl at us, but I could tell she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. "What's wrong with Everett Walsh?" she sputtered."I didn't know when she wrote this in seventh grade that Hayden would hook up with him later.I saw him first." "He's so straitlaced," Chloe said. "Not exactly the ideal hero of a romance." "Watch out for his mama," I advised Liz. "I was answering the question you asked," Liz told Chloe self-righteously. "If your family threatened you with an arranged marriage in the 1800s,you'd want someone on your side who was very mature and organized,who could approach the situation logically and help you out of it.In the 1800s, Everett Walsh would have been a barrister.He'd be perfect for the job." "I'd rather have the evil viscount," I said.

Everett and his mom broke up with me,thank you very much." "You shouldn't have made out with him in his mother's scrapbooking room," Liz said sagely. "We're seventeen,"I snapped, "and Everett and I had been dating for two months when that happened.What were we supposed to do,eat dinner with his family and keep our hands on the table where everyone could see them?I mean, you and Davis are Mr. and Mrs. Polite Reserve, and even you were macking in the hot tub an hour ago." I picked up a pink fuzzy pillow that had fallen from he bed and threw it at Liz. "You were?" Chloe gushed. "You what? Hello,I need the details of Liz and Davis." "Hayden!" Liz squealed, ducking behind Chloe. "I'm not saying you shouldn't have made out with Everett.I'm saying you shouldn't have done it in his mother's scrapbooking room.Location, location,location.You might have disorganized her supplies.Some people are very particular about their chipboard getting mixed up with their cardstock." I closed my eyes,inhaled through my nose,and felt my lungs fill with air. My blood spread the life-giving oxygen throughout my body. "Watch out,"Chloe whispered to Liz. "She's doing yoga." My eyes snapped open.So much for controlling my temper. "Why the hell didn't you tell me Nick's mother left before I went into the sauna with him?" I hollered at Chloe. "We didn't know he was here!" Liz came to Chloe's defense. "And if we'd warned you about him before he got here," Chloe explained, "You would have known he was coming.We didn't want you to leave.The two of you are surprisingly hard to throw together,let me tell you." "I'm not buying it," I informed Chloe. "You were distracted.You had your mind on taking inventory." Liz giggled,turned red, and fell back to the pillows. "Taking inventory requires enormous concentration!" Chloe said with a straight face,but she was blushing,too.

On Being Asked to Write a Poem Against the War in Vietnam Well I have and in fact more than one and I'll tell you this too I wrote one against Algeria that nightmare and another against Korea and another against the one I was in and I don't remember how many against the three when I was a boy Abyssinia Spain and Harlan county and not one breath was restored to one shattered throat mans womans or childs not one not one but death went on and on never looking aside except now and then like a child with a furtive half-smile to make sure I was noticing.

It was no accident that the Oxford English Dictionary’s word of the year in 2016 was “post-truth,” a condition where objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief. Liberal British academic and philosopher A. C. Grayling characterized the emerging post-truth world to me as “over-valuing opinion and preference at the expense of proof and data.” Oxford Dictionaries president Casper Grathwohl predicted that the term could become “one of the defining words of our time.

There is a significant hereditary contribution to ADD but I do not believe any genetic factor is decisive in the emergence of ADD traits in any child. Genes are codes for the synthesis of the proteins that give a particular cell its characteristic structure and function. They are, as it were, alive and dynamic architectural and mechanical plans. Whether the plan becomes realized depends on far more than the gene itself. It is determined, for the most part, by the environment. To put it differently, genes carry potentials inherent in the cells of a given organism. Which of multiple potentials become expressed biologically is a question of life circumstances. Were we to adopt the medical model — only temporarily, for the sake of argument — a genetic explanation by itself would still be unsuitable. Medical conditions for which genetic inheritance are fully or even mostly responsible, such as muscular dystrophy, are rare. “Few diseases are purely genetic,” says Michael Hayden, a geneticist at the University of British Columbia and a world-renowned researcher into Huntington’s disease. “The most we can say is that some diseases are strongly genetic.” Huntington’s is a fatal degeneration of the nervous system based on a single gene that, if inherited, will almost invariably cause the disease. But not always. Dr. Hayden mentions cases of persons with the gene who live into ripe old age without any signs of the disease itself. “Even in Huntington’s, there must be some protective factor in the environment,” Dr. Hayden says.