Hostile For The Holidays Quotes

Are you sure you can prevent yourself from falling in love one of these days? Such things do happen, you know, even to the most prudent men.' Simon gave him a strange, one might even have thought a hostile, look. I should tear it out of my heart as I'd wrench out of my mouth a rotten tooth.

Zeno would also say that nothing is more hostile to a firm grasp on knowledge than self-deception.” —DIOGENES LAERTIUS, LIVES OF THE EMINENT PHILOSOPHERS, 7.23

It wasn’t our relationship that was fake. It was our rivalry.

In one guise or another, Indians always are. Again, it is a question of recognizing that anything worth having has its price. People who respect themselves are willing to accept the risk that the Indians will be hostile, that the venture will go bankrupt, that the liaison may not turn out to be one in which every day is a holiday because you’re married to me. They are willing to invest something of themselves; they may not play at all, but when they do play, they know the odds.

Our reasoned choice--our 'prohairesis,' as the stoics called it--is a kind of invincibility that we can cultivate. We can shrug off hostile attacks and breeze through pressure and problems.

Until the war had broken out, there had been some sort of order in the strange and complex mixture of the four disparate peoples crowded into the little valley, all calling themselves Bosnians. They celebrated separate holidays, ate different foods, feasted and fasted on different days, yet all depended on one another, but never admitted it. They had lived amidst an ever present, if dormant, mixture of hatred and love for each other. The Muslims with their Ramadan, the Jews with Passover, the Catholics with Christmas, and the Serbs with their Slavas- each of them tacitly tolerated and recognised the customs and existence of others. With suckling pigs turned on spits in Serbian houses, giving off a mouth-watering fragrance, kosher food would be eaten in Jewish homes, and in Muslim households, meals were cooked in suet. There was a certain harmony in all this, even if there was no actual mixing. The aromas had long ago adjusted to one another and had given the city its distinctive flavor. Everything was "as God willed it." But it was necessary to remove only one piece of that carefully balanced mosaic and that whole picture would fall into its component parts which would then, rejoined in an unthinkable manner, create hostile and incompatible entities. ‏Like a hammer, the war had knocked out one piece, disrupting the equilibrium.

Our teachers in life are not only those we pay, as Hammett paid Satriani. Nor are they necessarily part of some training dojo, like it is for Shamrock. Many of the best teachers are free. They volunteer because, like you, they once were young and had the same goals you do. Many don’t even know they are teaching—they are simply exemplars, or even historical figures whose lessons survive in books and essays. But ego makes us so hardheaded and hostile to feedback that it drives them away or puts them beyond our reach. It’s why the old proverb says, “When student is ready, the teacher appears.

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Until the war had broken out, there had been some sort of order in the strange and complex mixture of the four disparate peoples crowded into the little valley, all calling themselves Bosnians. They celebrated separate holidays, ate different foods, feasted and fasted on different days, yet all depended on one another, but never admitted it. They had lived amidst an ever present, if dormant, mixture of hatred and love for each other. The Muslims with their Ramadan, the Jews with Passover, the Catholics with Christmas, and the Serbs with their Slavas- each of them tacitly tolerated and recognised the customs and existence of others. With suckling pigs turned on spits in Serbian houses, giving off a mouth-watering fragrance, kosher food would be eaten in Jewish homes, and in Muslim households, meals were cooked in suet. There was a certain harmony in all this, even if there was no actual mixing. The aromas had long ago adjusted to one another and had given the city its distinctive flavor. Everything was "as God willed it." But it was necessary to remove only one piece of that carefully balanced mosaic and that whole picture would fall into its component parts which would then, rejoined in an unthinkable manner, create hostile and incompatible entities. ‏Like a hammer, the war had knocked out one piece, disrupting the equilibrium. Wartime turned differences into outright hatred and instead of blaming the foreign enemy for all their hardships, people blamed their nearest neighbours, which, in turn, represented an invaluable favour to the true enemy of all.

During a temporary absence of General Harney, Captain Lyon, commanding United States forces at St. Louis, initiated hostilities against the State of Missouri under the following circumstances: In obedience to the militia law of the State, an annual encampment was directed by the Governor for instruction in tactics. Camp Jackson, near St. Louis, was designated for the encampment of the militia of the county in 1861. Here for some days companies of State militia, amounting to about eight hundred men, under command of Brigadier-General D. M. Frost, were being exercised, as is usual upon such occasions. They presented no appearance of a hostile camp. There were no sentinels to guard against surprise; visitors were freely admitted; it was the picnic-ground for the ladies of the city, and everything wore the aspect of merry-making rather than that of grim-visaged war. Suddenly, Captain (afterward General) Nathaniel Lyon appeared with an overwhelming force of Federal troops, surrounded this holiday encampment, and demanded an unconditional surrender. Resistance was impracticable, and none was attempted; the militia surrendered, and were confined as prisoners; but prisoners of what? There was no war, and no warrant for their arrest as offenders against the law. It is left for the usurpers to frame a vocabulary suited to their act.

It wasn't just hostility I felt around my mother, it was inadequacy. I had loved my early childhood with her. We'd spent long hours playing beauty parlor and teay party, baking holiday cookies.

I brought Gideon, the Christmas gnome that Jasper bought me at the tree farm craft market, as my emotional support gnome and sat him on the table beside me. When I sense people attempting to come up to talk to me, I start feeding Gideon cake and that seems to keep them from stopping.

Like always, her energy fuels me. I feed off of it, crave it when she's not around. She fits with me in a way that I didn't think was possible.

And the last thing on earth I want to do is break a promise I made to her.

Fourteen years later, Aaron Marino is breaking down those walls, brick by brick.

I mean, we should all be together to ring in the new year." He nods firmly. "And whether she likes it or not, Olivia's one of us now.

What conversation?" She blinks innocently. "Oh, you mean the one where your dear, sweet grandmother sent you off to have a night of wild sex with me?

That is freaking adorable!" Reagan exclaims, squeezing my arm as the Cyclones start to file off the ice. "He's obsessed with you." . . . "Ahhh," Maddie croons. "She's just as obsessed as he is.

I don't give a damn about my car right now. What I do give a damn about is getting you home safe. Will you please allow me to do that?

He actually makes me laugh with his ridiculous big-headed comments, and surprises me with his random acts of kindness.

Your resting Grinch Face is showing, Liv." I chuckle. "And your Holly Jolly Weirdo Face is showing, Marino.

I'm used to giving the orders, not taking them," I say with a smirk. "Sit your ass in the chair, Marino." I sit my ass in the chair. "Good boy." She smiles in satisfaction and I have to laugh at her smug expression.

She's just as witty and funny as I remember. Snarky, with her sweeter side rippling just below the surface.

Or a cat. One of those fluffy ginger ones. I'd be a great cat daddy, I am sure.

He looks at me for another moment, like he's considering, before he slowly—almost hesitantly—leans down and touches his forehead to mine.

This earns me a lopsided smile. Insufferable man.

But then, Olivia walked into the VIP section with her head held high, lit up beneath the flashing lights like some kind of religious vision.

Happy now?" I tap my glass against her, "Absolutely." And I am. Because for once, I've actually made her happy, which feels like my win.

And underneath the hard, prickly exterior she likes to project, Olivia is sweet. Sensitive.

Aaron gives me this sweet, almost vulnerable look that I've never seen before but is already a favorite of mine.

If one of us was ever not good enough, it was me. You were—and still are—so far out of my league.

I still can't stop thinking about her. Can't wait to see her when she wakes up. I want to do something nice for her.

But I wonder if there's anything I can do to soften some of her bad memories by replacing them with better ones.

You're gonna have your hands full with her," Jake says with what looks to be a genuine smile. "I know. I can't wait." I grin back.

Her expression darkens when she sees me looking at her, and this makes me smile. So much so that I can't help but wink at her. She looks back at me like she'd like to stab me with the sharpest skate she can find, and I chuckle to myself. Suddenly, all is right with the world.

And yes, I'm aware that I've just stuffed myself silly on turkey and all the fixings, but I'm a girl who always has room for dessert.

How did you remember?" "Remember what?" "My allergy." I meet her eyes. "I remember everything about you, Olivia. Every last detail.

I wish I could do something to make it better for her. Make this Christmas a little brighter.

In the meantime, do you want to eat soup and watch a scary movie with me? Not an ounce of Christmas cheer, just a bunch of decapitations and stabbings?" She laughs. "I thought you'd never ask.

But all of this beauty pales next to the sight of Olivia in that dress. She's a vision. A straight-up masterpiece of crimson satin and copper curls and scarlet smiling lips.

He looks down at me almost fondly. "Atta girl.

Aaron peels himself away from me, almost regretfully. "Well then, let's get you home, Miss Olivia.

Usually, an event like this would make me feel uncomfortable and have me moving from group to group like a rogue puzzle piece, trying way too hard to fit somewhere.

You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and I wish you could see yourself the way I see you." "Even with puffy red panda eyes?" "Trust me—no other woman can hold a candle to you. Even with puffy red panda eyes and smudged lipstick.

And I think I'll forever be undone by the sounds she made while I kissed her neck and explored, learning what she liked, what made her back arch, what made her whimper, what made her say my name like that. My name has never, ever sounded so good.

He's kissing me wildly, with complete abandon, scrapes of teeth and tongue and total raw emotion. Yet there's something gentler underneath it all, driving the kiss. Like he's savoring every second, drinking me in as he kisses me senseless.

She smiles softly at me. "I can wait." I can, too, I realize. Maybe a part of me has been waiting for her, all this time.

Put me down, you fool!" "And the crowd goes wild!" I yell instead, skating backwards with her in my arms. She's laughing, her palms now spanning my hands around her waist. The lights above us are sparkling, and the Christmas music is swelling, and it's a picture-perfect moment that I hope she'll remember for a long time.

I'm yours. He's mine. We belong to each other.

When I locate her, everything else stills. Calms. She holds up her hands in the shape of a heart. . . . My eyes remain on Olivia's as I hold up my own gloved hands and make a heart in return.

The girl with fire in her eyes that fuels my own fire. The girl I once desired, who grew into the only woman I have ever truly wanted. The reason I understand the feeling of being so far gone for someone that there's no hope nor want of return.

Because if Aaron's there, I do belong. And no matter what they're saying about him—saying about us—showing up for him is what matters.

Olivia Griswold! This makes so much sense now." Mom beams at Liv. "You know, he never shut up about you. It was always 'Olivia this' and 'Olivia that. The poor boy was completely under your spell, my dear.

She smiles and she's so achingly beautiful, I can hardly stand it. "I believe in you, Aaron.

Best." Aaron stands behind me and gently moves my hair aside so he can kiss my neck. "Day." He kisses my neck again, and my entire body melts into him. "Ever.

I loved the idea of outdoor skating so much, I booked the entire place for the evening so that we could be alone.

It gives me that fizzy sensation in my stomach that makes me half want to wrap my arms around myself and squeal, half tell him to pull over so I can climb on top of him.

When Olivia raises her head, her eyes are full of an emotion that almost makes me wrap my arms around her and carry her upstairs. Not to do anything that Dallas would approve of, but to just hold her.

Aaron beckons me inside the room, then grins cheekily. "Santa got her for me for Christmas." He drops his voice to a stage whisper. "Isn't she pretty?

It's you!" I shriek, dropping my bags and running to him without a second's thought. He catches me easily, like I weigh nothing, and pulls me into his chest for a hug. "I've missed you, Livvy.

All my focus is on Aaron. Here with me. Always showing up when I need him, when I hope he will, and even when I don't believe for a second that he could.

I'm not Aaron's type, I'm his person. And he's mine.

And let me guess, if she is too tired, you'll leave the party and go home to her," Jake says drily as he cracks open another Dos Equis. My lips slide into a smile. "Busted." "Whipped as all hell, my man.

According to recent scientific research, octopuses occasionally punch fish who happen to be swimming by for no reason other than spite. Apparently, the octopus is my spirit animal.

It’s the reason for Jasper and my rivalry. Since that fateful day in second grade when he told me boys were smarter than girls, a modern-age battle of the sexes began.

Then, we both made drum major our senior year in band, but Jasper and I had differing opinions on how things should be run, so poor Mrs. Jones, the band director, had to break up our arguments more than a handful of times. There was the famous half-time show where half of the band followed my direction, while the other half went along with Jasper. It

By the way, your sweater is ugly.” “Thanks.” He turns back to smile at me. “My ninety-year-old grandmother crocheted it for me.” I reconsider my comment because that’s really sweet but Jasper doesn’t deserve an ounce of kindness from me.

Wow, Stella. Red is your color.” He whistles loudly. An annoying catcall whistle that makes me cringe. “You look amazing.” “Thanks, I have vomit in my hair,” I say flatly.

She buckles her seatbelt and I pull away from the airport. “What—” I begin but Stella quickly shushes me. “Let’s play the quiet game. See who can keep unnecessary chatter to themselves the longest.

I put the vehicle in park and get out to grab Stella’s luggage. “Come on, sugar lips.” On the pavement, Stella’s gaze narrows. “That’s not a nickname I would ever answer to.

want to stroll through a field of pine trees to pick out a Christmas tree with her. Then go home and set it up together, using a mix of ornaments from her childhood and mine to fill the tree, alongside some we’ve collected as a couple. Then, with the glow of the fireplace at our side, I’d drown in her sweet pussy before fucking her so good, she leaves scratch marks down my back. Or something like that. I haven’t given it much thought.

Stella, where did you get this axe?” I ask. “I brought it from home. It was in the garage with some of the Halloween supplies.” “Gotcha.” It’s a fake axe.

Just then, Cady Cosgrove, a classmate of ours, approaches us. “I can’t believe it.” She giggles. “Stella St. James and Jasper Jensen. Together. And you’re not being forced like that community service mandate after the chemistry lab fiasco.

And then he’d told me how amazing he thinks I am. Can you believe this guy? What the fuck is his problem?

As the morning passes, Jasper stops by my table a few times, supplying me with flirtatious lines like…can I borrow your scissors and do you need me to fill your tape dispenser? It’s cute. It’s sweet. I like this new game we’re playing.

How about honey pie? Sweetie? Pookie?” She ignores the teasing nicknames and punches in the garage code. “Goodbye, Dickface.” I make a mock discerning face. “I think you’re going to need to work on that one. It’s not giving loving, supportive girlfriend.” “Okay, Jass.” She laughs.

It made me smile, though, because I like to see that she's making herself at home. I want her to feel comfortable at my place, treat it like it's hers.

Well, she watched it, while I watched her watching the movie.

I love you isn't enough, Olivia." His arms circle around me. "The way I feel about you is all-consuming—it's everything. You're everything. I've been in love with you forever, and I'll continue to love you forever, and then after forever ends.

And the sight of her does something to me on such a deep level, I'm knocked off-kilter for a moment.

She makes this noise in the back of her throat. Sort of a growl-groan thing that unexpectedly makes my blood heat. "Insufferable man." "Impatient woman.

She looks up at me with her chin tilted at an angle that's half the fiery Olivia I know and adore, half downright flirtatious. It's an all-together new look for me to experience and love on her.

But I'm barely noticing or appreciating any of this, because she is all I can look at.

He looks like some kind of prince from a storybook. But a sexy, naughty version who's about to ravage you. Like the ones in those books.

He's talking about his grief so candidly. Who knew that, under that confident, unruffled exterior, there was such a strong, yet soft, man. Masculinity at its finest-being unafraid to be vulnerable, and understanding that vulnerability can be a strength in itself.

You can't undo the past, or change it, or make those memories of Christmas any less real or painful. And you don't have to forget them and how they shaped you. But you can add to them. Create new memories of this holiday that are happy and peaceful.

I can hardly believe the extent of his thoughtfulness and care. "You are an amazing man, Aaron Marino," I say quietly. "Nah." He scuffs the toe of his boot on the sidewalk. "I just want you to be happy.

But in all seriousness, I want to take this opportunity to admit that I was very wrong about you for a very long time, Aaron Marino. And I want to thank you for making the worst time of the year a little—well, a lot—better for me.

My body's reaction is immediate, and I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck, tugging him towards me so impatiently, it's a little embarrassing.

I missed you this week, Olivia. You." His eyes bore into mine. "And I told myself a million times that I was going to be patient tonight. That I wasn't going to jump on you and kiss you senseless the second I saw you.

I wanted to show you that this is more than just physical. That I haven't just been waiting to get you home, but that I've been craving your company as much as touching you. Your laugh as much as your gasps.

He kisses me slowly, carefully, but with total dedication to the task. Like we have all the time in the world, but that's not enough. Each movement of his lips is fraught with pure, unbridled feeling

Ah, she's all right." "And he's not entirely insufferable.

Liv gives me a wrinkle-nosed smile that I commit to memory forever.

Told you I was a bit obsessed with you." Still am. I take in her sparkly eyes and glowing expression. Probably always will be.

What do you mean you don't know what this is between you? You're clearly head over heels for her." "Hopelessly so," Nonna adds cheerfully. "You should see your face when you look at the girl. You're a lovesick fool for her.

And right there, in the darkness, I realize with startling clarity that I have, indeed, fallen head over heels in love with her.

I fall asleep on Christmas Eve wrapped once again in Aaron's arms and feeling totally content. Full of delicious food and great conversation and cozy memories and that sense of warmth and home that has always evaded me—especially around the holidays—but is now, unbelievably, more and more present in my life.

It continually surprises me how intuitive he is, how well he reads me. How well he knows me. What a guy. No. What a man.

I want you to give Olivia some respect and talk to her about this, too," I continue. "She's an adult, and she's made a decision here as much as I have.