I Miss U Quotes

Here it is,' Nigel said. Mrs D, Mrs I, Mrs FFI, Mrs C, Mrs U, Mrs LTY. That spells difficulty.' How perfectly ridiculous!' snorted Miss Trunchbull. 'Why are all these women married?

i miss u i love you there's no second ive lived you can't call your own

I have been waiting 4 u too long.... Cant let u go... ♥

no matter how u run away, no matter how can u pretend, no matter how scared u are there is gona be the sense u have missed something, fallen heart feeling u mixed with in the moments u should live, u will get used to that feeling, believe me when i tell u, this is crazy, some day ur life will be so u r just warming up

Right then," Campbell began, his tone so civil it was offensive. "May I have your name for the record, Miss...?" "Eliza Braun," Eliza sneered. "Here, I'll spell it for you -- B-U-G-G-E-R-O-F-F.

Grieve Khalil all you want. Miss him, allow yourself to miss what could’ve been, let your feelings get out of whack. But like I told you, don’t stop living.

As I brush my teeth, I scroll through my phone to see if Sabrina texted when my phone was on silent last night. She didn’t. Damn. I was hoping my speech—and that amazing fucking kiss—might’ve changed her mind about going out with me, but I guess it didn’t. I do, however, find the most mind-boggling conversation in the group chat I have with my roommates. All the messages are from last night, and they’re bizarre as fuck. Garrett: The hells, D?! Dean: It’s not what you think!! Logan: It’s hard to mistake ur romantic bath with that giant pink thing! In ur ass! Dean: It wasn’t in my ass! Garrett: I’m not even going to ask where it was Dean: I had a girl over! Garrett: Suuuuuuuuure Logan: Suuuuuuuuure Dean: I hate you guys Garrett: <3 Logan: <3 I rinse my mouth out, spit, and drop the toothbrush into the little cup on the sink. Then I quickly type out a text. Me: Wait… what did I miss? Since we have practice in twenty minutes, the guys are already awake and clearly on their phones. Two photos pop up simultaneously. Garrett and Logan have both sent me pics of pink dildos. I’m even more confused now. Dean messages immediately with, Why do you guys have dildo pics handy? Logan: ALINIMB Dean: ?? Me: ?? Garrett: At Least It’s Not In My Butt. I snort to myself, because I’m starting to piece it together. Logan: Nice, G! U got that on the first try! Garrett: We spend too much time 2gether. Me: PLEASE tell me u caught D playing w/ dildos. Logan: Sure did. Dean is quick to object again. I HAD A GIRL OVER! The guys and I rag on him for a couple more minutes, but I have to stop when Fitzy stumbles into the bathroom and shoves me aside. He’s got crazy bedhead and he’s buck-naked. “Gotta piss,” he mumbles. “Mornin’, sunshine,” I say cheerfully. “Want me to make you some coffee?” “God. Yes. Please.” Chuckling, I duck out of the bathroom and walk the four or so steps into his kitchenette. When he finally emerges, I shove a cup of coffee in his hand, sip my own, and say, “Dean shoved a dildo up his ass last night.” Fitzy nods. “Makes sense.” I snicker mid-sip. Coffee spills over the rim of my cup. “It really does, huh?

Missing you hurts, loving you kills, being with u is a crime, and i'm still fine with that.

Nearly a Valediction" You happened to me. I was happened to like an abandoned building by a bull- dozer, like the van that missed my skull happened a two-inch gash across my chin. You were as deep down as I’ve ever been. You were inside me like my pulse. A new- born flailing toward maternal heartbeat through the shock of cold and glare: when you were gone, swaddled in strange air I was that alone again, inventing life left after you. I don’t want to remember you as that four o’clock in the morning eight months long after you happened to me like a wrong number at midnight that blew up the phone bill to an astronomical unknown quantity in a foreign currency. The U.S. dollar dived since you happened to me. You’ve grown into your skin since then; you’ve grown into the space you measure with someone you can love back without a caveat. While I love somebody I learn to live with through the downpulled winter days’ routine wakings and sleepings, half-and-half caffeine- assisted mornings, laundry, stock-pots, dust- balls in the hallway, lists instead of longing, trust that what comes next comes after what came first. She’ll never be a story I make up. You were the one I didn’t know where to stop. If I had blamed you, now I could forgive you, but what made my cold hand, back in prox- imity to your hair, your mouth, your mind, want where it no way ought to be, defined by where it was, and was and was until the whole globed swelling liquefied and spilled through one cheek’s nap, a syllable, a tear, was never blame, whatever I wished it were. You were the weather in my neighborhood. You were the epic in the episode. You were the year poised on the equinox.

You cry, i cry. you hurt,i hurt. you laugh, i laugh. You jump off a bridge den ima miss u lil buddy

You should want to win. I still remember when I was little. Girls would score a goal, and we would walk together, high-five, and walk back to our positions. Boys are running around, going "I'm Number One." It wasn't like that for young girls. With girls, if you miss the ball on a tackle and hit the other player, it's like, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry.

أربت على كتفها القريبة مني بلطف : are u ok miss? could i help in any way? أفكر في تلك العبارة التي يمسح الناس بها أحزان الناس أحيانا، أو يهديء بها شخص ما زميلة في العمل ، أو حتى غريبة جلست إلى جانبه في قطار، يحتضنها أو يربّت على ظهرها. نحتاج إلى تلك اللمسة أحيانا حتى من غريب. جارتي تحتاجها الآن. لكنني لست زميا لها في عمل و لا غريبا و حسب ، بل أنا الآخر. أنا الذات التي تقلق وجودها، و هي الوجود الذي يقلق ذاتي. لسنا بعضنا لكي نهديء بعضنا. بل نحن " نحنان" ، نحن .. تحتل نحنًا ، و هي من نحن"هم" لا من نحن"نا". هي إسرائيلية كما تؤكد لهجتها. و لابد أن تكون قد أدت خدمتها في الجيش. و رما أمضتها في الأراضي الفلسطينية، فأطلقت النار على فلسطيني ما ، أو شاركت في قتل فلاح ابن نصر الدين ابن خالي. و قد تكون قد وقفت على حاجز تتلقف القادمين، تُنشّف ريق عجوز فلسطينية، أو تعرقل مرور أخرى حامل في طريقها إلى مستشفى للولادة، و تتسبب في وضعها وليدها عند الحاجز، تعيقها بدلا من أن تكون قابلتها و هي امرأة مثلها. قد تكون جارتي كل هذا أو بعضه !

I missed you.” His fingers toyed with the end of my braid. Working like he had all the time in the world and my body wasn’t about to combust from his touch, he loosened my hair. Strands fell in front of my face, covering my eyes like a curtain. His gentle touch did just as much to me as the rough pads of his fingers scraping across my skin.

AHH I MISS U TOO!!

A b c d e f g h I j k l m n o p q r s t v w x y z Did I miss something? Yes! I missed u :(

You miss them so much when they deploy, and you want them to be home, but then when they are, things aren’t perfect. And you feel as if they should be. Depending on the deployment and what I’d been through, I also had emotions ranging from sadness to anxiety to anger.

i miss the man i thought i was before i met her the man who would have saved her who would have done something who would have been tom maybe hes the one im looking for or maybe im looking for all of them i miss u i love u there's no second ive lived you can't call your own -Navy

MOMENTS I saw you first You looked exactly The same as before Tall and awkward and shy I walked towards you My hands clammy I felt cold inside My insides were shaking Cant run This is it. U saw me Your face brightened A smile painted on your face I missed it Your smile It brought back the past You walked I walked Nearer It feels like in the Movies Two people A boy and a girl Meeting halfway Hoping for a happy Ever after I stopped Right before I reached you I realized This isn't like the movies I turned I told myself Don’t smile You reached me Close So close I felt the urge To touch you Hug you And maybe Kiss you There weren't Hellos Only silent prayers Smiling You reached for my hand Giving me something You knew I love It was awkward You standing there Me standing there So close Too close Yet so far I looked up to you I tried to ask myself Are you for real? You smiled wider Shy but happy You left as fast As you came back It was for a second I hated time I wished it was A little bit longer With that, I knew I still want you.

و هناكَ منْ يكتفي بإرسالِ رسالةٍ قصيرة على هاتفك ،يختمها في كلِّ مرة بعبارة i miss u .. يصوغ حروفها بنفس الرتابة و بنفس الأسلوب في كلِّ مرة فيفقِدُ الكلمةَ طعمَها .. و يفقدُ الرسالةَ نكهتها ! هناكَ منْ يلهمك،من يمشي الطريق ثم يعود إليك، فقط ليتأكد ما إذ كانت سالكة و تخلو مما قد يضيرك. من يعلمك أية من يرتلُ على مسامك سورة،و يشاركك جنونك. أصدقاء لا يكفيك العمر لتتحدث معهم، لتسمعهم و هم يروون أدقَ تفاصيلِ حياتهم لك و كأنهم يقولون استمع و دوِّن جيداً ما أقول كلمة بكلمة، سجلها في دفتر العمر. ‘يا صديقي أكتب عني مذكراتي’ ! و منهم منْ لا يطلُ عليكَ إلّا إذا أصابهُ مكروه. يدنو إليك يستجدي منك عطفك، و لأنك تحبه حتماً ستذلل كل ما لديك لكي تطمئنه و تعيدهُ لأبهى حالاتِه! هناك صداقات تنتهي قبل أن تبدأ، و أخرى يحدِدُها زمنٌ و حاجة، فتنتهي بانتهاءِ الحاجةِ و تحوِّل الزمن. و صداقاتٍ تقفُ عند حدٍ معين. صداقاتٍ طفولية،تقليدية تنتهي بانتهاءِ مواسمِ الدراسةِ و تستعيدُ نبضها مع بداية كلِّ فصلٍ دراسي. منهم من تظن أن احفادك و أحفادهم سيلتقون معاً و أنكما ستظلانِ معاً ما حييتما و لكنهم للأسف يغيبون عند أولِ مفترف .. يغِّيبهم الحب الأول الذي يخيل لهم أنه سيغنيهم عن كل شيء و أنه سيكون البداية البيضاء التي ستأذن بعهد جديد من التضحية ! و أصدقاء يلتحفونَ معكَ أحلامَهُم و يشاركونك بها و يمدونكَ بغيثِ دعواتهم كلما تطلب الأمر. سماوين هم، يحرقكّ غيابُهم و تبهجُكَ عودتُهم، محملينَ بهمومِهم بأحلامهم و برسائلِهم المكررة. طيبونَ، هادئونَ كصوتِ الفجرِ، دافئون كليلِ صيفٍ، محملون بالخطايا لكنهم بريئون كالأطفال ! تبقى قصصهم ناقصة، لا تكتملْ . أصدقاء بعتبهم المتكرر يفقدونك، و أخرونَ تكسبهم بفضلِ أرواحِهم الملائكية التي تفرضُ حضورها دوماً. و أخرون نعم ‘أخرون’ ، خذلانهم يسوّدُ ألوانك و يبدِّل صفاءَ أيامكَ ضباباً، تُبقي لمستهم الموجعة شرخاً عميقاً في ثتايا الذاكرة لا تغفل عنه. كلما هبَّ نسيمٌ من صوبهِم ذكركَ به ! يملؤون سماءك بسَحَابٍ هَتُون، و يَمضون دونما خجل. هناك من يتغلغل التفاصيل، يعرف تفاصيلك التي قد تغفل عنها أنت. تراه يختصرُ عليكَ الكلمات، فيبوحُ بما يقبعُ في ذهنك. تتكئُ عليهِ، فيمدُ ضعفكَ قوة. هو لن يخذلكْ. يخبأُ لك من سعادتهِ في جيبِ عمره نصيباً. يذكرُكَ حينَ تُنسى، يوقظك حين تغفل، و يذكرك بدعوة إذا ما نزلَ المطر. و لأنني أحببتهم و أحبهم بكل نكهاتهم تلك، أسأل الله أن يسكن السعــــــــــادة و النــــــــــور في دواخلهم! 24 \1\2013

Miss him, allow yourself to miss what could’ve been, let your feelings get out of whack. But like I told you, don’t stop living. All right?

I will always miss the person I thought U are. But not the selfish, unkind, insensitive and heartless person U turned out to be.

Miss Honey gives us a little song about each word and we all sing it together and we learn to spell it in no time. Would you like to hear the song about "difficulty"?' 'I should be fascinated.' the Trunchbull said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. 'Here it is,' Nigel said. 'Mrs D, Mrs I, Mrs FFI, Mrs C, Mrs U, Mrs LTY. That spells difficulty.' 'How perfectly ridiculous!' snorted the Trunchbull. 'Why are all these women married? And anyway you're not meant to teach poetry when you're teaching spelling. Cut it out in the future, Miss Honey.

been a day i miss her the way she care for me the way she look into me evrything that makes me feel great about life whenever u sad whenever u feel so unmotivated whenever u feel countless and hopeless she's there for u she comfort u with love and passion with the greatest love deep in her heart she always care about u that is my mother the one who always be by my side in whatever situation she always be there for me

an official with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission learned I was writing about specialization and contacted me to make sure I knew that specialization had played a critical role in the 2008 global financial crisis. “Insurance regulators regulated insurance, bank regulators regulated banks, securities regulators regulated securities, and consumer regulators regulated consumers,” the official told me. “But the provision of credit goes across all those markets. So we specialized products, we specialized regulation, and the question is, ‘Who looks across those markets?’ The specialized approach to regulation missed systemic issues.

Jennings quotes the response of a contestant in the Miss Teen USA competition when asked to explain why so many Americans couldn’t even find their own country on a map. With solemnity and conviction she responded: I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because some people out there in our nation don’t have maps, and I believe that our education like such as in South Africa and, uh, the Iraq, everywhere like such as, and I believe that they should, our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S, uh, should help South Africa and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries so we will be able to build up our future, for our children.

Hard to miss you, babe. You were the only one wearing an Elmwood jersey in the Heston student section. Ballsy move. Red looks great on you.” I swipe my tongue across my lower lip. “Bet you’d look even better in blue and green.

MISS U MIS U MIS U There’s a shortage of S’s and only two M’s, so the last one is an upside-down W. I fall asleep to the sound of Dad murmuring into the phone behind his bedroom door. In the morning there’s a message from Mom: ME TOO PICKLE

Ali meni je važno i dok god mogu ispričati ovu priču, u nju ću uključiti stvorenja u svom ekosustavu - ptice, leptire, pčele, mrave, komarce i miševe - jer jedno sam naučila: gdje postoje rat i bolna podjela, neće biti pobjednika, ljudskih ili drugih.

Russia, if you’re listening, I hope you’re able to find the 30,000 emails that are missing,” he said.[5] Reporters were shocked at a political candidate openly calling for a foreign country to attack the U.S., but Trump doubled down, repeating the request.[6]

I bet Mrs Snapperly had no teeth and talked to herself, right?” said Miss Tick. “Yes. And she had a cat. And a squint,” said Tiffany. And then it all came out in a rush: “And so after he vanished, they went to her cottage and they looked in the oven and they dug up her garden and they threw stones at her old cat until it died and they turned her out of her cottage and piled u pall her old books in the middle of the room and set fire to them and burned the place to the ground and everyone said she was an old witch.” “They burned the books,” said Miss Tick in a flat voice. “Because they said they had old writing in them,” said Tiffany. “And pictures of stars.” “And when you went to look, did they?” said Miss Tick. Tiffany suddenly felt cold. “How did you know?” she said. “I’m good at listening. Well, did they?” Tiffany sighed. “Yes, I went to the cottage next day, and some of the pages, you know, had kind of floated up in the heat? And I found a part of one, and it had all old lettering and gold and blue edging. And I buried her cat.” “You buried the cat?” “Yes! Someone had to!

When I teach at Michigan, on the first day I tell the students, “You will not miss class. You will not be late to class. You will not use a laptop, or a cell phone, or wear a hat. My late-paper policy is simple: There will be no late papers, ever. That is my ‘late-paper policy.’ Why? This is Michigan.

Initially, I began writing myself into my favorite shows. I was a detective on 77 Sunset Strip, the missing Cartwright sibling they never talked about on Bonanza, and the Girl from U.N.C.L.E. before there was a Girl from U.N.C.L.E., not to mention an active participant in the serialized stories on The Mickey Mouse Club.

There is a long history, in the U.S. and elsewhere, of removing children as a means of political control. If this strikes a nerve with you—as I hope it does—please learn more about the many instances, both past and ongoing, in which children have been taken from their families: the separations of enslaved families, government boarding schools for Indigenous children (such as that in Carlisle, PA), the inequities built into the foster care system, the separations of migrant families still occurring at the U.S.’s southern border, and beyond. Much more attention needs to be brought to this subject, but Laura Briggs’s Taking Children: A History

The North Korean capital, Pyongyang, is a city consecrated to the worship of a father-son dynasty. (I came to think of them, with their nuclear-family implications, as 'Fat Man and Little Boy.') And a river runs through it. And on this river, the Taedong River, is moored the only American naval vessel in captivity. It was in January 1968 that the U.S.S. Pueblo strayed into North Korean waters, and was boarded and captured. One sailor was killed; the rest were held for nearly a year before being released. I looked over the spy ship, its radio antennae and surveillance equipment still intact, and found photographs of the captain and crew with their hands on their heads in gestures of abject surrender. Copies of their groveling 'confessions,' written in tremulous script, were also on show. So was a humiliating document from the United States government, admitting wrongdoing in the penetration of North Korean waters and petitioning the 'D.P.R.K.' (Democratic People's Republic of Korea) for 'lenience.' Kim Il Sung ('Fat Man') was eventually lenient about the men, but not about the ship. Madeleine Albright didn't ask to see the vessel on her visit last October, during which she described the gruesome, depopulated vistas of Pyongyang as 'beautiful.' As I got back onto the wharf, I noticed a refreshment cart, staffed by two women under a frayed umbrella. It didn't look like much—one of its three wheels was missing and a piece of brick was propping it up—but it was the only such cart I'd see. What toothsome local snacks might the ladies be offering? The choices turned out to be slices of dry bread and cups of warm water. Nor did Madeleine Albright visit the absurdly misnamed 'Demilitarized Zone,' one of the most heavily militarized strips of land on earth. Across the waist of the Korean peninsula lies a wasteland, roughly following the 38th parallel, and packed with a titanic concentration of potential violence. It is four kilometers wide (I have now looked apprehensively at it from both sides) and very near to the capital cities of both North and South. On the day I spent on the northern side, I met a group of aging Chinese veterans, all from Szechuan, touring the old battlefields and reliving a war they helped North Korea nearly win (China sacrificed perhaps a million soldiers in that campaign, including Mao Anying, son of Mao himself). Across the frontier are 37,000 United States soldiers. Their arsenal, which has included undeclared nuclear weapons, is the reason given by Washington for its refusal to sign the land-mines treaty. In August 1976, U.S. officers entered the neutral zone to trim a tree that was obscuring the view of an observation post. A posse of North Koreans came after them, and one, seizing the ax with which the trimming was to be done, hacked two U.S. servicemen to death with it. I visited the ax also; it's proudly displayed in a glass case on the North Korean side.

Your conclusions are, I think, justified," he said. "Ulick Norman Owen! In Miss Brent's letter, though the signature of the surname is a mere scrawl the Christian names are reasonably clear-Una Nancy -in either case, you notice, the same initials. Ulick Norman OwenUna Nancy Owen-each time, that is to say, U. N. Owen. Or by a slight stretch of fancy, UNKNOWN!

The list of correlations to that night is as long as the Jersey coast. And so is the list of reasons I shouldn't be looking forward to seeing him at school. But I can't help it. He's already texted me three times this morning: Can I pick you up for school? and Do u want 2 have breakfast? and R u getting my texts? My thumbs want to answer "yes" to all of the above, but my dignity demands that I don't answer at all. He called my his student. He stood there alone with me on the beach and told me he thinks of me as a pupil. That our relationship is platonic. And everyone knows what platonic means-rejected. Well, I might be his student, but I'm about to school, him on a few things. The first lesson of the day is Silent Treatment 101. So when I see him in the hall, I give him a polite nod and brush right by him. The zap from the slight contact never quite fades, which mean he's following me. I make it to my locker before his hand is on my arm. "Emma." The way he whispers my name sends goose bumps all the way to my baby toes. But I'm still in control. I nod to him, dial the combination to my locker, then open it in his face. He moves back before contact. Stepping around me, he leans his hand against the locker door and turns me around to face him. "That's not very nice." I raise my best you-started-this brow. He sighs. "I guess that means you didn't miss me." There are so many things I could pop off right now. Things like, "But at least I had Toraf to keep my company" or "You were gone?" Or "Don't feel bad, I didn't miss my calculus teacher either." But the goal is to say nothing. So I turn around. I transfer books and papers between my locker and backpack. As I stab a pencil into my updo, his breath pushes against my earlobe when he chuckles. "So your phone's not broken; you just didn't respond to my texts." Since rolling my eyes doesn't make a sound, it's still within the boundaries of Silent Treatment 101. So I do this while I shut my locker. As I push past him, he grabs my arm. And I figure if stomping on his toe doesn't make a sound... "My grandmother's dying," he blurts. Commence with the catching-Emma-off-guard crap. How can I continue Silent Treatment 101 after that? He never mentioned his grandmother before, but then again, I never mentioned mine either. "I'm sorry, Galen." I put my hand on his, give it a gentle squeeze. He laughs. Complete jackass. "Conveniently, she lives in a condo in Destin and her dying request is to meet you. Rachel called your mom. We're flying out Saturday afternoon, coming back Sunday night. I already called Dr. Milligan." "Un-freaking-believable.

Twyler linked up our phone tracking systems after we took our relationship underground. Not so we could find each other, but rather, in her words, “If I go missing or turn up dead, they’ll figure out pretty quick you were my secret boyfriend. This protects both of us.” This is what it’s like to fall for a girl obsessed with true crime. And fuck, I definitely think I’m falling for her.

the most important instances of “injustice in exchange”—unemployment and inflation/deflation—result from party factions violating the basic principles of economic policy I show that from the Great Depression of 1929-33 to the Great Recession of 2007-9, all major U.S. financial crises can be traced to the dollar's role as chief official reserve currency—suggesting that to avoid similar future misfortunes, it's urgently necessary to end the dollar's “reserve currency curse.

I know a lot of other reporters who are dedicated to this cause. They’ve covered numerous stories on satanism, missing children, corrupt judges, and CIA cocaine operations only to have them censored before they could be aired. We have archives of pertinent information to which these tapes we made today will undoubtedly be added. At least until censorship is overcome these videos will be educating other reporters.” He gestured toward the annoying helicopters still circling. “And we’re all tired of this nonsense!

We got lots of secrets, Will. You Apollo guys can't have all the fun. Our campers have been excavating the tunnel system under Cabin Nine for almost a century. We still haven't found the end. Anyway, Leo, if you don't mind sleeping in a dead man's bed, it's yours-Jake Suddenly Leo didn't feel like kicking back. He sat u, careful not to touch any of the buttons. The counselor who died-this was his bed-Leo Yeah. Charles Beckendorf-Jake Leo imagined saw blades coming through the mattress, or maybe a grenade sewn inside the pillows. He didn't, like, die IN this bed, did he-Leo No. In the Titan War, last summer-Jake The Titan War, which has NOTHING to do with this very fine bed-Leo "The Titans," Will said, like Leo was an idiot. The big powerful guys that ruled the world before the gods. They tried to make a comeback last summer. Their leader, Kronos, built a new palace on top of Mount Tam in California. Their armies came to New York and almost destoyed Mount Olympus. A lot of demigods died trying to stop them-Will I'm guessing this wasn't on the news-Leo It seemed like a fair question, but Will shook his head in disbelief. You didn't hear about Mount St. Helens erupting, or the freak storms across the country, or that building collapsing in St Louis-Will Leo shrugged. Last summer, he'd been on the run from another foster home. Then a truancy officer caught him in New Mexico, and the court sentenced him to the nearest correction facility-the Wilderness School. Guess I was busy-Leo Doesn't matter. You were lucky to miss it. The thing is, Beckendorf was one of the first casualties, and ever since then-Jake Your cabin's been cursed-Leo

I’ll miss the afternoons when I’d go out on our lawn and throw my head back. The sky in Seattle is so low, it felt like God had lowered a silk parachute over us. Every feeling I ever knew was up in that sky. Twinkling joyous sunlight; airy, giggling cloud wisps; binding columns of sun. Orbs of gold, pink, flesh, utterly cheesy in their luminosity. Gigantic puffy clouds, welcoming, forgiving, repeating infinitely across the horizon as if between mirrors; and slices of rain, pounding wet misery in the distance now, but soon on u, and in another part of the sky, a black stain, rainless.

The whole town is in a daze. Satanism, child molestation, missing children, mind control, injustice through the courts. I’m telling you, these people need help just to cope with the PTSD. You could give them coping skills, Mark. And the information you have could clarify why cover-up is so prevalent and why Aquino is allowed on their Daycare Board. Understanding might help them survive and solve their nightmare.” “I’m told Aquino owns the building that houses the Marin County Daycare Board,” Mark injected. “The Presidio is pretty close to the Grove3,” I said, the picture becoming even clearer from my perspective.

While I was researching this book, an official with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission learned I was writing about specialization and contacted me to make sure I knew that specialization had played a critical role in the 2008 global financial crisis. “Insurance regulators regulated insurance, bank regulators regulated banks, securities regulators regulated securities, and consumer regulators regulated consumers,” the official told me. “But the provision of credit goes across all those markets. So we specialized products, we specialized regulation, and the question is, ‘Who looks across those markets?’ The specialized approach to regulation missed systemic issues.

TO MY BELOVED, Its neither a piece of paper nor a letter, rather it's my small heart which I'm gifting it to you darling.It seems time stood still without ur presence around me. My days and nights have gone worthless. All my heart could do is to recall the memories of time which we have spend together. My heart gets rejoiced whenever your beautiful face comes before my eyes. Your mesmerizing eyes drive me to another world. Your flowing hair looks tantalizing and your rosy lips seems to be meant only for saying lovely words. While having a cup of coffee yesterday, numerous moments striked my heart. Our first meeting, when you were looking like a fairy in white salwar-suit. Still fresh in my mind, your pretty smile and bowing your head down to laugh with your hand on your lips. I confess that your every action was stealing my heart and I couldn't withdraw myself from lookig you. The gift you presented me on my birthday gives me a sigh of relief that you are always there with me. Sweetheart, In the classroom, I cracked useless jokes and PJ's just to see your charming smile. Kept gazing your lips, just to heat some golden words. You had stolen my heart. Dedicated '' I don't know when and how you arrived in my life, Don't know when my heart star beating for you, day n night.... My eyes kept staring the window pane, Wishing one day u'll come in my lane.... Darling you're the only one whom I admire, It's you whom my heart desperately desires... Being with you is my only need, You are now the medicine of my heartbeat... I Craved your name on my heart, The day when I decided not to loose you ever, And I promise you sweetheart that, I love you & i'll love you for ever, ever n ever...... It's true my baby that, i love you like anything. Miss you from very morning 2 the night. MY senses are active to feel you, to hear you, to see you, to taste every sorrow and happiness of your life. Jaana, get embedded in me, in my soul so that i can live with you, for you........ Dying to have your reply..... Truly Your's PK

But Holms had proven stalwart and valiant. When Miss Jones had shown up to discover them in the castle hallway, because she’d heard a suspicious noise and had feared for her schoolchums’ safety, they’ d had to bring her along. She’d wanted to run straight to the headmistress, of course, but Armand had persuaded her not to. How he regretted that decision now! The duke had fired his guns at them all. They’d retreated, thought to go to the automobile to fetch a doctor and the sheriff, but they’d stumbled the wrong way and fallen down the slope to the beach instead. All three of them. And there, noble Jesse had died. Fact. Fiction. Likely because so much of it had happened, and because Armand’s red-eyed, stoic distress seemed so genuine, the adults around us had accepted it as truth. Mostly. I think if I hadn’t been discovered wearing only Armand’s coat as I knelt next to Jesse’s body, Mrs. Westcliffe might have found the whole thing easier to swallow. Yet the official version ruled the day. And here we all were basking in it, breathing fresh sea air, warmed by the generous spring sun. Burying a hero. A far, far greater hero than anyone standing around me at his funeral would ever suspect. Somewhere in deep-blue briny waters, a U-boat rested, filled with live torpedoes and solid-gold men. I thought I better understood Rue’s letters now. I understood her warning about the pain that would come with my Gifts. I understood my sacrifice.

and drew her strength directly from our magickal Oklahoma earth. “U-we-tsi-a-ge-ya, it seems I need help at the lavender booth. I simply cannot believe how busy we are.” Grandma had barely spoken when a nun hurried up. “Zoey, Sister Mary Angela could use your help filling out cat adoption forms.” “I’ll help you, Grandma Redbird,” Shaylin said. “I love the smell of lavender.” “Oh, honey, that would be so sweet of you. First, could you run to my car and get into the trunk. There is another box of lavender soaps and sachets tucked back there. Looks like I’m going to sell out completely,” Grandma said happily. “Sure thing.” Shaylin caught the keys Grandma tossed to her and hurried toward the main exit of the school grounds which led to the parking lot, as well as the tree-lined road that joined Utica Street. “And I’ll call my momma. She said just let her know if we get too busy over here. She and the PTA moms will be back here in a sec,” said Stevie Rae. “Grandma, do you mind if I give Street Cats a hand? I’ve been dying to check out their new litter of kittens.” “Go on, u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya. I think Sister Mary Angela has been missing your company.” “Thanks, Grandma.” I smiled at her. Then I turned to Stevie Rae. “Okay, if your mom’s group is coming back, I’m gonna go help the nuns.” “Yeah, no problem.” Stevie Rae, shielding her eyes and peering through the crowd, added, “I see her now, and she’s got Mrs. Rowland and Mrs. Wilson with her.” “Don’t worry. We can handle this,” Shaunee said. “’Kay,” I said, grinning at both of them. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I left the cookie booth and noticed Aphrodite, clutching her big purple Queenies cup, was right on my heels. “I thought you didn’t want a lecture from the nuns.” “Better than a lecture from PTA moms.” She shuddered. “Plus, I like cats more than people.” I shrugged. “Okay, whatever.” We’d only gotten partway to the Street Cats tent when Aphrodite slowed way down. “Seriously. Effing. Pathetic.” She was muttering around her straw, narrowing her eyes, and glaring. I followed her gaze and joined her frown. “Yeah, no matter how many times I see them together, I still don’t get it.” Aphrodite and I had stopped to watch Shaunee’s ex-Twin BFF, Erin, hang all over Dallas. “I really thought she was better than that.” “Apparently not,” Aphrodite said. “Eeew,” I said, looking away from their way too public display of locked lips. “I’m telling you, there’s not enough booze in Tulsa to make watching those two suck face okay.” She made a gagging sound, which changed to a snort and a laugh. “Check out the wimple, twelve o’clock.” Sure enough, there was a nun I vaguely recognized as Sister Emily (one of the more uptight of the nuns) descending on the too-busy-with-their-tongues-to-notice couple. “She looks serious,” I said. “You know, a nun may very well be the direct opposite of an aphrodisiac. This should be entertaining. Let’s watch.” “Zoey! Over here!” I looked from the train wreck about to happen to see Sister Mary Angela waving me over to her.

Sometimes I just want to let myself does whatever it needs to does, because maybe this is what I really want too. I maybe want to leave the world behind. Leave the life I'm living right now. I want to see if anyone will come after me or see that I'm missing. I love my family and especially my friends. I have loved.. but I don't really know if I was be loved, from the people that I was wanted to. Some people, really hurt me, but I don't hate them because I loved them. I really did. They might didn't want to hurt me but who knows? People are mean. In this life we are living right now, u don't know who to trust and who u must love. I'm happy for my friends that I have right now. I never let them down. My life, it might deserves a chance to live. But I'm feeling everyday, every second of my life that I don't want to live anymore. I don't know why. But one day I will let my myself does what it needs, and I'm pretty sure that I won't regret it. I won't.

The last encounter was one Ian enjoyed, because Elizabeth was with him after they’d had their second-and last permissible-dance. Viscount Mondevale had approached them with Valerie hanging on his arm, and the rest of their group fanned around them. The sight of the young woman who’d caused them both so much pain evoked almost as much ire in Ian as the sight of Mondevale watching Elizabeth like a lovelorn swain. “Mondevale,” Ian had said curtly, feeling the tension in Elizabeth’s fingers when she looked at Valerie, “I applaud your taste. I’m certain Miss Jamison will make you a fine wife, if you ever get up the spine to ask her. If you do, however, take my advice, and hire her a tutor, because she can’t write and she can’t spell.” Transferring his blistering gaze to the gaping young woman, Ian clipped, “’Greenhouse’ has a ‘u’ in it. Shall I spell ‘malice’ for you as well?” “Ian,” Elizabeth chided gently as they walked away. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” She looked up at him and smiled, and Ian grinned back at her. Suddenly he felt completely in harmony with the world. The feeling was so lasting that he managed to endure the remaining three weeks-with all the requisite social and courtship rituals and betrothal formalities-with equanimity while he mentally marked off each day before he could make her his and join his starving body with hers. With a polite smile on his face Ian appeared at teas and mentally composed letters to his secretary; he sat through the opera and slowly undressed her in his mind; he endured eleven Venetian breakfasts where he mentally designed an entirely new kind of mast for his fleet of ships; he escorted her to eighteen balls and politely refrained from acting our his recurring fantasy of dismembering the fops who clustered around her, eyeing her lush curves and mouthing platitudes to her. It was the longest three weeks of his life. It was the shortest three weeks of hers.

You were just trying to figure out if I'm one of you?" Of course, stupid. When has anyone like Galen ever paid you any attention? When has there ever been anyone like Galen? Still, I'm surprised how much it hurts when he nods. I'm his little science project. All the time I thought he was flirting with me, he was really just trying to lure me out here to test his theory. If stupid were a disease, I'd have died from it by now. But at least I know where he really stands-about his feelings for me anyway. But what his intentions for me in general are, I have no idea. What happens if I can turn into a fish? Does he think I'll just kiss my mom good-bye, flush all my good grades-all those scholarships-down the toilet so I can go swim with the dolphins? he called himself a Royal. Of course, I don't know exactly what that means, but I can sure guess-that I'm another subject to him, someone to order around. He did say I had to obey him, after all. But if he's a Royal, why come out here himself? Why not send someone less important? I'm betting the U.S. President doesn't personally go to foreign countries looking for missing Americans who might not even be American. But can I trust him enough to answer my questions? He already deceived me once, faking interest in me to get me out here. He lied to my face about having a mother. He even lied to my mom. What else would he lie about to get what he wants? No, I can't trust him. Still, I want to know the truth, if only for myself. I'm not moving into some big seashell off the Jersey seashore or anything-but I can't deny that I'm different. What could it hurt to spend a little more time with Galen so he can help me figure this out? So what if he thinks I'm some sort of pheasant fish who has to obey him? Why shouldn't I use him the way he used me-to get what I want? It's just that what I want is holding me in his arms, acting like he's concerned that I'm not talking anymore.

KNEE SURGERY I’D FIRST HURT MY KNEES IN FALLUJAH WHEN THE WALL FELL on me. Cortisone shots helped for a while, but the pain kept coming back and getting worse. The docs told me I needed to have my legs operated on, but doing that would have meant I would have to take time off and miss the war. So I kept putting it off. I settled into a routine where I’d go to the doc, get a shot, go back to work. The time between shots became shorter and shorter. It got down to every two months, then every month. I made it through Ramadi, but just barely. My knees started locking and it was difficult to get down the stairs. I no longer had a choice, so, soon after I got home in 2007, I went under the knife. The surgeons cut my tendons to relieve pressure so my kneecaps would slide back over. They had to shave down my kneecaps because I had worn grooves in them. They injected synthetic cartilage material and shaved the meniscus. Somewhere along the way they also repaired an ACL. I was like a racing car, being repaired from the ground up. When they were done, they sent me to see Jason, a physical therapist who specializes in working with SEALs. He’d been a trainer for the Pittsburgh Pirates. After 9/11, he decided to devote himself to helping the country. He chose to do that by working with the military. He took a massive pay cut to help put us back together. I DIDN’T KNOW ALL THAT THE FIRST DAY WE MET. ALL I WANTED to hear was how long it was going to take to rehab. He gave me a pensive look. “This surgery—civilians need a year to get back,” he said finally. “Football players, they’re out eight months. SEALs—it’s hard to say. You hate being out of action and will punish yourselves to get back.” He finally predicted six months. I think we did it in five. But I thought I would surely die along the way. JASON PUT ME INTO A MACHINE THAT WOULD STRETCH MY knee. Every day I had to see how much further I could adjust it. I would sweat up a storm as it bent my knee. I finally got it to ninety degrees. “That’s outstanding,” he told me. “Now get more.” “More?” “More!” He also had a machine that sent a shock to my muscle through electrodes. Depending on the muscle, I would have to stretch and point my toes up and down. It doesn’t sound like much, but it is clearly a form of torture that should be outlawed by the Geneva Convention, even for use on SEALs. Naturally, Jason kept upping the voltage. But the worst of all was the simplest: the exercise. I had to do more, more, more. I remember calling Taya many times and telling her I was sure I was going to puke if not die before the day was out. She seemed sympathetic but, come to think of it in retrospect, she and Jason may have been in on it together. There was a stretch where Jason had me doing crazy amounts of ab exercises and other things to my core muscles. “Do you understand it’s my knees that were operated on?” I asked him one day when I thought I’d reached my limit. He just laughed. He had a scientific explanation about how everything in the body depends on strong core muscles, but I think he just liked kicking my ass around the gym. I swear I heard a bullwhip crack over my head any time I started to slack. I always thought the best shape I was ever in was straight out of BUD/S. But I was in far better shape after spending five months with him. Not only were my knees okay, the rest of me was in top condition. When I came back to my platoon, they all asked if I had been taking steroids.

From the day I entered in to this world and opened My eyes N to The day I passed away from this world and closed My eyes U cared of me ...... U taught me...... U shown d ryt path.... U cried for me.... U missed me... U loved me.... I never forget d moment ... I hold ur hand to start walking on d floor I never forget d moment .. U r afraid of me when I started walking for d first time U taught me how to eat U showed me how to read U taught me how to respect others U cared of me when I felt sick U prayed for god for my happiness U blessed me to achieve all my goals U cherished me when I won medals U fought with others when they spoke wrong abt me U buyed clothes for d spcl moment of mine U prepared fruit salads n made me to eat U roamed along with me U waited for me N U made me believe U r my first sight U r my first luv U r my first teacher U r my first guide U r my first goddesses U r my belief N u r the only one who gives every thing N expects nothing in all aspects of my life Forgive if i can't love u more than u love me Give me some time to make u realize I am loving u...... ♡♡♡♡ MOM ♡◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆●●●●●●●◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆♡

Mesmerized by the gilt ghastliness of it all, Elizabeth slowly turned in a full circle. Above the fireplace there was a gilt-framed painting of a lady attired in nothing whatsoever but a scrap of nearly-transparent red silk that had been draped across her hips. Elizabeth jerked her eyes away from that shocking display of nudity and found herself confronted by a veritable army of cavorting cupids. They reposed in chubby, gilt splendor atop the mantel and the bed tables; a cluster of them formed the tall candelabra beside the bed, which held twelve candles-one of which the footman had lit-and more cupids surrounded an enormous mirror. “It’s…” Berta uttered as she gazed through eyes the size of saucers, “it’s…I can’t find words,” she breathed, but Elizabeth had passed through her own state of shock and was perilously close to hilarity. “Unspeakable?” Elizabeth suggested helpfully, and a giggle bubbled up from her throat. “U-Unbelievable?” she volunteered, her shoulders beginning to shake with mirth. Berta made a nervous, strangled sound, and suddenly it was too much for both of them. Days of relentless tension erupted into gales of hilarity, and they gave in to it with shared abandon. Great gusty shouts of laughter erupted from them, sending tears trickling down their cheeks. Berta snatched for her missing apron, then remembered her new, elevated station in life and instead withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbing at the corners of her eyes; Elizabeth simply clutched the forgotten bust to her chest, perched her chin upon its smooth head, and laughed until she ached. So complete was their absorption that neither of them realized their host was entering the bedchamber until Sir Francis boomed enthusiastically, “Lady Elizabeth and Lady Berta!” Berta let out a muffled scream of surprised alarm and quickly shifted her handkerchief from the corners of her eyes to her mouth. Elizabeth took one look at the satin-clad figure who rather resembled the cupids he obviously admired, and the dire reality of her predicament hit her like a bucket of icy water, banishing all thoughts of laughter. She dropped her gaze to the floor, trying wildly to remember her plan and to believe she could make it work. She had to make it work, for if she failed, this aging roué with the penchant for gilded cupids could very likely become her husband.

The Riders Placencia Beach, Belize, 1996 Americans aren’t overly familiar with Tim Winton, although in my mind he is one of the best writers anywhere. This novel is set in Ireland and Greece as a man and his daughter search for their missing wife and mother. Gripping. 2. Family Happiness Miacomet Beach, Nantucket, 2001 The finest of Laurie Colwin’s novels, this is, perhaps, my favorite book in all the world. It tells the story of Polly Demarest, a Manhattan woman who is torn between her very uptown lawyer husband and her very downtown artist lover. 3. Mary and O’Neil Cottesloe Beach, Western Australia, 2009 These connected stories by Justin Cronin will leave you weeping and astonished. 4. Appointment in Samarra Nha Trang Beach, Vietnam, 2010 This classic novel was recommended to me by my local independent bookseller, Dick Burns, once he had found out how much I loved Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates. John O’Hara’s novel has all the requisite elements of a page-turner—drinking, swearing, and country club adultery, although set in 1930s Pennsylvania. This may sound odd, but trust me, it’s un-put-downable! 5. Wife 22 Oppenheimer Beach, St. John, U.S. Virgin Islands, 2012 If you like piña coladas… you will love Melanie Gideon’s tale of marriage lost and rediscovered. 6. The Interestings Steps Beach, Nantucket, 2013 And this summer, on Steps Beach in Nantucket, I will be reading The Interestings by Meg Wolitzer. Wolitzer is one of my favorite writers. She explores the battles between the sexes better than anyone around.

As he was moaning heavily in my ear, he looked at me and asked: "what are we doing?" I didn't bother myself to understand his question, I countinued grapping him harder and deeper.. So he repeated it, "Tell me, what are we doing?" I answered with a moquing yet assertive tone "HHm, we re FUCKING OFC" He stopped, I swear I could hear his heart dropped to his balls Come again? Fucking you said?? Yes arent we? No, we are making love I laughed as hard as I can Making Love you said? Oh love, we would be making love if we were couple we are just one night stand, it just happens that, that one night is on loop "When did you become so cruel?" as he was leaving my body.. Cruel? oh I've learnt from the best don't you agree? You are the one who said u're not ready for a relationship and you gave me all the bs about how you're not the one, and you're gonna deny me the opp to be with a better man bla bla bla So please spare me the emotions and dnt give me those puppy eyes I said those words as if I was possesed with all the hate and anger I have for him for the past 6 years I stopped for a moment and said I guess we r no longer fucking right? A tear came down to his cheek and I could feel it burning the ashes in my heart I dressed up and as I was leaving the motel, he grabbed me from behind hands over my breast breathing behind my neck Fucking you said..huh? I promise you that I'm finished you won't be able to walk".. he groans into my ear And i could feel him hard as stone again.. "“I believe that is what they call an erection." teasing him I said つづく

Prvog samostalnog putovanja sjećam se kao da je bilo jučer. Imao sam šesnaest godina, bila je zima, a prijatelj i ja htjeli smo novogodišnje školske praznike provesti u jednom bečkom skvotu, a do tamo doći autostopom. Roditelji me, naravno, nisu pustili. Roditeljima su djeca uvijek premlada za to što žele učiniti. Bilo je tu moljakanja, suza, svađe i svega, ali nisam odustao. Toliko sam to želio, da sam bio spreman otići i bez njihovog blagoslova. Djeca uvijek misle da su dovoljno stara za ono što žele učiniti. Nikad nisam bježao od kuće i nije mi bila draga pomisao da to prvi put napravim, ali čuo sam srce onim jasnim, razgovjetnim tonom i znao sam da ga moram poslušati, da imam pravo na to. Stoga sam mirno objesnio roditeljima da idem. Ne znam jesu li iz odlučnosti moga glasa shvatili da sam dovoljno star za to što želim učiniti ili da jednostavno nemaju izbora, pa su popustili. Otac je mene i prijatelja odvezao do naplatnih kućica na autocesti i poželio nam sretan put. U trenutku kada smo na cestu spustili stare ruksake te prvi put ispružili palčeve, osjetio sam Beskraj u svojim plućima. Uopće mi nije bilo važno hoće li pasti novi snijeg ili sjekire, hoće li prvi auto koji stane voziti miss svijeta ili serijski ubojica. Mi smo bili na Cesti. Prepustili smo se njezinoj režiji. Iako je do Beča samo 400 km, a iz priča smo znali da stoperi to riješe unutar jednog dana, nama se ta sreća nije nasmješila. Do popodneva smo jedva stigli do obilaznice oko Graza, a potom tamo opet zapeli. Pao je mrak, pa nije bilo više smisla stopirati. Našli smo komad suhog tla ispod jednog nadvožnjaka i tamo se zavukli u stare vojne vreće za spavanje. Padao je snijeg, vlaga je bila u zraku, autocesta je bila osvijetljena i bučna, a loše vojne vreće nisu nas nimalo grijale, ali ja sam bio sretan kao nikad dotad. Osjećao sam se kao da sam se upravo rodio. Došao sam na ovaj svijet nekim čudom šesnaest godina ranije, ali toga dana sam JA odlučio postojati. Taj miris vlažnog snijega, hladnog betona mosta i spaljenih guma na cesti, bio je miris koji me opijao. Bio je to miris slobode. Isti taj miris zapuhne me kao dašak Beskraja svaki put kada sjednem u avion, na bicikl, u kajak, kad zakoračim svijetom, kada uzmem stvar u svoje ruke, kad donesem pravu odluku, kada slušam srce. Tada kao da se ponovno hvatam na taj kotač života i živim život kakav bih trebao biti. Taj miris slobode najčešće osjećam na putovanjima. ... Zašto je sloboda tako blisko povezana s putovanjem? Zato što se na putu oslobađamo svih onih utega svakodnevnice. U našoj svakodnevnici zapravo se ponašamo po brojnim obrascima, kalupima. Rutina nas određuje. Iz dana u dan učvršćujemo kalupe i gradimo identitet. Kad jednom odemo na put, kad se izmjestimo, svi ti kalupi ostaju iza nas. Doma možemo biti predsjednik države ili rock-zvijezda, ali kada se nađemo u nekom selu u Africi gdje nas nitko ne zna, možemo se samo zapitati tko smo zaista. Naš dan u svakodnevnici često određuje niz nužnosti, a naše svakodnevne odluke nisu samo naše. Na putu, pak, svako jutro donosi novi start i novi paket mogućnosti, a mi svakim korakom i svakom odlukom kreiramo svoju sudbinu. Ta mogućnost biranja, ta mogućnost upravljanja svojim životom, zove se sloboda. … Sloboda je mogućnost izbora, a na Putu je možemo kudikamo intenzivnije i dublje doživjeti nego kod kuće. No, naši izbori mogu nas odvesti u pakao zatvora i u blaženstvo Beskraja. Razlika je ponajviše u tome da li prilikom prakticiranja vlastite slobode marimo i za slobodu drugih bića s kojima dijelimo planet.

ethanol may actually make some kinds of air pollution worse. It evaporates faster than pure gasoline, contributing to ozone problems in hot temperatures. A 2006 study published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences concluded that ethanol does reduce greenhouse gas emissions by 12 percent relative to gasoline, but it calculated that devoting the entire U.S. corn crop to make ethanol would replace only a small fraction of American gasoline consumption. Corn farming also contributes to environmental degradation due to runoff from fertilizer and pesticides. But to dwell on the science is to miss the point. As the New York Times noted in the throes of the 2000 presidential race, ―Regardless of whether ethanol is a great fuel for cars, it certainly works wonders in Iowa campaigns. The ethanol tax subsidy increases the demand for corn, which puts money in farmers‘ pockets. Just before the Iowa caucuses, corn farmer Marvin Flier told the Times, ―Sometimes I think [the candidates] just come out and pander to us, he said. Then he added, ―Of course, that may not be the worst thing. The National Corn Growers Association figures that the ethanol program increases the demand for corn, which adds 30 cents to the price of every bushel sold. Bill Bradley opposed the ethanol subsidy during his three terms as a senator from New Jersey (not a big corn-growing state). Indeed, some of his most important accomplishments as a senator involved purging the tax code of subsidies and loopholes that collectively do more harm than good. But when Bill Bradley arrived in Iowa as a Democratic presidential candidate back in 1992, he ―spoke to some farmers‖ and suddenly found it in his heart to support tax breaks for ethanol. In short, he realized that ethanol is crucial to Iowa voters, and Iowa is crucial to the presidential race.

A U.S. serviceman, standing nearby, was not so content. He yelled at the Czechs to stop. “The war is over, so halt your bullying!” he shouted. Some of his buddies agreed. That was too much for Hana. “How dare you?” she demanded of the American. “Where in the States are you from, anyway?” “Mississippi,” he said. “Miss-iss-ip-pi?” said Hana, drawing out the syllables sarcastically. “I see. So you’ve come all the way from Miss-iss-ip-pi to tell us in Czech-o-slo-vakia how we should treat our traitorous Nazi scum, our prisoners. You find it too much if we humiliate those dregs of humanity by making them sing Czech folk tunes? Where have you been all this time? Do you know what they have done? Do you know they tortured and killed millions? Or haven’t you heard? Or maybe,” said Hana, drawing a deep breath, “you sympathize with them because you float dead Negroes down your river?” Her words caused a commotion: furious and indignant soldiers gathered round; Hana’s own phrase was thrown back at her: “How dare you?” Another American intervened. “She’s absolutely right,” he said. “I’ve just come from those camps where we’ve been liberating the inmates. You should see it. Besides, these Germans are not being harmed in any way.” Turning to the first soldier, he said, “Let’s you and I keep out of it, okay?

J just like his Dad E ever so just (like his Dad) S specless (he never wore glasses) U unable to swim S sometimes I wonder if he was praying for the betraying kiss of Judas so as not to miss out on his Easter egg C cut bread into very thin slices H hippy aeroplane impressionist R really easy to spot in a crowd on a Good Friday I I wonder if he had a dog S escapologist T took him three days but he did it - In the name of the Lord

M here, Not to say u I LOVE U OR I MISS U Cuz m already in love with myself.

Diversity, Equal Opportunity, and Success are Core Principals Driving the Mission of the Green Card Organization of the United States of America The Green Card Organization is a reputable institution that provides a service for individuals who have a desire to immigrate by implementing a wide variety of services from basic to the most complex. The Green Card Organization can ensure error-free applications by assisting any individual who requires additional aid to simplify the process and guarantee a complete and accurate submission. Plenty of legal procedures are made easier, and by working with the Green Card Organization, their specialized services can fit the need of any client. The Green Card Organization provides expertise on the Diversity Visa (DV) lottery program. This program can be difficult to complete without error, as over 40% of applicants that are self-handled are disqualified due to inaccurate information. This lottery allows only one submission per year, and the Green Card Organization believes their assistance will guarantee qualification and the possibility of obtaining a Green card. “For everyone the process of receiving a Green card is different, however when that amazing moment comes that you will receive confirmation, we will be here to help. Time is of the essence when it comes to the process of a successful Green card applicant, it is important to go through the immigration process according to the timeline and correctly. Delays in the process can result in termination. Here at our organization, we will make sure that everything happens quickly and correctly for you. Our team of immigration experts will keep everything on track and assist you with all the necessary procedures. We provide personalized services and will make sure that no opportunity is missed to help each and every one of our clients achieve their goal. Your success is our success!” The Green Card Organization website provides important immigration information, such as different ways to obtain a Green card. The Green Card Organization explains that one of the most common ways to receive a Green card is through the sponsorship of a family member. The family member must be a U.S. citizen, or a Green card holder themselves. Additional details describe instances on who is permitted to apply for a Green card so the client is able to make certain they are eligible. Another way the Green Card Organization explains how to obtain a Green card is through a job, meaning their professional background and/or business dealings. An employer can petition for an employee to get a Green card, but they first must obtain a labor certification and file Form I-140, known as the Immigrant Petition for Alien Worker. Other individuals who deal in American Investments may apply for the Green card if they have sizeable assets in the United States. Any individual can self-petition and apply for a Green card without a labor certification as long as they are able to prove that they considerably contribute to the American workforce. The Green Card Organization provides a list of special jobs regarding professionals who are permitted to apply for a Green card with Form I-360, known as the Petition of Amerasian, Widow(er), or Special Immigrant.

The thing is, I don’t want revenge. I don’t want to make him jealous or remind him what he’s missing. I just want to understand what changed.

The freshman’s eyebrows crash together. “Why would I wish that?” “Because I’m a great lay. You’re missing out.

Na satovima prirode naučili su da svatko naslijedi jedan kromosom od majke i jedan od oca - duge niti deoksiribonukleinske kiseline s tisućama gena koji grade milijarde neurona i bilijune veza između njih. U njima su sve genetičke informacije koje se prenose s roditelja na djecu - opstanak, rast, reprodukcija, boja kose, oblik nosa, hoćeš li imati pjege ili kihati na sunčevu svjetlu. Ali ništa od tog nije odgovaralo na jedino pitanje koje joj je plamtjelo u umu : je li moguće naslijediti i nešto tako neopipljivo i nemjerljivo kao što je tuga?

Priznajem, nije baš razborito zaljubiti se u nekog tko nije tvoje vrste, nekog tko će samo zakomplicirati tvoj život, poremetiti tvoju rutinu i narušiti tvoj osjećaj stabilnosti i ukorijenjenosti. Ali s druge strane, svatko tko od ljubavi očekuje razboritost možda nikad nije volio.

As he was moaning heavily in my ear, he looked at me and asked: "what are we doing?" I didn't bother myself to understand his question, I countinued grapping him harder and deeper.. So he repeated it, "Tell me, what are we doing?" I answered with a moquing yet assertive tone: "HHm, we re FUCKING OFC" He stopped, I swear I could hear his heart dropped to his balls "Come again? Fucking you said?? " "Yes arent we?" "No, we are making love" I laughed as hard as I can "Making Love you said? Oh love, we would be making love if we were couple we are just one night stand, it just happens that, that one night is on loop" "When did you become so cruel?" as he was leaving my body.. "Cruel? oh I've learnt from the best don't you agree?, "You are the one who said u're not ready for a relationship and you gave me all the bs about how you're not the one, and you're gonna deny me the opp to be with a better man bla bla bla So please spare me the emotions and dnt give me those puppy eyes" I said those words as if I was possesed with all the hate and anger I have for him for the past 6 years I stopped for a moment and said "I guess we r no longer fucking right?" A tear came down to his cheek and I could feel it burning the ashes in my heart I dressed up and as I was leaving the motel, he grabbed me from behind hands over my breast breathing behind my neck "Fucking you said..huh? I promise you that when I'm finished you won't be able to walk".. he groans into my ear And i could feel him hard as stone again.. "I believe that is what they call an erection." teasing him I said つづく

In 2020, 68.1% of U.S. mortgage loans were originated by non-banks; they were instead initiated by mortgage loan companies. What do you need a bank for? Remember in the movie,[4] “If I write a loan on a Friday afternoon, it’s sold to a big [investment] bank by Monday lunch.” The financial system changed very little from 1914 to 1980, but think about how much it changed from 1980 to today. The Federal Reserve was originally designed to provide liquidity to banks. That’s it. Back then, a financial institution could be a bank, trust company, credit union, or Savings and Loan. I can’t even list all of the different types of financial institutions there are today. Back then, the financial instruments were mortgage loans, corporate loans, stocks, bonds, and commercial paper. Did I miss anything? Once again, I can’t even list all of the different types of financial instruments today.

For the time being, however, his bent was literary and religious rather than balletic. He loved, and what seventh grader doesn’t, the abstracter foxtrots and more metaphysical twists of a Dostoevsky, a Gide, a Mailer. He longed for the experience of some vivider pain than the mere daily hollowness knotted into his tight young belly, and no weekly stomp-and-holler of group therapy with other jejune eleven-year-olds was going to get him his stripes in the major leagues of suffering, crime, and resurrection. Only a bona-fide crime would do that, and of all the crimes available murder certainly carried the most prestige, as no less an authority than Loretta Couplard was ready to attest, Loretta Couplard being not only the director and co-owner of the Lowen School but the author, as well, of two nationally televised scripts, both about famous murders of the 20th Century. They’d even done a unit in social studies on the topic: A History of Crime in Urban America. The first of Loretta’s murders was a comedy involving Pauline Campbell, R.N., of Ann Arbor, Michigan, circa 1951, whose skull had been smashed by three drunken teenagers. They had meant to knock her unconscious so they could screw her, which was 1951 in a nutshell. The eighteen-year-olds, Bill Morey and Max Pell, got life; Dave Royal (Loretta’s hero) was a year younger and got off with twenty-two years. Her second murder was tragic in tone and consequently inspired more respect, though not among the critics, unfortunately. Possibly because her heroine, also a Pauline (Pauline Wichura), though more interesting and complicated had also been more famous in her own day and ever since. Which made the competition, one best-selling novel and a serious film biography, considerably stiffen Miss Wichura had been a welfare worker in Atlanta, Georgia, very much into environment and the population problem, this being the immediate pre-Regents period when anyone and everyone was legitimately starting to fret. Pauline decided to do something, viz., reduce the population herself and in the fairest way possible. So whenever any of the families she visited produced one child above the three she’d fixed, rather generously, as the upward limit, she found some unobtrusive way of thinning that family back to the preferred maximal size. Between 1989 and 1993 Pauline’s journals (Random House, 1994) record twenty-six murders, plus an additional fourteen failed attempts. In addition she had the highest welfare department record in the U.S. for abortions and sterilizations among the families whom she advised. “Which proves, I think,” Little Mister Kissy Lips had explained one day after school to his friend Jack, “that a murder doesn’t have to be of someone famous to be a form of idealism.” But of course idealism was only half the story: the other half was curiosity. And beyond idealism and curiosity there was probably even another half, the basic childhood need to grow up and kill someone.

*Assignment a link to writeforme.org* M: You have until 9 p.m. to get this done... *once account made*... it took me to the link I'd clicked. It said, "Title," at the very top, and under that, it said, "You will type the line: I will always call miss m by her title." Under that it said, "30 time correctly." I immediately texted her. *you can't be serious* "I'm serious. Have fun!"... I began to type, "I will always call miss m by her tilte." When I tried to backspace to fix the typo, I wasn't able to, and then I noticed that line didn't count as a line done, but made the count 32 lines instead of 30. If I made a mistake, it started over and added 2 lines each time. I glanced at the clock. It was six-fifteen: I had until nine to get this to her. Fuck my life, it was going to take the entire time allotted, and I was probably going to be late considering how every fucking time I typed, I fucked u. My lines were now at 44.

I got this life, n I feel breathing Bcoz of u...... I left alone in d side of darkness N melted like a snow ball in d raising sun shine.. I had no past of u , N I had no memories of u But I still have a affection towards u.. U r not with me when d tym I need u badly N I feel empty when u r not beside me But I still feel to rely on u.... U didn't fullfiled all d dreams of mom N she may hates u... Every sec for leaving alone N she might have lost all her hopes bcoz of u But I promise I will fulfill all her dreams I have seen many fathers who gives support N cares like a hero of their child But I feel good if u become a shadow of mine To support me all d tym.....I need u Every 1 may hate u , N speak wrong abt u May b mom don't want u now... But ur son needs u badly N want to linger beside u U might have hold my hand U might have smooched me U might have hugged me U might have cared abt mek N i feel nothing abt it...N I don't hav a memory abt u But I still imagine every sec that U loved me... U care abt me... Just bcoz.......u r my FATHER uff, U r truly a wonderful part in my life .............................. < I miss u DAD >...............................

EVERYONE WHO served in the Iraq war knew the stories about the missing American cash. Not long after the U.S. invaded Iraq, the U.S. government secretly flew twelve billion dollars in cash to Baghdad. I know it’s hard to believe, and it sounds like it was made up by one of those wacko left-wing conspiracy-obsessed blogs on the Internet. But it’s a matter of documented fact. Twelve billion dollars in U.S. banknotes was trucked from the Federal Reserve Bank in East Rutherford, New Jersey, to Andrews Air Force Base outside Washington, where it was put on pallets and loaded on C-130 military transport planes and flown to Baghdad. The idea, I guess, was that this was the only way to pay our contractors working in Iraq and run the puppet government: in stacks of Benjamins. Baghdad was awash in crisp new American banknotes. Gunnysacks full of cash sat around, unguarded, in Iraqi ministry offices. Bureaucrats and soldiers played football with bricks of hundred-dollar bills. And here’s the best part: Somehow, nine billion dollars just disappeared. Vanished. Without a trace.

Therefore is the name of it called Babel; because the Lord did there confound [balal] the language of all the earth” (Genesis 11:9). In a sarcastic way, this verse links the name of the city, Babel, with the Hebrew verb balal, which means “to confuse, to mix, to mingle.”[320] Missed in English translation, God is inspiring Moses to taunt, “You claim to be the ‘gate of the gods,’ but you are really only the gate to confusion.

Modern scientists attribute to such systems an "irre d u c i b l e complexity." In the same way that a motor will not work if one of its cogs is missing, in plants the absence of just one system, or a single functional failure in any one of the parts of the system, will lead to the death of the plant.

Taki As a prolific author and journalist, Taki has written for many top-rated publications, including the Spectator, the London Sunday Times, Vanity Fair, National Review, and many others. Greek-born and American-educated, Taki is a well-known international personality and a respected social critic all over the world. In June 1987, I was an usher at the wedding of Harry Somerset, Marquis of Worcester, to Tracy Ward. The wedding and ensuing ball took place in the grand Ward country house, attended by a large portion of British society, including the Prince and Princess of Wales. Late in the evening, while I was in my cups, a friend, Nicky Haslam, grabbed my arm and introduced me to Diana, who was coming off the dance floor. We exchanged pleasantries, me slurring my words to the extent that she suddenly took my hand, looked at me straight in the face, and articulated, “T-a-k-e y-o-u-r t-i-m-e.” She mistook my drunken state for a severe speech impediment and went into her queen-of-hearts routine. Nicky, of course, ruined it all by pulling her away and saying, “Oh, let him be, ma’am; he’s drunk as usual.” We occasionally met after that and always had a laugh about it. But we never got further than that rather pathetic incident. In 1994, I began writing the “Atticus” column for the Sunday Times, the bestselling Sunday broadsheet in Britain. By this time Diana and Charles had separated, and Diana had gone on the offensive against what was perceived by her to be Buckingham Palace plotting. As a confirmed monarchist, I warned in one of my columns that her popularity was enough to one day bring down the monarchy. I also wrote that she was bonkers. One month or so later, at a ball given in London by Sir James Goldsmith and his daughter Jemima Khan, a mutual friend approached me and told me that Princess Diana would like to speak with me. As luck would have it, yet again I was under the weather. When I reached her table, she pulled out a seat for me and asked me to sit down. The trouble was that I missed the chair and ended up under the table. Diana screamed with laughter, pulled up the tablecloth, looked underneath, and asked me pointblank: “Do you really think I’m mad?” For once I had the right answer. “All I know is I’m mad about you.” It was the start of a beautiful friendship, as Bogie said in Casablanca.

When I lifted my head, Christian was sending a text message. “Give me that!” I sprang to my knees and snatched it away. “What the hell did you say?” “Only that I had you on your back. I made sure to sign my name.” “You idiot!” I punched his shoulder and he smirked. “In-service massage?” Silver: It’s not what you think, Logan. I’ll call you later. Miss u. “It’s your funeral. Logan is a Chitah.” Christian’s eyes widened. “You’re serious? You? And a Chitah?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Shite, why didn’t you tell me you were dating a fecking lunatic? Those bastards have a thing about hunting you for life.

I must have missed the fine print disclaimer in my school textbooks while learning about the Declaration of Independence and U.S. Constitution. It must have read: Warning – by learning this material it will make you a future enemy of the state.

You missed that I’m a computer specialist, and I know that the U.S. government would have no problem forging a passport for me,” he said. The interrogators quickly took the passport back and never talked about it again. Scenarios like that made me very paranoid about the government making up something about me.

In GTMO, interrogators are taught more about the potential behavior of detainees than about their actual Intelligence value, and so the U.S. Interrogators consistently succeeded in missing the most trivial information about their own detainees. I’m not speaking about second hand information; I’m speaking about my own experience.

less than 300 yards. With Eagle beam-on and at this point-blank range, U73 could not miss. The time was 1315. Aboard Eagle, at 1317, no one had yet thought of jumping over the side from the quarterdeck. Even with dead engines, Eagle’s 21,000 tons momentum still took her through the water at about four knots, two minutes after being hit. If anyone dived over now, they would fall astern and not be rescued. In any case I had no Mae West yet. It was hopeless trying to get to the Island by the normal route. There was only one way. I had used it once before. This was the batsman’s escape route from the flight deck to the main deck, a vertical distance of about 50 feet. It was a pipeshaft, about three feet in diameter, with a rusty ladder fixed inside. It was entirely dark inside and as its lower level on the port side was by now under water and at about 40 degrees from the vertical, once I had started up the ladder, there would be no turning back. Just as I bent down to get into the tube, with my feet already in the water on the low side of the heeling ship, I looked above me. I could see an officer trying to organise the launching of the ship’s whaler. As

I have old friends at Buckkeep. I can borrow the money for your apprenticeship fee.” My heart lurched at the thought of what the form of the interest on such a loan might take, but I steeled myself. I would go to Chade first, and if what he asked of me in return was too dear, I would seek out the Fool. It would not be easy to humbly ask to borrow money, but—” “You’d do that? For me? But I’m not even really your son.” Hap looked incredulous. I gripped his hand. “I would do that. Because you’re as close to a son as I’m ever likely to get.” “I’ll help you pay the debt, I swear.” “No you won’t. It will be my debt, taken on freely. I’ll expect you to pay close attention to your master and devote yourself to learning your trade well.” “I will, Tom. I will. And I swear, in your old age, you shall lack for nothing.” He spoke with the words with the devout ardency of guileless youth. I took them as he intended them, and ignored the glowing amusement in Nighteyes’ gaze. See how edifying it is when someone sees you as tottering toward death? I never said you were at your grave’s edge. No. You treat me as if u were brittle as old chicken bones. Aren’t you? No. My strength returns. Wait for the falling of the leaves and cooler weather. I’ll be able to walk until you drop. Just as I always have. But what if I have to journey before then? The wolf lowered his head to his outstretched forepaws with a sigh. And what if you jump for a buck’s throat and miss? There’s no point to worrying about it until it happens. “Are you thinking what I am?” Hap anxiously broke the seemingly silence of the room. I met his worried gaze. “Perhaps. What were you thinking?” He spoke hesitantly. “That the sooner you speak to your friends at Buckkeep, the sooner we will know what to expect for the winter.” I replied slowly. “Another winter here would not suit you, would it?” “No.” His natural honesty made him reply quickly. Then he softened it with, “It isn’t that I don’t like it here with you and Nighteyes. It’s just that…” He floundered for a moment. “Have you ever felt as if you could actually feel time flowing away from you? As if life were passing you by and you were caught in a backwater with the dead fish and old sticks?” You can be the dead fish. I’ll be the old stick.

I was homesick for America. I’d make a list in my journal of the things I missed most about the States: peanut butter, cow’s milk, Nickelodeon, grass, Heather, my next-door neighbor and best friend. From a distance, the U.S. seemed so beautiful, so welcoming, so easy. How could I spend a minute unhappy there? I promised myself that when I returned I would appreciate every little thing.

So, the Sandinistas are going to win?" "Win what?" "Well," he was confused, "the election." "If there's an election in this country, babe, don't blink or you'll miss the whole show." "But the elections are scheduled," he said. "The elections are going to take place." "They're not going to let anybody vote. They'll postpone it again and they'll blame the U.S." "I don't believe you." "Why would they risk losing? Why would they let go of all the power once they had it?" "Because they believe in principles. Because those principles would grow stronger. If they chanced losing that power in the name, if they played fair in the name," he said, "of certain principles." "Like what principles? Let's hear these names." "Equality. Democracy." "Liberty, fraternity. Right. Yeah. Right." "Why am I talking to you?" he said bitterly.

The struggle is part of life to progress. More than physical, the mental struggle is required for my stronger tomorrow. This Struggle should be enough to keep me burning, enlighten my dark corners but definitely, it’s foolish to continue if it is burning me out. Further scenarios change and I should revisit the holiness of my intention. It is wise to immediately make a U-turn and stop efforts if I realize the intention is not justified.

…he’s got that same "I can’t believe you’re smart enough to live" look people sometimes get with me. I’m not actually dumb; I swear I’m not. Just sometimes I miss things other people get.

I know I will never see that smile the same way again, it will never bring me instant comfort nor warm my soul the same again. I know I will miss the flood of emotions that released for your touch to point of dehydration. I will miss the small, pulsating, vibrations running through my body as your voice ricochet in my ear. I will miss the beauty I saw in your pain as you took me on a journey through your soul, thu conversations I will miss our inner child's spontaneous and planned play dates. I will miss the silence in my mind commanded by you taking the lead. I will miss daydreaming about loving you forever, because I still had an ounce of hope leftover after a lifetime of searching for you. I will miss you forgiving me after, I recovered from a trigger, never appreciated the punishment that came with it tho. I will miss not being able to protect your heart from the pain I recognize, that your ego guards from your souls innocents that your mind can't tolerate yet. I will miss the feeling I felt knowing you could really be here with me forever because the exchange of laughter, wisdom and moments never ended. I will miss loving the man you are now in life, because even without the potential I see, you are worthy just as you are . I will miss things about you that you will never know, it was never about status or statuses I didn't want the spotlight, I wanted to be behind the scenes. I just wanted to support and love you. I wanted to guide you through parts of life that almost broke me, that I see you encountering. I will miss having somewhere to pour almost all of me. I will miss the possibility of being loved forever, I know I felt it though the roughness of your sore hands as I caressed trying to alleviate the pain. I will miss your grumpy days and I still regret not knowing how to comfort you on the hardest ones. I will miss who I sometimes selfishly dreamed I could be if you could just love me in the way I could feel. I'd dream of waiting for u to get home, (its the one we talked about getting after winning the lottery) . In that moment I swear it was the first time my soul wanted another day voluntarily. I will miss you not understanding my text, but we would see eye to eye when they physically met. I will miss you teaching me, and correcting me softly. I will miss you being gentle, when I didn't even know I needed it. I know it was hard sometimes. I will miss how you kept things together, always calm and steady, I was the complete opposite, clumsy and messy. You were everything I wasn't, and I loved you for that the most. I will miss thinking of you as my sun, and I will miss you calling me Starr I will miss loving you beyond myself. I will miss all those moments I wanted to pull u into me and just feel you and kiss you. I wanted you all the time, it took so much to hold back from showing you, it was out of fear of rejection of not being enough. I SHOULD of done it, would of got to this point faster. I regret not loving you with all me authenticly. I will miss what never was a friend, but everything I never had In one

Ljudski um krajnje je neobično mjesto, dom i izgnanstvo u isti mah. Kako može pamtiti nešto tako neuhvatljivo i neopipljivo kao što je miris, a sposoban je izbrisati konkretne dijelove prošlosti, gromadu po gromadu?

Posmrtni ostaci... Što to točno znači? Je li to nekoliko tvrdih kostiju i mekog tkiva? Odjeća i modni dodaci? Stvari koje su dovoljno čvrste i kompaktne da stanu u lijes? Ili je to ono neopipljivo - riječi koje šaljemo u eter, snovi koje zadržimo za sebe, otkucaji srca koje preskočimo uz svoje ljubavnike, praznine koje pokušavamo ispuniti i nikad ne možemo artikulirati na primjeren način - na kraju balade, što ostaje od jednog cijelog života, jednog ljudskog bića... i može li se to doista iskopati iz zemlje?

Tijekom svog dugog života mnogo sam puta promatrala psihooško njihalo na kojem se klati ljudska priroda. Svakih nekoliko desetjeća zanjišu se u neobuzdani optimizam i inzistiraju sve vidjeti kroz ružičasti filter, ali događaji ih uvijek izazovu i potresu, i katapultiraju natrag u uobičajenu apatiju i depresiju.

Eye Hate U" U have just accessed the Hate Experience Do U wish 2 change your entry? Very well, please enjoy your experience I never thought that U would be the one After all the things that we've been through U gave your body 2 another in the name of fun I hope U had some baby, if not, boo hoo It's so sad but I hate U like a day without sunshine It's so bad but I hate U cuz U're all that's ever on my mind Honey, I hate U - Now everyday would be a waste of time Cuz I hate U I never thought that I could feel this way 2 fall in love was a table reserved 4 fools Say U're sorry if U wanna but it's all in vain I'm out the door sweet baby, that's right, we're through It's so sad but I hate U like a day without sunshine It's so bad but I hate U cuz U're all that's ever on my mind Honey, I hate U - Now everyday would be a waste of time Cuz I hate U This court is now in session Would the defendant please rise? State your name 4 the court Never mind (Billy Jack Bitch) U're being charged with one 2 many counts of heartbreaking In the 1st degree I don't give a damn about the others My main concern is U and me Your honor, may I call 2 the stand my one and only witness? A girl that know damn well she didn't have no damn business I know what U did, how U did it and uh.. who U did it with So U might as well plead guilty cuz U sure can't plead the 5th Now raise your right hand Do U swear 2 tell the whole truth Not the half truth like U used 2 so help U God? Nod your head one time if U hear me If U don't, I'll have 2 use the rod Anything 2 make U see that uh.. U're gonna miss me Yeah, U're gonna miss me Uh, uh, uh, oh! If it please the court I'd like 2 have the defendant place her hands behind her back So I can tie her up tight and get into the act The act of showing her how good it used 2 be I want it 2 be so good she falls back in love with me Close your eyes I'm gonna cover your ass with this sheet And I want U 2 pump your hips like U used 2 And, baby, U better stay on the beat Did U do 2 your other man the same things that U did 2 me? Right now I hate U so much I wanna make love until U see That it's killin' me, baby, 2 be without U Cuz all I ever wanted 2 do was 2 be with U ... ow! I hate U (I hate U) Because I love U (Because I love U) But I can't love U (I can't love U) Because I hate U (I hate U) Prince, The Gold Experience (1995)

It wasn’t until this moment that I truly understood what she’d meant. I could let my hurt make me miss out on something that could be great. Or I could try again with Theo and risk being hurt again.

She found that all caps made people judge happy messages as even happier (IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!! feels happier than “It’s my birthday!!!”) but didn’t make sad messages any sadder (“i miss u” is just as sad as I MISS U).

Don’t aim at success. The more you aim at it and make it a target, the more you are going to miss it. For success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue, and it only does so as the unintended side effect of one’s personal dedication to a cause greater than oneself or as the by-product of one’s surrender to a person other than oneself. Happiness must happen, and the same holds for success: you have to let it happen by not caring about it. I want you to listen to what your conscience commands you to do and go on to carry it out to the best of your knowledge. Then you will live to see that in the long-run—in the long-run, I say!—success will follow you precisely because you had forgotten to think about it (Frankl, 1962).

is ollie ok? i don’t want her 2 be upset about that girl. does she hate me? do u think she wants to talk maybe 1 day soon? maybe i could send her flowers???? roses? sunflowers? seems like a bright flower kinda girl. i think i miss her, care. this sux.

Four times facing the very real fear that this could all end, this life I'm beginning to build for myself in the U.S., this country that doesn't want me, after growing up in a country that didn't want me. It's terrifying that this life I'm living could all be over because of the suspicions of a midlevel visa employee, a missed expiration date, or a government policy change. Four times facing these fears head-on and decades of feeling them in my body, burning on low in the back of my mind. This could all be taken away from you, Lamya. You could have to leave.

Coming here was a risk. To my position on the team and as captain. I told Bryant that I had some family business to take care of and I’d be back as soon as possible. He wasn’t happy about it, but it’s the first practice I’ve missed in three years, including the time I had the flu. But Twyler is more important than anything—that’s what was missing in my relationship with Shanna. We could have gone on and been a hot professional athlete couple that looked good in the tabloids and elevated my profile, but that’s not what I want. I want a partner. Someone I love to be by my side. A best friend. With Twyler, I get all of that and more.

Once again, a single sentence would hold the key. I found it in The Economic Status of Black Women: An Exploratory Investigation, a 1990 staff report of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights: On average married black women contribute 40 percent to household income compared with only 29 percent for white women.° Simply put, all wives did not contribute to their households in the same way: Black women were likely to earn as much (or more) money as their husbands, while white women were likely to earn much less. This was certainly true in the case of my parents (whose income was more or less equal most years). But the joint tax return system, under which most married couples file their taxes together, offers the greatest benefits to households where one spouse contributes much less than the other to household income. That meant couples like my parents-my hardworking, home-owning, God-fearing parents, who wanted to earn a little bit more to enjoy their lives after raising two daughters-weren't getting those breaks. My parents' tax bill was so high because they were married to each other. Marriage-which many conservatives assure us is the road out of black poverty -is in fact making black couples poorer. And because the IRS does not publish statistics by race, we would never know. It's long been understood that blacks and whites live in separate and unequal worlds that shape whom we marry, where we buy a home, whom we have as neighbors, and how we build a future for our children. Race affects where we go to college and how we pay for it. Race influences where we work and how much we are paid. What my research showed was that all of this also determines how much we pay in taxes. Taxpayers bring their racial identities to their tax returns. As in so many parts of American life, being black is more likely to hurt and being white is more likely to help. The implications of this go far beyond the forms you file every April. In the long run, tax policy affects whether and how you'll be able to build wealth. If you're eligible for tax breaks, you either pay less in taxes throughout the year or receive a larger refund in the spring. If, like my parents, you're considered ineligible for a particular tax break, you never see that money. One missed tax break may not sound like much, but those dollars not given to Uncle Sam can be put into your bank account, invested in stocks or property, or used to build home equity through improvements or repairs every year. Think of that money as an annual pay raise – but if you do not get it, you cannot save it. Over time those dollars, or the lack of them, add up to increased or depleted wealth.

The people of the Kumuhonua and Pa‘ao genealogies probably left at a later date. Their genealogies continue on through Lua Nu‘u and his descendants up until the twelve sons of Kinilau-a-Mano (Jacob). The story of a Jonah-like character, Naula-a-Maihea, is the last of the Hawaiian legends which correspond to the Hebrew. However, there is a large gap in the legends between the Kāne-Apua (Moses) story which occurred around 1450 B.C. and the story of Naula-a-Maihea (Jonah) which occurred around 760 B.C. The absence of any of the great Biblical events that occurred during this 650-year period in any of the Polynesian legends is glaring. Why were great events of Hebrew history like the story of Joshua and the walls of Jericho, Samson and Delilah, and David and Goliath missing? Why was there only the story of Jonah which occurred long after these events? The answer to this problem could be that these Proto-Polynesians (whether they were actually a part of Israel or were a people of the area who adopted the Hebrew genealogies and legends) probably left the Middle East shortly after the time of Moses. They then traveled to their next stop in Irihia (India). Sea trade had been flourishing between the Middle East and India for over a thousand years. Vessels would sail down the Tigris and Euphrates rivers to the Persian Gulf and from there sail along the coast of the Arabian Sea to the Indus River and other trading ports of India. The unusual story of Jonah would surely be told by Ninevite traders (Nineveh was the city Jonah went to) and could have been picked up by the Proto-Polynesian seamen of Irihia.

If I had my druthers, I wouldn’t have minded some help either—some more modern, realistic help than what Oberon wanted. U.S. Marines, for example. I’d say, “Sorry, fellas, but these enemy combatants, Artemis and Diana, happen to be immortal. They can’t be killed.” The Marines would exchange glances, and then their platoon leader—who would be a nice young gentleman from the South, totally polite and unable to drink legally—would say, “Well, miss, we respectfully doubt their immortality, because they have yet to meet the applied force we can bring to bear. Semper Fi.

World’s Sexiest Man: happy valentine’s day, princess. i love u & miss u.

Once again, a single sentence would hold the key. I found it in The Economic Status of Black Women: An Exploratory Investigation, a 1990 staff report of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights: On average married black women contribute 40 percent to household income compared with only 29 percent for white women.° Simply put, all wives did not contribute to their households in the same way: Black women were likely to earn as much (or more) money as their husbands, while white women were likely to earn much less. This was certainly true in the case of my parents (whose income was more or less equal most years). But the joint tax return system, under which most married couples file their taxes together, offers the greatest benefits to households where one spouse contributes much less than the other to household income. That meant couples like my parents-my hardworking, home-owning, God-fearing parents, who wanted to earn a little bit more to enjoy their lives after raising two daughters-weren't getting those breaks. My parents' tax bill was so high because they were married to each other. Marriage-which many conservatives assure us is the road out of black poverty -is in fact making black couples poorer. And because the IRS does not publish statistics by race, we would never know. It's long been understood that blacks and whites live in separate and unequal worlds that shape whom we marry, where we buy a home, whom we have as neighbors, and how we build a future for our children. Race affects where we go to college and how we pay for it. Race influences where we work and how much we are paid. What my research showed was that all of this also determines how much we pay in taxes. Taxpayers bring their racial identities to their tax returns. As in so many parts of American life, being black is more likely to hurt and being white is more likely to help. The implications of this go far beyond the forms you file every April. In the long run, tax policy affects whether and how you'll be able to build wealth. If you're eligible for tax breaks, you either pay less in taxes throughout the year or receive a larger refund in the spring. If, like my parents, you're considered ineligible for a particular tax break, you never see that money. One missed tax break may not sound like much, but those dollars not given to Uncle Sam can be put into your bank account, invested in stocks or property, or used to build home equity through improvements or repairs every year. Think of that money as an annual pay raise – but if you do not get it, you cannot save it. Over time those dollars, or the lack of them, add up to increased or depleted wealth

I have always fancied myself as a fairly objective looker, but I’m beginning to wonder whether I do not miss whole categories of things. Let me give you an example of what I mean, Alicia. Some years ago the U.S. Information Service paid the expenses of a famous and fine Italian photographer to go to America and to take pictures of our country. It was thought that pictures by an Italian would be valuable to Italians because they would be of things of interest to Italy. I was living in Florence at the time and I saw the portfolio as soon as the pictures were printed. The man had traveled everywhere in America, and do you know what his pictures were? Italy, in every American city he had unconsciously sought and found Italy. The portraits—Italians; the countryside—Tuscany and the Po Valley and the Abruzzi. His eye looked for what was familiar to him and found it. . . . This man did not see the America which is not like Italy, and there is very much that isn’t. And I wonder what I have missed in the wonderful trip to the south that I have just completed. Did I see only America? I confess I caught myself at it. Traveling over those breathtaking mountains and looking down at the shimmering deserts . . . I found myself saying or agreeing—yes, that’s like the Texas panhandle— that could be Nevada, and that might be Death Valley. . . . [B]y identifying them with something I knew, was I not cutting myself off completely from the things I did not know, not seeing, not even recognizing, because I did not have the easy bridge of recognition . . . the shadings, the nuance, how many of those I must not have seen. (Newsday, 2 Apr. 1966)