L Christmas Quotes

He who has not Christmas in his heart will never find it under a tree.

Am I glowing?" "Like a Christmas tree." "Not just the star?" The bed moved a little, and I felt his hand brush my arm. "No. You're super bright. It's kind of like looking at the sun.

At least I don't look like a Christmas tree." "You look like the star atop the tree.

This was a bad idea,” I whispered. “It was probably the smartest idea you’ve ever had.” I rubbed my palms on my hips. “It’s going to take a lot more than Thanksgiving dinner and a Christmas tree to get laid.” “Damn. There goes my whole plan.

Half of the time, the Holy Ghost tries to warn us about certain people that come into our life. The other half of the time he tries to tell us that the sick feeling we get in a situation is not the other person’s fault, rather it is our own hang-ups. A life filled with bias, hatred, judgment, insecurity, fear, delusion and self-righteousness can cloud the soul of anyone you meet. Our job is never to assume,instead it is to listen, communicate, ask questions then ask more, until we know the true depth of someone’s spirit.

Well, wrap me up and call me a Christmas baby. Hunter with a female – a human female.

What about the presents?” “Yeah, I don’t think that’s what Christmas is about,” he commented. Andrea huffed. “That is what Christmas is about. Anyone who says differently is trying to make themselves look all spiritual and shit. I keep it real.

More often than not, people who are obsessed with their desires and feelings are generally unhappier in life vs. people that refocus their attention on service to others or a righteous cause. Have you ever heard someone say their life sucked because they fed the homeless? Made their children laugh? Or, bought a toy for a needy child at Christmas time?

The Henderson brothers never fell for a girl before, but they dont't know if they're on their heads or their feet anymore. I think they're going to make you a pipe bomb for Christmas.

I rubbed my palms on my hips. "It's going to take a lot more than Thanksgiving dinner and a Christmas tree to get laid." "Damn. There goes my whole plan

How do you make a living if you’re writing a book?” Joshua asked. The boy was getting a bike for Christmas that’s all there was to it. David squirmed in his seat. “It doesn’t pay anything yet.” “So, then what do you do to pay the bills?” Joshua asked. Forget the bike, he was getting a go-cart.

She rolled her eyes. "Then what happened?" Rubbing his temples, he glanced at the door. "Bethany and I were making out and something happened that never happened before." Dee leaned back. A look of supreme disgust clouded her pretty face. "Uh, yuck if this is about any kind of premat-" "Oh my God, shut and listen, okay?" He dragged a hand through his hair. "we were making out, and I lost my hold on my human form. I lit up like a freaking Christmas tree.

Okay, you know, is it weird to get so depressed watching a children’s Christmas special— Oh, wait, I shouldn’t say that. I mean, that’s not a good word. It’s not just “sadness,” the way one feels sad at a film or a funeral. It’s more of a plummeting quality. Or the way, you know, the way that light gets in winter just before dusk, or the way she is with me. All right, at the height of lovemaking, you know, the very height, when she’s starting to climax, and she’s really responding to you now, you know, her eyes widening in that way that’s both, you know, surprise and recognition, which not a woman alive could fake or feign if you really look intently at her, really see her. And I don’t know, this moment has this piercing sadness to it, of the loss of her in her eyes. And as her eyes, you know, widen to their widest point and as she begins to climax and arch her back, they close. You know, shut, the eyes do. And I can tell that she’s closed her eyes to shut me out. You know, I become like an intruder. And behind those closed lids, you know, her eyes are now rolled all the way around and staring intently inward into some void where l, who sent them, can’t follow.

Rather than feeling lost and unimportant and meaningless, set against galaxies which go beyond the reach of the furthest telescopes, I feel that my life has meaning. Perhaps I should feel insignificant, but instead I feel a soaring in my heart that the God who could create all this — and out of nothing — can still count the hairs of my head.

Is there a reason why you’re standing there, staring out the window and watching the neighbors? Are we preparing to kill them and drag them down to the basement and bury them alive?

After Margaret moved to Florida they continued to stay in touch in a Christmas card/life-milestone way.

It’s not complicated and it doesn’t compare to my problem, now give me a damn cookie I think I earned it,” Jill snapped. Chris grinned like it was Christmas morning. “Yes, you did.” He brought her a cookie. “Very good, my young one. You’ve made Chris very happy with this little tidbit of information.

to follow God does not often mean traveling with certainty about where God will lead us. Rather, following God propels us to be present to the place where we are, for this is the very place where God shows up.

A tight smile appeared on Grim’s face. “I always know. I’m like Santa, but with more death.” “Wow,” I murmured. “That comparison just ruined Christmas for me.

Come on.” He dropped a heavy hand on my back, between my shoulder blades, and my breath stalled. I was effectively silenced by his touch. Perhaps that was why he did it. Not many people would blame him and probably wished they wielded that kind of power over me.

Nicholas is gay, isn't he," she says, her voice dripping with dejection. I shrug, again remembering his proposition from last night. "Not necessarily. The jury's still out. There's hope for a Christmas wedding yet," I tell her.

Of course we have a Tomorrow on the map…located east of Today and west of Yesterday…and we have no end of "times" in fairyland. Spring-time, long time, short time, new-moon time, good-night time, next time…but no last time, because that is too sad a time for fairyland; old time, young time…because if there is an old time there ought to be a young time, too; mountain time…because that has such a fascinating sound; night-time and day-time…but no bed-time or school-time; Christmas-time; no only time, because that also is too sad…but lost time, because it is so nice to find it; some time, good time, fast time, slow time, half-past kissing-time, going-home time, and time immemorial…which is one of the most beautiful phrases in the world.

Lasciatemi così come una cosa posata in un angolo e dimenticata

One foggy night I was walking the dogs down the lane and heard the geese, very close overhead, calling, calling, their marvellous strange cry, as they flew by. I think that is what our own best prayer must sound like when we send it up to heaven.

I can see ghosts.

If a boy lays his hands on you, you take that little pointy knee of yours and ram it into his balls and then when he’s down, you kick him in the balls again for me.

One of the hardest things you will ever have to go through is the death of a child. The second hardest thing you will ever have to go through is having a child die at Christmas time. The third hardest thing you will ever have to go through is telling your child that their friend and family member has passed away. The bittersweet moment that pulls you through it all is when your child says, "Mom don't cry. They're okay because they are with God now and they promise not to leave until they help you get through this.

Where'd you learn to do all these funny things?' he laughed. 'And you know I say funny but there's sumpthin so durned sensible about 'em. Here I am killin myself drivin this rig back and forth from Ohio to L.A. and I make more money than you ever had in your whole life as a hobo, but you're the one who enjoys life and not only that but you do it without workin or a whole lot of money. Now who's smart, you or me?' And he had a nice home in Ohio with wife, daughter, Christmas tree, two cars, garage, lawn, lawnmower, but he couldn't enjoy any of it because he really wasn't free.

For a generous deed lives longer than a great battle or a king’s decree or a scholar’s essay, because it spreads and leaves its mark on all nature and endures through many generations.

I've always thought about the theatre like a Christmas tree, all shining and bright with beautiful ornaments. But now it seems like a Christmas tree with the tinsel all tarnished and the colored balls all fallen off and broken...' Sure, I know what you mean...And it's both ways...Some of the ornaments fall and break and some stay clear and bright. Some of the tinsel gets tarnished and some stays shining and beautiful like the night before Christmas. Nothing's ever all one way. You know that. It's all mixed up and you've just got to find the part that's right for you.' —Elizabeth and Ben

My name is Abe Marcus. Ned and I are identical twins. We look exactly alike. Even Ma and Pa can’t tell us apart. But we don’t act alike. I am the serious twin. Maybe it’s because I am two minutes older.

This is the way the wheel turns, coming at last to full circle, with wild as well as tame at he crib; lion and turtle-dove together an barnyard beasts lying down with the fox. For wild and tame are but two hlaves and here, where all begins and ends, everything must be whole. And always, among the sleepers, there must be somebody waking - somewhere, someone, waking and watchful. Or what would happen to the world..?

Right now I am like the unborn baby in the womb, knowing nothing except the comforting warmth of the amniotic fluid in which I swim, the comforting nourishment entering my body from a source I cannot see or understand. My whole being comes from an unseen, unknown nurturer. By that nurturer I am totally loved and protected, and that love is forever. It does not end when I am precipitated out of the safe waters of the womb into the unsafe world. It will. It end when I breathe my last, mortal breath. That love manifested itself joyously in the creation of the universe, became particular for us in Jesus, and will show itself most gloriously in the Second Coming. We need not fear.

Shane's orgasmic contribution was an innovative and masterful variation on the theme of oh: “Oh...Oh...oh...oh...oh...oh...oh...oh...AH!” Stretching the waistband of my boxers I addressed the man downstairs, “make a note Mr Brown. Buy Dick and Shane a copy of The Penguin Anthology Of Orgasmic Utterances for Christmas: surprise and delight your partner, fuck buddies and neighbours with your sparkling and witty climactic repartee, you''l have them cumming back for more.

Such presumption," said Aunt Laura, meaning for a Dix to aspire to a Murray. "It wasn't because of his presumption I packed him off," said Emily. "It was because of the way he made love. He made a thing ugly that should have been beautiful." "I suppose you wouldn't have him because he didn't propose romantically," said Aunt Elizabeth contemptuously. "No. I think my real reason was that I felt sure he was the kind of man who would give his wife a vacuum cleaner for a Christmas present," vowed Emily.

Rake,” came the succinct reply. “Oh, all right,” Lillian grumbled. “I suppose he is a rake. But that may not be an impediment to his courtship of Lady Natalie. Some women like rakes. Look at Evie.” Evie continued to snip doggedly through the brocade ribbon, while a smile curved her lips. “I don’t l-like all rakes,” she said, her gaze on her work. “Just one.” Evie, the gentlest and most soft-spoken of them all, had been the one least likely to capture the heart of the notorious Lord St. Vincent, who had been the definitive rake. Although Evie, with her round blue eyes and blazing red hair, possessed a rare and unconventional beauty, she was unbearably shy. And there was the stammer. But Evie also had a reserve of quiet strength and a gallant spirit that seemed to have seduced her husband utterly. “And that former rake obviously adores you beyond reason,” Annabelle said.

Sometimes He whispers, sometimes He shouts, but God does speak to us through His Word.

Aren’t your feet supposed to be the same size as each other?

I talk to myself a lot, but it seldom does any good. I’m a tense kid. I know it. But I have good reason to be tense.

I enjoyed

And that’s when I heard it. That’s when I heard the ghost’s harsh whisper. It seemed to be coming from the open closet. “Welcome …” I heard. “Welcome. Welcome to your DOOM.

ornaments,

Eriksson taunts, picking up a grasshopper and dipping it in sauce. “But no pressure.” He

fantasy

minute

and

English

gorgeous

How did this girl, whom I just met, manage

campus. I’m really searching

deafening.

I’m planning an invasion of California with my Canadian missile.

Christmas is not as much about opening our presents as opening our hearts.

No, don't hate them.  It's not gonna do you any good to hate anybody.  For all we know, they're worse off than we are.  Just let it go.

That reminds me why I gave up Dungeons and Dragons. There were too many monsters. Back in the old days you could go around a dungeon without meeting much more than a few orcs and lizard men, but then everyone started inventing monsters and pretty soon it was a case of bugger the magic sword, what you really need to be the complete adventurer was the Marcus L. Rowland fifteen-volume guide to Monsters and the ability to read very, very fast, because if you couldn’t recognize them from the outside you pretty soon got the chance to try looking at them from the wrong side of their tonsils.

Ma véritable vie est née Après que j’ai connu Jeannot Maintenant nous mélangeons nos Chaussures dans la cheminée ✫ C’est pour toi que je fais des livres Pour toi des pièces et des vers Je les voudrais pareils au givre Que la vitre montre à l’envers ✫ Cette nuit Noël va descendre Pour nous réchauffer un peu Car il – comme la salamandre Pose ses pieds sur le feu. (Poèmes de Noël de Jean Cocteau pour Jean Marais)

— Tu sais qu’un jour, on racontera à nos enfants que tu m’as demandée en mariage avec un nem et alors que j’étais en pyjama ? — Je sais, ai-je souri. Et je sais que ton pyjama est à l’origine de nombre de mes fantasmes.

Ten minutes later she’d swore that she was never going to eat another Butterfinger candy bar as long as she lived and that if Danny Jenkins tried to show her his baby maker that she was going to hit him in the head with a stick. Thankfully

The long, heavy, seriously annoyed sigh that she was unfortunately all too familiar with, let her know that she not only didn’t have a choice in the matter, but she’d just given the man that she was in love with another reason to hate her.

his next words. “Ralph, I’ve had this coming a long time. Sins catch up with you in the end.” He sighed, and looked up at a spiderweb in the corner of his cell, where a few flies hung like forlorn Christmas decorations. “I should have been dead years ago. God knows I should have copped a bullet or a bayonet a hundred times over. I’ve been on borrowed time a long while.” He swallowed hard. “It’s tough enough on Izz being without Lucy. She’d never survive time in— Ralph, this is one

-La tua stessa coscienza ti dice che non sei più quello che eri, io invece sono rimasta la stessa, e mi rendo conto che tutto quello che ci prometteva felicità quando avevamo gli stessi sentimenti è diventato presagio d'infelicità ora che siamo diversi. Quanto sovente e con quanta pena abbia pensato ciò non voglio dirtelo. E' sufficiente che vi abbia pensato e che sia in grado ora di renderti la tua libertà. -Te l'ho forse mai chiesta? -A parole no, mai. - E in quale modo allora? -Mutando il tuo carattere, il tuo umore, la tua atmosfera di vita, le tue speranze, tutto ciò che rendeva il mio amore bello ai tuoi occhi. Se nulla mai ci fosse stato fra di noi, dimmi, mi sceglieresti ancora, cercheresti ancora di conquistarmi? Oh no, certo!

If I could have predicted how this day was going to end, it would not be in Ho the Not-Pimp’s upscale flat—if I was in America, I’d call it a penthouse, but I’m not—eating cheeseless pizza and making out. I don’t even care about the tomato-onion-oregano

Bevve un sorso di caffè e si sporse in avanti per ravvivare il fuoco, poi prese un libro dal tavolino e cercò di concentrarsi nella lettura. Tentativo patetico e inutile. Pensò allora a come sarebbe stato condividere il ranch con una donna, un pensiero che negli ultimi tempi ritornava spesso. Pensò a Renée che se ne era andata con Craig Haas. Pensò a Rosalyn, che gli riscaldava il corpo ma non il cuore. Poi pensò a Maggie. A come si era sciolta tra le sue braccia e a come si era sciolto lui quando l’aveva sentita fremere contro di sé.

Then you’re fine if I order from Black Jack’s?” he asked, sounding hopeful and making her glare all the more. “Not unless you’re willing to sleep with one eye open for the rest of your life!” she snapped, deciding that if she was going to be miserable, then so was he. It was only fair after all.

He was also the most considerate too, she absently thought as her feet slipped out from beneath her and the incredibly hot man wrapped his arms around her, turned in mid-fall and took the brunt of the hit, keeping her safe and making her wonder if there was any chance that he would forget about this one day.

Avrei voluto dirgli che gli appartenevo, che lo amavo più di quanto avrei mai saputo esprimere a voce, che il profumo infuocato della sua pelle mi era indispensabile per sopravvivere. Avrei voluto strappare quelle due parole, “ti amo”, dal centro vivo della mia anima, dove le custodivo insieme a tutti gli sguardi che mi aveva rivolto negli anni, per gridarle tra noi come un canto ed essere finalmente in grado di pronunciarle con la medesima ruvida passione con la quale lui le mormorava nel buio, solo per me. Le parole, però, non erano mai state mie amiche, quindi ancora una volta donai me stesso a Will. L’avrei fatto sempre, per sempre. (Christmas Night)

- Les affaires ! s'écria le Fantôme en se tordant de nouveau les mains. Ce qui était mon affaire, c'était l'humanité ; c'était le bien de tous ; c'était la charité, la miséricorde, la tolérance et la bienfaisance ; c'était tout cela en fait. Mes opérations commerciales n'étaient qu'une goutte d'eau dans le vaste océan de mes affaires.

would be funny if Mr. Piccolo resembled a piccolo, but he doesn’t. Actually, he’s quite round. More like a bass fiddle. He has a big pouch of a belly that stretches the oversized turtleneck sweaters he always wears. He has a round face, too. He’s mostly bald and his scalp shines like a bowling ball. He wears square eyeglasses, which are always sliding down

That kind of betrayal could not, and would not be forgiven, he reminded himself. It wasn’t much of a mantra, but it had kept him going all day while he knew that the woman that just very well might be the one was sitting in a restaurant that discriminated against him simply because he’d had the misfortune of being born into a family with a food disability.

Two hundred pounds of male muscle was on her bed, which she could honestly say was a first. The fact that he was large and muscular wasn’t really the big deal, but the fact that he was male, because at twenty-eight years old, she was very unhappily a virgin. It was something that she’d definitely never expected to happen to her and the one thing that she would give anything to change.

Marley era morto, tanto per cominciare. Non c'era alcun dubbio. Il registro della sua sepoltura era stato firmato dal pastore, dal chierico, dall'impresario delle pompe funebri e dal responsabile della cerimonia funebre. L'aveva firmato anche Scrooge. E il nome di Scrooge alla Borsa era valido per qualsiasi cosa su cui lui decidesse di mettere mano. Il vecchio Marley era morto come il chiodo di una porta.

Il n'y avait rien de très distingué dans tout ceci. Ce n'était pas une belle famille ; ils n'étaient pas bien habillés ; leurs souliers étaient loin d'être imperméables ; leur garde-robe était limitée ; et Peter savait peut-être, à coup sûr même, à quoi ressemblait une boutique de prêteur sur gages, à l'intérieur. Mais ils étaient heureux, reconnaissants, contents les uns des autres et trouvaient satisfaction dans le moment présent.

- Sur cette terre qui est la tienne, répliqua l'Esprit, il y a des hommes qui ont la prétention de nous connaître et qui se servent de notre nom pour accomplir leurs actes de passion, d'orgueil, de méchanceté, de haine, d'envie, de bigoterie et d'égoïsme. Ces hommes-là nous sont aussi étrangers, à nous et à toute notre famille, que s'ils n'avaient jamais vu le jour. Souviens-toi bien de cela, et une autre fois rends-les responsables de leurs actions, pas nous.

Jeeves was on a deck chair outside the back door, reading Spinoza with the cat Augustus on his lap. I had given him the Spinoza at Christmas and he was constantly immersed in it. I hadn’t dipped into it myself, but he tells me it is good ripe stuff, well worth perusal. He would have risen at my approach, but I begged him to remain seated, for I knew that Augustus, like L. P. Runkle, resented being woken suddenly, and one always wants to consider a cat’s feelings.

«Ci sono molte cose, credo, che possono avermi fatto del bene senza che io ne abbia ricavato un profitto», replicò il nipote, «e Natale è una di queste. Ma sono sicuro che ho sempre considerato il periodo natalizio, quando è venuto — a prescindere dalla venerazione dovuta al suo nome e alla sua origine sacra, ammesso che qualcosa che si riferisca possa esser tenuta separata da questa venerazione — come buono; un periodo di gentilezza, di perdono, di carità, di gioia; l'unico periodo che io conosca, in tutto il lungo calendario di un anno, nel quale uomini e donne sembrano concordi nello schiudere liberamente i cuori serrati e nel pensare alla gente che è al disotto di loro come se si trattasse realmente di compagni nel viaggio verso la tomba, e non di un'altra razza di creature in viaggio verso altre mete. E per questo, zio, anche se il Natale non mi ha mai fatto entrare in tasca una moneta d'oro, e neanche d'argento, credo che mi abbia fatto bene e che mi farà bene, e chiedo che Dio lo benedica».

It is only after we have been enabled to say, “Be it unto me according to your Word,” that we can accept the paradoxes of Christianity. Christ comes to live with us, bringing an incredible promise of God’s love, but never are we promised that there will be no pain, no suffering, no death, but rather that these very griefs are the road to love and eternal life. In Advent we prepare for the coming of all Love, that love which will redeem all the brokenness, wrongness, hardnesses of heart which have afflicted us.

What, then, did the finished Dictionary look like? What kind of a feel did it have? It was, in the first place, a large, cumbersome item, weighing around twenty pounds—the same as a very big Christmas turkey. It was plainly intended to be bound in two volumes: at the end of the Grammar there were directions for the bookbinder, who was requested to bind the entries from A to K in one volume, and those from L to Z in a second. Some owners ignored this suggestion, possibly for aesthetic reasons, but more probably for practical ones.

La mia novella di Natale, Un Cuore nella Bufera, inizia così... Mi sveglio di soprassalto, gli occhi spalancati nel buio, la notte rischiarata dal bagliore della neve che fuori continua a cadere. Trattengo il respiro, quasi in preda al panico. Non oso muovermi. Qualcosa non va. Mi faccio coraggio e giro appena il viso. Qualcosa decisamente non va. C’è un uomo incollato alla mia schiena. Il suo braccio destro mi stringe la vita, la sua mano avvolge il mio seno e che io sia dannata se quello che sento premere contro la mia schiena non è il suo… Oh.Mio.Dio! Mi alzo di scatto, accendo la luce del comodino e sbalordita fisso l’intruso. Mugugnando, quello si volta dall’altra parte, innocente come un serafino. Il suo cane-orso, ai piedi del letto, apre un occhio, poi riappoggia il grosso muso sulle zampe e riprende a russare. Il mio sguardo passa da uno all’altro senza posa, mentre invano cerco di respirare. Finalmente un refolo d’aria s’infila lungo i bronchi e cede ai polmoni l’ossigeno necessario affinché io possa elaborare una domanda sensata. Che cavolo ci fa Kyle Hartson nel mio letto?

Fans of the Peanuts comic strip may also remember Snoopy beginning his novel again and again, always starting with the line 'It was a dark and stormy night' ... In fact, since 1982, San Jose State University has run a writing contest inspired by 'It was a dark and stormy night' ... Charles Dickens opens stave one of A Christmas Carol with 'Once upon a time' ... Similarly, James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man begins: 'Once upon a time' ... and Madeleine L'Engle begins A Wrinkle in Time with the very words 'It was a dark and stormy night.' (From Intro by Francine Prose)

People who have met both my father and me say that I am just like him. We share this explosive passive-aggressive dance, a sort of social bulimia, in which we simultaneously try to connect with someone (because we’re lonely) and at the same time send the message that this person is UNDER NO OBLIGATION TO US WHATSOEVER. As I wave to you, I’m backing up. When I hand you a Christmas gift, I shout, “Feel free to regift or sell!” I sit down to talk with you at a party and either monologue my current act for forty-five minutes or s-l-o-w-l-y inch my way farther and farther away while lobbing a barrage of questions over an impenetrable wall of anxiety.

You are a thoughtless person with no consideration for the feelings of others. Your best quality is someday you’re gonna die. If you were a planet in the solar system among millions of beautiful heavenly bodies, you’d still choose to revolve around yourself. If every day was Christmas, you’d give yourself 366 gifts, two on your birthday. If you thought about looking into your soul to become a better person, you’d change your mind because there’s no mirror attached and you couldn’t admire your face or flexed muscles. If rulers could measure a man’s character, you’d be a centimeter. And if you ever again decide to call me a name, next time try Liz.

Senti, abbiamo delle specie di regole qui". Indicò il cartello sul bancone. NIENTE CAMICIA O NIENTE SCARPE, NIENTE SERVIZIO. Molly abbassò lo sguardo su di sé. «Oh dio, me le sono scordate». «É tutto a posto». «Ho lasciato le scarpe in macchina. Faccio un salto e me le metto». «Sarebbe stupendo,Molly.Grazie». «Nessun problema». «So che sul cartello non c'è scritto, ma già che ci sei, potresti metterti anche un paio di pantaloni? Sarebbe sottinteso». «Certo» disse Molly con disinvoltura davanti al bancone. Uscì dal negozio e sentì che l'aria si era proprio rinfrescata. E già, i suoi jeans e le mutandine erano sul sedile del passeggero, accanto alle scarpe da tennis.

Deacon met my glare with an impish grin. “Anyway, did you celebrate Valentine’s Day when you were slumming with the mortals?” I blinked. “Not really. Why?” Aiden snorted and then disappeared into one of the rooms. “Follow me,” Deacon said. “You’re going to love this. I just know it.” I followed him down the dimly-lit corridor that was sparsely decorated. We passed several closed doors and a spiral staircase. Deacon went through an archway and stopped, reaching along the wall. Light flooded the room. It was a typical sunroom, with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, wicker furniture, and colorful plants. Deacon stopped by a small potted plant sitting on a ceramic coffee table. It looked like a miniature pine tree that was missing several limbs. Half the needles were scattered in and around the pot. One red Christmas bulb hung from the very top branch, causing the tree to tilt to the right. “What do you think?” Deacon asked. “Um… well, that’s a really different Christmas tree, but I’m not sure what that has to do with Valentine’s Day.” “It’s sad,” Aiden said, strolling into the room. “It’s actually embarrassing to look at. What kind of tree is it, Deacon?” He beamed. “It’s called a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree.” Aiden rolled his eyes. “Deacon digs this thing out every year. The pine isn’t even real. And he leaves it up from Thanksgiving to Valentine’s Day. Which thank the gods is the day after tomorrow. That means he’ll be taking it down.” I ran my fingers over the plastic needles. “I’ve seen the cartoon.” Deacon sprayed something from an aerosol can. “It’s my MHT tree.” “MHT tree?” I questioned. “Mortal Holiday Tree,” Deacon explained, and smiled. “It covers the three major holidays. During Thanksgiving it gets a brown bulb, a green one for Christmas, and a red one for Valentine’s Day.” “What about New Year’s Eve?” He lowered his chin. “Now, is that really a holiday?” “The mortals think so.” I folded my arms. “But they’re wrong. The New Year is during the summer solstice,” Deacon said. “Their math is completely off, like most of their customs. For example, did you know that Valentine’s Day wasn’t actually about love until Geoffrey Chaucer did his whole courtly love thing in the High Middle Ages?” “You guys are so weird.” I grinned at the brothers. “That we are,” Aiden replied. “Come on, I’ll show you your room.” “Hey Alex,” Deacon called. “We’re making cookies tomorrow, since it’s Valentine’s Eve.” Making cookies on Valentine’s Eve? I didn’t even know if there was such a thing as Valentine’s Eve. I laughed as I followed Aiden out of the room. “You two really are opposites.” “I’m cooler!” Deacon yelled from his Mortal Holiday Tree room

Oh, fuck no, he thought, unable to believe just how badly he’d fucked up even as he pulled the small woman that annoyed the living shit out of him closer to him, unable to help himself. Christ, she felt so fucking good, he couldn’t help but notice as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to savor the peace that having her in his arms brought him. This was so wrong, so fucking wrong, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d never in his life felt anything so good and for a minute, he didn’t give a damn that it was the annoying little neighbor that made his life a living hell that made him feel like this. He needed this, needed her and God help him, but he never wanted to let her go.

On a Parisienne’s Bookshelf THERE ARE MANY BOOKS ON A PARISIENNE’S BOOKSHELF: The books you so often claim you’ve read that you actually believe you have. The books you read in school from which you remember only the main character’s name. The art books your parents give you each Christmas so you can get some “culture”. The art books that you bought yourself and which you really love. The books that you’ve been promising yourself you’ll read next summer … for the past ten years. The books you bought only because you liked the title. The books that you think makes you cool. The books you read over and over again, and that evolve along with your life. The books that remind you of someone you loved. The books you keep for your children, just in case you ever have any. The books whose first ten pages you’ve read so many times you know them by heart. The books you own simply because you must and, taken together, form intangible proof that you are well read. AND THEN THERE ARE THE BOOKS YOU HAVE READ, LOVED, AND WHICH ARE A PART OF YOUR IDENTITY: The Stranger, Albert Camus The Elementary Particles, Michel Houellebecq Belle du Seigneur, Albert Cohen Bonjour Tristesse, Françoise Sagan Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert L'Écume des jours, Boris Vian Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov Les Fleurs du Mal, Charles Baudelaire Journey to the End of the Night, Louis-Ferdinand Céline À la recherche du temps perdu, Marcel Proust “How to Be Parisian Wherever You Are: Love, Style, and Bad Habits” By Anne Berest, Audrey Diwan, Caroline de Maigret, and Sophie Mas

The lambs in their arms were as smooth as mushrooms, the flock at their heels unruffled. And amid all that froth of fleece, white and metrical as soap-suds, there was no sign of a black lamb. What more could one ask, at a children’s Christmas Eve service? Yet I found that I did indeed want more, especially for the children’s sake—faces trodden by crows’-feet, signs of the ferment, one might almost say chaos, that this unprecedented event brought once and ever brings; something of life, even in carven faces, someone out of breath with running, someone stricken with joy. And I dearly wanted a black lamb. For, without him, where are the ninety and nine? Flocks, like families, have need of their black sheep—he carries their sorrow for them. He is the other side of their whiteness. Does nobody understand, I wondered, that a crib without a black lamb is an incomplete statement?

What was Sean like growing up?” he asked, opening the door to my building and placing his hand on the small of my back. “Oh, ha ha.” I shook my head, my grin automatic. “Basically the same as he is now.” “Really?” “Yes. When he was eight, all he wanted for Christmas was an Italian suit.” William chuckled, insomuch as William chuckled, and blinked once slowly. “I believe it.” “Actually,” I corrected, “he was also obsessed with the SkyMall catalogue. He loves gadgets, which is great for me because I always know what to get him. The odder the gadget, the more he’ll love it.” “Like what?” “Um, let’s see. Like a waffle maker that also warms your maple syrup.” “That’s not that odd. That’s awesome.” “Okay, then how about a serenity cat pod?” I withdrew my keys and faced the door to my apartment, half-hoping, half-despairing that Bryan was already gone. “A what?” “A pod with mood lighting that makes purring sounds and vibrates. It’s like a little bed, but more modern, for your cat.” “He doesn’t have a cat.” “Doesn’t matter. He would’ve loved it.

When's the last time you called them?" "I haven't. But they needed to rescue us just the other day. From the bison." "They rescued you from -?" Reyna shook her head. " I don't want to know. So when else have they rescued you?" "Well, never, but I'm supposed to do this on my own. They told me where to find Mjölnir, right after they gave me my goats." "Goats? No, again, I don't want to know." She paused. "Wait, actually, I do. You get goats?" "Magic battle goats." "Of course. So you get magic goats, a magic necklace, a magic hammer, a magic shield. You're like the favourite child who gets all the best Christmas gifts. What does Freya have?" "Um, a magic cloak." She waved that off. "Got it already. What else?" "There's the boar, Hildisvini." "Who? What?" "Hildisvini. He's a boar. It's a wild pig -" "I know what a boar is. That's almost as bad as goats. What else?" "Um ... swans, I think?" "Swans? Great. You get killer goats, and I get pretty birds." "Have you ever met a swan? They're vicious. I think I'd rather take my chances with a goat." Her eyes lit up. "Really? Now that would be cool. Everyone would think they were just pretty birds and then they attack. Stealth swans.

Twas the night before Christmas and in SICU All the patients were stirring, the nurses were, too. Some Levophed hung from an IMED with care In hopes that a blood pressure soon would be there. One patient was resting all snug in his bed While visions—from Versed—danced in his head. I, in my scrubs, with flowsheet in hand, Had just settled down to chart the care plan. Then from room 17 there arose such a clatter We sprang from the station to see what was the matter. Away to the bedside we flew like a flash, Saved the man from falling, with restraints from the stash. “Do you know where you are?” one nurse asked while tying; “Of course! I’m in France in a jail, and I’m dying!” Then what to my wondering eyes should appear? But a heart rate of 50, the alarm in my ear. The patient’s face paled, his skin became slick And he said in a moment, “I’m going to be sick!” Someone found the Inapsine and injected a port, Then ran for a basin, as if it were sport. His heart rhythm quieted back to a sinus, We soothed him and calmed him with old-fashioned kindness. And then in a twinkling we hear from room 11 First a plea for assistance, then a swearing to heaven. As I drew in my breath and was turning around, Through the unit I hurried to respond to the sound. “This one’s having chest pain,” the nurse said and then She gave her some nitro, then morphine and when She showed not relief from IV analgesia Her breathing was failing: time to call anesthesia. “Page Dr. Wilson, or May, or Banoub! Get Dr. Epperson! She ought to be tubed!” While the unit clerk paged them, the monitor showed V-tach and low pressure with no pulse: “Call a code!” More rapid than eagles, the code team they came. The leader took charge and he called drugs by name: “Now epi! Now lido! Some bicarb and mag! You shock and you chart it! You push med! You bag!” And so to the crash cart, the nurses we flew With a handful of meds, and some dopamine, too! From the head of the bed, the doc gave his call: “Resume CPR!” So we worked one and all. Then Doc said no more, but went straight to his work, Intubated the patient, then turned with a jerk. While placing his fingers aside of her nose, And giving a nod, hooked the vent to the hose. The team placed an art-line and a right triple-lumen. And when they were through, she scarcely looked human: When the patient was stable, the doc gave a whistle. A progress note added as he wrote his epistle. But I heard him exclaim ere he strode out of sight, “Merry Christmas to all! But no more codes for tonight!” Jamie L. Beeley Submitted by Nell Britton

Daisy truly l-loves Mr. Swift," Evie said earnestly. At the sound of her stammer, which was something else Lillian warned him about, Rafe gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm glad to hear it," he said gently.

Why are you staring at me like that?” “I’m happy,” he tells me. “So happy.” He kisses me some more. “Also, I'm picturing you naked and I've gotta say, it's downright delightful.

It’s hard to imagine the messy, disorganized girl I grew up with as the wifely type but now, she's suddenly Suzy Homemaker, baking pies and having babies and throwing Christmas dinner parties. I don’t even know who she is anymore. I think I liked her better when I thought she was a lesbian.

Because I knew it was happening again.

He fell and hit his head! My boyfriend fell and hit his head!" she announces frantically, face pleated with concern. My brows perk up. Five minutes ago we couldn't stand each other. Two minutes ago, we nearly fucked on the sidewalk. Now apparently, we're going steady. This is already the most complicated relationship I've ever had.

A wise man fights to win, but he is twice a fool who has no plan for possible defeat. Louis L’Amou

I think that is why he insisted I stay with him until my mom whirled into town for Christmas. He was there in these moments when I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't fall back to sleep. Those moments when the heavy malaise twisted in discontent.

Would he kiss her as he had on Christmas day? His lips met hers and she gripped her skirts while his lips slid along hers in a slightly different manner than under the kissing bough. Her skin prickled and her trembling increased, spurred by the warmth of his breath as it caressed her cheek. How did one not expire from such sensations? A sudden giggle made her jerk away and cover her mouth.

RUTH’S CASHEW CHRISTMAS COOKIES ½ cup butter 1 cup brown sugar, firmly packed 1 egg ½ teaspoon real vanilla 1/3 cup dairy sour cream ¾ teaspoon baking powder ¾ teaspoon baking soda ¼ teaspoon salt 2 cups sifted flour 1 – ¾ cups whole or halves cashew nuts, salted Preheat oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in egg and vanilla. Add sifted dry ingredients alternately with sour cream. Carefully fold in nuts. Drops by teaspoonful onto greased cookie sheet. Bake 10 minutes at 400 degrees. Cool and frost with butter frosting. Top each cookie with a cashew nut. Golden Butter Frosting: ½ cup butter 3 Tablespoons liquid coffee creamer or evaporated milk ¼ teaspoons real vanilla 2 cups sifted confectioners (powdered) sugar

Matt was always in great shape. He was a star soccer player and hung out with a lot of the jocks from school. But the physique he’s sporting now makes the days of Christmas High look like child’s play.

a fluid, hybrid faith that ultimately boiled down to the celebration of all holidays indiscriminately, without giving their religion any further theological examination. Hanukkah was the time to light up the menorah, Christmas was when the tree was decorated and gifts were given and received, and that was that. On