Lucy Wills Quotes

It's been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will.

To his children, Will showed the same love he had always shown to her, fierce and unyielding. And the same protectiveness he had only ever showed to one other person: the person James had been named after. Will’s parabatai, Jem.

Sona looked slightly horrified. “Cordelia has a tendency to throw herself into every situation headlong,” she said to Tessa and Will. “I’m sure you understand.” “Oh, we do,” said Will. “We’re always speaking very sternly to our children about that very thing. ‘If you don’t throw yourself into situations headlong, James and Lucie, you can expect bread and water for supper again.’  ” Alastair choked on a laugh. Sona stared at Will as if he were a lizard with feathers.

I ate the roll, and forced down some more sparkling wine. When your eyes closed against the sun again, and I had nothing else to look at I glanced quickly at your chest, curious, really. I'd only seen chests like that in magazines. I wondered if that's how you'd got all your money . . . modeling. I looked down at my stomach. I grabbed at it, seeing how much fat I could lift up in a roll. "Don't worry," you said, one eye open again like a crocodile, watching me. "You're beautiful." You tipped your head back again "Beautiful," you murmured. "Perfect." "You wouldn't know. You're built like some sort of supermodel." I bit my lip, wishing I hadn't complimented you like that. "Or a stripper," I added. "Prostitute." "I wouldn't want you to think I'm repulsive," you said, half smiling. "Too late." You opened your other eye to squint at me. "Will you ever give me a break?

You told me once of t he plants that lie dormant through the drought; that wait, half dead, deep in the earth. The plants that wait for the rain. You said they'd wait for years, if they had to; that they'd almost kill themselves before they grew again. But as soon as those first drops of water fall, those plants begin to stretch and spread their roots. They travel up through the soil and sand to reach the surface. There's a chance for them again. One day they'll let you out of that dry, empty cell. You'll return to the Separates, without me, and you'll feel the ram once more. And you'll grow straight, this time, towards this sunlight. I know you will." - Gemma

We have come here together so that you might know, through virtue of your own pain, your own hopelessness, your own fear, your own darkness and the lie of powerlessness, the very actual power of your own will, of the will of your soul.

One day they'll let you out of that dry, empty cell. You'll return to the Separates, and you'll feel the rain once more. And you'll grow straight, this time, toward this sunlight. I know you will.

Oh, Aslan,' said Lucy. 'Will you tell us how to get into your country from our world?' 'I shall be telling you all the time,' said Aslan. 'But I will not tell you how long or short the way will be; only that it lies across a river. But do not fear that, for I am the great Bridge Builder.

It is what is left to him," said Will. "Do you not recall what he says to Lucie? 'If it had been possible... that you could have returned the love of the man you see before yourself- flung away, wasted, drunken, poor creature of misure as you know him to be- he would have been conscious this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would bring you misery, bring you to sorrow and repetance, blight you, disgrace you, pull you down with him

I hear you have come to London to be parabatai with our Lucie,” said Cecily. She looked nearly as young as Tessa, though since she wasn’t an immortal warlock, one wondered how she managed it. “I am pleased—it is high time more girls became parabatai. It has been a state monopolized by men for far too long.” “Well, the first parabatai were male,” Will pointed out, in a manner that made Cordelia wonder if Cecily had once found him insufferable, as she found Alastair.

Before Jesse could say another word, the bedroom door jerked open and Lucie’s father stood on the threshold, looking alarmed. “Lucie?” he said. “Did you call out? I thought I heard you.” Lucie tensed, but the expression in her father’s blue eyes didn’t change—mild worry mixed with curious puzzlement. He really couldn’t see Jesse. Jesse looked at her and, very irritatingly, shrugged as if to say, I told you so. “No, Papa,” she said. “Everything is all right.” He looked at the manuscript pages scattered all over the rug. “Spot of writer’s block, Lulu?” Jesse raised an eyebrow. Lulu? he mouthed. Lucie considered whether it was possible to die of humiliation. She did not dare look at Jesse.

As the carriage rolled under the Institute’s gates, James saw his parents standing in the courtyard. “And where have you been?” Will demanded as James clambered out of the carriage. The others leaped down behind him, the girls, being in gear, needing no help to dismount. “You stole our carriage.” James wished he could tell his father the truth, but that would be breaking their sworn promise to Ragnor. “It’s only the second-best carriage,” James protested. “Remember when Papa stole Uncle Gabriel’s carriage? It’s a proud family tradition,” said Lucie, as the group of them approached the Institute steps. “I did not raise you to be horse thieves and scallywags,” said Will. “And I recall very clearly that I told you—” “Thank you for letting them borrow the carriage to come and get me,” said Cordelia. Her eyes were wide, and she looked entirely innocent. James felt an amused stab of surprise: she was an interestingly skilful liar. “I had very much wanted to come to the Institute and see what I could do to help.” Will softened immediately. “Of course. You are always welcome here, Cordelia.

A psychic friend could come in very handy." I reshuffled my cards. "I predict I will," she said.

With self-denial and economy now, and steady exertion by-and-by, an object in life need not fail you. Venture not to complain that such an object is too selfish, too limited, and lacks interest; be content to labour for independence until you have proved, by winning that prize, your right to look higher. But afterwards, is there nothing more for me in life -- no true home -- nothing to be dearer to me than myself and by its paramount preciousness, to draw from me better things than I care to culture for myself only? Nothing, at whose feet I can willingly lay down the whole burden of human egotism, and gloriously take up the nobler charge of labouring and living for others? I suppose, Lucy Snowe, the orb of your life is not to be so rounded: for you the crescent-phase must suffice. Very good. I see a huge mass of my fellow- creatures in no better circumstances. I see that a great many men, and more women, hold their span of life on conditions of denial and privation. I find no reason why I should be of the few favoured. I believe in some blending of hope and sunshine sweetening the worst lots. I believe that this life is not all; neither the beginning nor the end. I believe while I tremble; I trust while I weep.

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Words written in red, circled by Will. And lived. "Jesus, I’ve listened to the lies too long. They’ve filled my head and led me on a long chase of things that don’t matter. I bought into what Satan was feeding me until barely recognized my own face in the mirror. It took Will’s death and Lucy’s leaving to show me where my priorities should be. I want to live for you. I just . . . want to live.

Cooper can be pretty fierce when he gets angry. To me, that's one of his sexiest traits. It's not just about being able to tear the house down; it's about being willing to do it in a heartbeat to protect the people who genuinely need your help.

a woman needs a man who’s willing to put down the game controller and pick up the damn dry cleaning without being asked six times.

You have to decide how much you’re willing to sacrifice and how much effort you’re willing to put into something. And those two things usually add up to the reward you get.

I am. I’m done with guys, really. No more dates, no more men for me. I think I’m going to be a lesbian.” I look at Lucy. “Will you make out with me? I need to see if this will work.

How dangerous will it be?" Stitches asked. "Extremely," Lucy said. "Will there be violence?" Sprout asked. "Definitely." "And c-c-casualties?" Beebee asked. "Most likely." The witches smirked at Lucy and cackled with excitement. "Say no more," Stitches said. "You had us at dangerous.

I've made up my mind to enjoy this drive. It's been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will. Of course, you must make it up FIRMLY.

Aoife also offered a 50 per cent discount if I held it here. She might look dowdy but she’s savvy. That’s how she clinched it. She knows I’ll feature it in the magazine now, knows it’ll get press because of Will. It’ll pay dividends in the end.

Who’d have thought it?’ Femi says. ‘All of us, respectable adults. And having come out of that place? Again, no offence to your dad, Will. But it was like somewhere from another century. We’re lucky we got out alive – four boys left every term, as I recall.

Blah!' Oglivy yells, pushing Emma and me into a pile of wet leaves. We roll around, a red flail of limbs and hysterical laughter. We are all raccoon-drunk on moonlight and bloodshed and the heady, under blossom smell of the forest. I breathe in the sharp odor of cold stars and skunk, thinking, 'This is the happiest I have ever been'. I wish somebody would murder a sheep every night of my life. It feels like we are all embarking on a nightmare together. 'And will stop it in progress!' I think, yanking Emma and Ogli to their feet and hurting towards the lake. We will make sure that the rest of the herd escapes Heimdall's fate, we will....

So maybe I willed it to me, the sadness. And since then I've been storing it all up when I should have been throwing it out. Hoarding sadness like I think there'll be a TV show about it one day and someone is about to come and help me sort my life out. No one is coming.

It’d been Lucy who ran tattling to Miss Mary about my lettering under the tree, and Miss Mary had run tattling to missus. I’d judged Lucy to be stupid, but she was only weak-willed and wanting to get in good with Miss Mary. I never did forgive her, and I don’t know if Miss Sarah forgave her sister, cause what came from all that snitching turned the tide on Miss Sarah’s life. Her studying was over and done.

It's not appropriate," Tessa said to her husband, Will. "He likes it." "Children like all sorts of things, Will. They like sweets and fire and trying to stick their head up the chimney. Just because he likes the dagger..." "Look how steadily he holds it." Little James Herondale, age two, was in fact holding a dagger quite well. He stabbed it into a sofa cushion, sending out a burst of feathers. "Ducks," he said, pointing at the feathers. Tessa swiftly removed the dagger from his tiny hands and replaced it with a wooden spoon. James had recently become very attached to this wooden spoon and carried it with him everywhere, often refusing to go to sleep without it. "Spoon," James said, tottering off across the parlor. "Where did he find the dagger?" Tessa asked. "It's possible I took him to the weapons room," Will said. "Is it?" "It is, yes. It's possible." "And it's possible he somehow got a dagger from where it is secured on the wall, out of his reach," Tessa said. "We live in a world of possibilities," Will said. Tessa fixed a gray-eyed stare on her husband. "He was never out of my sight," Will said quickly. "If you could manage it," Tessa said, nodding to the sleeping figure of Lucie Herondale in her little basket by the fire, "perhapds you won't give Lucie a broadsword until she's actually able to stand? Or is that asking too much?" "It seems a reasonable request," Will said, with an extravagant bow. "Anything for you, my pearl beyond price. Even withholding weaponry from my only daughter.

Will’s always been the centre of everything, the anchor of the group, all of us revolving round him. Good at sport, good enough grades – with a bit of extra help here and there. Everyone liked him. And I guess it seemed effortless, as though he didn’t work for anything. If you

Who is Aslan?” asked Susan. “Aslan?” said Mr. Beaver, “Why, don’t you know? He’s the King. He’s the Lord of the whole wood, but not often here, you understand. Never in my time or my father’s time. But the word has reached us that he has come back. He is in Narnia at this moment. He’ll settle the White Queen all right. It is he, not you, that will save Mr. Tumnus.” “She won’t turn him into stone too?” said Edmund. “Lord love you, Son of Adam, what a simple thing to say!” answered Mr. Beaver with a great laugh. “Turn him into stone? If she can stand on her two feet and look him in the face it’ll be the most she can do and more than I expect of her. No, no. He’ll put all to rights, as it says in an old rhyme in these parts: Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight, At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more, When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again. You’ll understand when you see him.” “But shall we see him?” asked Susan. “Why, Daughter of Eve, that’s what I brought you here for. I’m to lead you where you shall meet him,” said Mr. Beaver. “Is--is he a man?” asked Lucy. “Aslan a man!” said Mr. Beaver sternly. “Certainly not. I tell you he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea. Don’t you know who is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion--the Lion, the great Lion.” “Ooh!” said Susan, “I’d thought he was a man. Is he--quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.” “That you will, dearie, and no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver. “If there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.” “Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy. “Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ’Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.

I do not think the sunny youth of either will prove the forerunner of stormy age. I think it is deemed good that you two should live in peace and be happy - not as angels but as few are happy amongst mortals. Some lives are thus blessed: it is God's will: it is the attesting trace and lingering evidence of Eden. Other lives run from the first another course. Other travellers encounter weather fitful and gusty wild and variable - breast adverse winds are belated and overtaken by the early closing winter night. Neither can this happen without the sanction of God and I know that amidst His boundless works is somewhere stored the secret of this last fate's justice: I know that His treasures contain the proof as the promise of its mercy.

How does he do it? Bob in Charge of All Three Kids is an entirely different show than Sarah in Charge of All Three Kids. With Bob, they’re happily willing to be independent little taskmasters, content to leave him in peace until he comes to them with an offer of a new activity. With me, I have all the magnetism of a favorite rock star without the bodyguards. They’re on me. A typical example: Linus is under my feet, whining, begging to be picked up, while Lucy hollers, “Mom, I need help!” from another room, while Charlie asks me forty-seven hundred relentless questions about what happens to trash.

Just as soon as I meet and learn to love a friend we must part and go our separate ways, never to meet on quite the same ground again. For, disguise the fact as we will, when friends, even the closest-and perhaps the more so on account of that very closeness-meet again after a separation there is always a chill, lesser or greater, of change. Neither finds the other quite the same. This is only natural. Human nature is ever growing or retrograding-never stationary. But still, with all our philosophy who of us can repress a little feeling of bewildered disappointment when we realize that our friend is not and never can be just the same as before-even although the change may be an improvement?

Ah, it’s a joke. Only it wasn’t a joke. I know it, Dad knows it—and I suspect, from the look on Will’s face, he knows it too.

You were willing to commit to me for a year when you thought I had an imaginary cat friend?” “That’s how into you I am, Sparkle. Don’t forget it.

And in killing him, you could say that Will’s murderer avenged my sister too. I am only rather sorry I didn’t get the chance to plunge the knife in myself.

You've kissed me, and if these things don't make us friends nothing ever will.

It's been my experience that you nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will.

It's been in my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will.

It’s so quiet in the room that you can hear people in the street getting on with their lives while we’re in here, stalled out entirely. Usually it takes twenty minutes or so for the awkwardness to start suffocating us all, like a scratchy sweater you’re being made to wear because your grandma knitted it, even though she’ll be dead soon judging by how many she still smokes and how she only eats Oreos, or at least nibbles off one cookie, licks out the middle, and leaves the other cookie by the side of the bath. The sweater she knit you is the size you were when you were twelve, but you must try to wear it even if it kills you, which it probably will. We’re all dying in this sweater together. That’s how these meetings feel.

It's a fine, warm day,” Henry replied. “I thought a spot of fishing?” “Just the thing!” said Felix. “Will you join us, Lucy?” Lucy felt Kitty and Sophia staring at her. Well-bred ladies, evidently, did not fish. “Oh, no! I assure you, Mr. Crowley-Cumberbatch, I have given up those hoyden pursuits of my youth.” She turned to Toby. “I haven't been fishing in ages. I can't remember the last time.” “Really, Luce?” Toby sounded incredulous. “Henry—is it true?” Henry sawed away at a slice of ham. “If you count six days as ages, then I suppose it's true. But if you can't remember six days back, Lucy, and you've forgotten Felix's Christian name, I'm concerned for you. Perhaps you've been spending too much time with Aunt Matilda.

IT TAKES A certain amount of effort to be miserable and another kind of effort to be happy, and I was willing to do the work of happiness. I figured even if I couldn’t make Lucy deeply happy, I could very likely make her cheaply and immediately happy. I could provide the kind of happiness that would seem hollow if we had had the money or the time to stay in it too long. It was the same as carrying her. I couldn’t do it forever, but I could do it for a while. I booked Lucy a massage and had her eyelashes dyed. I took her for a pedicure. I bought her the best pâté I could find in Nashville along with Spaghetti-O’s and Hungry Jack biscuits and everything else I knew she liked. We went to a bad movie and then stayed for a second bad movie. I took her shopping and bought her whatever she wanted. And she was happy, and I was happy.

Lewis’s hero George MacDonald once put it (and as the children’s journey to Aslan behind Lucy’s leadership demonstrates), “Obedience is the opener of eyes.” Or in the words of Jesus, “If anyone’s will is to do God’s will, he will know whether the teaching is from God” (John 7:17).

He lifted a sort of black cone attached to the wooden box. Immediately a voice, sounding as though it were yelling from the far end of a tunnel, bellowed, "Identify yourself!" Will held the cone away from his head, looking pained. James and Lucie exchanged a look. The voice was immediately identifiable: Albert Pangborn, the head of the Cornwall Institute. Lucie gleefully mimed her hands sticking together, to Jesse's puzzlement and a disapproving look from Tessa. "This is Will Herondale." Will spoke into the mouthpiece slowly and clearly. "And you telephoned me.

How dangerous will it be?” Stitches asked. “Extremely,” Lucy said. “Will there be violence?” Sprout asked. “Definitely.” “And c-c-casualties?” Beebee asked. “Most likely.” The witches smirked at Lucy and cackled with excitement. “Say no more,” Stitches said. “You had us at dangerous.

You mean,” said Lucy rather faintly, “that it would have turned out all right--somehow? But how? Please, Aslan! Am I not to know?” “To know what would have happened, child?” said Aslan. “No. Nobody is ever told that.” “Oh dear,” said Lucy. “But anyone can find out what will happen,” said Aslan. “If you go back to the others now, and wake them up; and tell them you have seen me again; and that you must all get up at once and follow me--what will happen? There is only one way of finding out.” “Do you mean that is what you want me to do?” gasped Lucy. “Yes, little one,” said Aslan. “Will the others see you too?” asked Lucy. “Certainly not at first,” said Aslan. “Later on, it depends.” “But they won’t believe me!” said Lucy. “It doesn’t matter,” said Aslan. “Oh dear, oh dear,” said Lucy. “And I was so pleased at finding you again. And I thought you’d let me stay. And I thought you’d come roaring in and frighten all the enemies away--like last time. And now everything is going to be horrid.” “It is hard for you, little one,” said Aslan. “But things never happen the same way twice. It has been hard for us all in Narnia before now.” Lucy buried her head in his mane to hide from his face. But there must have been magic in his mane. She could feel lion-strength going into her. Quite suddenly she sat up. “I’m sorry, Aslan,” she said. “I’m ready now.” “Now you are a lioness,” said Aslan. “And now all Narnia will be renewed. But come. We have no time to lose.

An echo with nothing and no one to call her own,” Arthur announced without preamble. Clearly, this was a subject he’d given some thought to. “A friendly facade. An empty smile. A scared little girl without an opinion of your own, latching on to other people’s bigger and brighter lives because you’re not willing to fully live your own.

So these Kings and Queens entered the thicket, and before they had gone a score of paces, they all remembered that the thing they had seen was called a lamppost, and before they had gone twenty more, they noticed that they were making their way not through branches but through coats. And next moment they all came tumbling out of a wardrobe door into the empty room, and they were no longer Kings and Queens in their hunting array but just Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy in their old clothes. It was the same day and the same hour of the day on which they had all gone into the wardrobe to hide. Mrs. Macready and the visitors were still talking I the passage; but luckily they never came into the empty room and so the children weren’t caught. And that would have been the very end of the story if it hadn’t been that they felt they really must explain to the Professor why four of the coats out of his wardrobe were missing. And the Professor, who was a very remarkable man, didn’t tell them not to be silly or not to tell lies, but believed the whole story. “No,” he said, “I don’t think it will be any good trying to go back through the wardrobe door to get the coats. You won’t get into Narnia again by that route. Nor would the coats be much use by now if you did! Eh? What’s that? Yes, of course you’ll get back to Narnia again someday. Once a King in Narnia, always a King in Narnia. But don’t go trying to use the same route twice. Indeed, don’t try to get there at all. It’ll happen when you’re not looking for it. And don’t talk too much about it even among yourselves. And don’t mention it to anyone else unless you find that they’ve had adventures of the same sort themselves. What’s that? How will you know? Oh, you’ll know all right. Odd things they say--even their looks--will let the secret out. Keep your eyes open. Bless me, what do they teach them at these schools?” And that is the very end of the adventures of the wardrobe. But if the Professor was right, it was only the beginning of the adventures of Narnia.

Promise me one thing, Lucy.” “Anything.” “Don’t tell anybody.” “I wouldn’t even tell Ike.” “I don’t care about Ike, or any of these people, what they think. It’s on account of the children, and I don’t want anybody at all to know it, for fear somebody’ll say something to them. They mustn’t know it—and specially not Veda.” “That Veda, if you ask me, has some funny ideas.” “I respect her ideas.” “I don’t.” “You don’t understand her. She has something in her that I thought I had, and now I find I haven’t. Pride, or whatever it is. Nothing on earth could make Veda do what I’m going to do.” “That pride, I wouldn’t give a snap of my finger for it. You’re quite right about her. Veda wouldn’t do it herself, but she’s perfectly willing to let you do it and eat the cake.” “I want her to have it. Cake—not just bread.

Thomas heard the stamping of hooves of horses, a shout of warning, and the Institute carriage came crashing through the Portal barely remaining on all four of its wheels as it came. Balios and Xanthos looked very pleased with themselves as the carriage spun in midair and landed, with a jarring thud, at the foot of the steps. Magnus Bane was in the driver’s seat, wearing a dramatic white opera scarf and holding the reins in his right hand. He looked even more pleased with himself than the horses. “I wondered if it was possible to ride a carriage through a Portal,” he said, jumping down from the seat. “As it turns out, it is. Delightful.” The carriage doors opened, and rather unsteadily, Will, Lucie, and a boy Thomas didn’t know clambered out. Lucie waved at Thomas before leaning against the side of the carriage; she was looking rather green about the gills. Will went around the carriage to unstrap the luggage, while the unfamiliar boy—tall and slender, with straight black hair and a pretty face—put a hand on Lucie’s shoulder. Which was surprising—it was an intimate gesture, one that would be considered impolite unless the boy and girl in question were friends or relatives, or had an understanding between them. It seemed, however, unlikely that Lucie could have an understanding with someone Thomas had never seen before. He rather bristled at the thought, in an older-brother way—James didn’t seem to be here, so someone had to do the bristling for him. “I told you it would work!” Will cried in Magnus’s direction. Magnus was busy magicking the unfastened baggage to the top of the steps, blue sparks darting like fireflies from his gloved fingertips. “We should have done that on the way out!” “You did not say it would work,” Magnus said. “You said, as I recall, ‘By the Angel, he’s going to kill us all.’ “Never,” said Will. “My faith in you is unshakable, Magnus. Which is good,” he added, rocking back and forth a little, “because the rest of me feels quite shaken indeed.

When will the spell work?” asked Lucy. “Will the Duffers be visible again at once?” “Oh yes, they’re visible now. But they’re probably all asleep still; they always take a rest in the middle of the day.” “And now that they’re visible, are you going to let them off being ugly? Will you make them as they were before?” “Well, that’s rather a delicate question,” said the Magician. “You see, it’s only they who think they were so nice to look at before. They say they’ve been uglified, but that isn’t what I called it. Many people might say the change was for the better.” “Are they awfully conceited?” “They are. Or at least the Chief Duffer is, and he’s taught all the rest to be. They always believe every word he says.” “We’d noticed that,” said Lucy.

Behind them was the sea and the sun, before them the Darkness. “Do we get into this?” asked Caspian at length. “Not by my advice,” said Drinian. “The Captain’s right,’ said several sailors. “I almost think he is,” said Edmund. Lucy and Eustace didn’t speak but they felt very glad inside at the turn things seemed to be taking. But all at once the clear voice of Reepicheep broke in upon the silence. “And why not?” he said. “Will someone explain to me why not.” No one was anxious to explain, so Reepicheep continued: “If I were addressing peasants or slaves,” he said, “I might suppose that this suggestion proceeded from cowardice. But I hope it will never be told in Narnia that a company of noble and royal persons in the flower of their age turned tail because they were afraid of the dark.

Robert and Lucy were both finding it hard to adjust to new circumstances. Lucy now found herself in an uncertain situation in the middle of the family as neither the eldest nor the youngest child, and not until Robert went away to another scout camp later in the summer did she show any interest in the baby. Then she was suddenly called upon to fetch and carry bottles, nappies, pins and powder – chores that Robert had previously undertaken. At first she resisted defiantly, and then she burst into tears. At that moment I realized how badly she too had been affected by the trauma we had undergone since little Tim’s arrival. Lucy had been left to fend for herself when in fact she needed as much reassurance as anyone else. I hugged her and told her that I had not stopped loving her just because there was another person in the family to care for. She warmed to her little brother straight away, as if in all those miserable weeks she had been longing to show her true feelings but had not known how. She fetched and carried just as willingly as Robert had done, and thereafter no one could have been more devoted to Tim or more susceptible to his winning ways.

But between them and the foot of the sky there was something so white on the green grass that even with their eagles’ eyes they could hardly look at it. They came on and saw that it was a Lamb. “Come and have breakfast,” said the Lamb in its sweet milky voice. Then they noticed for the first time that there was a fire lit on the grass and fish roasting on it. They sat down and ate the fish, hungry now for the first time for many days. And it was the most delicious food they had ever tasted. “Please, Lamb,” said Lucy, “is this the way to Aslan’s country?” “Not for you,” said the Lamb. “For you the door into Aslan’s country is from your own world.” “What!” said Edmund. “Is there a way into Aslan’s country from our world too?” “There is a way into my country from all the worlds,” said the Lamb; but as he spoke his snowy white flushed into tawny gold and his size changed and he was Aslan himself, towering above them and scattering light from his mane. Oh, Aslan,” said Lucy. “Will you tell us how to get into your country from our world?” “I shall be telling you all the time,” said Aslan. “But I will not tell you how long or short the way will be; only that it lies across a river. But do not fear that, for I am the great Bridge Builder.

His mother left the room; then, moved by insupportable regret, I just murmured the words “Dr. Bretton.” He looked up from his book; his eyes were not cold or malevolent, his mouth was not cynical; he was ready and willing to hear what I might have to say: his spirit was of vintage too mellow and generous to sour in one thunder-clap. “Dr. Bretton, forgive my hasty words: do, do forgive them.” He smiled that moment I spoke. “Perhaps I deserved them, Lucy. If you don’t respect me, I am sure it is because I am not respectable. I fear, I am an awkward fool: I must manage badly in some way, for where I wish to please, it seems I don’t please.” “Of that you cannot be sure; and even if such be the case, is it the fault of your character, or of another’s perceptions? But now, let me unsay what I said in anger. In one thing, and in all things, I deeply respect you. If you think scarcely enough of yourself, and too much of others, what is that but an excellence?” “Can I think too much of Ginevra?” “I believe you may; you believe you can’t. Let us agree to differ. Let me be pardoned; that is what I ask.” “Do you think I cherish ill-will for one warm word?” “I see you do not and cannot; but just say, ‘Lucy, I forgive you!’ Say that, to ease me of the heart-ache.” “Put away your heart-ache, as I will put away mine; for you wounded me a little, Lucy. Now, when the pain is gone, I more than forgive: I feel grateful, as to a sincere well-wisher.” “I am your sincere well-wisher: you are right.” Thus our quarrel ended.

Behind them was the sea and the sun, before them the Darkness. “Do we get into this?” asked Caspian at length. “Not by my advice,” said Drinian. “The Captain’s right,’ said several sailors. “I almost think he is,” said Edmund. Lucy and Eustace didn’t speak but they felt very glad inside at the turn things seemed to be taking. But all at once the clear voice of Reepicheep broke in upon the silence. “And why not?” he said. “Will someone explain to me why not.” No one was anxious to explain, so Reepicheep continued: “If I were addressing peasants or slaves,” he said, “I might suppose that this suggestion proceeded from cowardice. But I hope it will never be told in Narnia that a company of noble and royal persons in the flower of their age turned tail because they were afraid of the dark.” “But what manner of use would it be plowing through that blackness?” asked Drinian. “Use?” replied Reepicheep. “Use, Captain? If by use you mean filling our bellies or our purses, I confess it will be no use at all. So far as I know we did not set sail to look for things useful but to seek honor and adventure. And here is as great an adventure as ever I heard of, and here, if we turn back, no little impeachment of all our honors.” Several of the sailors said things under their breath that sounded like “Honor be blowed,” but Caspian said: “Oh, bother you, Reepicheep. I almost wish we’d left you at home. All right! If you put it that way, I suppose we shall have to go on. Unless Lucy would rather not?” Lucy felt that she would very much rather not, but what she said out loud was, “I’m game.” “Your Majesty will at least order lights?” said Drinian. “By all means,” said Caspian. “See to it, Captain.

I’ve gotta go,” I say, scowling at my phone. “Now?” Ryder asks, tipping my chin up with one hand so that our eyes meet. “Unfortunately. It’s my mom. Lucy and Morgan are covering for me, but I’ve got to get back. I’m supposed to be at the drugstore.” “What are we going to tell them? Our moms, I mean?” I shake my head. “We can’t tell them anything. At least, not yet. Can you imagine the pressure they’d put on us if they knew? I mean, they already drive us nuts and they think we hate each other.” “You’re right. So…we keep it a secret?” “Not exactly. I’ve got to tell Lucy and Morgan. Just…not our parents, okay? Besides, think how fun it will be, sneaking around.” His eyes light with mischief. “Good point.” “Don’t go getting any naughty ideas,” I tease. “C’mon, walk me to my car.” He takes my hand and falls into step beside me, glancing down at me with a wicked grin. “What?” I ask. “Hey, you’re the one who brought up ‘naughty,’ not me.” I poke him playfully in the ribs. “I’ve got an idea,” he says. “Let’s pretend we’ve got to do a school project together. You know, say that we’ve been paired up against our will. We can make a big fuss about it--complain about having to spend so much time together.” “While we secretly do lots of naughty things?” I offer. He nods. “Exactly.” I shiver, imagining the possibilities. Suddenly, I’m looking forward to those Sunday dinners at Magnolia Landing. And to Christmas and the inevitable Cafferty-Marsden winter vacation. In fact, the rest of the school year looms ahead like a lengthy stretch of opportunities, no longer filled with uncertainty and doubt, but with the knowledge that I’m on the right path now…the perfect path. And like Nan suggested, I’m going to grab it. Embrace it. Hold on to it tightly--just like I’m holding on to this boy beside me. We reach my car way too quickly. I’m not ready to go, to leave him, to begin this necessary charade. I lean against my car’s door with a sigh, drawing Ryder toward me. His entire body is pressed against mine, firing every cell inside me at once. My knees go weak as he kisses me softly, his lips lingering on mine, despite the urgency. “Good night,” I whisper. “Good night,” he whispers back, his breath warm against my cheek. Oh man. It just about kills me to slip inside the car and turn the key in the ignition. I’m grinning to myself as I drive away, watching as Ryder becomes a speck in my rearview mirror before melting into the night.

I would rather face the devil himself than that man,” Elizabeth said with a repressed shudder. “I daresay,” Lucinda agreed, clutching her umbrella with one hand and the side of the cart with her other. The nearer the time came, the more angry and confused Elizabeth became about this meeting. For the first four days of their journey, her tension had been greatly allayed by the scenic grandeur of Scotland with its rolling hills and deep valleys carpeted in bluebells and hawthorne. Now, however, as the hour of confronting him drew near, not even the sight of the mountains decked out in spring flowers or the bright blue lakes below could calm her mounting tension. “Furthermore, I cannot believe he has the slightest desire to see me.” “We shall soon find out.” In the hills above the high, winding track that passed for a road, a shepherd paused to gape at an old wooden wagon making its laborious way along the road below. “Lookee there, Will,” he told his brother. “Do you see what I see?” The brother looked down and gaped, his lips parting in a toothless grin of glee at the comical sight of two ladies-bonnets, gloves, and all-who were perched primly and precariously on the back of Sean MacLaesh’s haywagon, their backs ramrod-stiff, their feet sticking straight out beyond the wagon. “Don’t that beat all,” Will laughed, and high above the haywagon he swept off his cap in a mocking salute to the ladies. “I heered in the village Ian Thornton was acomin’ home. I’ll wager ‘e’s arrived, and them two are his fancy pieces, come to warm ‘is bed an’ see to ‘is needs.” Blessedly unaware of the conjecture taking place between the two spectators up in the hills, Miss Throckmorton-Jones brushed angrily and ineffectually at the coating of dust clinging to her black skirts. “I have never in all my life been subjected to such treatment!” she hissed furiously as the wagon they were riding in gave another violet, creaking lurch and her shoulder banged into Elizabeth’s. “You may depend on this-I shall give Mr. Ian Thornton a piece of my mind for inviting two gentlewomen to this godforsaken wilderness, and never even mentioning that a traveling baroche is too wide for the roads!” Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something soothing, but just then the wagon gave another teeth-jarring lurch, and she clutched at the wooden side. “From what little I know of him, Lucy,” she managed finally when the wagon righted, “he wouldn’t care in the least what we’ve been through. He’s rude and inconsiderate-and those are his good points-“ “Whoa there, whoa,” the farmer called out, sawing back on the swayback nags reins and bringing the wagon to a groaning stop. “That’s the Thornton place up there atop yon hill,” the farmer said, pointing.

Besides, I know you loved my Lucy . . ." Here he turned away and covered his face with his hands. I could hear the tears in his voice. Mr. Morris, with instinctive delicacy, just laid a hand for a moment on his shoulder, and then walked quietly out of the room. I suppose there is something in a woman's nature that makes a man free to break down before her and express his feelings on the tender or emotional side without feeling it derogatory to his manhood. For when Lord Godalming found himself alone with me he sat down on the sofa and gave way utterly and openly. I sat down beside him and took his hand. I hope he didn't think it forward of me, and that if her ever thinks of it afterwards he never will have such a thought. There I wrong him. I know he never will. He is too true a gentleman.I said to him, for I could see that his heart was breaking, "I loved dear Lucy, and I know what she was to you, and what you were to her. She and I were like sisters, and now she is gone, will you not let me be like a sister to you in your trouble? I know what sorrows you have had, though I cannot measure the depth of them. If sympathy and pity can help in your affliction, won't you let me be of some little service, for Lucy's sake?" In an instant the poor dear fellow was overwhelmed with grief. It seemed to me that all that he had of late been suffering in silence found a vent at once. He grew quite hysterical,and raising his open hands, beat his palms together in a perfect agony of grief. He stood up and then sat down again, and the tears rained down his cheeks. I felt an infinite pity for him, and opened my arms unthinkingly. With a sob he laid his head on my shoulder and cried like a wearied child, whilst he shook with emotion. We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise above smaller matters when the mother spirit is invoked. I felt this big sorrowing man's head resting on me, as though it were that of a baby that some day may lie on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though he were my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it all was. After a little bit his sobs ceased, and he raised himself with an apology, though he made no disguise of his emotion. He told me that for days and nights past, weary days and sleepless nights, he had been unable to speak with any one, as a man must speak in his time of sorrow. There was no woman whose sympathy could be given to him, or with whom, owing to the terrible circumstance with which his sorrow was surrounded, he could speak freely. "I know now how I suffered," he said, as he dried his eyes, "but I do not know even yet, and none other can ever know, how much your sweet sympathy has been to me today. I shall know better in time, and believe me that, though I am not ungrateful now, my gratitude will grow with my understanding. You will let me be like a brother, will you not, for all our lives, for dear Lucy's sake?" "For dear Lucy's sake," I said as we clasped hands."Ay, and for your own sake," he added, "for if a man's esteem and gratitude are ever worth the winning, you have won mine today. If ever the future should bring to you a time when you need a man's help,believe me, you will not call in vain. God grant that no such time may ever come to you to break the sunshine of your life, but if it should ever come, promise me that you will let me know." He was so earnest, and his sorrow was so fresh, that I felt it would comfort him, so I said, "I promise.

..."I know it is a trick, I mean a dupe, but still - Do you ever make him talk to you, alone? the two of you? No, that's silly, isn't it." "Not at all." Istvan pauses, considering, smiling, Rupert or Decca would recognize that smile. Finally "He sleeps," says Istvan, "with a black cloth across his face. It keeps his soul primed.... Does that give you your answer?" and before she can give him hers, continues: "They are toys, philosophical toys, as we are puppets really, to our base desires. Don't you see the same, in that Blue Room of yours? What man owns his soul in there? Does he not instead give it into your hands, to manipulate as you do his prick?" "Turn it like a crank," says Lucy, suddenly grinning, a funny wolfish look Istvan has never seen her wear: it surprises him into laughter, both of them chuckling as "We are so much alike, you and I," he says, bending to kiss her cheek. "Both of us vendors of the art of the moment, the impermanent pleasure, the will-o'-the-wisp that lifts a man from the prison of time, and for just that moment sets him free...

He covered her hand with his own. “I thought that meant living my life alone. Never loving again. But it was so easy to love you. I don’t even remember ever not loving you. I think I loved you the second I saw you launch yourself at Glenn. Something in me said ‘she’s finally here.’ You’re what I’ve been waiting for. You’re the light that got me through the dark, and I’m not willing to go back to a life without you.

La prima volta che ti ho mostrato la biblioteca, tu mi hai detto che il tuo libro preferito era II vasto, vasto mondo. Pensavo che magari ti avrebbe fatto piacere sapere che l'ho letto.’’ '‘E l'hai trovato di tuo gradimento?’’ ‘‘Per niente. Penso che sia melenso e sentimentale.''
 ‘‘Bene, tutti i gusti sono gusti’’ replicò Tessa amabilmente, sapendo che lui stava cercando di stuzzicarla. ‘‘Il piacere dell'uno è il veleno dell'altro, non trovi?’’ Era la sua immaginazione, o sembrava deluso? ‘‘Hai qualche altra segnalazione di autori americani?’’ 
‘‘A che scopo, se disprezzi i miei gusti? Penso che dovreste riconoscere che siamo piuttosto lontani in fatto di letture, e cercare altrove delle segnalazioni, signor Herondale.’’ Le parole non le erano ancora uscite di bocca, che si morse la lingua. Aveva esagerato.
 E infatti Will non gliela lasciò passare. ‘‘Signor Herondale! Io pensavo…’’ 
‘‘Cosa pensavi?’’ Il tono di Tessa era glaciale. 
‘‘Che potessimo almeno parlare di libri.’’ 
‘‘E l'abbiamo fatto. Tu hai insultato i miei gusti’’ disse Tessa. ‘‘E sappi che II vasto, vasto mondo non è il mio libro preferito. È semplicemente una storia che mi è piaciuta, come La mano nascosta o... Sai, forse potresti suggerire tu qualcosa a me, in modo che possa giudicare i tuoi, di gusti.’’
 Will si sedette sul tavolo più vicino, con le gambe penzoloni, riflettendo chiaramente sulla questione. ‘‘Il castello di Otranto…’’
 ‘‘Non è quel libro in cui il figlio dell'eroe muore schiacciato da un enorme elmo che cade dal cielo? E hai definito insulso II racconto di due città!’’ esclamò Tessa, che sarebbe morta piuttosto di ammettere che aveva letto II castello di Otranto e le era piaciuto. 
‘‘Il racconto di due città…’’ Will annuì. ‘‘Dopo che ne abbiamo parlato, l'ho riletto. Avevi ragione: non è affatto sciocco.’’
 ‘’No?’’
 ‘‘No. C'è dentro troppa disperazione.’’ 
Tessa incrociò il suo sguardo, e le sembrò di cadere dentro quegli occhi azzurri come laghi. ‘’Disperazione?’’ ‘‘Be', per Sydney non c'è futuro, con o senza amore, non trovi? Sa che senza Lucie non può salvarsi, ma tenerla accanto a sé significherebbe umiliarla.’’ 
Tessa scosse la testa. ‘‘Non è così che lo ricordo. Il suo sacrificio è nobile…’’ ‘‘Non gli rimane altro’’ insistette Will. ‘‘Non ricordi cosa dice a Lucie? "Se per voi fosse stato possibile... ricambiare l'amore dell'uomo che vedete davanti a voi - di questo povero sciagurato che si è buttato via, di questo ubriacone senza redenzione - egli, nonostante la sua gioia, in questo istante sarebbe stato consapevole che vi avrebbe trascinato nell'infelicità, trascinato nella sofferenza e nel pentimento, che vi avrebbe fatto avvizzire, vi avrebbe rovinato facendovi precipitare con lui nel fango..." Un ciocco cadde nel caminetto tra una pioggia di scintille, facendo trasalire entrambi e interrompendo Will.
 Tessa ebbe un tuffo al cuore e guardò altrove. Stupida, si disse, stizzita. Ricordava come l'aveva trattata, e tuttavia permetteva che le ginocchia le diventassero molli sentendolo citare Dickens. ‘‘Ne hai imparato a memoria un bel po', non c'è che dire. Davvero impressionante.’’ Will scostò il colletto della camicia, scoprendo la curva armoniosa della clavicola. Tessa non si accorse subito che le stava mostrando un marchio collocato pochi centimetri sopra il cuore.
‘’Mnemosyne’’ disse il Nephilim. ‘‘La runa della Memoria. È fissa.’’ Tessa distolse lo sguardo. ‘‘È tardi. Devo ritirarmi... sono esausta.’’ Gli passò davanti e si avviò verso la porta. ‘‘Vathek, di William Beckford. Se hai trovato di tuo gradimento II castello di Otranto, credo che ti piacerà.’’ ‘‘Oh, bene. Grazie. Me ne ricorderò’’ disse Tessa. Poi si rese conto di non aver affatto ammesso che II castello di Otranto le era piaciuto. Will non replicò. Era ancora accanto al tavolo. Aveva lo sguardo fisso a terra, il viso nascosto dai capelli scuri. Prima di potersi frenare Tessa disse: ‘‘Buonanotte, Will.’’ Lui alzò lo sguardo. ‘‘Buonanotte, Tessa.

Where was the couple that saw each other clearly? In the endless parade of suburban conformity that seemed to be Lucy and Greg’s marriage? In the tedious variations on betrayal and disillusionment that brought a never-ending stream of clients to his door? In the willfully blind allegiance of Leonora Quine to a man whose every fault had been excused because “he’s a writer,” or the hero worship that Kathryn Kent and Pippa Midgley had brought to the same fool, trussed like a turkey and disemboweled? Strike was depressing himself.

There is magic in a garden, Will, And there's magic in a hillside of wildflowers. They're just different kinds of magic; that's all" -Grandma

no more stolen moments, let alone hours, in which to discover each other . . . from now on, they were formally betrothed, and that betrothal had its own rules. Maddening, perhaps intentionally so. Luci filched another stuffed date from the tray a sleepy maidservant was carrying back to the kitchen, and followed her father into the library. Her uncle and grandfather, already relaxed in chairs by the fireplace, looked up as she came in. "Luci, you should be in bed." "Papa, I'm not sleepy." He raised his eyebrows at her, but she didn't move. "Papa, I had a message cube from Esmay today." Her uncle Casimir sighed. "Esmay . . . now there's another problem. Berthold, did you get anywhere in the Landsmen's Guild?" "Nowhere. Oh, Vicarios won't oppose us, but that's because of Luci, and his support is half-hearted. It would be different if she hadn't left so young, I think. They don't really remember her, and even though they awarded her the Starmount, and consider her a hero, they do not want a Landbride—any Landbride but especially our Landbride—connected to an outlander family. Cosca told me frankly that even if she moved here, and also her husband, he would oppose it. Nothing good ever came from the stars, he insisted." "And the votes?" "Enough for a challenge, Casi, I'm sure of it. No, the only way out of this is for Esmaya to come and talk to them herself." "Or resign." "Or resign, but—will she?" Luci spoke up. "She mentioned that in her cube." "What—resigning? Why?" "Her precious Fleet seems to think about us the way the Landsmen's Guild thinks about them. She says they have some kind of regulation forbidding officers to marry Landbrides." Her father snorted. "Do they have one forbidding officers to be Landbrides? How ridiculous!" "Are you serious?" Casimir asked. "They have something specific about Landbrides? How would they know?" "I don't know," Luci said. "That's just what she said. And she said why didn't we take in all those women brought back from Our Texas—she was sure they'd fit in." A stunned silence, satisfying by its depth and length. "She what?" Casimir said finally. "Aren't those women—" "Free-birthers and religious cultists," Luci said, with satisfaction. "Exactly." "But—but the priests will object," Berthold said. "Not as badly as the Landsmen's Guild, if they hear of it. Dear God, I thought she had more sense than that!" "She is in love," Luci pointed out, willing now to be magnanimous. "Apparently Fleet is taking Barin's salary to pay for their upkeep—at least some of it—and Esmay's trying to help him out. Nineteen of them, after all, and all those children." "At our expense." Casimir shook his head. "Well, that settles it. She'll have to resign, as soon as I can get word to her. The Trustees will certainly not approve this, if I were willing to let it be known." He gave Luci a hard look. "You didn't tell Philip, I hope." "Of course not." Luci glared at her uncle. Esmay might not have any sense, but she knew what the family honor required. "I hope she does name you Landbride, Luci," Casimir said. "You'll be a good one." Luci had a sudden spasm of doubt. Was she being fair to Esmay, who after all had had so many bad things happen to her? But underneath the doubt, the same exultation she had felt when Esmay gave her the brown mare . . . mine, it's mine, I can take care of it, nobody can hurt it . . . "I wonder if we could place an ansible call," Casimir said. "Surely it's not that urgent,

To take in a child and give love so willingly like that, with no obligation - isn't that the most generous love of all? I didn't see it at the time. All I saw was the love that was withheld from me. Love I thought I was entitled to.

Well, I think that this is just a question for linguists and lexicographers. Although, as previously mentioned, a person needs to sense another person and needs to think about the person to behave in a certain way, which requires conscious thought, is it possible for a programmed reaction, or a programmed way of behaving, to be defined as behavior? Let me elaborate: if a normal human being is slapped in the face, the person would sense the slap and reflexively think of things such as how painful, unexpected, or annoying it was. Then, the person would say “ow” or maybe try to slap the person back. However, a p-zombie would react by saying “ow,” or by slapping the person back, but it is not doing any of this out of its own will, because without conscious thought, it doesn’t have a will. Something in the p-zombie could cause it to react without having to think, like with a robot; if I were to say “hi” to a robot, it could be programmed to say “hi” back, but it would only do it because it was programmed to do it, not because it senses that a person is saying “hi” and thinks of it as a friendly greeting. If it is possible for a being to be programmed like that, it could do such things, but determining whether or not actions like this are forms of behavior still depends on how society defines behavior. When a person behaves a certain way, he/she provides a reaction for a person. When a robot says “hi” to a person who just said “hi”, it is reacting to that person, so this could be viewed as a behavior, but the dictionary definition is a bit ambiguous, because it doesn’t specify whether the way one acts has to be conscious (like with a normal human being) or unconscious (like with a robot), so linguists and lexicographers need to establish that parameter to define behavior. If linguists and lexicographers were to say that behavior, by definition, does not have to be conscious, then a p-zombie could be conceivable.

Liyah wasn't surprised at the neglect. She's seen Sayed's war within himself on the day of her arrival. She thought he might be the one person of her acquaintance less willing to give into emotions than she was. (Chapter 11)

question: “What is one negative belief about yourself in light of what has happened to you?” I’m crazy.—Kylie I don’t matter.—Denise I am unlovable.—Madelyn I’m sloppy seconds.—Alexis I’m damaged goods.—Lynette I’m not sexy enough.—Quanesha I am tired of being his porn substitute.—Lucy I’m willing to humiliate myself to keep my commitment.—Benya Overweight and out of shape, I will never please a man.—Melissa I am invisible—not a soul knows what I am dealing with.—Sarenna I’m on husband number two. I can’t compete—not then and not now.—Paige It’s my fault; he had an affair because I’m too controlling.—Jeri Lyn I deserve what happened to me. I am paying for sins in my past.—Gloria I’m too old and can never measure up to what my husband has seen.—Rose I am not a good enough housekeeper. I am not good enough in bed.—Dorothy Anne I’m a horrible person. I can’t tell anyone what I’ve done to keep him happy.—Eliana I’m too critical and angry. She must be sweet. No wonder he doesn’t want me.—Andrea I can’t trust anyone. The person I trusted the most . . . lied over and over and over again.—Jillian

I love you like the ocean loves the sand; I will always come back for you no matter what. I love you like the wind loves the trees; it might not seem like it, but I’m always there to support you. I love you like the moon loves the sun; I would die every day just to let you shine. I love you more than words can describe, and I always will.

Grey Blackwood was willing to give up a twenty-million-dollar property in exchange for two weeks of my company, but the joke was on him because I would have gone home with him for free.

Avalon Manning has someone on edge that is willing to do whatever it takes to get rid of her, and we’re going to find out who. Starting with Luc Kincaid and Kate fucking Coleman.

You've got two choices. You can get on my bike willingly…" I trail off, watching the movement of expression on her face as she waits for her second option. She's not going to like it. "Or," I continue, "I'll rip your fucking pants down your legs, spank your ass, and then strap you on—willing or not.

You’re moving in here not just because you belong here, baby,” he says. I shiver as he slides his lips down my cheek until he presses them to the corner of my mouth. “But because when I say you’re fucking mine, I mean it.” I stiffen, but he doesn’t let that stop him. “I know that scares you,” he says. “I know you’re not sure if you can trust me, so I’ll just have to spend a long time proving it to you. But I will make one thing clear, if I want to lock you up in a tower and make sure no other bastard can ever put his hands on you again, then I will.

It was both staggering and horrible. A world governed by images and the control of the subconscious, in which the barriers of rationality were bypassed. Could one still speak of free will? Seeing all these perfected tools working on the brain, Lucie was reminded of the fantasy of the optogram: they were in the heart of the matter, and it wasn’t so fantastic after all.

I’m William James Carter. My friends call me Will,” he says. “I’m Lucy Janette Phillips,” I reply. “Nice to meet you, LJ,” he says. Warmth flows through my body. I have a nickname.

A vampire?” Lucy hissed incredulously, leaning away from him and wondering if maybe this was all just a prank. Or a dream. She was more than willing to revisit that theory. “I thought vampires drink blood, not eat your face.

I could tell Mr. Dash wasn’t very keen on the idea, at least at first,” Amelia said, a trifled worried that he might be annoyed with her. “I probably shouldn’t have pushed him, but I’ll be eternally grateful to him for his kindness.” Aunt Lucy gave Amelia what could only be described as a sly grin. “I’m sure your gratitude and approval are all the thanks he needs. In fact, I suspect Nigel would be willing to do a good deal for you, my dear.” Amelia

You need to be willing to show up in your life if you wish to manifest that which you desire.

I thought that meant living my life alone. Never loving again. But it was so easy to love you. I don’t even remember ever not loving you. I think I loved you the second I saw you launch yourself at Glenn. Something in me said ‘she’s finally here.’ You’re what I’ve been waiting for. You’re the light that got me through the dark, and I’m not willing to go back to a life without you.

When it comes down to it, Lucy, love is a choice. Sure, there’s that warm feeling you get from being around someone you fancy, but it takes more than that for two people to build a happy life together. You have to be willing to hang in there with the person you choose and do your best to support them and let them support you.

it.” Robert set down his cup and plate. “Every time I received a promotion in the hussars I believed the man who replaced me would never be as good to my men as I was.” “You should speak to Mr. Tompkins,” Lucy said. “He already holds you in high regard. He has been with Sir William for fifty years so he probably knows more of his secrets than anyone.” “I’ll send Foley over to speak to him first.” Robert nodded. “He might be more willing to confide in a fellow servant than he would be in me.” “What an excellent idea.” Lucy smiled warmly at her husband. “And I will continue to visit Lady Benson. She is remarkably indiscreet

I took that to mean it was coffee time. Side-stepping him, I picked up the cup, took a delicate sniff, and then shoved my face into the steaming hot life force. I drank deeply, willing the caffeine to perform its miracles as flavors exploded on my tongue.

drank deeply, willing the caffeine to perform its miracles as flavors exploded on my tongue. I was pretty sure the inappropriate moan I heard came from my own mouth but I was too tired to care. When I finally lowered the cup and swiped the back of my hand over my mouth, the Viking was still standing there, staring at me.

Now that I've had her in my arms. Had her under me, soft and willing and so fucking insane she makes me crave her brand of craziness with each breath I take, I know the answer. I'll fuck her and only her for the rest of my life if she lets me.

It's been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will.

Remembering the careful way the cooks she'd met chose their ingredients--- the snails at L'Ami Louis, Taeb's saffron, Baldwin's asparagus--- Stella thought Django was more like a magician, conjuring dishes out of thin air. By the time George nudged Stella aside to poke his nose in the door, Lucie was strewing crisp breadcrumbs on top of a thick vegetable potage, and Django was stirring a tart lemon pudding. Downstairs, customers lingered, people who had intended on stopping in for a moment stayed on as increasingly seductive scents wafted through the shop. Unwilling to admit that he was pleased, George tasted the pudding and grumbled, "You've used up all the eggs. And I wanted gingerbread for tonight's reading." "Gingerbread!" Django pulled a face. "Nous sommes en France. I will make something more appropriate." Still standing in the doorway, Stella wondered how he would manage this; he'd used everything in the kitchen except an aged pound cake resembling a rock, a handful of desiccated dried apricots, and the sour milk. "We'll make some coffee." Django was tearing up the stale cake. As she watched, he produced curds from the sour milk, cooked the apricots into jam, and soaked the cake in coffee. With a flourish, he pulled a bar of chocolate from his pocket. "J'ai toujours du chocolat sur moi." He melted the chocolate, stirring in the last of the coffee. "I always have chocolate. You never know when you will need it." Against her better judgement, Stella was charmed. Lucie stood close by, watching him layer the coffee-drenched cake with jam, curds, and chocolate, grabbing each spoon as he finished. "Will you make this for my birthday?" she asked. "No." "Please," she begged. "For your birthday I will make something better.

The challenge facing the profession has been neatly described as the more-for-less challenge, which is exactly as its name suggests: clients are demanding more but are willing to pay less.

Finding ways to return control of a person’s digital data self is important. It is one of the most important civil rights issue of our time, a fundamental question of justice.32 Putting us—and not companies or governments—in charge will require new types of technology, new laws, and new behaviors on our part. Ironically, getting people to think about how they might share their data willingly to accomplish things they care about may be a way to get us to care more (and act differently toward) other organizations that just take data from us.

Still, there are other factors besides direct social interaction that do make Adam’s guilt on par with his wife’s: First, Adam didn’t recite the commandments of God the way his wife did before she was fully convinced, nor did he hesitate when he presented the fruit. Genesis 3:6 simply mentioned that he ate it. From this observation, Adam, like his wife, also had the impetuousness to not recite them, let alone listen to God’s commands. Secondly, Genesis 3:6 also mentions that Adam was WITH Eve, who was WITH the snake, meaning that Adam was aware of a sinner (Eve) and a producer of sinners. Eve was directly willing to interact with the snake, but Adam was willing to interact with a sinner and be an eyewitness to the Devil’s temptations, and, even with that, he still was convinced to eat the fruit. In other words, he was both convinced by his human wife and, while being convinced, he had the credulity to condone the production of sin and to also be convinced by the Devil.

It won’t bring Lucy and Scarlet back but it will, at least, mean that justice has been done. The words have a cold, biblical ring that surprises him, but when you come down to it that is what police work is all about. Protecting the innocent and punishing the guilty.

Look, sir,” Franchesca said, her cheeks still flaming. “We just slipped away from the party and got carried away. Aiden stepped in front of her. He couldn’t tell exactly where the guard’s gaze was falling, but he imagined it had to be somewhere around Frankie’s heaving chest. “It’s my fault. I got carried away,” he said, offering the man a chagrined smiled. “I’m sure it’s not the worst you’ve seen tonight.” The guard stared blankly for another moment. Aiden felt Frankie grab the back of his jacket with both hands. “I just caught two girls skinny-dipping in the lobby fountain ten minutes ago,” the guard announced. “Go on back to the party, and keep your clothes on.” “Will do,” Aiden promised. Frankie’s eyes were as wide as big screen TVs as they hurried past the guard onto a path that led to the crowded terrace that served as a dancefloor. “Well that was easy,” he said. He reached up and picked a leaf out of Frankie’s hair. He was starting to wonder if he was obsessed with her hair. The thick, dark curtain that fell in curling waves. He wanted to bury his face in it. “Easy?” she hissed, slapping his hand away. “Well, you didn’t have to flash anyone this time,” Aiden pointed out. Her gasp was worth the anticipation. “You saw me?

The anti-military spirit which is developing among the masses of Europe will tell the governments of the Earth that the workers have no trouble that needs to be settled by cruel war; and if the rulers have trouble, they can settle them by fighting it out among themselves. The working class wants to enjoy the fruits of their toil, the short time they journey this Earth. But we are told that kind of talk is unpatriotic, that every man ought to be willing to fight for his country. What country belongs to the wage class?

For disguise the fact as we will, when friends,even the closest— perhaps the more because of that very closeness— meet again after a separation there is always a chill, lesser or greater, of change. Neither finds the other quite the same. This is natural and inevitable. Human nature is ever growing and retrogressive— never stationary. But still, with all our philosophy, who is if can repress a little feeling of bewildered disappointment when we realize that our friend is not and can never be just the same as before— even though the change may be by way of improvement?

Oh, Lucy…” I murmur against her lips. “My bonnie lass. You have made me the luckiest man alive. I have loved you from the first moment I knew you existed. And I always will, little brute.

You have to decide how much you’re willing to sacrifice and how much effort you’re willing to put into something. And those two things usually add up to the reward you get.” “Give me an example,” Sara demanded skeptically.

Maybe someday I’d find a guy who both liked me and was willing to share the burden of taking care. Or maybe I would just end up alone like Tina had always predicted.

Bit of both. You sleep okay?” Nash asked. I’d slept like the dead. Just like I did every time I was in bed with Nash. “Yeah,” I said, not willing to give him more. “What’s that psychology minor say about a girl who doesn’t like to be touched except by the guy who just keeps pissing her off?” “That she has serious emotional issues that need to be addressed.

When breakfast was over you could tell by the long, long shadow of the fig tree that it was still very early in the morning. On sunny days Doña Teresa could tell the time almost exactly by its shadow, but on rainy days she just had to guess, because there was no clock in her little cabin. It was lucky that it was so early, because there were so many things to be done. The Twins and their mother were not the only busy people about, however, for there were two hundred other peons beside Pancho who worked on the hacienda, and each one had a little cabin where he lived with his family. There were other vaqueros besides [p 20 ] Pancho. There were ploughmen, and farmers, and water-carriers, and servants for the great white house where Señor Fernandez lived with his wife and pretty daughter Carmen. And there was the gatekeeper, José, 9 whom the Twins loved because he knew the most wonderful stories and was always willing to tell them. There were field-workers, and wood-cutters, and even fishermen. The huts where they all lived were huddled together like a little village, and the village, and the country for miles and miles around, and the big house, and the little chapel beside it, and the schoolhouse, and everything else on that great hacienda, belonged to Señor Fernandez. It almost seemed as if the workers all belonged to Señor Fernandez, too, for they had to do just what he told them to, and there was no other place for them to go and nothing else for them to do if they had wanted ever so much to change. [p 21 ] All the people, big and little, loved the fiesta of San Ramon. They thought the priest’s blessing would cause the hens to lay more eggs, and the cows to give more milk, and that it would keep all the creatures well and strong. Though it was a feast day, most of the men had gone away from their homes early, when Pancho did; but the women and children in all the little cabins were busy as bees, getting themselves and their animals ready to go in procession to the place where the priest was to bless them. As soon as breakfast was eaten, Doña Teresa said to Tonio: “Go now, my Tonio, and make Tonto beautiful! His coat is rough and full of burs, and he will make a very poor figure to show the priest unless you give him a good brushing. Only be careful

Either fuck me hard and fast or get out of my room so I can find someone who will. I don’t want to be treated like some glass figurine.

Rob feels terrible. He’s looking further up the road with his mum.” So he should! Olivia thought. But being furious with Rob didn’t really help. She and Ben and Mum and Dad set off up the road, calling and peering over fences. Olivia kept shaking the treats, hoping to see a little grey kitten dash eagerly towards her, like he did at home. Half an hour later, they were back outside Rob’s house, and everyone looked rather hopeless. Especially Rob. It seemed as though he’d been crying, and Olivia almost felt sorry for him. “Not a sign,” Dad said, frowning. “And none of the people we asked had spotted him.” “Should we go further? The next street?” Rob’s mum asked doubtfully. “Oh, look!” Mum pointed down the road. “What is it? Can you see him?” Olivia gasped. “Sorry, Olivia. It’s Lucie, down at the end of the road, with her mum.” Lucie came runninng up the road as soon as she spotted Olivia. “We’ll find him,” she promised, seeing her friend’s miserable face and hugging her tightly. “I’m sure we will,” her mum agreed, as they reached the little crowd outside Rob’s house. “There’s lots of us looking now.” Everyone was still discussing where to look next. “He couldn’t still be in your garden, hidden away?” Olivia suggested.