Lyon Quotes

She's an old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind.

I have never seen battles quite as terrifyingly beautiful as the ones I fight when my mind splinters and races, to swallow me into my own madness, again.

She will blaze through you like a gypsy wildfire. Igniting you soul and dancing in its flames. And when she is gone, the smell of her smoke will be the only thing left to soothe you.

Beauty is like a train that ceaselessly roars out of the Gare de Lyon and which I know will never leave, which has not left. It consists of jolts and shocks, many of which do not have much importance, but which we know are destined to produce one Shock, which does...The human heart, beautiful as a seismograph...Beauty will be CONVULSIVE or will not be at all.

Meltdown when we get home. Mom keeps chocolate for meltdowns. Daddy always has them when Uncle Jonas visits." -David Lyons from Tanner's Scheme-

I hope that someday when I am gone, someone, somewhere, picks my soul up off of these pages and thinks, "I would have loved her.

This isn't some kind of game for me. I love you, Ivy Lyons, and one day you're going to believe me. - Tristan Carruthers -

I have licked the fire and danced in the ashes of every bridge I ever burned. I fear no hell from you.

All that I know is that Claire Lyons should consider herself done, done and you know what else? DONE!

There is no better place to heal a broken heart than on the back of a horse.

She will rise. With a spine of steel and a roar like thunder, she will rise.

She is of the strangest beauty and the darkest courage, and when she walks with intent the earth trembles beneath her feet.

Lyon knew she wasn't aware she was being watched, either. She wouldn't have eaten the leaf otherwise, or reached for another. “Sir, which one is Princess Christina?” Andrew asked Lyon, just as Rhone started in choking on his laughter. Rhone has obviously been watching Christina, too. “Sir?” “The blond-headed one,” Lyon muttered, shaking his head. He watched in growing disbelief as Christina daintily popped another leaf into her mouth. “Which blond-headed one?” Andrew persisted. “The one eating the shrubs.

Boy trouble, huh?" "Boy catastrophe is more like it. I'm not sure I can do this." "Do what?" Concern sounded in Holiday's voice. "Do Lucas," Kylie said. Holiday made a funny face and raised one eyebrow.

The glory of God is the human person fully alive.

I divide all readers into two classes: those who read to remember and those who read to forget.

The stupid vamp just asked me to marry him. Here, now? As if looking like I just died is how I wanted to be proposed to." Joy did a lap around Kylie's heart. "And you said?" Holiday took a sip of water. "I asked him if we couldn't just live together in sin." "And?" "He told me it wouldn't be a good example to our students. So...I agreed to marry him." She pushed a hand against her forehead. "Dear God, what am I getting myself into?

Take some very deep breaths," Miranda said. "Relax. Concentrate. Then envision a frosty six-pack and wiggle your pinky." A frosty six-pack. Kylie inhaled. He held out her pinky, and right then Della chimed in. "We are talking a six=pack of soda, not a cold guy with good-looking abs, right?" There was a strange kind of sizzle in the air. And suddenly appearing in front of the refrigerator was a shirtless, shivering guy with great abs. His blue eyes studied the three of them in complete bafflement. "What the...!" he muttered. Kylie gasped. Miranda giggled. Della snorted with laughter.

The happiest people are those who think the most interesting thoughts. Those who decide to use leisure as a means of mental development, who love good music, good books, good pictures, good company, good conversation, are the happiest people in the world. And they are not only happy in themselves, they are the cause of happiness in others.

I am a lover of words and tragically beautiful things, poor timing and longing, and all things with soul, and I wonder if that means I am entirely broken, or if those are the things that have been keeping me whole.

Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand - and melting like a snowflake. Let us use it before it is too late.

I am a world of uncertainties disguised as a girl.

Life is just a slide. Back and forth between loving and leaving, remembering and forgetting, holding on and letting go.

We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand... and melting like a snowflake. Let us use it before it is too late.

Could she learn to like this guy? "“It's nice to meet you." Kylie plastered a warm expression on her face. But she worried he could tell it was a sham. "The pleasure is all mine," he said. Kylie just smiled. He was completely right about that.

This is the final test of a gentleman: His respect for those who can be of no possible service to him.

I run. I kick. I punch. I listen. I write. I give. I live. Stars above, I live.

Error never shows itself in its naked reality, in order not to be discovered. On the contrary, it dresses elegantly, so that the unwary may be led to believe that it is more truthful than truth itself.

each time it would hurt less, and afterward she would love Lyon less, until one day there would be nothing left — no hurt, and no love. She

Yesterday is a cancelled check; tomorrow is a promissory note; today is the only cash you have - so spend it wisely.

– Diana: “Christina said the strangest thing.” – Lyon: “Of course she did.

The amazing activity of the cat is delicately balanced by his capacity for relaxation. Every household should contain a cat, not only for decorative and domestic values, but because the cat in quiescence is medicinal to irritable, tense, tortured men and women.

Error, indeed is never set forth in its naked deformity, lest, being thus exposed, it should at once be detected. But it is craftily decked out in an attractive dress, so as, by its outward form, to make it appear to the inexperienced more true than truth itself.

Darcy- "What's worse then a pissed of Chuck Norris?" Pheonix- "What?" Darcy- "A pissed off witch.

In paginis mundus invenimus. In verbis vitam inveniimus. In pages, we find words. In words, we find life.

She pushed a dagger into my hands. "And now you are a man with a knife. Woe to the Empire.

Love isn't always clean and pretty--sometimes it's messy, cruel, and confusing. And sometimes, it doesn't turn out the way you want it to. But then, the beauty of love is that it's very strong, and when it's real, it's worth it.

I hold you in the safest place I keep. Somewhere between memories and scars.

It is not how much we love and appreciate someone, it is how much they know it

Sometimes the things that protect us are the same things that limit our freedoms.

He stood up. "Let's go." The sun spilling through the window hit his chest, making his bare skin look even more golden. "That's okay," she sputtered. "You don't have to...tag along." "Yes, I do. I'm your shadow until after breakfast." Oh great. Her gaze slipped down to his open shirt again. Was she going to have to look, or try not to look, at his chest all morning? "Then at least button your shirt." The words were out before she realised how that sounded. The disappointment in his eyes vanished and a sexy twinkle took its place. The twinkle brought out the gold flecks in his irises, which she used to admire so much. "Why?" he asked. "Does it bother you?" She glared at him. "Don't go there.

The primary driver to pathological dissociation is attachment disorganization in early life: when that is followed by severe and repeated trauma, then a major disorder of structural dissociation is created (Lyons-Ruth, Dutra, Schuder, & Bianchi, 2006).

I just know when I quit looking to other people for directions, I found my own map.

They say she is too much to handle, but when the moon pulls the tide and the wolves howl her name, blessed are the ones who have been taken by her wild.

Eudora stands back and appraises what’s left of her life. It doesn’t look like much, but then what are humans when it comes down to it? We arrive with nothing, accumulate far too much, and leave with nothing.

Saskia groaned again. She threw back her bed covers, the last vestiges of sleep leaving her. It would be evening in Lyon. Clarissa would be expecting to hear from her. A call-in at least once every 24 hours was part of several protocols Clarissa had established. The instruction at the end of the conversation, “Give the dogs a pat for me”, reassured Clarissa that all was well. Leave the words out, replace any one of the words in the sentence with another or not place a call in a 24-hour period, and Clarissa would alert authorities. In her younger years, Clarissa had served in the British army. Her experiences in those years had caused the trauma she now lived with, though she used her expertise by teaching her three partners basic self-defence, how to operate firearms and how to wield weapons. She also programmed their watches and phones to enable her to constantly track their whereabouts, explaining, “I want to know that my three charges are safe”. Another protocol was to always check accommodation venues for listening devices. Saskia did this before calling Clarissa. “Clarissa. Ça va?” “What have you to report?

I promised to touch your soul. I never said it would be painless.

God has three answers to our prayers: 1. Yes 2. Not yet 3. I have something better in mind anonymous

Whatever it is that stirs your soul, listen to that. Everything else is just noise.

The deepest pain I ever felt was denying my own feelings to make everyone else comfortable.

But I give you my word, in the entire book there is nothing that cannot be said aloud in mixed company. And there is, also, nothing that makes you a bit the wiser. I wonder--oh, what will you think of me--if those two statements do not verge upon the synonymous.

You are never alone when lost in a good book.

He who was the Son of God became the Son of man, that man ... might become the son of God.

Introverts aren't unfriendly, they just don't give a damn whether or not you like them.

Knowledge is the sharpest of weapons.

If you do not have a moral question in your governing process, then you do not have a process that is going to survive.

There’s always music playing somewhere. You just have to listen.

I don’t drink coffee,” she said, taking a sip from her tea. “Coffee is for Americans and Protestants. Irish people should drink tea. That’s how we were brought up after all. Give me a nice cup of Lyons and I’m content.” “I don’t mind the occasional cup of Barry’s myself.” “No, that’s from Cork.

It's the wife's duty, isn't it, to be submissive to her husband?" Christina asked. "It is," Lyon answered. His hands moved to the fastenings on her dress. "Oh, yes, it definitely is." "Then I shall be submissive, Lyon," Christina announced. "When it suits me.

True love does not have limits or restrictions. True love allows a person to love deeply and unconditionally. True love does not ask you to let go of life. True love encourages you to live.

Big waves start from small ripples. Avalanches begin with a single pebble.

If I could claw the words out of the back of my throat and give them, dripping of me, to you, we would talk of sticky hands, and the messes they make.

Sometimes love is nothing more than a sticky web; illusions spun from clever minds and bitter hearts.

Knowledge is always one of the fiercest of advantages a lady can have.

The most truthful answers are found through observation. Words allow lies.

It’s funny how you can miss someone desperately when they’re standing right in front of you.

Sometimes the true punishment for miscreants and wrongdoers is having to be the person that they are.

With thoughtless and impatient hands We tangle up the plans The Lord hath wrought. And when we cry in pain He saith, “Be quiet, man, while I untie the knot.” (Author unknown, in Jack M. Lyon et al., Best-Loved Poems of the LDS People [1996], 304)

Those eyes, seemingly without mystery, are like certain closed cities, such as Lyons and Zurich, and they hypnotize me as do empty theaters, deserted prisons, machinery at rest, deserts, for deserts are closed and do not communicate with the infinite.

Give your brain a break and read a book.

You cannot blame all women for the faults of one.

Just because you may live your life in recovery, surely doesn't mean the PARTY IS OVER, Nope!, it just means you can remember what you DID LAST NIGHT!".LOL

I feel alive when you kiss me.

Thanks. I'm trying a new look called Kidnapped and Pissed.

Someone should write a book about how Alice Liddell from Wonderland falls in love with Huckleberry Finn. I might rather want to read that book.

If at first you don't succeed, find out if the loser gets anything

He is good and kind and honorable. He is my north star after being lost for too long.

This world is a cruel place for a mad girl with stars falling under her skin.

Life will go on as long as there is someone to sing, to dance, to tell stories and to listen.

Lyon Redmond was either a man on a pilgrimage in search of salvation, or a man out to burn on the pyre of his own love for a woman. Regardless, he still suffered.

Just a kiss, Kitten.” “Kitten?” No one called her that. His mouth curved. “You’re skittish, wanting my touch, but afraid. Deciding if you want to claw me or purr for me. Like a kitten.” She lifted an eyebrow. “What if I claw you?” “Bring it, baby. That

There is a time to laugh and a time not to laugh, and this is not one of them". -- Inspector Clouseau

May you have the hindsight to know where you’ve been, the foresight to know where you are going, and the insight to know when you have gone too far.

And that is the nature of us poets and whores, to make things hard: dicks, choices... life.

Dance with me. Bring my demons to their knees.

How can someone who has no mouth filter and kills with more glee than I thought humanly possible also coo over seedlings?” “Because they’re my babies. And mamas love their babies.

When your horse follows you without being asked, when he rubs his head on yours, and when you look at him and feel a tingle down your spine...you know you are loved.

Problems are opportunities with thorns attached

Life is precious and as long as we have a reason to continue, we should follow that path.

It's nice to meet you." Kylie plastered a warm expression on her face. But she worried he could tell it was a sham. "The pleasure is all mine," he said. Kylie just smiled. He was completely right about that.

Demons and monsters are obvious; we'll always band together to fight them off. But real evil, insidious evil, is what lets us just walk away from another person's pain and say well, that's none of my business.

Authors can only allow readers to learn so much about their characters. As much as they try to build someone three dimensionally on a page, words are still limited and subject to imagination and interpretation

Those who decide to use leisure as a means of mental development, who love good music, good books, good pictures, good company, good conversation, are the happiest people in the world.

I am a monster. The worst kind of monster. The kind that people have told stories about for thousands of years. The kind that daredevils like poor Walt seek out, even though many believe I’m nothing more than a myth.

Life isn't filled with perfect harmony. The world is littered with bum notes, off-key moments and tuneless episodes. The trick is to find your own music, to ignore the discord and sing your own tune.

For it is not needful, to use a common proverb, that one should drink up the ocean who wishes to learn that its water is salt.

It’s hard to hear others when your own words overwhelm your thoughts.

My mother always said that everyone carries so much inside them that we never know about. That’s why she was so kind to everyone.

We were a chasseur, initiate, Lyon prince, and blood witch walking into Chateu Le Blanc blind.

Ah, Lyon: the Achilles’ heel of this family. She had forgotten about Lyon, and about disappearing Redmonds.

A vampire?” He laughed. Upon seeing my face he abruptly stopped. “Oh, you were serious?” he said questioningly. -Michael Lyons

You draw a line in the sand and say you won’t cross it, you won’t believe or do a particular thing. But once you’ve grown accustomed to the unbelievable, or you’ve done what you’ve sworn you’d never do, you redraw the line a little farther back. You let the waves wash the first away like it never existed.

And, baby, I can’t put my hands on you…” he pressed his hips to her lower back, the hard ridge of his erection branding her, “…and not strip us both to our skin and fuck you until you’re screaming in pleasure.” His warm mouth brushed her neck. “No fear, just pleasure,” Excerpt From: Lyon, Jennifer. “The Proposition.” iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright.

Cyanide. On ice with a twist of lime. Or water. But I’m not budging on the lime.” Lyon, Jennifer (2013-02-22). The Proposition (The Plus One Chronicles) (Kindle Location 1365). Jennifer Lyon Books. Kindle Edition.

He still looked at me like I was every sunrise the world had ever seen.

Sometimes,” he told me, “you can have something, hold it in your hands or feel it in your bones, and still never understand the working mechanisms behind it.

Without risks, we never really know if something’s worth the trouble.

Joy is not the absence of darkness. Joy is confidence that the darkness will lift.

There are many things you can lie your way through; poetry is not one of them.

I kept you so well, buried beneath the darkest shame and stilled with filthy lies. Perhaps I should have dug deeper.

When they confronted her like this, she felt like a delicate freaking time bomb just waiting for a time and a place to explode.

Any place with a founder who brings a teddy bear to meetings,” he writes, “is a step away from Jonestown.

Humor is the last refuge of the damned.

I have learned that everyone else in the world is boring except you.

Each of us here has a story, but it’s not necessarily the one people think they know.

It hurts, but suddenly I understand that it’s better to feel something than nothing at all. And I find that once I give into it, it lessens, and all that’s left is love.

It's ironic, isn't it? How hope keeps us breathing just to kill us in the end.

Don't insult me by suggesting that the only way I'd be welcome in your bed is by removing all rivals.

Before him and since he’d gone away, she’d either contracted or ever-so-subtly contorted her very being to accommodate nearly everybody else. She was only ever wholly herself with him.

If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit” seems like the motto not just for Chopra but for the entire conference. Benioff and his philanthropy, the dry ice and fog machines, the concerts and comedians: None of this has anything to do with software or technology. It’s a show, created to entertain people, boost sales, and fluff a stock price.

Destinies, are like roads. Relationships are much like destinies. Therefore, relationships are like roads. Some roads are circular. They start at one spot and end in the same. Some roads fork and force. Their travelers to choose which way to go. Some roads go great distances. And then there are those that end abruptly. Who is to say that a short road is less meaningful than a long?

Answer me, Kat. Did you see him in Lyon?" "Yes. For a second. It was--" "Why didn't you tell me?" Hale moved toward her, and she was glad for the dark. "Everything was happening so fast and... it was just for a second!" There was an anger in Hale's eyes, but something more than that. A hurt went deepr than Kat had ever seen. "You should've told me." Nick laughed. "I don't think she reports to you." "You really don't get it, new guy." Hale shook his head and stepped away. "She doesn't report to anyone." When Hale turned and started for the opposite side of the deck, Kat was the only one who followed. "I kissed you!" Kat hadn't meant to yell it, but she wasn't exactly sorry she did. The words had been there, throbbing like a pulse for weeks. She felt lighter without them--one more thing she didn't have to carry. "In New York--in the limo-- I kissed you." Hale stopped. "I remember." "I kissed you and you left. So either I am not someone you want to be kissing..." "No." He shook his head slowly. "That's not it." "Or I am a really bad kisser." Kat couldn't stop herself from going through the reasons--through the options--like it was just another con and she could master it if only her mind would stop spinning. "Kat--" He reached for her, but her reflexes were too strong. She pulled away and looked at him. "I kissed you and you left.

people who can’t control their emotions are not valuable allies in battle.

There are many things you can lie your way through; poetry is not one of them.

No whining!

She had to remember not to look at him when he smiled like that.

Barbaric is letting the woman suffer to be alone for the rest of her life.

Synthetic chocolate sounds wrong.

The brave come in many shapes and sizes,

He was fucking flying!

Madness—that old, dear friend of mine—has come home for a visit. And I welcome its return with open arms.

Kidding?” He asked; rolling the foreign word over in his mouth like he tasted something sour. “Yeah, you know. Joking. Ha ha ha.” I said.

May you never become so cynical that you let a star fall without its wish.

If at first you don't succeed, find out if the loser gets anything.

I'm not nothing." His eyes that had only seconds ago glittered with barely controlled rage now warmed until she swore she could see specks of pure sunlight dancing in the light brown depths. "You're my goddamned everything. And anyone who tells you differently is a pathetic fool.

Meaning, yes -- I don't really exist except on the page or in the back of your brain. But if you think it's weird a fictional character's telling this story, you ain't seen what happened, yet.

Thus, not only am I a monster, I'm a really lousy one. A lonely, classic Five Stages of Grief following, insecure, shut-in of a pathetic beast who talks to the snakes on her head and the statues on her island.

Collot is back from Lyon, did you know? He had finished his work, as he describes it. His path of righteousness is very clear and straight and broad. It’s so easy to be a good Jacobin. Collot hasn’t a doubt or scruple in his head— indeed, I doubt if he has much in it at all. Stop the Terror? He thinks we haven’t even begun.

But in a private library, you can at any moment converse with Socrates or Shakespeare or Carlyle or Dumas or Dickens or Shaw or Barrie or Galsworthy. And there is no doubt that in these books you see these men at their best. They wrote for you. They "laid themselves out," they did their ultimate best to entertain you, to make a favorable impression. You are necessary to them as an audience is to an actor; only instead of seeing them masked, you look into their innermost heart of heart.

In 1991, Disney forced a group of New Zealand parents in a remote country town to remove their amateur renditions of Pluto and Donald Duck from a playground mural; and Barney has been breaking up children's birthday parties across the U.S., claiming that any parent caught dressed in a purple dinosaur suit is violating its trademark. The Lyons Group, which owns the Barney character, "has sent 1,000 letters to shop owners" renting or selling the offending costumes. "They can have a dinosaur costume. It's when it's a purple dinosaur that it's illegal, and it doesn't matter what shade of purple, either," says Susan Elsner Furman, Lyons' spokesperson.

Hence," goes on the professor, "definitions of happiness are interesting." I suppose the best thing to do with that is to let is pass. Me, I never saw a definition of happiness that could detain me after train-time, but that may be a matter of lack of opportunity, of inattention, or of congenital rough luck. If definitions of happiness can keep Professor Phelps on his toes, that is little short of dandy. We might just as well get on along to the next statement, which goes like this: "One of the best" (we are still on definitions of happiness) "was given in my Senior year at college by Professor Timothy Dwight: 'The happiest person is the person who thinks the most interesting thoughts.'" Promptly one starts recalling such Happiness Boys as Nietzche, Socrates, de Maupassant, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, William Blake, and Poe.

These are the bozos. They are graspers and self-promoters, shameless resume padders, people who describe themselves as “product marketing professionals,” “growth hackers,” “creative rockstar interns,” and “public speakers.

He [Jesus] fought and conquered. On the one hand, he was man who struggled for his fathers and through his obedience cancelled their disobedience. On the other hand, he bound the strong one and freed the weak and bestowed salvation on his handiwork by abolishing sin. For he is our compassionate and merciful Lord who loves mankind ... Had not man conquered man's adversary, the enemy would not have been conquered justly. Again, had it not been God who bestowed salvation we would not possess it securely.

So Philippa got her leave to bring Archie Abernethy with her and sail on the Dauphiné. But they had not seen the woman Marthe before they left Lyons. And permission to sail from Marseilles depended still, Philippa was grimly aware, on whether or not the woman Marthe was found to be eligible. Kiaya Khátún, she imagined, would pass like a shot.

When ACOG (American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists) claims that home birth and midwives are unsafe, they imply that the women who choose it and the midwives that provide it are acting irresponsibly and selfishly. They stigmatize normal birth just as the political right has stigmatized abortion. And they stigmatize women. "Our country has created a mythology of women who are irresponsible and don't care," says Paltrow. "We talk about welfare queens, crack moms, and murderous women who have abortions." A culture that allows such language to permeate our national subconscious inevitably dehumanizes all women, including mothers. Lyon argues that this thinking perpetuates a phrase often invoked in exam rooms and delivery rooms: The goal is to have a healthy baby. "This phrase is used over and over and over to shut down women's requests," she says. "The context needs to be that the goal is a healthy mom. Because mothers never make decisions without thinking about that healthy baby. And to suggest otherwise is insulting and degrading and disrespectful." What's best for women is best for babies. ... The goal is to have a healthy family.

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

In our perception all life is equal, and that includes the birds, animals, things that grow, things that swim. All life is equal in our perception.

The tide has pulled the storm from my soul, again.

May you always have a friend that is worth that name. Irish blessing

Love should be easy, and yet it’s the most complicated emotion of all, isn’t it?

Cowboys don’t go around breaking hearts.

He is a man, no more. We will offer what we have, and he must be content.

Having someone this male next to her made her soul feel exhilarated and convey brazenly suggestive, female, liberal ideas to her inner id.

That sounded sweet enough to almost be intelligent, but it was chauvinistic as hell.

She could end up on the news if she wasn’t careful, with her face plastered on the back of milk jugs. Missing and too stupid to live.

Men were born to protect and love, and our women help us to serve a higher purpose.

The supernova sun would be cooler than the fire lighting our desire.

For the first time in two thousand plus years, time stands still. I pray it stays that way, because this moment here? Divine.

The heart. It’s like a lizard’s tail. I read once that when the tail regenerates it’s never an exact replica, but it’s a tail nonetheless.

To follow blindly,” the Caterpillar says languidly, “is to yield possession of your own compass.

I divide all readers into two classes; those who read to remember and those who read to forget.

I felt like I was in a dream; everything was so surreal. I felt like I had set foot in a fairytale. Maybe I had. If that was true, I certainly hoped I never woke up. -Kylie

This is not a Jewish story. It's a human story. If people don't know the truth about the Holocaust, then it could happen again to anybody, anywhere, at any time to any race or any color.

We have to do that. We have to be thankful. That's what we said. Two things were told to us: To be thankful, so those are our ceremonies, ceremonies of thanksgiving. We built nations around it, and you can do that, too. And the other thing they said was enjoy life. That's a rule, a law- enjoy life- you're supposed to.

You are an impertinent wench! Do you not know the Black Lion eats three girls such as you each day afore dinner?” Oblivious to the staring people around them, she put a finger on his lower lip. “I do not find that a horrible way to die at all,” she said gently.

As Eve was seduced by the word of an angel and so fled from God after disobeying his word, Mary in her turn was given the good news by the word of an angel, and bore God in obedience to his word. As Eve was seduced into disobedience to God, so Mary was persuaded into obedience to God; thus the Virgin Mary became the advocate of the virgin Eve.

But know this - even though I have lived a life as full of thin, small regrets as a cherry blossom is full of petals in the spring, this will be my largest: that I could not be with you, right then, to share the space between never and always while waiting for the sun to rise.

The very act of recall is like trying to photograph the sky. The infinite and ever-shifting colors of memory, its rippling light, cannot really be captured. Show someone who has never seen the sky a picture of the sky and you show them a picture of nothing. Still I have to try.

Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil in exchange for his rugged good looks and superior martial arts ability.” Phoenix met Joe's eyes. “Yeah?” “Then Chuck Norris roundhouse-kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciated irony, said he should have seen it coming. Now they play poker every second Wednesday of the month.

Joseph handed me a neatly wrapped gift also in the metallic purple paper. “Diana wrapped it for you. She said my wrapping was an insult to humanity,” he said breaking out in a grin that made dimples appear in his cheeks.

I used to be strong, before my world went up in smoke. It was one of the things I liked best about myself, and I hate how weak I’ve become. I’ve spent the past years just surviving, and I hardly deserve a merit badge for that.

It is possible that the city of London was initially named for ravens or a raven-deity. According to the Oxford Companion to the English Language, the designation comes from “Londinium,” a Romanized version of an earlier Celtic name. But the word closely resembles “Lugdunum,” the Roman name for both the city of Lyon in France and Leiden in the Netherlands. That Roman name, in turn, was derived from the Celtic “Lugdon,” which meant, literally, “hill, or town, of the god Lugh” or, alternatively, “…of ravens.” The site of Lyon was initially chosen for a town when a flock of ravens, avatars of the god, settled there. Whether or not “Lugdunum” was the origin of “London,” ravens were important for inhabitants of Britain for both practical and religious reasons.

He began to stand, and saw Lyon stiffen, poised to do whatever he needed to do. He, like Lyon, could throw himself on a pyre, too. Because fire cleansed. She’d won, and he’d lost. It had stopped mattering. Her happiness was indistinguishable from his own. No matter what became of him, he wanted her to know he loved her. “You’d best get out of here, Redmond. Your secret is safe with me.” Lyon’s eyes flared in wary surprise. He froze. And his smile, when it came, was slow, and crooked, and he looked very like Lavay when Lavay was being insufferably knowing. “Ah. You do love her more than life. Splendid. And that, my dear Lord Flint, is what I came here today to discover.” Whatever he felt was between him and Violet. “Go before I change my mind, Redmond.

We're here to pull you out of the water, so there's no reason to be afraid." "I'm not afraid!" Janel yelled down. I took a deep breath. "Of course you're not." Teraeth cupped his hands over his mouth and made chicken clucking sounds.

I always used to think it was silly when people said life was short, but I completely get that now. We're here for such a limited time. The least we can do is try to be kind to the people around us. Humans seem to forget that so easily.

In order for me to live life to the fullest is to not enjoy every minute. Enjoying every minute takes meaning out of them. In order to truly appreciate the joyous moments in life, we must embrace the painful ones and keep them in memory.

She feels like she betrayed her sister. We all do. Please, Kylie, forgive us? I was told to get down on my knees and beg if need be,” said Seph. I couldn’t help but laugh. I crossed my arms and put a stern look on my face, “Beg,” I commanded.

People don't talk about death. Not really. People fear it. Ignore it. Deny it. They're happy to blow one another's heads off in those infernal video games or devour horrific films where people are murdered in the most gruesome of ways, while refusing to face the reality of what death is or to have a grown-up discussion about what it means.

Sometimes our pasts are chains we cannot let go of, even if the key is in our hands. They define us in ways we resent, and yet they are somewhat precious, too. Because, logically, we understand that our pasts have made us who we are, even if we want nothing more to close our eyes to them.

What a World do we inhabit! where there is not only with us a great Roaring-Lyon-Devil daily seeking whom of us he may devour, and innumerable Millions of lesser Devils hovering in the whole Atmosphere over us, nay, and for ought we know, other Millions always invisibly moving about us, and perhaps in us, or at least in many of us; but that have, besides all these, a vast many counterfeit Hocus Pocus Devils; human Devils, who are visible among us, of our own Species and Fraternity, conversing with us upon all Occasions; who like Mountebanks set up their Stages in every Town, chat with us at every Tea-Table, converse with us in every Coffee-House, and impudently tell us to our Faces that they are Devils, boast of it, and use a thousand Tricks and Arts to make us believe it too, and that too often with Success.

He sighs. “If it’s any consolation, I’m not overly thrilled about being away from my wife for so long, either.” “She a cougar?” Cora asks. Karl stares at her, mouth open. “I’m just saying,” she says defensively. “He looks like the sort to snag a cougar.” She did not just say that. “Cora!” “My wife is off limits to you.” He shakes a finger at her. And then, after a moment, “She’s not a cougar.” Cora cackles brightly.

Everyone is going to annoy you somewhat. The trick is to find the person who only annoys you a little, and where what you love about them outweighs what you don’t love. They’ll never be perfect, but they’ll be perfect for you. The problem is that people think it has to be perfect all the time, and that’s not possible.

First of all he might be a she we'll be finding that out tomorrow." "Hold it, fuck no you didn't tell me about that, we need to discuss that shit. I've pretty much come to terms with the whole having a baby deal but no girls Kat that's where I draw the fucking line." Her mouth fell open and she actually shook her head at me before busting into laughter and turned around to leave the room. "Get back here we're not finished.

He ran from her suddenly, swift and quiet like a mountain cat among the high peeks of Eld mountain. She watched him dive in among the trees, and the autumn winds shoke suddenly at his heels. She sad down on a fallen trunk and dropped her head among the knees. A great soft warmth shiled her from the wind, and she looked up and saw into Gules Lyons quiet, golden eyes. What is it, white one? She knelt suddenly and flung his arms around the great mane, and burried her face against him. I wish that I had wings and could fly and fly and never come back. What has troubled you, Orams powerful child? What can trouble you? What can such a small one as Coren of Sirle say to touch you? For a long moment she did not answer. And then she said, her fingers tight around the gold tangeled fur. He has taken my heart and offered it back to me. And I thought he was harmless.

Tell me—what wouldn’t you do for Violet, Captain Flint?” Flint didn’t yet know the answer to this. Though he was perhaps closer to knowing. “I haven’t yet been tested.” Lyon smiled slowly at this, and shook his head. “Ah. Clearly you haven’t a soul of a poet, then, sir. You cannot be lured into hyperbole: ‘There’s nothing I wouldn’t do! Nothing!’ And etcetera. I can. I like hyperbole. Don’t fear it, Flint! Believe me, there’s some truth to all the purple words that surround love, you know. When you love someone more than life—and it is indeed possible to love someone more than life, or otherwise poets wouldn’t have gone on and on about it over the centuries—and you know, you know, you were born for only one person…imagine you cannot have them without tearing everything else you know asunder. Without hurting and disappointing all the other people you love. What then would you do?

There are multiple ways to label people, as you may well know. In the literate world, we can simplify this in that there are readers and non-readers. Within the readers category, we can further label people by how passionate they are with the books they choose. Some people escape into the stories they read. Some read for purpose or information. Some read out of resentment or necessity. But let us, in this moment, focus on those who find books to be an escape or an extension of their imagination. These readers see, within their mind’s eye, the characters and settings in the pages below their fingers. They feel the emotions woven between the words. They live through every heartache, every embrace, every terror. Books, to these people, become tangible, living things. The characters they read become genuine souls.” A half smile curves his lips. “People like this are often accused of living within their fantasies. They’re said to have their noses stuck in books. But the reality is that some of these people actually do escape into books.

O filósofo Gilles Deleuze era há muito tempo o melhor amigo de Bambam. Ele morava e dava aulas em Lyon, mas ia com frequência a Paris. Naquela sexta-feira, 10 de maio, pegaria o trem de volta para casa ás onze da noite, depois de um jantar para o qual Godard e eu tínhamos sido convidados. Nós o víramos algumas vezes, sempre na casa de Rosier e Bambam. Godard e ele tinham uma relação estranha. Pareciam se observar como dois gatos desconfiados, embora soubéssemos que se admiravam e que um falava bem do outro. Reunidos, porém, o diálogo entre eles era truncado. Para mim, Godard justificava a reserva em relação a Gilles Deleuze criticando seu lado abertamente "dândi". Este último tinha a singularidade de usar as unhas compridas de mais, e nunca deixava de lembrar, a quem se surpreendesse com isso, que fazia como Púchkin e que se podia ver nisso uma espécie de homenagem. Godard não compreendia a relação entre o poeta russo que adorávamos tanto e o que ele comparava a "garras repugnantes". Naquela noite, contudo, estavam aplaudindo juntos a abertura, em Paris, das negociações de paz entre americanos e vietnamitas, bem como os acontecimentos do dia e os que pareciam anunciar para a noite.

You showed up in the Land of Peace not too long after I did. And for five hundred years, give or take, you never spoke. Not a single word. Not to anyone. You just stared off into nothing, like for you the Land of Peace was anything but. And the gods didn't expect you to volunteer. I remember the shock on their faces when you did. One of them asked you why you wanted to go back and you said-- " He gestured toward me, inviting me to finish the sentence. My throat tried to close on me, but I still managed the words. "Because I can." "Because you can. And that was the moment I knew--" He stopped himself. "Yeah? Knew what?" He didn't answer for a long beat. The silence started to loom when he finally spoke, "Knew I couldn't let you get one up on me, obviously," Teraeth said, looking away.

When the attachment figure is also a threat to the child, two systems with conflicting goals are activated simultaneously or sequentially: the attachment system, whose goal is to seek proximity, and the defense systems, whose goal is to protect. In these contexts, the social engagement system is profoundly compromised and its development interrupted by threatening conditions. This intolerable conflict between the need for attachment and the need for defense with the same caregiver results in the disorganized–disoriented attachment pattern (Main & Solomon, 1986). A contradictory set of behaviors ensues to support the different goals of the animal defense systems and of the attachment system (Lyons-Ruth & Jacobvitz, 1999; Main & Morgan, 1996; Steele, van der Hart, & Nijenhuis, 2001; van der Hart, Nijenhuis, & Steele, 2006). When the attachment system is stimulated by hunger, discomfort, or threat, the child instinctively seeks proximity to attachment figures. But during proximity with a person who is threatening, the defensive subsystems of flight, fight, freeze, or feigned death/shut down behaviors are mobilized. The cry for help is truncated because the person whom the child would turn to is the threat. Children who suffer attachment trauma fall into the dissociative–disorganized category and are generally unable to effectively auto- or interactively regulate, having experienced extremes of low arousal (as in neglect) and high arousal (as in abuse) that tend to endure over time (Schore, 2009b). In the context of chronic danger, patterns of high sympathetic dominance are apt to become established, along with elevated heart rate, higher cortisol levels, and easily activated alarm responses. Children must be hypervigilantly prepared and on guard to avoid danger yet primed to quickly activate a dorsal vagal feigned death state in the face of inescapable threat. In the context of neglect, instead of increased sympathetic nervous system tone, increased dorsal vagal tone, decreased heart rate, and shutdown (Schore, 2001a) may become chronic, reflecting both the lack of stimulation in the environment and the need to be unobtrusive.

For a moment, disconnected by the stitch in his side, he listened not to the sense but to the interplay of the two flexible voices, one masculine and light, one mellow and feminine, unreeling their story, faintly affronted amid mounting hysteria. He opened his eyes. He knew, because his memories of Francis Crawford went back further than those of anyone there, that Lymond was rather drunk, although he could still disguise it. The quick-wittedness, the invention, the faultless comedy timing were present at the price of a little concentration which had closed his outer consciousness for the moment. Jerott, no longer laughing, sat in the shadows and watched the dazzling performance and both the players, blond and brown, artist and acolyte. Acolyte. But Philippa was a child no longer: he had known that since that single evening in Lyon. The severe, clear-skinned profile turned towards Francis might have belonged to any great lady. The brown and brilliant gaze only quizzed him at intervals: she seemed able, Jerott saw, to sense by instinct the course of his fantasy; and as with Lymond, what she was doing at present occupied all her awareness. Then Francis surged to his feet, leaving his robe, and launched into Jason’s querulous tour de force, fractured by interruptions and a mounting fury of incoherent resentment, and finally disintegrating in chaos.

Our faces are so close to one another right now, and all I can do is selfishly think how easy it would be for me to lean forward and kiss him like I’ve dreamed about for the last couple of weeks. One kiss, and then I’d let him go. One kiss, to replace the one stolen from me. This would be my first kiss, not what happened with Poseidon. Because a kiss should be born from love, and want, and need. A kiss should be beautiful, something a girl can hold onto for the rest of her life, to pull out in her memory whenever she wants butterflies to come back. A kiss shouldn’t be roughly ripped away from her and turned into a thing of nightmares.

I grew up poor among poor people in a poor town, but I never knew how poor I'd been until I moved to New York. These women with their fresh produce and diamonds and manicures. Even their skin was expensive. What got to me about them wasn't just the way they made me suddenly self-conscious about the ink under my fingernails or the haircut I gave myself in my own bathroom. It wasn't just that they'd spend more in one evening on chocolate, escarole, and jam than I did on the rice and beans and film and photo paper I needed for a week. What enraged me is that they didn't, couldn't, see me. I was less than a machine to them, less than a body. I did not even appear in their line of sight. I was nothing more than a couple of chanted phrases: Cash or charge? Paper or plastic? Thank you, have a nice night.

Since some people consider being human a liability, and “fully” would only make things worse, I should perhaps explain what I mean. To become fully human means learning to turn my gratitude for being alive into some concrete common good. It means growing gentler toward human weakness. It means practicing forgiveness of my and everyone else’s hourly failures to live up to divine standards. It means learning to forget myself on a regular basis in order to attend to the other selves in my vicinity. It means living so that “I’m only human” does not become an excuse for anything. It means receiving the human condition as blessing and not curse, in all its achingly frail and redemptive reality. “The glory of God is a human being fully alive,” wrote Irenaeus of Lyons some two thousand years ago. One of the reasons I remain a Christian-in-progress is the peculiar Christian insistence that God is revealed in humankind—not just in human form but also in human being.

Fridays taught me the French philosophy of the leftover, codified (I later discovered) in my Institut Bocuse textbook and older books, such as the 1899 Art of Using Leftovers. There were rules—never store a leftover in a serving dish or a cooking vessel; never store a warm liquid in a closed container without cooling it first; never reuse a preparation made with raw egg; never keep anything for more than three days; and, the most important of all: Never, under any circumstances, use a leftover twice. A leftover has one chance: to be made even better than the original.

There’s a prophecy. Actually no, it’s more like a thousand prophecies. It’s the collected rantings of a thousand people, the demons possessing them, and whole orders of scholars have spent centuries trying to pull any kind of coherent meaning from them. Relos Var and his lord, Duke Kaen of Yor, believe the prophecies refer to an end time, a great cataclysm, when a single man of vast evil will rise up. The ‘Hellwarrior’ will conquer the Manol, strip the vané of our immortality, kill the Emperor, destroy the Empire of Quur, and free the demons. In his right hand he will hold Urthaenriel, and with his left, he will crush the world and remake it as he desires.” Teraeth sipped at his cup. “Presumably by wiping away the old gods and replacing them with himself, as is tradition.

I need the wisdom, reasoning, and apologetics of C. S. Lewis, though some of his theological beliefs are different from mine. I need the preaching and charisma of Charles Spurgeon, though his view of baptism is different from mine. I need the resurrection vision of N. T. Wright and the theology of Jonathan Edwards, though their views on church government are different from mine. I need the passion and prophetic courage of Martin Luther King Jr., the cultural intelligence of Soong-Chan Rah, and the Confessions of St. Augustine, though their ethnicities are different from mine. I need the justice impulse and communal passion of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, though his nationality is different from mine. I need the spiritual thirst and love drive of Brennan Manning and the prophetic wit of G. K. Chesterton, though both are Roman Catholics and I am a Protestant. I need the hymns and personal holiness of John and Charles Wesley, though some of their doctrinal distinctives are different from mine. I need the glorious weakness of Joni Eareckson Tada, the spirituality of Marva Dawn, the trusting perseverance of Elisabeth Elliot, the long-suffering spirit of Amy Carmichael, the transparency of Rebekah Lyons, the thankfulness of Ann Voskamp, the Kingdom vision of Amy Sherman, and the integrity of Patti Sauls, though their gender is different from mine. As St. Augustine reputedly said, “In nonessentials, liberty.” To this we might add, “In nonessentials, open-minded receptivity.” We Christians must allow ourselves to be shaped by other believers. The more we move outside the lines of our own traditions and cultures, the more we will also be moving toward Jesus.

So-called gnosis’ was an enormous temptation in the early Christian Church. By contrast, persecution, even the bloodiest, posed far less of a threat to the Church’s continuing purity and further development. Gnosticism had its roots in late antiquity, drew on oriental and Jewish sources, and multiplied into innumerable esoteric doctrines and sects. Then, like a vampire, the parasite took hold of the youthful bloom and vigour of Christianity. What made it so insidious was the fact that the Gnostics very often did not want to leave the Church. Instead, they claimed to be offering a superior and more authentic exposition of Holy Scripture, though, of course, this was only for the ‘superior souls’ (‘the spiritual’, ‘the pneumatic’); the common folk (‘the psychic’) were left to get on with their crude practices. It is not hard to see how this kind of compartmentalizing of the Church’s members, indeed of mankind as a whole, inevitably encouraged not only an excited craving for higher initiation, but also an almost unbounded arrogance in those who had moved from mere ‘faith’ to real, enlightened ‘knowledge’.

Someone else was approaching, and Jackson was none too happy about it. He hadn’t seen Devonmont since the house party and wouldn’t mind never seeing the man again, but since Devonmont was his new sister-in-law’s cousin, that was unlikely. As the man neared them, Celia cast Jackson an assessing glance. “You do know he never meant a thing to me.” “That makes me only slightly less inclined to smash his face in.” “Jackson!” she said laughingly. “You would never do any such thing.” “Try me.” He glanced at her. “Don’t let this sober façade fool you, sweeting. When it comes to you, I can be as jealous as the next man.” “Well, you have no reason.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek and whisper, “You’re the only man I’ll ever love.” He was still reveling in that remark when Devonmont reached them. “I take it this would not be a good time for me to kiss the bride?” he drawled. Jackson glared at him. “That’s what I thought,” Devonmont said, laughing. “But seriously, Pinter, you’re a very lucky man.” “How well I know it,” Jackson said. “And I say most sincerely that your wife is a very lucky woman as well.” Jackson was taken aback. “Thank you, sir,” he managed. After Devonmont nodded and walked away, Celia said, “Surely that softens you toward him a little.” “Perhaps,” Jackson conceded. “Though it’s a good thing Lyons isn’t here. I don’t think I could be civil to both in one day.

Then he happened to glance at the viscount, and his blood stilled. The viscount’s eyes followed Celia’s every move, and his finger kept stroking his goblet as if he wanted to stroke some part of her. Jackson gritted his teeth. No way in hell was he letting that bloody foreigner-or Devonmont, or even the duke-stroke anything of hers. “Are we going to stand around all day discussing which guns are more effective at killing,” he snapped, “or are we actually going to kill something?” Gabe exchanged a glance with his sister. “You’re right. ‘Prickly’ is the word.” “Mr. Pinter is probably just eager to earn his kiss,” Stoneville put in. “And given how the numbers stand right now, he may very well do so.” They all pivoted to look at his lordship. Stoneville chuckled. “Devonmont has killed a pathetic eight brace of birds, Gabe a respectable fifteen, Basto an impressive seventeen and a half, Lyons an even more impressive nineteen, and Pinter an astonishing twenty brace. My sister is tied with him at twenty brace.” “Good show, Pinter!” Gabe said amiably. “You must beat her so none of us have to pay for a blasted rifle.” “Here now, Gabe,” the duke cut in irritably, “I have as much chance of beating her as Pinter does. I’m only behind by one brace.” “I don’t’ care who beats her,” Gabe said. “Just make sure one of you does, in case I can’t catch up. She’ll pick the most expensive gun in Manton’s shop.” “You’re such a pinchpenny, Gabe,” Celia teased as they tramped back over the field, headed toward the east end of the estate. “That’s because need every guinea I have, in case you don’t marry.” The lord might have meant the comment as a joke, but clearly Celia didn’t take it that way. When the blood drained from her face, Jackson felt a stab of sympathy. He could understand why she wanted to show her family that she could find a decent husband. But decent was the operative word. “Oh, I daresay Lady Celia will be married sooner than you think,” the duke remarked. When he slid a knowing glance at Celia and she smiled faintly, Jackson felt his heart drop. The duke seriously had his eye on her. And apparently she knew it. Confound it all. As they stopped, Jackson began loading his gun with quick, efficient movements. That blasted duke could look all he wanted, but he was not marrying Celia. Nor even getting another chance to kiss her. Not if Jackson had anything to say about it.

Suppose he really is in love. What about her? She never has anything good to say about him.” “Yet she blushes whenever he enters a room. And she stares at him a good deal. Or hadn’t you noticed that, either?” “As a matter of fact, I have.” Gazing up at him, she softened her tone. “But I do not want her hurt, Isaac. I must be sure she is desired for herself and not her fortune. Her siblings had a chance of not gaining their inheritance unless the others married, so I always knew that their mates loved them, but she…” She shook her head. “I had to find a way to remove her fortune from the equation.” “I still say you’re taking a big risk.” He glanced beyond her to where Celia was talking to the duke. “Do yo really think she’d be better off with Lyons?” But she doesn’t love him…If you’d just give her a chance- “I do not know,” Hetty said with a sigh. “I do not know anything anymore.” “Then you shouldn’t meddle. Because there’s another outcome you haven’t considered. If you try to manipulate matters to your satisfaction, she may balk entirely. Then you’ll find yourself in the sticky position of having to choose between disinheriting them all or backing down on your ultimatum. Personally, I think you should have given up that nonsense long ago, but I know only too well how stubborn you can be when you’ve got the bit between your teeth.” “Oh?” she said archly. “Have I been stubborn with you?” He gazed down at her. “You haven’t agreed to marry me yet.” Her heart flipped over in her chest. It was not the first time he had mentioned marriage, but she had refused to take him seriously. Until now. It was clear he would not be put off any longer. He looked solemnly in earnest. “Isaac…” “Are you worried that I am a fortune hunter?” “Do not be absurd.” “Because I’ve already told you that I’ll sign any marriage settlement you have your solicitor draw up. I don’t want your brewery or your vast fortune. I know it’s going to your grandchildren. I only want you.” The tender words made her sigh like a foolish girl. “I realize that. But why not merely continue as we have been?” His voice lowered. “Because I want to make you mine in every way.” A sweet shiver swept along her spine. “We do not need to marry for that.” “So all you want from me is an affair?” “No! But-“ “I want more than that. I want to go to sleep with you in my arms and wake with you in my bed. I want the right to be with you whenever I please, night or day.” His tone deepened. “I love you, Hetty. And when a man loves a woman, he wants to spend his life with her.” “But at our age, people will say-“ “Our age is an argument for marriage. We might not have much time left. Why not live it to the fullest, together, while we’re still in good health? Who cares about what people say? Life is too short to let other people dictate one’s choices.” She leaned heavily on his arm as they reached the steps leading up to the dais at the front of the ballroom. He did have a point. She had been balking at marrying him because she was sure people would think her a silly old fool. But then, she had always been out of step with everyone else. Why should this be any different? “I shall think about it,” she murmured as they headed to the center of the dais, where the family was gathering. “I suppose I’ll have to settle for that. For now.” He cast her a heated glance. “But later this evening, once we have the chance to be alone, I shall try more effective methods to persuade you. Because I’m not giving up on this. I can be as stubborn as you, my dear.” She bit back a smile. Thank God for that.