Marriage Hints Quotes

There are times when a feeling of expectancy comes to me, as if something is there, beneath the surface of my understanding, waiting for me to grasp it. It is the same tantalizing sensation when you almost remember a name, but don't quite reach it. I can feel it when I think of human beings, of the hints of evolution suggested by the removal of wisdom teeth, the narrowing of the jaw no longer needed to chew such roughage as it was accustomed to; the gradual disappearance of hair from the human body; the adjustment of the human eye to the fine print, the swift, colored motion of the twentieth century. The feeling comes, vague and nebulous, when I consider the prolonged adolesence of our species; the rites of birth, marriage and death; all the primitive, barbaric ceremonies streamlined to modern times. Almost, I think, the unreasoning, bestial purity was best. Oh, something is there, waiting for me. Perhaps someday the revelation will burst in upon me and I will see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke. And then I'll laugh. And then I'll know what life is.

At that stage of my youth, death remained as abstract a concept as non-Euclidean geometry or marriage. I didn't yet appreciate its terrible finality or the havoc it could wreak on those who'd entrusted the deceased with their hearts. I was stirred by the dark mystery of mortality. I couldn't resist stealing up to the edge of doom and peering over the brink. The hint of what was concealed in those shadows terrified me, but I caught sight of something in the glimpse, some forbidden and elemental riddle that was no less compelling than the sweet, hidden petals of a woman's sex. In my case - and, I believe, in the case of Chris McCandless - that was a very different thing from wanting to die.

Mom also hinted a couple of times that it was good I was going to college, since with one failed marriage behind me, I 'd have trouble landing a good husband and would need something to fall back on. "A package that's been opened once doesn't have the same appeal".

To my Charley on his wedding day – …Here is what you are going to find out about marriage: you have to work at it together. And you have to love three things. You have to love: Each other. Your children (When you have some! Hint! Hint!). Your marriage What I mean by the last one is, there may be times that you fight, and sometimes you and Catherine won’t even like each other. But those are the times you have to love your marriage. It’s like a third party. Look at your wedding photos. Look at any memories you’ve made. And if you believe in those memories, they will pull you back together. I’m very proud of you today, Charley. I am putting this in your tuxedo pocket because I know how you lose things. I love you every day! Mom

In its quest to discover how the patterns of reality are organised, the story of modern science hints at a picture of a set of Chinese puzzle boxes, each one more intricately structured and wondrous than the last. Every time the final box appears to have been reached, a key has been found which has opened up another, revealing a new universe even more breathtakingly improbable in its conception. We are now forced to suspect that, for human reason, there is no last box, that in some deeply mysterious, virtually unfathomable, self-reflective way, every time we open a still smaller box, we are actually being brought closer to the box with which we started, the box which contains our own conscious experience of the world. This is why no theory of knowledge, no epistemology, can ever escape being consumed by its own self-generated paradoxes. And this is why we must consider the universe to be irredeemably mystical.

Very occasionally, a simplified form of communion and of adult baptism for new members of the church would be enacted but no Separatist was ever married in church, because there is no hint of a marriage ceremony in scripture and the primitive church had not considered marriage a sacrament before AD 537.

But when we moved to the country, miles from the nearest restaurant, his hints anent his favorite dies grew so insistent that it became a question of tripe or divorce, and for a short time it was a difficult decision.

Bliss?” I called. “Yeah?” “Check the drawers of the nightstand! She was playing with it in the middle of the night, and I think I remember taking it away and sticking it in there.” “Okay!” Through the open door, I watched her circle around the edge of the bed. I walked in place for a few seconds, letting my feet drop a little heavier than necessary, then opened and closed the door like I’d gone back inside the bathroom. Then I hid in the space between the back of the bedroom door and the wall where I could just see through the crack between the hinges. She pulled open the top drawer, and my heartbeat was like a bass drum. I don’t know when it had started beating so hard, but now it was all that I could hear. It wasn’t like I was asking her to marry me now. I just knew Bliss, and knew she tended to panic. I was giving her a very big, very obvious hint so that she’d have time to adjust before I actually asked her. Then in a few months, when I thought she’d gotten used to the idea, I’d ask her for real. That was the plan anyway. It was supposed to be simple, but this felt… complicated. Suddenly, I thought of all the thousands of ways this could go wrong. What if she freaked out? What if she ran like she did our first night together? If she ran, would she go back to Texas? Or would she go to Cade who lived in North Philly? He’d let her stay until she figured things out, and then what if something developed between them? What if she just flat out told me no? Everything was good right now. Perfect, actually. What if I was ruining it by pulling this stunt? I was so caught up in my doomsday predictions that I didn’t even see the moment that she found the box. I heard her open it though, and I heard her exhale and say, “Oh my God.” Where before my mouth had been dry, now I couldn’t swallow fast enough. My hands were shaking against the door. She was just standing there with her back to me. I couldn’t see her face. All I could see was her tense, straight spine. She swayed slightly. What if she passed out? What if I’d scared her so much that she actually lost consciousness? I started to think of ways to explain it away. I was keeping it for a friend? It was a prop for a show? It was… It was… shit, I didn’t know. I could just apologize. Tell her I knew it was too fast. I waited for her to do something—scream, run, cry, faint. Anything would be better than her stillness. I should have just been honest with her. I wasn’t good at things like this. I said what I was thinking—no plans, no manipulation. Finally, when I thought my body would crumble under the stress alone, she turned. She faced the bed, and I only got her profile, but she was biting her lip. What did that mean? Was she just thinking? Thinking of a way to get out of it? Then, slowly, like the sunrise peeking over the horizon, she smiled. She snapped the box closed. She didn’t scream. She didn’t run. She didn’t faint. There might have been a little crying. But mostly… she danced. She swayed and jumped and smiled the same way she had when the cast list was posted for Phaedra. She lost herself the same way she did after opening night, right before we made love for the first time. Maybe I didn’t have to wait a few months after all. She said she wanted my best line tomorrow after the show, and now I knew what it was going to be.

But she doesn’t love him.” Mrs. Plumtree cast him a searching glance. “How do you know?” Because she spent the afternoon in my arms, letting me kiss and caress her, eagerly responding to my desire for her. Even hinting that she might feel the same. Until she tossed me from the room in a panic when she realized what I’ve known all along-that mere mortals like us can never cross the divide. Still, that didn’t mean he had to stand by and watch her suffer in a marriage to the wrong man. “Because Lady Celia told me.” He cursed himself even as he said the words. It was a betrayal-he’d promised to keep their conversations private-but he refused to watch her marry a man she clearly didn’t love. That would be as bad as marrying a man like him and losing her fortune. “She’s trying to gain a husband so precipitously only because you’re forcing her to,” he went on. “If you’d just give her a chance-“ “She has had plenty of chances already.” “Give her another.” Remembering Celia’s insecurity over being thought a tomboy, he added, “This little experiment is sure to have increased her confidence with men. If you allow her more time, I’m sure she could find a gentleman she could love, who would love her in turn.” “Like you?” Mrs. Plumtree asked. He gave a caustic laugh. “Your granddaughter isn’t fool enough to fall in love with a man of my rank. So you’re wasting your bribes and threats on me, madam.” “And what about you? How do you feel about her?” He’d had enough of this. “I suspect that whatever I say, you’ll believe what you wish.

... this is why Gottman has couples talk about something involving their marriage — like their pets — without being about their marriage. He looks closely at indirect measures of how the couple is doing: the telling traces of emotion that flit across one person's face; the hint of stress picked up in the sweat glands of the palm; a sudden surge in heart rate; a subtle tone that creeps into an exchange.

Layla poured the batter into the pan, drawing circles with the back of a tumbler to create a large crepe. "I've made coconut chutney, green chutney, and red chutney to go with it, as well as sambar." She pointed to the souplike side dish that was one of her favorite accompaniments to masala dosas. The journey through the dips with their hints of salt, heat, sour, and spice were what made masala dosas special.

At first Christ was a man – nothing more. Mary was his mother, Joseph his father. The genealogy of his father, Joseph, was given to show that he was of the blood of David. Then the claim was made that he was the son of God, and that his mother was a virgin, and that she remained a virgin until her death. The claim was made that Christ rose from the dead and ascended bodily to heaven. It required many years for these absurdities to take possession of the minds of men. If he really ascended, why did he not do so in public, in the presence of his persecutors? Why should this, the greatest of miracles, be done in secret, in a corner? Is Christ our example? He never said a word in favor of education. He never even hinted at the existence of any science. He never uttered a word in favor of industry, economy or of any effort to better our condition in this world. He was the enemy of the successful, of the wealthy. Dives was sent to hell, not because he was bad, but because he was rich. Lazarus went to heaven, not because he was good, but because he was poor. Christ cared nothing for painting, for sculpture, for music – nothing for any art. He said nothing about the duties of nation to nation, of king to subject; nothing about the rights of man; nothing about intellectual liberty or the freedom of speech. He said nothing about the sacredness of home; not one word for the fireside; not a word in favor of marriage, in honor of maternity. He never married. He wandered homeless from place to place with a few disciples. None of them seem to have been engaged in any useful business, and they seem to have lived on alms. All human ties were held in contempt; this world was sacrificed for the next; all human effort was discouraged. God would support and protect. At last, in the dusk of death, Christ, finding that he was mistaken, cried out: “My God! My God! Why hast thou forsaken me? We have found that man must depend on himself. He must clear the land; he must build the home; he must plow and plant; he must invent; he must work with hand and brain; he must overcome the difficulties and obstructions; he must conquer and enslave the forces of nature to the end that they may do the work of the world.

All that passion meant to her was servitude to inexplicable male madness, unshared by females, a painful and embarrassing process that led inevitably to the still more painful process of childbirth. That marriage should be like this was no surprise to her. Ellen had hinted before the wedding that marriage was something women must bear with dignity and fortitude, and the whispered comments of other matrons since her widowhood had confirmed this. Scarlett was glad to be done with passion and marriage.

That wasn't enough. They weren't enough. Nor, she soon realized, was Will, though by every rational measure he ought to have been. ... He became ardent, spoke of love, hinted at marriage. She stilled his roving hands and deflected his near-proposals. Finally, when his frustration turned to anger, she cut him loose, bleeding and disoriented, her own heart perfectly intact. Aidan wouldn't leave it intact, she'd known that from the first. Long before they became lovers, she could foresee that there would be an after, and that it would lay waste to them both.

His eyes were shockingly blue in that suntanned face, his brief smile a dazzling flash of white. He was very handsome, his features strong and even, with faint, pale whisks of laugh lines radiating from the outer corners of his eyes. He seemed like someone who would be irreverent and amusing, but there was also something shrewd about him, something a bit flinty. As if he'd had his share of experience in the world, and had few illusions left. Somehow that made him even more attractive. He came to them without haste. A pleasant outdoors scent clung to him: sun and air, a dusty, sedgelike sweetness and a hint of smoke, as if he'd been standing near a peat fire. His eyes were the darkest blue she'd ever seen, the irises rimmed with black. It had been a long time since a man had looked at Phoebe like this, direct and interested, and the slightest bit flirty. The strangest feeling came over her, something that reminded her a little of the early days of her marriage to Henry... that shaky, embarrassing, inexplicable desire to press her body intimately against someone else's. Until now, she'd never felt it for anyone but her husband, and never anything like this fire-and-ice jolt of awareness.

myself.—On this my second birth, I found all Madrid in Raptures, concerning a most generous Royal Edict, lately published, in favor of the Liberty of the Press: and I soon learnt, that, provided I neither spoke of the Wealth of Nations in my writings, nor of the Government, nor of Religion, nor of any Corporate-Companies, nor offended the favorite Mistress of the Minister’s favorite Footman, nor said any one thing which could be twisted into a reference, or hint, derogatory to any one Individual, who had more powerful friends than I had, I was at liberty to write, freely, all, and whatever I pleased, under the inspection of some two or three Censors!—Soon

Many fear the loss of the Ego, but it is actually gain. When a person loses the Ego, she can become One with All. This is the Source of all Power, Grace, and Dignity. The loss of Ego and the merging into the One actually increases personal power beyond verbal description. Some experience this in the Marriage merger of two into one, and that is good, however, the married couple can also surrender its collective Ego to become One with All. This is what some people hint at when they say God is the 3rd Person in their marriage. Obviously, God is much more than that. Perhaps such a married couple could say, We are One with God, We are One with All.

He gave her a slow, sensual smile and released her long enough to grab a condom and sheathe himself. "Open for me, sweetheart." His voice deepened, husky and low, with a delicious hint of rough. She did as he asked, anticipation curling in her belly. Jay knew what he was doing in bed and she liked him taking the lead. Instead of wondering what came next and where she should touch and what he might like, she could just let go. Feel instead of think. Calm the frenetic activity in her mind. He kissed his way down her body, his heated breath sending ripples of electricity over her skin. His hand touched between her thighs and he spread her moisture, gently teasing. When his finger brushed over her clitoris, the spark of sensation sent a flush of heat through her veins.

Tess took a deep breath. 'You are not marrying me for love, Lord Mayne. Nor-as far as I can see-due to any overwhelming feeling of a less...less proper nature.' She could feel color rising into her cheeks. 'Now that's not true,' Mayne said. There was a hint of wicked laughter in his eyes, and his fingers tightened on hers. 'I feel quite improperly toward you.' Goodness, but he was attractive when he wasn't hedging, when he was being honest. 'Are you not disturbed by the fact that we do not feel warmer emotions for each other?' she asked him. 'I would be disturbed if we /did/ ... I do not wish for a tempestuous marriage, although I am quite certain that there will be sufficient warmth between us.' 'And in your estimation, tempests must accompany love,' she said, raising an eyebrow.

And just as Christ is always drawing his people closer to himself, so in Christ-centered marriage each spouse is constantly endeavoring to provide an atmosphere in the home which helps the other to draw closer to Christ, to be always flourishing in the spiritual life. This certainly is another tremendously important reason for marriage. As the Monk Moses of Mt. Athos states, “Two people come to the communion of marriage to help one another in their salvation.” Fr. Alexander Elchaninov hints at this with these remarkable words: “In marriage the festive joy of the first day should last for the whole of life: every day should be a feast day; every day husband and wife should appear to each other as new, extraordinary beings. The only way of achieving this: let both deepen their spiritual life, and strive hard in the task of self-development.

The Yogis possess great knowledge regarding the use and abuse of the reproductive principle in both sexes. Some hints of this esoteric knowledge have filtered out and have been used by Western writers on the subject, and much good has been accomplished in this way. In this little book we cannot do more than touch upon the subject, and omitting all except a bare mention of theory, we will give a practical breathing exercise whereby the student will be enabled to transmute the reproductive energy into vitality for the entire system, instead of dissipating and wasting it in lustful indulgences in or out of the marriage relations. The reproductive energy is creative energy, and may be taken up by the system and transmuted into strength and vitality, thus serving the purpose of regeneration instead of generation. If the young men of the Western world understood these underlying principles they would be saved much misery and unhappiness in after years, and would be stronger mentally, morally and physically.

A text comes from Wallace. An actual text too, not a message through the forum app. I gave him my number awhile back, before Halloween, but not because I wanted him to call me or anything. I wrote it on the edge of our conversation paper in homeroom and slid it over to him because sometimes I see something and think, Wallace would laugh at that, I should send him a picture of it, but the messaging app is terrible with pictures and texting is way better. So he texts me now, and it’s a picture. A regular sweet potato pie. Beneath the picture, he says, I really like sweet potato pie. I text back, Yeah, so do I. Then he sends me a picture of his face, frowning, and says, No, you don’t understand. Then another picture, closer, just his eyes. I REALLY like sweet potato pie. A series of pictures comes in several-second intervals. The first is a triangular slice of pie in Wallace’s hand. Then Wallace holding that slice up to his face—it’s soft enough to start collapsing between his fingers. The next one has him stuffing the slice into his mouth, and in the final one it’s all the way in, his cheeks are puffed out like a chipmunk’s, and he’s letting his eyes roll back like it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. I purse my lips to keep my laugh in, but my parents are fine-tuned to the slightest hint of amusement from me, and they both look up. “What’s so funny, Eggs?” Dad says. “Nothing,” I reply. Nothing makes a joke less funny than someone wanting in on it, especially parents. Wow, I say to Wallace. You really like sweet potato pie. He sends one more picture, this one with him embracing the pie pan, gazing lovingly at it. We’re to be married in the spring. An actual laugh escapes me. I really hope Wallace is having a better Thanksgiving than I am. It seems like he is. I take a picture of myself pouting and send it to him, saying, Aw, the cutest of cute couples. ... Another picture from Wallace waits for me. In this one, an empty pie pan littered withcrumbs sits on the floor beside a large knife. Wallace kneels next to it with morecrumbs on his sweater, expression horrified. NOOOO WHAT HAVE I DONE MY LOVE OUR MARRIAGE ’TIS ALL FOR NAUGHT I text back: Oh no!! Not sweet potato bride! Another picture comes: Wallace sprawled on the floor beside the pie pan, one arm thrown over his eyes. Let me only be accused of loving her too much. Wallace is definitely having a better Thanksgiving than me.

but I have just aroused his chivalrous feelings and he is sorry for me, which he has mistaken for something deeper. Once I am gone he will turn to Mary, of that I am certain.’ Sir Hector placed his glass down on the sofa table. He came towards her, swaying a little as he walked. He was so close that she could smell the alcohol on his breath, with just the hint of a Havana cigar. She dropped her gaze, unable to meet his eyes, but he placed his finger beneath her chin, raising her head so that she was forced to look at him. ‘You are a good girl,’ he said thickly. ‘You are very young, but I think that you are old for your years. You don’t have to go, Lucetta my dear. There is an obvious answer to both our problems if you will hear me out.’ She brushed his hand away more in panic than anger. ‘Please don’t, Sir Hector.’ He caught her round the waist, holding her tightly so that her body was pressed against his. ‘You are not a schoolroom miss. You have known what it is to love and want a man, you told me so yourself. I am not trying to seduce you, my dear. I am offering you marriage, respectability, an old family name. In short, Lucetta, I am asking you to marry me. Disregard the gap in our ages, it doesn’t matter. I will do my

Then, just when he thought he’d made it through without delay, he heard an aged, female, and very imperious voice call out his name. “Bridgerton! I say, Bridgerton! Stop at once. I’m speaking to you!” He groaned as he turned about. Lady Danbury, the dragon of the ton. There was simply no way he could ignore her. He had no idea how old she was. Sixty? Seventy? Whatever her age, she was a force of nature, and no one ignored her. “Lady Danbury,” he said, trying not to sound resigned as he reined in his mount. “How nice to see you.” “Good gad, boy,” she barked, “you sound as if you’ve just taken an antidote. Perk up!” Anthony smiled weakly. “Where’s your wife?” “I’m looking for her right now,” he replied, “or at least I was.” Lady Danbury was far too sharp to miss his pointed hint, so he could only deduce that she ignored him apurpose when she said, “I like your wife.” “I like her, too.” “Never could understand why you were so set on courting her sister. Nice gel, but clearly not for you.” She rolled her eyes and let out an indignant huff. “The world would be a much happier place if people would just listen to me before they up and got married,” she added. “I could have the entire Marriage Mart matched up in a week.” “I’m sure you could.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you patronizing me?” “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Anthony said with complete honesty. “Good. You always seemed like the sensible sort.

His face softened and he leaned down and covered her mouth with his. Dark and dirty, hot and horny, sweet and utterly seductive. Damn, the man could kiss. "I want you inside me." She swallowed hard. "I want...you." "You have me---all of me." He pushed deep, filling her, stretching her, making her feel every inch of him. His smoldering eyes watched her intently, sending a current of need arrowing straight to her core. When she moaned, he moved his hips in just the right way to hit her most sensitive spot. Pleasure licked through her body and she surged toward the peak. "Don't stop." "No chance of that." His gaze didn't leave hers as he pulled out and thrust again, his hips moving hard and fast, arms braced on either side of her. The world fell away until there was only Jay, his scent, his heat, his muscles tightening and releasing, and his eyes locked on her like she truly was the most beautiful woman in the world. Heart-squeezing tenderness and wild heat. She came in a roll of pleasure, a soul-deep release as she let herself go. Jay followed her with a quiet shudder that ripped the tension out of his muscular body with a groan. "Fuck." He fell forward, his body covering hers, taking his weight on his elbows beside her. Small kisses to her lips made her feel seen and not forgotten. "We just did." She looked up to her hands and he released them with one tug. "Touch me, sweetheart. I want to feel your hands on me." She held him close for what seemed like forever, breathing in his scent of sex and sweat and the lingering hint of his cologne.

Would have attracted him once. . . . Suddenly, like a thing that leaped to him across infinite distances with the speed of light, desire (salt, black, ravenous, unanswerable desire) took him by the throat. The merest hint will convey to those who have felt it the quality of the emotion which now shook him, like a dog shaking a rat; for others, no description perhaps will avail. Many writers speak of it in terms of lust: a description admirably illuminating from within, totally misleading from without. It has nothing to do with the body. But it is in two respects like lust as lust shows itself to be in the deepest and darkest vault of its labyrinthine house. For like lust, it disenchants the whole universe. Everything else that Mark had ever felt—love, ambition, hunger, lust itself—appeared to have been mere milk and water, toys for children, not worth one throb of the nerves. The infinite attraction of this dark thing sucked all other passions into itself: the rest of the world appeared blenched, etiolated, insipid, a world of white marriages and white masses, dishes without salt, gambling for counters. He could not now think of Jane except in terms of appetite: and appetite here made no appeal. That serpent, faced with the true dragon, became a fangless worm. But it was like lust in another respect also. It is idle to point out to the perverted man the horror of his perversion: while the fierce fit is on, that horror is the very spice of his craving. It is ugliness itself that becomes, in the end, the goal of his lechery; beauty has long since grown too weak a stimulant.

We’ve known his family forever. He doesn’t seem to care about the scandal in ours, and he’s an excellent shot-“ “That would certainly be at the top of my list of requirements for a husband,” Minerva broke in, eyes twinkling. “’Must be able to hit a bull’s-eye at fifty paces.’” “Fifty paces? Are you mad? It would have to be a hundred at least.” Her sister burst into laughter. “Forgive me for not knowing what constitutes sufficient marksmanship for your prospective mate.” Her gaze grew calculating. “I heart that Jackson is a very good shot. Gabe said he beat everyone today, even you.” “Don’t remind me,” Celia grumbled. “Gabe also said he won a kiss from you.” “Yes, and he gave me a peck on the forehead,” Celia said, still annoyed by that. “As if I were some…some little girl.” “Perhaps he was just trying to be polite.” Celia sighed. “Probably. I didn’t kiss you “properly” today because I was afraid if I did I might not stop. “The thing is…” Celia bit her lower lip and wondered just how much she should reveal to her sister. But she had to discuss this with someone, and she knew she could trust Minerva. Her sister had never betrayed a confidence. “That wasn’t the first time Jackson kissed me. Nor the last.” Minerva nearly choked on her chocolate. “Good Lord, Celia, don’t say such things when I’m drinking something hot!” Carefully she set her cup on the bedside table. “He kissed you?” She seized Celia’s free hand. “More than once?” Celia nodded. Her sister cast her eyes heavenward. “And yet you’re debating whether to enter into a marriage of convenience with Lyons.” Then she looked alarmed. “You did want the man to kiss you, right?” “Of course I wanted-“ She caught herself. “He didn’t force me, if that’s what you’re asking. But neither has Jackson…I mean, Mr. Pinter…offered me anything important.” “He hasn’t mentioned marriage?” “No.” Concern crossed Minerva’s face. “And love? What of that?” “That neither.” She set her own cup on the table, then dragged a blanket up to her chin. “He’s just kissed me. A lot.” Minerva left the bed to pace in front of the fireplace. “With men, that’s how it starts sometimes. They desire a woman first. Love comes later.” Unless they were drumming up desire for a woman for some other reason, the way Ned had. “Sometimes all they feel for a woman is desire,” Celia pointed out. “Sometimes love never enters into it. Like Papa with his females.” “Mr. Pinter doesn’t strike me as that sort.” “Well, he didn’t strike me as having an ounce of passion until he started kissing me.” Minerva shot her a sly glance. “How is his kissing?” Heat rose in her cheeks. “It’s very…er…inspiring.” Much better than Ned’s, to be sure. “That’s rather important in a husband,” Minerva said dryly. “And what of the duke? Has he kissed you?” “Once. It was…not so inspiring.” She leaned forward. “But he’s offering marriage, and Jackson hasn’t even hinted at it.” “You shouldn’t settle for a marriage of convenience. Especially if you prefer Jackson.” I don’t believe in marriages of convenience. Given your family’s history, I would think that you wouldn’t, either. Celia balled the blanket into a knot. That was easy for Jackson to say-he didn’t have a scheming grandmother breathing down his neck. For that matter, neither did Minerva.

Very well-why don't you make your case?" And perhaps if she listened and closely observed, she might get some hint of what, beneath the words, behind his so often impassive mask, was really going on inside him. "Your case beyond the obvious social imperatives, that is." "Difficult given my case is based on the obvious social imperatives." "Nevertheless, you might at least try to find a broader foundation." From the corner of her eye, she saw him look up as if imploring divine aid-or perhaps more prosaically asking why me?-and had to hide a smile. Eventually he lowered his head and leveled his hazel gaze at her. "All right-let's try for a broader perspective. You're a Cynster, well bred, well connected, well dowered, and more than passably attractive." She inclined her head. "Thank you, kind sir." "Don't thank me yet. You're also opinionated, willful to a fault, argumentative, and at times irrationally stubborn. Be that as it may, for some reason I don't comprehend, we managed to run along reasonably well through the last week or so, when we had a common goal. I take that as an indication that, were we to marry and jointly take on the common goal of managing my father's estate, the estate that will in time be ours, we would again find ourselves on common ground, enough at least to make a marriage work." He'd surprised her. Leaning back, she looked at him. He'd angled his shoulders into the curve of the wall, stretching one arm along the upper edge, long legs stretched out so that his boots brushed her hems. At ease, relaxed and debonair, he appeared the epitome of the sophisticated London rake, which, of course, he was. He was also an enigma. At some point during their hike through the mountains, she'd realized that no matter what he allowed her to see, there was something different, something even more attractive, beneath his polished veneer. "You'd share the responsibilities of running the estate?" She hasn't expected him to speak of such matters. "If you wished to involve yourself with it.

Look at that ship. That clipper cost me a queen’s ransom, even with the Kestrel thrown in the bargain. But it was the fastest ship to be had.” He took her hands in his. “Forget money. Forget society. Forget expectations. We’ve no talent for following rules, remember? We have to follow our hearts. You taught me that.” He gathered her to him, drawing her hands to his chest. “God, sweet, don’t you know? You’ve had my heart in your pocket since the day we met. Following my heart means following you. I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if I have to.” He shot an amused glance at the captain. “Though I’d expect your good captain would prefer I didn’t. In fact, I think he’d gladly marry us today, just to be rid of me.” “Today? But we couldn’t.” His eyebrows lifted. “Oh, but we could.” He pulled her to the other side of the ship, slightly away from the gaping crowd. Wrapping his arms around her, he leaned close to whisper in her ear, “Happy birthday, love.” Sophia melted in his embrace. It was her birthday, wasn’t it? The day she’d been anticipating for months, and here she’d forgotten it completely. Until Gray had appeared on the horizon, she hadn’t been looking forward to anything. But now she did. She looked forward to marriage, and children, and love and grand adventure. Real life and true passion. All of it with this man. “Oh, Gray.” “Please say yes,” he whispered. “Sophia.” The name was a caress against her ear. “I love you.” He kissed her cheek and pulled away. “I’ve been remiss in not telling you. You can’t know how I’ve regretted it. But I love you, Sophia Jane Hathaway. I love you as no man ever loved a woman. I love you so much, I fear I’ll burst with it. In fact, I think I shall burst if I go another minute without kissing you, so if you’ve any mind to say yes, I’d thank you to-“ Sophia flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. Hard at first, to quiet the fool man; then gently, to savor him. oh, how she loved the taste of him, like freshly baked bread and rum. Warm and wholesome and comforting, with just a hint of spice and danger. “Yes,” she sighed against his lips. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Yes, I will marry you.” His arms tightened about her waist. “Today?” “Today. But you must let me change my gown first.” Smiling, she stroked his smooth cheek. “You even shaved.” “Every day since we left Tortola.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I’ve a few new scars to show for it.” “Good.” She kissed him. “I’m glad. And I don’t care if society casts us out for the pirates we are, just as long as I’m with you.” “Oh, I don’t know that we’ll be cast out, exactly. We’re definitely not pirates. After your stirring testimony”-he chucked her under the chin-“Fitzhugh decided to make the best of an untenable situation. Or an unhangable pirate, as it were. If he couldn’t advance on his career by convicting me, he figured he’d advance it by commending me. Awarded me the Kestrel as salvage and recommended me to the governor for a special citation of valor. There’s talk of knighthood.” He grinned. “Can you believe it? Me, a hero.” “Of course I believe it.” She laced her fingers at the back of his neck. “I’ve always known it, although I should curse that judge and his ‘citation of valor.’ As if you needed a fresh supply of arrogance. Just remember, whatever they deem you-gentleman or scoundrel, hero or pirate-you are mine.” “So I am.” He kissed her soundly, passionately. “And which would you prefer tonight?” At the seductive grown in his voice, shivers of arousal swept down to her toes. “Your gentleman? Your scoundrel? Your hero or your pirate?” She laughed. “I imagine I’ll enjoy all four on occasion. But tonight, I believe I shall find tremendous joy in simply calling you my husband.” He rested his forehead against hers. “My love.” “That, too.

His gaze was frankly warm as he looked at Joanna. “There is a matter Royce and I need to discuss.” Royce nodded, looking serious yet pleased, as though it were all quite clear to him. It was not to Joanna. “And what would that be?” she asked. The two men exchanged a glance. “The marriage settlement,” Royce reminded her gently. “Oh…oh!” How suddenly her cheeks could heat and how surprising, all things considered. “Well, as to that, I hate to quibble, but I haven’t actually received a proposal.” It was very bad of her, as she knew, but still enjoyable. Instantly, her brother’s countenance changed. Gone was any hint of relaxed good humor. In its place was all the stern authority of the Lord of Hawkforte. “You haven’t?” he inquired, and looked to Alex. Who swiftly moved to make amends. There in the ancient hall of Hawkforte, where so many generations of lords and ladies had lived and loved, the proud Prince of Akora knelt, took his beloved’s hand in his, and bid her be his wife. There she, heedless of her brother, who at any rate looked on kindly, sank to her knees beside the man she could cherish through all eternity and joyfully pledged her heart. And in that moment, it was as though the great hall thronged with a ll those who had gone before and found in the blessing of love life everlasting.

To my Charley on his wedding day – I know you think these notes are silly. I have watched you scrunch your face over the years when I give them to you. But understand that sometimes I want to tell you something and I want to get it just right. Putting it down on paper helps me do that. I wish I had been a better writer. I wish I had gone to college. If I had, I think I would have studied English and maybe my vocabulary would have improved. So many times I feel I am using the same words over and over, like a woman wearing the same dress every day. So boring! What I want to say to you, Charley, is you are marrying a wonderful girl. I think of Catherine in many ways like I think of Roberta. Like a daughter. She is sweet and patient. You should be the same with her, Charley. Here is what you are going to find out about marriage: you have to work at it together. And you have to love three things. You have to love 1) Each other 2) Your children (When you have some! Hint! Hint!) 3) Your marriage What I mean by the last one is, there may be times that you fight, and sometimes you and Catherine won’t even like each other. But those are the times you have to love your marriage. It’s like a third party. Look at your wedding photos. Look at any memories you’ve made. And if you believe in those memories, they will pull you back together. I’m very proud of you today, Charley. I am putting this in your tuxedo pocket because I know how you lose things. I love you every day. Mom

In spite of the death of the big croc, I felt that our time at Cattle Creek had been superb. Even before we got back to the zoo and saw the footage, there was a hint in the air that something special had been accomplished. We were elated at saving one crocodile and bitterly disappointed at the one that had been shot. Perhaps Steve felt the failure to save the Cattle Creek croc from poachers more strongly than I did. He was normally an action man, focused on his next project. I wasn’t used to him being gloomy or fixated on mortality. But he kept asking me to promise him that I’d keep the zoo going if something happened to him. “Promise me,” he said, wanting me to say it out loud. I solemnly promised him that I would keep the zoo going. “But nothing’s going to happen,” I said lightly, “because the secret to being a great conservationist is living a long time.” On the drive back to the zoo, we had talked for a long time, a marathon conversation. We didn’t know whether our Cattle Creek documentary would make a huge difference or not. But we agreed that through our zoo and our shared life together, we would try to change the world. I told him about my days at the vet hospital in Oregon, and the times I’d sit on the floor and weep, I’d be so overwhelmed by the pain and suffering visited upon innocent animals. But that burden seemed much easier to bear now, because I had someone to share it with. Steve truly understood how I felt. And I was someone who could sympathize with the depth of his dedication to wildlife. There was a big wide world out there. We were just a small wildlife park in Australia. It was absurd to think the two of us could change the world. But our love seemed to make the impossible appear not only possible, but inevitable. I look back on the talk we had during the ride to the zoo from Cattle Creek as helping to create the basis of our marriage. No matter what problems came along, we were determined to stay together, because side by side we could face anything.

Iris Whitney, a former showgirl that frequented Malachy’s bar on Third Avenue, became my friend with a story. The same year that I had graduated from High School, she had been frolicking with John Garfield in her two room Gramercy Park apartment. On May 21, 1952 Garfield was found dead of a heart attack, in her bed. When I first met Iris I didn’t know anything about this but even if I had, all I can say is that I enjoyed her company and survived the experience. Of course she denied having been intimate with the actor the night that he died and added that John had not been feeling well. When the police arrived and had to break the door down, her explanation was that she thought that they were newspaper men. Several years later, in Connecticut, I had the occasion to talk about old times and some of these events, to the popular stage and screen actor Byron Barr better known as “Gig Young.” Sitting with my wife Ursula and Young at the open bar alongside the Candlewood Theatre, in New Fairfield during the summer of 1978, everything seemed normal. Coincidentally I also knew his former wife Elizabeth Montgomery who was married to him from 1956 to 1963, since she was my neighbor living on the nearby Cushman road in Patterson New York,. On October 19, 1978, two months after seeing Young, I read that he had shot his wife Kim Schmidt and committed suicide only three weeks after their marriage. Apparently Young had shot his wife and then turned the gun on himself. They were both found dead in their Manhattan apartment but the police never established a motive for the murder-suicide. I knew that he liked to drink and this may have been a part of the problem, but he always seemed congenial and there was no hint that it would ever come to this.

His marriage is on the skids. He told me so." I laugh minus even a hint of humor. "Oh, ho, ho. Of course he's going to tell you that. What do you think he'd tell you- that he loves his wife and that things are just hunky dory between them? That's not how these things work, in case you were too busy with your heavy petting to notice." "Heavy petting?" "Yeah. Heavy petting. I should've directed the two of you over to the Tisch Zoo where petting is encouraged.

Don’t insult my intelligence,” Dustin said, almost sneering now. “I know you have your little scheme to get married by thirty.” Rae felt like she’d been slapped. She wanted to slap back, but that would just be cruel, hitting someone who was already down, so she turned the fury inward. She must’ve set some of the marriage pressure on Dustin’s sunken shoulders, making him feel like being her boyfriend wasn’t enough for her. Or maybe it had been her mom’s tactless hints that she wanted to be around to see her grandkids grow up, or even his own mom’s comments over New Year’s about how it was about time Dustin brought home a nice girl and settled down like his brothers.

had been the only time during their marriage she had hinted at the motivations behind her philanthropic work, revealing the dark heart of ego that beat underneath.

Get Relational 15 MIN 1. While holding hands or cuddling, spend several minutes telling each other the qualities you enjoy about your partner. Be sure to look into your lover’s eyes and try to include moments you observed these qualities in action. 5 MIN EXAMPLE: I really like how generous and thoughtful you are. Just today you surprised me with my favorite bag of coffee beans that you know I love! 2. Notice how you feel when giving and receiving appreciation. Talk about what you notice as you practiced the previous step. 3 MIN 3. Take some time kissing like you did when you were first married. 2 MIN HINT: You may want to brush your teeth first if you had onions or garlic for lunch. 4. Close with several minutes of quiet cuddling and resting together. 5 MIN

Nel's indifference to his hints about marriage disappeared altogether when she discovered his pain. Jude could see himself taking shape in her eyes. She actually wanted to help, to soothe, and was it true what Ajax said in the Time and a Half Pool Hall? That all they want man, is they own misery. Ax em to die for you and they yours for life.

When is it best to give up on a major life goal? Early in my career, I always encouraged patients to keep trying, keep trying, don’t let your depression symptoms fool you into thinking you can’t succeed. Often that was good advice. Some applicants get into medical school the fourth time they apply. Some singers land a gig with the Grand Ole Opry after their fifth year in Nashville. But more become increasingly despondent as failure follows failure. Sometimes a five-year engagement turns into marriage. Sometimes staying another year in LA trying to break into film pays off. But not often. Sober experience combined with my growing evolutionary perspective to encourage respecting the meaning of my patients’ moods. As often as not, their symptoms seemed to arise from a deep recognition that some major life project was never going to work. She was glad he wanted to live with her, but it looks increasingly like he will never agree to get married. The boss is nice now and then and hints at promotions, but nothing will ever come of it. Hopes for cancer cures get aroused, but all treatments so far have failed. He has stayed off booze for two weeks, but a dozen previous vows to stay on the wagon have all ended in binges. Low mood is not always an emanation from a disordered brain; it can be a normal response to pursuing an unreachable goal.

Feminism and other ideologies have seeped into the modern psyche, affecting how we view relationships. Instead of seeing each other as humans, partners, or soulmates—people who support one another through low points and show genuine care—we’re quick to label our partners at the first hint of an "ism." From there, things tend to spiral. A marriage should be about being true life partners, setting aside social politics, which have no place in a relationship.

The lord of the house is not at home, Your Majesty,” she informed me. “Is there anything I can do for you?” “I actually came to see Lord Steldor, if you would escort me to his room.” Now she seemed intrigued, for the reasons behind the annulment of my marriage to the former King had been kept quiet. I could read on her face her desire to eavesdrop. “Certainly, although I don’t know if His Majesty has risen.” “He has,” I said without thought. Not once during our marriage had I woken before him, and I doubted his sleep patterns had changed. With a puzzled glance, she led me up the stairs and into a hallway, stopping before the second door. She knocked on my behalf, and gave another small curtsey when Steldor’s voice invited entry. I opened the door, waiting for her to return to the first floor before entering, catching her regretful glance that she could not dally. Steldor was sitting up on the bed across the room, his legs swung over the side, pulling a shirt carefully over his head. “Should you be doing that so soon?” I asked, for it had only been a week since the lashing. The garment fell over his muscular chest, and he ran a hand through his dark hair. He came to his feet with the hint of a wince. “Making sure I’m cared for is no longer your worry. I’m not certain it ever was.” His mood was a bit dark, and I wondered if I should have given him more time to recover before paying him this visit. “Perhaps what you need is someone to keep you from coming to harm in the first place.” He smirked, turning his back to me to idly straighten his bed coverings. “What is it--did you come here to coddle me or lecture me?” “Both, I suppose.” I was frowning, amazed at how swiftly we had fallen into our old patterns. “I’ve come to talk--and to give you this.” He swiveled to face me as I removed his silver wolf’s head talisman from the pocket of my cloak. “I never expected to see that again,” he said, sounding awed. “Did you face the bitch yourself or get it from Narian?” I smiled at his word choice. “I approached Rava myself--I’ve been known to face down a bitch or two.” He stepped forward to take the pendant from my hand and immediately slipped the chain over his head. “Thank you. I feel better already.” “If you don’t mind my asking, what is the significance of the talisman? When I reclaimed it from Rava, she remarked that it might provide power and protection, and that started me thinking about its purpose.” He chuckled ruefully. “I hate to admit it, but Rava’s right. The wolf brings strength and protection. Depending on the mix of herbs and flowers put inside the talisman, other properties can be added, such as health and healing. The captain gave the pendant to me when I was four, following the death of Terek, at the time I was sent to live with Baelic and Lania. He didn’t want me to think he’d abandoned me or that I was in danger. It was originally his, and his father’s before him. I’ve worn it ever since.” “Then I’m very glad I was able to secure its return.” His eyes met mine, and the color rose in my cheeks, for I was still affected to some degree by his handsome features and soldier’s build. “I suppose that concludes the coddling,” he finally said, crossing his arms and watching me expectantly. “Yes, I suppose it does.

I hear that among the younger generation couples sometimes maintain one large bedroom for husband and wife. I suppose that this is the hallmark of an intelligent use of space, and after all, the species must be propagated. Still, I prefer the older people's way of doing things: two well-appointed bedrooms, one each for husband and wife, an arrangement that prevents the revelation of so many irksome facts.... -Van Kamp's Guide To Housekeeping For Ladies Of High Society, 1899 Edition

Eve?” Her shoulders jerked. “I can’t breathe. Don’t come any closer.” He hadn’t heard that hysterical note in a woman’s voice since his sister had learned she was to be sold in marriage to a brute of a stranger. The same cold chill shot down his spine as he went to Eve. “Go away, Lucas.” She held a hand straight out, as if she could stop him so easily. “This is—” The breath she drew in was loud, rasping, and heart wrenching. He got his arms around her, the only alternative to tackling her if she tried to run off. “Eve, it’s all right.” “Go away, damn you. Just leave me alone. It will never be all right.” A hint of tears—tears were far preferable to this cold silence. “I’m not going anywhere.” “I can’t breathe… Lucas, I can’t—” He cradled the back of her head, tucking her against his chest. “Then don’t breathe, but for the love of God, cry, Evie.” He

Why won’t you give up this silly idea of homesteading?” Gertrude went on. Her tone of voice was moderate, but her blue eyes were snapping. “I can’t help thinking you’re just being stubborn, Lily. Caleb is well able to provide for you, I assure you. He comes from one of the finest families in Pennsylvania—I’ve known the Hallidays a long time.” Lily looked down at the floor for a moment, gathering her courage. “You wouldn’t understand,” she said softly. Gertrude sighed. “Do sit down,” she told Lily kindly, taking a chair herself. “Now what is it that I would find so difficult to understand?” “I love Caleb very much,” Lily began in a shaky voice, “but I’m not the woman for him.” Mrs. Tibbet raised her eyebrows. “Oh? And why not?” Lily leaned forward in her chair and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think I may be like my mother.” “How so?” Mrs. Tibbet asked, smoothing her skirts. “She was—she drank. And there were men. Lots of men.” “Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Tibbet seriously. “And you drink?” Lily swallowed. “Well—no.” “Then there are men.” “Only Caleb,” Lily said quietly. “But he can make me do and say the most shameful things. I’m so afraid it’s because I’m—er—hot-blooded.” Mrs. Tibbet looked as though she might be trying to suppress a smile. “You wouldn’t be the first girl who’d given herself to a man before marriage, Lily. It isn’t a wise course of action, but it happens often enough.” Lily drew in a deep breath. “I suppose the drinking would come later,” she said, discounting Mrs. Tibbet’s remarks as mere kindness. “And then the men. No, I’m sure I’m better off going on with my life just as I’ve planned.” There was a rap at the door, and then Velvet put her head inside. “Pardon, missus, but dinner’s ready, and the men say they’re going to eat without you if you don’t hurry.” “We’ll be there in a moment,” Mrs. Tibbet answered. “And tell the men that if they don’t wait, they’ll have me to deal with.” “Yes, ma’am,” Velvet replied with a hint of laughter in her voice. The door closed with a click. Mrs. Tibbet turned back to her guest. “If you were my own daughter, Lily, I would tell you the same thing. You couldn’t do better than Caleb Halliday if you searched the world over for a man. Don’t throw away a chance at real happiness—it might be the only one you get.” Lily pushed herself out of her chair and went to stand at the window. From there she could see the moon rising above the roof of the house next door; it looked as though it had just squeezed out of the chimney. “Sometimes I think I know what I want. I’ll decide that I want to marry Caleb and forget all about having a homestead. But then I remember what Mama was like.” “Lily, you’re not your mother.” “No,” Lily agreed sadly, turning to face Mrs. Tibbet, her hands clasped in front of her. “But Mama was young and happy once, and she must have thought she was in love with my father. She married him, she had his children. And then something changed, and she began to drink. Papa went away—I don’t even remember him—and the men started coming around, one after the other …” Gertrude came to take Lily’s hands in her own. “Things will be different for you,” she said quietly. “You’re strong, and so is Caleb. Oh, Lily, don’t be afraid to take a chance.” At that moment the colonel thundered from the hallway that he was going to have his supper right then whether the women cared to come to the table or not, and Lily smiled. “I promise I’ll think things through very carefully, Mrs. Tibbet.” “Don’t take too long,” Gertrude answered, ushering her toward the door of the study. “Fate can take the strangest twists and turns, sealing us off from someone when we least expect it.” At

What Wiesenfeld meant by “alternative,” and what was hinted by RBG’s use of the phrase life partner was a marriage in which the woman didn’t lose herself and her autonomy, in which two humans shared their lives and goals on equal footing.

A surprise isn't a surprise if you blow it ahead of time." She shook her head. "That sounds a lot like 'a wish won't come true unless you say it out loud.'" The words were out of her mouth before she could bit them back. The last thing she needed was for either of them to be thinking about their real-life kiss in this land of make-believe. With a hint of a grin, Trent lifted her chin with his fingers and smoothed the pad of his thumb across her lips. "And look how well that worked out for me." Cyn's heart surged, her pulse rushing like the water over the falls. Was he going to kiss her again? Trent pulled her close, anchoring her against him on the slippery rocks. He threaded his fingers through her hair, cupped the back of her neck, and kissed her lightly, tentatively. Cyn tensed a moment, then relaxed as she gave in and pressed her palms to his pecs, grasping handfuls of firm muscle. The camera was rolling, after all, but it wouldn't capture the sparks firing through her. She'd replayed the wish-upon-a-star kiss in her mind so many times, thinking how incredible it was with Trent - that elusive chemistry she hadn't found with anyone else. But as the weeks had passed, she'd wondered if she imagined it. This kiss made her believe that she hadn't. The softness of his lips. The sensual sweep of his tongue. The pressure of his hand at the small of her back. His skin was warm and wet against hers. She was nearly dizzy with sensation as he trailed light kisses along her jawline and whispered in her ear. "Even better than last time.

Don’t you want to know what your father and I discussed?” “No. I mean, not unless you want me to know. I understand that you might want to keep that conversation private.” “Really? That’s very mature of you.” He leaned back on the chaise, closing his eyes, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. “Thank you.” She folded her hands in her lap, not knowing what to say. She couldn’t ask. That wasn’t very ladylike. They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, until she was certain she would go mad with curiosity. “Fine! Yes! Of course, I want to know!” Before the words had left her lips, he had started to laugh. “Nine seconds. That’s how long you could go without asking.” She smiled. “Truly? It felt like much longer. A quarter of an hour at least.” He laughed again, pulling her to him, letting her rest her head on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear, slow and steady. When he spoke, she felt the words as much as she heard them. “We talked about my being in love with you. And about my wanting to court you.” Her heart began to pound. “And what did he say?” “He launched into a remarkably detailed lecture regarding the proper order of events when making this kind of request. Specifically, he thought the father should be consulted before the daughter runs any risk whatsoever of being ruined.” She winced, flushing with embarrassment at the idea that her father thought she might be ruined. She looked up at him and said, “What did you say?” “You have beautiful eyes.” “You told my father that he has beautiful eyes?” He smiled. “No. You distracted me. I told your father that, while I was very grateful for the lesson, I doubted I would ever have need of it again—because I was planning to court only one woman in my lifetime.” Her breath caught. “And what did he say?” “Does it matter?” “Not entirely, no.” “You realize that if you allow me to court you, all your opposition to marriage is going to have to be reconsidered.” She smiled, feigning innocence. “What opposition to marriage?” “Excellent.” “But I am thinking we should have a long courtship.” “Why?” He looked surprised. “Because I find I’ve developed a taste for adventure.” “That sounds dangerous. Not at all in character for a delicate flower.” She laughed. “We know I’ve never been good at being a delicate flower. Besides, it shan’t be too dangerous.” “How can you be so sure?” She smiled brilliantly at him, taking his breath away. “Because, on my next adventure, I’ll have you by my side.” He

This wasn’t about making a baby. We needed this. For a moment, I feel a hint of relief that we’ve mended a crack between us. Is it enough to save our marriage? I don’t know, but I have to believe every little moment is enough.

How to Choose a Wedding Planner? – Nova DJs Sydney Are you interested in hiring a wedding planner? Then it’s time to choose the best fit for your party, and I’m saying it’s a complicated task. It’s not just hiring the first company with a beautiful website and beautiful pictures on the Internet. After all, it’s easy to do. Organizing a perfect wedding is hard! But follow our tips and choose the ideal wedding advice! Salient Feature: The ideal mentor should be a cheerful person, someone charming, who leaves you to give ideas and talk freely about the great day. You have to be a friend, be someone you trust. Imagine, it would be months of organizing, holding meetings, and planning the details together. At least a trace of sympathy is required. It should also be organized and committed to its work. Knowledge should be comprehensive with knowledge in various areas of wedding, such as sound, lighting, wedding dresses, buffet, etc., everything to quickly identify what is best for your wedding. Choose Based on Opinion The Internet is an inexhaustible source of information. And when it comes to finding out the truth about suppliers, this is the best place. View testimonials from the bride and groom who have already used the planner to find out their impressions and results. Take recommendations and avoid people who have a lot of complaints. Marriage History Check out the types of weddings the planner has helped put together. Do they fit what you want? For example, if you dream of a rustic wedding, hiring a consultant who does many luxurious weddings will not combine much and delay the process of organizing the wedding. When the planner is familiar with his style, finding the best suppliers is much faster and more effective. Trust the Planner As we say, the planner is the one you should trust and feel comfortable with while organizing the wedding. This is a person who has come to add and help, not a foot behind your opinion. Trust the professional with all your heart, that everything will be perfect! Be Concerned with 100% Preparation While some people don’t trust, others can imagine too much! What could never happen! The planner is the wedding assistant, not the one who has to do it all by himself. Stay on top of whatever you are doing. work together with him. Together, you will conquer the dream! Beware of Cheap Options You always have one company which is much cheaper than others. But as the saying goes, “You get what you paid for.” Instead of charging you the rate, the consultant may include the amount in the suppliers’ budget, making everything a little more expensive than the others and making the expense practically the same. so watch out! Remember the hint of the opinion of the bride and groom wedding planner for a destination wedding For those who are going to get married outside the city or country, it is important to have a consultant. However, he or she should know at least a little bit about the place where you intend to get married in order to accommodate the culture of the place to the style of wedding you expect. Knowledge of suppliers, in this case, will be a significant advantage for you in ensuring that everything goes according to plan. Check here for some references for the best wedding vendors and Wedding DJs in NSW, Australia.

Delicious shivers slid down her spine as she assessed his cool, sensual face. His eyes were the deepest shade of brown, dark like the forest floor she'd hidden on before she'd taken a chance to claim victory for her team. A hint of a cleft in his chin and full lips in a beautifully shaped mouth softened what might have otherwise been a severe expression. As his gaze raked up and down her body, her nipples tightened and she crossed her arms over her chest, silently thanking the '80s for her massive puffball sleeves.

Aileen had always felt so sorry for Mildred – too tall, that fiery hair, no money, a domineering personality that meant she wouldn’t, couldn’t, perhaps, stoop and draw herself in and down so as to be appealing and fragile, someone a young man would want to protect and care for. Aileen had only ever seen the ways these things made Mildred a bad proposition for marriage –

In Veyne’s opinion, the emergence of this austere morality was the “great unnoticed event” that separated the freewheeling sexual mores of classical Greeks and Romans from the hard-bitten, ascetically inclined moralists of the second and third centuries. Far from being easygoing gentlemen (as they had usually been portrayed, with more than a hint of approval), the Romans of the Antonine Age were a somber lot. They passed on to the Christian church icy views on sex and marriage that would last in Europe until modern times.

Rare glimpses of the man I know my husband to be have sustained our marriage. In these sporadic moments, I catch a hint of hope on the horizon. All I need to keep working and fighting and trying is a glimmer of that, just every now and again.

With a quick glance into the room, noting the inquiring faces, Lydia reached out for Robert's waistcoat and slowly pulled him into the shadows. "There is one matter that counts above all else. Do you love me?" This time, there was no hesitation. "With all my heart, until the day I die, and beyond, if there is an afterlife." A flood of relief washed over Lydia, leaving her speechless... for all of a moment. "Then, I will marry you, if you will ask." Before he had a chance to say anything, Lydia leaned forward. She wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her mouth to his. She could feel his heart pounding out a quick-time rhythm as he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. When their lips met, she thought her insides would melt into a puddle of ecstasy. Filled with a delicious, undefined longing, Lydia leaned in closer, wishing that she could stay locked in his arms forever. But all too soon, Robert lifted his head, taking a ragged breath. "Lydia, my dove?" "Yes, Robert?" "I have just thoroughly compromised you." "Thoroughly...what ever shall we do?" "We will have to announce our intention this very evening -- before there is any hint of a scandal." "Excellent idea. What are our intentions?" Robert chuckled and leaner over to kiss her forehead, but Lydia lifted herself up on her toes, initiating another session of excellent compromising. "Lydia, my dove?" Robert said again eventually. "Yes, Robert." "Will you grant me the great privilege of your hand in marriage?" Lydia closed her eyes and savored his proposal---the offer of a union for life. Exquisite joy, overwhelming and eternal, filled her to the brim; the sensation was so marvelous that she forgot to breathe for a time. The air around them stilled, as did Robert. He was waiting. How could he not know her answer? She had encouraged the proposal. And still he waited. Lydia opened her eyes and grinned. "I would be honored." The relief on his face nearly brought tears to her eyes. She lifted her hand and cupped his chin. "I would be honored," she repeated. "I love you so very much." As her future husband lowered his head once again, Lydia sighed dreamily. "We should go in," she whispered, tightening her hold, preventing him from going anywhere. "Absolutely," he said, nibbling at her lower lip. All thoughts of ballrooms and inquisitive glances were instantly drowned by the flow of marvelous sensations coursing through her body and a sudden desire to drag Robert deeper into the shadows. They would go back into the ballroom soon...but not yet.

Together, the two of you will create a family. Perhaps there will be biological children or adopted children, perhaps not. Perhaps you will live to celebrate sixty-three years of marriage, as Nonie and Pops did, perhaps not. Perhaps you will always be madly in love, perhaps you will not. Life is uncertain, especially given the current state of the world, but what you are doing today is permanent. The two of you will be bound together through this life and the next, in a way that I do not understand but know to be true. I say all of this to scare you just a little,”—he offered me a hint of a smile—“to make sure you are in fact aware that what you are committing to today is not the stuff of fairy tales, it is not about happily ever after. It is about real life, real struggles, real disagreements, and real love. It will not be easy … but it will be worth it.

When the New Testament calls wives to be in subjection to their husbands, there is no hint of female inferiority. That notion is neither explicitly stated or implied. When the idea is wrenched out of Scripture, it is done so by twisted minds. What is called for is a division of labor in the economy of marriage. The role of leadership is assigned to the man and not to the woman.

Chimpanzees are our nearest living relatives, and offer hints as to how our distant ancestors may have behaved. Chimps live in bands within territories, and show a ferocious in-group out-group consciousness. It has long been known that males drive off intruders from other bands and kill their young if they can. Psychologists watching chimps in Uganda found that even females are murderously territorial. On three occasions they saw females drive off invaders and kill their babies. People often behave according to genetic similarity theory, and the scholar who has probably written most extensively in this field is J. Philippe Rushton of the University of Western Ontario. “Genetically similar people tend to seek one another out and to provide mutually supportive environments such as marriage, friendship, and social groups,” he has written. For example, spouses tend to resemble each other, not just in age, ethnicity, and education (r = 0.6) but in opinions and attitudes (r = 0.5), intelligence (r = 0.4), and even in such things as personality and physical traits (r = 0.2). They are even like each other in undesirable traits such as aggressiveness, criminality, alcoholism, and mental disease. It is possible to predict how happy a couple is by know.

Following the Soviet invasion, the Communists, to their credit, passed decrees making girls’ education compulsory and abolishing certain oppressive tribal customs—such as the bride-price, a payment to the bride’s family in return for her hand in marriage. However, by massacring thousands of tribal elders, they paved the way for the “commanders” to step in as the new elite. Aided by American and Saudi patronage, extremism flourished. What had once been a social practice confined to areas deep in the hinterlands now became a political practice, which, according to ideologues, applied to the entire country. The modest gains of urban women were erased. “The first time a woman enters her husband’s house," Heela “told me about life in the countryside, “she wears white”—her wedding dress—“and the first time she leaves, she wears white”—the color of the Muslim funeral shroud. The rules of this arrangement were intricate and precise, and, it seemed to Heela, unchanged from time immemorial. In Uruzgan, a woman did not step outside her compound. In an emergency, she required the company of a male blood relative to leave, and then only with her father’s or husband’s permission. Even the sound of her voice carried a hint of subversion, so she was kept out of hearing range of unrelated males. When the man of the house was not present, boys were dispatched to greet visitors. Unrelated males also did not inquire directly about a female member of the house. Asking “How is your wife?” qualified as somewhere between uncomfortably impolite and downright boorish. The markers of a woman’s life—births, anniversaries, funerals, prayers, feasts—existed entirely within the four walls of her home. Gossip, hopscotching from living room to living room, was carried by husbands or sons.

Where do we start, Sarah?” she asks me. “We? We don’t start anywhere. You aren’t a lawyer nor are you a law enforcement official, so there isn’t a scenario where you get to rummage through evidence or crime scenes or anything else to help Adam. You just need to let me do my job,” I deliver squarely to her. Hopefully, she will take the overt hint and drop the notion of teaming up to save her baby boy. “And how do you expect me to do that?” Of-fucking-course she doesn’t drop it. “Do what, Eleanor?” “Leave this all in your hands. I mean how can we even trust you to do the best job here?

The texture was...unique. Surprisingly gritty yet pliable—a perfect marriage of opposites. The taste was even better: a delightful blend of rancid milk, spoiled eggs, and a hint of copper to really round it off.