Masonic Sayings And Quotes

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Whatever happens”—his grip tightens a little—“I wish you all the best, Benjamin De Backer.” He says it with a smile. “You deserve it.
Mason Deaver (I Wish You All the Best (I Wish You All the Best, #1))
Professor Langdon,' called a young man with curly hair in the back row, 'if Masonry is not a secret society, not a corporation, and not a religion, then what is it?' 'Well, if you were to ask a Mason, he would offer the following definition: Masonry is a system of morality, veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbols.' 'Sounds to me like a euphemism for "freaky cult." ' 'Freaky, you say?' 'Hell yes!' the kid said, standing up. 'I heard what they do inside those secret buildings! Weird candlelight rituals with coffins, and nooses, and drinking wine out of skulls. Now that's freaky!' Langdon scanned the class. 'Does that sound freaky to anyone else?' 'Yes!' they all chimed in. Langdon feigned a sad sigh. 'Too bad. If that's too freaky for you, then I know you'll never want to join my cult.' Silence settled over the room. The student from the Women's Center looked uneasy. 'You're in a cult?' Langdon nodded and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. 'Don't tell anyone, but on the pagan day of the sun god Ra, I kneel at the foot of an ancient instrument of torture and consume ritualistic symbols of blood and flesh.' The class looked horrified. Langdon shrugged. 'And if any of you care to join me, come to the Harvard chapel on Sunday, kneel beneath the crucifix, and take Holy Communion.' The classroom remained silent. Langdon winked. 'Open your minds, my friends. We all fear what we do not understand.
Dan Brown (The Lost Symbol (Robert Langdon, #3))
At any given moment, you have the power to say: This is not how the story is going to end.
Christine Mason Miller
I don’t know, it is a very quiet rebellion. […] I don’t get angry. I sit quietly in the corner and say 'no'.
Bobbie Ann Mason
I-I’m not making advances,” she told him as she flattened herself against his chest. “You’re just an available s-source of heat.” “So you say,” St. Vincent replied lazily, tucking the quilt more tightly around them both. “However, during the past quarter hour you’ve been fondling parts of my anatomy that no one’s ever dared to touch before.” “I v-very much doubt that.” She burrowed even further into the depths of his coat, and added in a muffled voice, “You’ve probably been h-handled more than a hamper at Fortnum and Mason.
Lisa Kleypas (Devil in Winter (Wallflowers, #3))
The first rule for happiness is to avoid lengthy thinking on the past.
John Mason (You Can Do It--Even if Others Say You Can't)
You’re related to her?” I hear Mason say through the door. Then he laughs loudly. He has a great laugh. “Your name is Guy Love?” He barks out a laugh, louder this time. “Ironic, isn’t it?
Cheryl McIntyre (Sometimes Never (Sometimes Never, #1))
Don’t ignore the problems,” he says. “Learn from them. But also, don’t knock what you get right. Every success deserves a celebration.
Mason Deaver (I Wish You All the Best)
Don't ever say that, Fennrys," she said. "I don't ever want to hear you say that you don't deserve or you aren't worthy. You do. You are.
Lesley Livingston (Starling (Starling, #1))
Listen, I know everything you're saying is true. Ellie does need a good man. She needs someone steady. Someone who can offer her a life full of love and security.Unfortunately, she wants me. - Mason
Kathy Love (Wanting What You Get (Stepp Sisters Trilogy, #2))
A pale, slightly luminescent form materialized in front of us. Mason. He looked the same as ever-or did he? The usual sadness was there, but I could see something else, something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. Panic? Frustration? I could have almost sworn it was fear, but honestly, what would a ghost have to be afraid of. "What's wrong?" asked Dimitri. "Do you see him?" I whispered. Dimitri followed my gaze. "See who?" "Mason." Mason's troubled expression grew darker. I might not have been able to adequately identify it, but I knew it wasn't anything good. The nauseous feeling within me intensified, but somehow, I knew it had nothing to do with him. "Rose...we should go back..." said Dimitri carefully. He still wasn't on board with me seeing ghosts. But I didn't move. Mason's face was saying something else to me-or trying to. There was something here, something important that I needed to know. But he couldn't communicate it. "What?" I asked. "What is it?" A look of frustration crossed his face. He pointed off behind me, the dropped his hand. "Tell me," I said, my frustration mirroring his. Dimitri was looking back and forth between me and Mason, though mason was probably only and empty space to him. I was too fixated on Mason to worry what Dimitri might think. There was something here. Something big. Mason opened his mouth, wanting to speak as in previous times but still unable to get the words out. Except, this time, after several agonizing seconds, he managed it. The words were nearly inaudible. "They're...coming....
Richelle Mead (Shadow Kiss (Vampire Academy, #3))
I am not saying you haven't suffered, Martha. But I am saying, grow up. You're not the only one.
Meg Mason (Sorrow and Bliss)
Mia, I told you how I feel. I'm an asshole and I don't say or show how I feel very often, so how about you just fucking enjoy it." -Christopher Mason
Sadie Grubor (Falling Stars (Falling Stars, #1))
Having found the book which has a message for us, let us not be guilty of the folly of saying we have read it. We might as well say we have breakfasted, as if breakfasting on one day should last us for every day! The book that helps us deserves many readings, for assimilation comes by slow degrees.
Charlotte M. Mason (Ourselves)
Normal people say, I can’t imagine feeling so bad I’d genuinely want to die. I do not try and explain that it isn’t that you want to die. It is that you know you are not supposed to be alive, feeling a tiredness that powders your bones, a tiredness with so much fear. The unnatural fact of living is something you must eventually fix.
Meg Mason (Sorrow and Bliss)
Beautiful flowers for my beautiful girl. Cheesy as hell, right? But I know one day you’ll let me say the real words to you. —Jess
S.D. Hendrickson (The Mason List)
Uncle Vernon rounded on Harry. “And you?” “I’ll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I’m not there,” said Harry tonelessly. “Exactly,” said Uncle Vernon nastily. At eight-fifteen—” “I’ll announce dinner,” said Aunt Petunia. “And, Dudley, you’ll say —” “May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?” said Dudley. “And you?” said Uncle Vernon viciously to Harry. “I’ll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I’m not there,” said Harry dully. “Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. “How about — ‘We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you.’” This was too much for both Aunt Petunia and Harry. Aunt Petunia burst into tears while Harry ducked under the table so they wouldn’t see him laughing. “And you, boy?” Harry fought to keep his face straight as he emerged. “I’ll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I’m not there,” he said.
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Harry Potter, #2))
Inspiration is for amateurs,” Close says. “The rest of us just show up and get to work.
Mason Currey (Daily Rituals: How Artists Work)
If you wait for perfect conditions, you will never get anything done.
John Mason (You Can Do It--Even if Others Say You Can't)
I love you...and I’m sorry it took losing you to figure that out.” His anger deflated. “Did you say you love me?” She nodded and tears dripped from her eyes. He put a hand to his chest. “Are you sure, because my fucking heart can’t take this.
Dana Mason (Dangerous Embrace (Embrace, #1))
Never worry about how much money, ability, or equipment you are starting with; just begin with a million dollars’ worth of determination.
John Mason (You Can Do It--Even if Others Say You Can't)
He hesitated, looking at her. The old Ellie was gone. Replaced by a woman who was detached and cold. He didn’t know what to say, how to reach her. There was a wall around her, and he’d laid the foundation for her to build it.
Kathy Love (Wanting What You Get (Stepp Sisters Trilogy, #2))
I don't know what she's trying to say, but I can feel her struggle to get it out. "I love Skittles.
Cheryl McIntyre (Sometimes Never (Sometimes Never, #1))
Mason knew what it was like to say things you didn’t mean, to just have them vomit out, and then feel that crushing ache when you realized you could never pull them back.
Dan Krokos (The Planet Thieves (The Planet Thieves, #1))
Frank, saying, Who cares what happens before we’re born and after we die? The question is, what do we do in the meantime?
Elizabeth Berg (The Story of Arthur Truluv (Mason, #1))
The world is a book where those who do not take risks read only one page.
John Mason (You Can Do It--Even if Others Say You Can't)
Faith is like a toothbrush. Everyone should have one and use it daily, but you shouldn’t try to use someone else’s.
John Mason (You Can Do It--Even if Others Say You Can't)
I reached out and petted the length of it with two fingers as if timidly greeting a live, rabid animal. Sweat beaded on Mason's brow. He looked tortured, but he appeared to love every second of his suffering. "You are such a comedian. You know that's not what I meant by touch it. It's not a freaking dog." "Um, no. I'd say this thing is more the size of a bull.
Linda Kage (Price of a Kiss (Forbidden Men, #1))
I miss you,” he says. “I still miss you, sweetheart. Every day is like the first day I lost you.
Elizabeth Berg (The Story of Arthur Truluv (Mason, #1))
Right is right even if everyone is against it, and wrong is wrong even if everyone is for it.
John Mason (You Can Do It--Even if Others Say You Can't)
Let God dominate your day.
John Mason (You Can Do It--Even if Others Say You Can't)
The devil smiles when we make plans. He laughs when we get too busy. but he trembles when we pray.
John Mason (You Can Do It--Even if Others Say You Can't)
You two are like a married couple." Uh...I pointed to my head. "Heavy meds here. Say that again." She rolled her eyes. "You heard me just fine. So did you," she threw to Mason.
Tijan (Fallen Crest Public (Fallen Crest High, #3))
And perhaps it is not too beautiful a thing to believe in this redeemed world, that, as the babe turns to his mother though he has no power to say her name, as the flowers turn to the sun, so the hearts of the children turn to their Saviour and God with unconscious delight and trust. Nursery
Charlotte M. Mason (The Original Home School Series)
We aren't fighting right now." I blurted out. He gave me a sidelong look. "Do you want to fight?" "No. I hate fighting with you. Verbally, I mean. I don't mind in the gym." I thought I detected the hint of a smile. Always a half-smile for me. Rarely a full one. "I don't like fighting with you either." Sitting next to him there, I marveled at the warm and happy emotions springing up inside me. There was something about being around him that felt so good, that moved me in a way Mason couldn't. You can't force love, I realized, It's there or it isn't. If it's not there, you've got to be able to admit it. If it is there, you've got to do whatever it takes to protect the ones you love. The next words that came out of my mouth astonished me, both because they were completely unselfish and because I actually meant them. "You should take it." He flinched. "What?" "Tasha's offer. You should take her up on it. It's a really great chance." I remembered my mom's words about being ready for children. I wasn't. Maybe she hadn't been. But Tasha was. And I knew Dimitri was too. They got along really well. He could go be her guardian, have some kids with her...it would be a good deal for both of them. "I never expected to hear you say anything like that," he told me, voice tight. "Especially after-" "What a bitch I've been? Yeah." I tugged his coat tighter against the cold. It smelled like him. It was intoxicating, and I could half-imagine being wrapped in his embrace. Adrian might have been onto something about the power of scent. "Well. Like I said, I don't want to fight anymore. I don't want us to hate each other. And...well..." I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them. "No matter how I feel about us...I want you to be happy." Silence yet again. I noticed then that my chest hurt. Dimitri reached out and put his arm around me. He pulled me to him, and I rested my head on his chest. "Roza," was all he said. It was the first time he'd really touched me since the night of the lust charm. The practice room had been something different...more animal. This wasn't even about sex. It was just about being close to someone you cared about, about the emotion that kind of connection flooded you with. Dimitri might run off with Tasha, but I would still love him. I would probably always love him. I cared about Mason. But I would probably never love him. I sighed into Dimitri, just wishing I could stay like that forever. It felt right being with him. And-no matter how much the thought of him and Tasha made me ache-doing what was best for him felt right. Now, I knew, it was time to stop being a coward and do something else that was right. Mason had said I needed to learn something about myself. I just had. Reluctantly, I pulled away and handed Dimitri his coat. I stood up. He regarded me curiously, sensing my unease. "Where you going?" he asked. "To break someone's heart," I replied. I admired Dimitri for a heartbeat more-the dark, knowing eyes and silken hair. The I headed inside. I had to apologize to Mason...and tell him there'd never be anything between us.
Richelle Mead (Frostbite (Vampire Academy, #2))
If the directions say to do it, we do it," said Maggie. "That's what everyone says. If you don't listen to the Monkey, he doesn't meet with you." "Let's hope the directions don't tell us to shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die," I muttered, and pulled out onto the street.
Mira Grant (Blackout (Newsflesh, #3))
Mason, I’m ruined. I can never give you what you deserve. I’m incapable of loving someone like—like you want. I will never be able to do it right. I will never deserve to be loved.” My breathing is erratic. I shove myself to my knees and grasp her arms, pulling her toward me once again. “Sometimes never is a distorted perception. I love you, Hope. And I’m not the only one. I know you care about me. I see it in your eyes. I feel it. Everybody needs love. Everybody. And some people need it more than others. You’re a liar if you say you don’t. I’ll do that for you. I’ll love you. All you have to do is let me.”               The wind whispers against my back as if giving me a nudge toward her and I take it as a sign. I propel myself into her, pushing my bare skin to hers. I need to feel her. I need her to feel me.               This is real.
Cheryl McIntyre (Sometimes Never (Sometimes Never, #1))
It is right to be content with what you have, but never with what you are. Happiness will never come to those who fail to appreciate what they already have. Don’t make the mistake of looking too far ahead and missing the things close by.
John Mason (You Can Do It--Even if Others Say You Can't)
Don’t belong so completely to others that you do not belong to yourself. The fact is that we’re all in this together—by ourselves.
John Mason (You Can Do It--Even if Others Say You Can't)
Been thinking of my grandfather, whose wayward brilliance skipped my father’s generation. Once, he showed me an aquatint of a certain Siamese temple. Don’t recall its name, but ever since a disciple of the Buddha preached on the spot centuries ago, every bandit king, tyrant, and monarch of that kingdom has enhanced it with marble towers, scented arboretums, gold-leafed domes, lavished murals on its vaulted ceilings, set emeralds into the eyes of its statuettes. When the temple finally equals its counterpart in the Pure Land, so the story goes, that day humanity shall have fulfilled its purpose, and Time itself shall come to an end. To men like Ayrs, it occurs to me, this temple is civilization. The masses, slaves, peasants, and foot soldiers exist in the cracks of its flagstones, ignorant even of their ignorance. Not so the great statesmen, scientists, artists, and most of all, the composers of the age, any age, who are civilization’s architects, masons, and priests. Ayrs sees our role is to make civilization ever more resplendent. My employer’s profoundest, or only, wish is to create a minaret that inheritors of Progress a thousand years from now will point to and say, “Look, there is Vyvyan Ayrs!” How vulgar, this hankering after immortality, how vain, how false. Composers are merely scribblers of cave paintings. One writes music because winter is eternal and because, if one didn’t, the wolves and blizzards would be at one’s throat all the sooner.
David Mitchell (Cloud Atlas)
She’d given it away once; she never would again. Life took things from you: mothers, friends, sometimes even choices. But that wasn’t the same as giving parts of yourself away. It was her voice to use: to say no and yes and “I love you” with, to sing with, even to hold silent.
Jennifer Mason-Black (Devil and the Bluebird)
If I’m Romeo and she’s Juliet, maybe this is the fate I put on us that very first day. Love forbidden, but in our story, we’re forbidden by fate. Maybe I was the placeholder, as Mason wondered. Maybe I’m not the man of her dreams but the understudy who did the noble work. Who befriended a broken girl. Who showed her what it meant to matter to a man, how it felt to be loved. She knows now that she’s worth the world and deserves even more.
Meagan Brandy (Say You Swear)
Auburn Mason Reed,” I say out loud. What are the chances? I smile and run my thumb over the letters in her middle name. “We have the same middle name.” I look back up at Adam, and he’s lowering his bed again with a faint smile on his face. “That could be fate, you know.” I shake my head, dismissing his comment. “I’m pretty sure she’s your fate. Not mine.” His voice is strained, and it takes a tremendous amount of effort for him to roll onto his side. He closes his eyes and says, “Hopefully she has more than one fate, Owen.
Colleen Hoover (Confess)
You are my flesh and blood and I have always doted on you, but right now I would have to say you deserve a haughty, ruined chit for your own and she deserves you.
Mary Balogh (A Matter of Class)
Cornel West says: “If your success is defined as being well adjusted to injustice and well adapted to indifference, then we don’t want successful leaders.
Eric Mason (Woke Church: An Urgent Call for Christians in America to Confront Racism and Injustice)
Silence, and then, "How old are you?" Maddy asks, and Arthur tells her eighty-five. Then he asks her how old she is. "Eighteen," she says. "Almost." Eighteen. The word is a poem.
Elizabeth Berg (The Story of Arthur Truluv (Mason, #1))
Laughter is like changing a baby’s diaper—it solves a problem and makes things more acceptable for a while.
John Mason (You Can Do It--Even if Others Say You Can't)
A mathematician,” he liked to say, “is a machine for turning coffee into theorems.
Mason Currey (Daily Rituals: How Great Minds Make Time, Find Inspiration, and Get to Work)
He tells her that, when Nola first died, he thought he’d die himself, of the sorrow. He says he’d read that grief has a catabolic effect and he thought for sure it would take him right out, this immense and gnawing pain, that it would eat him alive from the inside out. But it didn’t. It took a long time for him to shift things around so that he could still love and honor Nola but also love and honor life, but it happened. And it will happen to her.
Elizabeth Berg (The Story of Arthur Truluv (Mason, #1))
I saw Diana shake her head, “Jonathon, we’re here for you. Stop being a butt head.” We all started laughing. I was bent over at the waist with tears running out of my eyes. Mason said, “Did you seriously just say ‘butt head’?” Diana blushed, “Well, he was being a butt head.
Micalea Smeltzer (Forbidden (Fallen, #2))
The more I consider this mighty tail, the more do I deplore my inability to express it. At times there are gestures in it, which, though they would well grace the hand of man, remain wholly inexplicable. In an extensive herd, so remarkable, occasionally, are these mystic gestures, that I have heard hunters who have declared them akin to Free-Mason signs and symbols; that the whale, indeed, by these methods intelligently conversed with the world. Nor are there wanting other motions of the whale in his general body, full of strangeness, and unaccountable to his most experienced assailant. Dissect him how I may, then, I but go skin deep; I know him not, and never will. But if I know not even the tail of this whale, how understand his head? much more, how comprehend his face, when face he has none? Thou shalt see my back parts, my tail, he seems to say, but my face shall not be seen. But I cannot completely make out his back parts; and hint what he will about his face, I say again he has no face.
Herman Melville (Moby-Dick or, the Whale)
He shared his favorite place with me. The admission burned in my chest—a painful combination of friendship and the Masons always giving something to me. I wasn’t sure what to say back to him. “You don’t have to share everything with me.” “I know, but I want to.” His sincere blue eyes spoke more than the words.
S.D. Hendrickson (The Mason List)
In the Forest,’ comments Mr. Crawfford, ‘ev’ryone comes ‘round in a Circle sooner or later. One day, your foot comes down in your own shit. There, as the Indians say, is the first Step upon the Trail to Wisdom.
Thomas Pynchon
Look at her, Noah.” Mason’s whisper is desperate. “Just… fucking look at her. It’s written all over her, and she doesn’t even know it. She’s yours, man. Don’t let her lose what she always wanted and finally found.
Meagan Brandy (Say You Swear)
Once more he became silent, staring before him with sombre eyes. Following his gaze, I saw that he was looking at an enlarged photograph of my Uncle Tom in some sort of Masonic uniform which stood on the mantlepiece. I've tried to reason with Aunt Dahlia about this photograph for years, placing before her two alternative suggestions: (a) To burn the beastly thing; or (b) if she must preserve it, to shove me in another room when I come to stay. But she declines to accede. She says it's good for me. A useful discipline, she maintains, teaching me that there is a darker side to life and that we were not put into this world for pleasure only.
P.G. Wodehouse (Right Ho, Jeeves (Jeeves, #6))
He entered the city asked a blind man if he had ever heard the name Enkidu, and the old man shrugged and shook his head, then turned away, as if to say, ‘It is impossible to keep the names of friends whom we have lost
Herbert Mason
And you don’t even need to say anything. I’m screwed up. I don’t know how any of this works anymore than you do. But I do believe you’re worth every second it would take to figure it out,” Mason said, a smile taking over his features.
Holly Hood (Heart of Gypsies)
Never worry about how much money, ability, or equipment you are starting with; just begin with a million dollars’ worth of determination. Remember: It’s not what you have; it’s what you do with what you have that makes all the difference.
John Mason (You Can Do It--Even if Others Say You Can't)
Debbie Nathan’s thesis is that Shirley Mason was a vulnerable hysteric and was manipulated by her therapist into iatrogenic DID and false memories of child abuse. Nathan says that this is generally true of DID, except for perhaps a small number of genuine cases. One problem with this thesis is that it is based on a stereotypically male chauvinist view of women as impressionable hysterics who do not know, and are not in control of, their own minds or histories; this demeaning view of women is presented as a feminist thesis.
Colin A. Ross
It hurt when you pulled away from me this year. We were already separated. You moved in with David and my mom moved back. Mason left me too. It wasn’t just you. I needed you this year. I don’t let people in, Sam, but I let you in. We both let you in. It fucking hurt. That’s all I’m saying.
Tijan
The great educator Charlotte Mason says that when we put children in direct contact with great ideas and get out of the way, "Teachers shall teach less and scholars shall learn more." Any homeschooling parent who has observed her own children for any length of time will know this to be true. Real learning happens when our children wrestle directly with great ideas- not as a result of our repackaging those great ideas, but when they interact with the ideas themselves.
Sarah Mackenzie (Teaching from Rest: A Homeschooler's Guide to Unshakable Peace)
The only thing that helps me get less angry is when my husband says to me, “I know you are scared, not angry” and gives me a
Paul T. Mason (Stop Walking on Eggshells: Taking Your Life Back When Someone You Care About Has Borderline Personality Disorder)
author Truman Capote says, failure is the condiment that gives success its flavor.
C. Nicole Mason (Me First: A Deliciously Selfish Take on Life)
As Confucius says, no matter where you go, there you are. You are the common denominator in your life and in all of your experiences.
C. Nicole Mason (Me First: A Deliciously Selfish Take on Life)
They say opposites attract. Nobody ever said opposites live happily ever after.
Linda Morris (The Mason Dixon Line)
Bricks could be used as words in the saying of a mason. When words and actions match up, you have a structure people could live in. It's a lot to live up to, and a lot to live in.

Jarod Kintz (Brick)
When we start to put our lives before others, when we let someone die so that we don’t suffer, then you can say sorry to me.
Mason Sabre (Cade (The Society, #2))
She was wrapped in my jacket, almost swallowed by it. You never realize how small a woman is until she wears your clothes.
James Russell Lingerfelt (The Mason Jar)
Knock it off you two,” Mason says as he slaps me in the back of the head. “If you give him a stiffy during the game, some linebacker is going to break his pecker.
Heidi McLaughlin (Forever My Girl (Beaumont Series, #1))
They say love and forgiveness are our greatest salvations in this world. I hope not. Love and forgiveness might just be one thing that will forever break me.
V.F. Mason (The Land Where Sinners Atone)
Almost universally, non-BPs say they feel manipulated by the BPs in their lives. If the non-BP doesn’t do what the BP wants them to do, the BP may threaten
Paul T. Mason (Stop Walking on Eggshells: Taking Your Life Back When Someone You Care About Has Borderline Personality Disorder)
people who say “Mason jar” instead of “fruit jar” probably are a little snooty and sleep in pajamas.
Lewis Grizzard (Don't Sit Under the Grits Tree with Anyone Else But Me)
Nothing is better than your man saying your name; at least you don’t have to wonder how many other women he’s called by the same name
V.F. Mason (Psychopath's Prey)
In this age when different cultures are killing each other over whose definition of God is better, one could say the Masonic tradition of tolerance and open-mindedness is commendable.
Dan Brown (The Lost Symbol (Robert Langdon, #3))
But anything other than a yes or no question was beyond us, apparently. He opened up his mouth as though he would say something. He looked like he was trying hard, like Adrian had with the plant. But no sound came out. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I don’t understand . . . and . . . I’m sorry for everything else.” Mason gave me one last wistful look and then vanished.
Richelle Mead (Shadow Kiss (Vampire Academy, #3))
He hesitates, then turns and starts up her walk. Gives her a friendly smile, to boot. He wishes she wouldn’t wear a wig, or at least not one that sits so crookedly on her head. It’s a distraction. Sometimes he has to restrain himself from reaching over and giving it a little tug, then smacking her knee in a friendly way and saying, “There you go!” But why risk humiliating her?
Elizabeth Berg (The Story of Arthur Truluv (Mason, #1))
Letters sometimes required thinking over and Miss Mason would say,—“I will give you the answer to that tomorrow”; and tomorrow the answer would be ready without any reminder, and the letter would be answered in detail and without any further reference to its pages. She constantly said,—“Always remember that persons matter more than things. Don’t say anything that will leave a sting.
Parents' National Educational Union (In Memoriam: A Tribute to Charlotte Mason)
hard for me to hear the constant refrain of “just preach the gospel.” When the topic is abortion, nobody says, “just preach the gospel.” We preach against abortion as if it’s a gospel issue. When the topic is sex trafficking, no one says “just preach the gospel.” We develop a battalion to go and get people out of sex trafficking. And we should because these are crucial issues. But so is racial justice!
Eric Mason (Woke Church: An Urgent Call for Christians in America to Confront Racism and Injustice)
Our aim in education is to give a full life. We owe it to them to initiate an immense number of interests. Life should be all living, and not merely a tedious passing of time; not all doing or all feeling or all thinking - the strain would be too great - but, all living; that is to say, we should be in touch wherever we go, whatever we hear, whatever we see, with some manner of vital interest. ~ Charlotte Mason
Emily Cook (A Literary Education: Adapting Charlotte Mason for Modern Secular Homeschooling)
We forget how ready people are to help. You can talk all you want about the evil spirit of man. But I don’t think it’s true. I think most of us are just dying to be good. And one way we can do that is to forgive the bad in others as well as in ourselves. I don’t say don’t hold people accountable. Help them be accountable. But to say those words to yourself or another? ‘I forgive you’? Most powerful words in the world.
Elizabeth Berg (The Confession Club (Mason, #3))
“Maurency seems to be undergoing a remarkable and somewhat undesirable transformation.” “What?” “He’s changed hair color, put on some muscle and now seems to be cracking skulls rather than saying his prayers.” Mason rose and rounded the table. “In short, it looks like Linnet’s ideal hero might be turning into you.” [...] “He looks improved, but I still don’t like him.” “He’s you, you fool,” responded Oswald scathingly.
Alice Coldbreath (Her Bastard Bridegroom (Vawdrey Brothers, #1))
I think the kind of love that comes after romantic love is the best, richest love of all. At some point, I think we all want someone we can look ugly around, reveal our vulnerabilities to, and, most important, trust. And as a former nurse, I found that when people are at their most vulnerable, at their “ugliest,” is when they’re the most beautiful. In this novel, I think true love is saying, “I see you wholly and I love you anyway.
Elizabeth Berg (The Story of Arthur Truluv (Mason, #1))
Sometimes,” he said, “life does seem to be unfair. Do you know the story of Elijah and the Rabbi Jachanan?” “No,” said the Wart. He sat down resignedly upon the most comfortable part of the floor, perceiving that he was in for something like the parable of the looking-glass. “This rabbi,” said Merlyn, “went on a journey with the prophet Elijah. They walked all day, and at nightfall they came to the humble cottage of a poor man, whose only treasure was a cow. The poor man ran out of his cottage, and his wife ran too, to welcome the strangers for the night and to offer them all the simple hospitality which they were able to give in straitened circumstances. Elijah and the Rabbi were entertained with plenty of the cow’s milk, sustained by home-made bread and butter, and they were put to sleep in the best bed while their kindly hosts lay down before the kitchen fire. But in the morning the poor man’s cow was dead.” “Go on.” “They walked all the next day, and came that evening to the house of a very wealthy merchant, whose hospitality they craved. The merchant was cold and proud and rich, and all that he would do for the prophet and his companion was to lodge them in a cowshed and feed them on bread and water. In the morning, however, Elijah thanked him very much for what he had done, and sent for a mason to repair one of his walls, which happened to be falling down, as a return for his kindness. “The Rabbi Jachanan, unable to keep silence any longer, begged the holy man to explain the meaning of his dealings with human beings. “ ‘In regard to the poor man who received us so hospitably,’ replied the prophet, ‘it was decreed that his wife was to die that night, but in reward for his goodness God took the cow instead of the wife. I repaired the wall of the rich miser because a chest of gold was concealed near the place, and if the miser had repaired the wall himself he would have discovered the treasure. Say not therefore to the Lord: What doest thou? But say in thy heart: Must not the Lord of all the earth do right?’
T.H. White
Sorry.” I dig my nails into my palms again, trying to fit them in the same exact places. “I … I get why she did it,” I say, guilt washing over me. “And I get that she really couldn’t take me with her. But it still hurt, you know?
Mason Deaver (I Wish You All the Best)
There are things, crimes in a marriage, that are so great you cannot apologize for them. Instead, watching television on the sofa, eating the dinner he made while you showered after the hospital, you say, Patrick? Yes. I like this sauce.
Meg Mason (Sorrow and Bliss)
Do More… Do more than exist—live.      Do more than hear—listen.           Do more than agree—cooperate. Do more than talk—communicate.      Do more than grow—bloom.           Do more than spend—invest. Do more than think—create.      Do more than work—excel.           Do more than share—give. Do more than decide—discern.      Do more than consider—commit.           Do more than forgive—forget. Do more than help—serve.      Do more than coexist—reconcile.           Do more than sing—worship. Do more than think—plan.      Do more than dream—do.           Do more than see—perceive. Do more than read—apply.      Do more than receive—reciprocate.           Do more than choose—focus. Do more than wish—believe.      Do more than advise—help.           Do more than speak—impart. Do more than encourage—inspire.      Do more than add—multiply.           Do more than change—improve. Do more than reach—stretch.      Do more than ponder—pray.           Do more than just live—live for Jesus.
John Mason (You Can Do It--Even if Others Say You Can't)
JOIN ILLUMINATI ORDER CALL, +27834271497 FOR RICH, WEALTH, FAME, LOVE and LUCK. Welcome to the great temple of Illuminati worldwide. Are you a Pastor, Politician, Business man or woman, Musician or an Artist, do you want to be famous or you want to become rich or powerful you can achieve your dreams by being a member of the Illuminati with this all your dreams and heart desire can be fully accomplish People say that the Illuminati are exceptionally wealthy. Is that true? It's true that all twelve members of the Ruling Council are wealthy, but money, for us, simply funds our mission, nothing else. We are not worshippers of Mammon, as our accusers would have you believe. You were born free and die free but will you live free? As long as habit and routine dictate the pattern of living, new dimensions of the soul will not emerge. "Wealth" of the Illuminati is in the form of priceless treasures, not "liquid" money. Some members of the Illuminati have acquired considerable wealth; if you want to join Illuminati contact the priest. To join everyone can join but are you going to keep the secret? BRIEFLY this is a spiritual worshiping whereby it helps you to be successfully in whatever you're doing in life. All men and women are welcome to join this Temple of Only Success, Respect and Super-Rich Model's DJ and rappers welcome Politicians come and wetness Bring your lovers name only and see the changes Business men and women Students come and clean your future GET OUT OF POVERTY Get off the poverty road and onto the path of prosperity now. If money has been tight and things haven't been going very well financially, Our Illuminati society will empower you to change your life and live your life to the fullest. CALL: +27834271497.
Edward Amani
Lots of people wrote to the magazine to say that Marilyn vos Savant was wrong, even when she explained very carefully why she was right. Of the letters she got about the problem, 92% said that she was wrong and lots of these were from mathematicians and scientists. Here are some of the things they said: 'I'm very concerned with the general public's lack of mathematical skills. Please help by confessing your error.' -Robert Sachs, Ph.D., George Mason University ... 'I am sure you will receive many letters from high school and college students. Perhaps you should keep a few addresses for future columns.' -W. Robert Smith, Ph.D., Georgia State University... 'If all those Ph.D.'s were wrong, the country would be in very serious trouble.' -Everett Harman, Ph.D., U.S. Army Research Institute
Mark Haddon (The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time)
What will you do when you figure it out?” Kitty asks me, her mouth full of cookie. “Yeah, what’s the point of all this?” Peter says. “I mean, who cares if a chocolate chip cookie is eight percent better? It’s still a chocolate chip cookie.” “I’ll take pleasure in the knowledge that I am in possession of the perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe. I will pass it down to the next generation of Song girls.” “Or boys,” Kitty says. “Or boys,” I agree. To her I say, “Now go upstairs and get a big Mason jar for me to put these cookies in. And a ribbon.” Peter asks, “Will you bring some to school tomorrow?” “We’ll see,” I say, because I want to see him make that pouty face I love so much. He makes the face, and I reach up to pat his cheeks. “You’re such a baby.” “You love it,” he says, snagging another cookie.
Jenny Han (Always and Forever, Lara Jean (To All the Boys I've Loved Before, #3))
In the beginning, I told strangers I couldn't have children because I thought it would stop them from continuing beyond their initial inquiry. It is better to say you don't wnat them. Then they know straightaway that there is something wrong with you, just not in a medical sense.
Meg Mason (Sorrow and Bliss)
I have to tell you about these things from the past, because they are so important. The really important things usually lie in the distant past. And until you know about them, if you'll forgive my saying so, you will always to some extent a mere newcomer in my life. When I was at High School my favourite pastime was walking. Or rather, loitering. If we are talking about my adolescence, it's the more accurate word. Systematically, one by one, I explored all the districts of Pest. I relished the special atmosphere of every quarter and every street. Even now I can still find the same delight in houses that I did then. In this respect I've never grown up. Houses have so much to say to me. For me, they are what Nature used to be to the poets - or rather, what the poets thought of as Nature. But best of all I loved the Castle Hill District of Buda. I never tired of its ancient streets. Even in those days old things attracted me more than new ones. For me the deepest truth was found only in things suffused with the lives of many generations, which hold the past as permanently as mason Kelemen's wife buried in the high tower of Deva.
Antal Szerb
I snatched up the papers and reminded him that it had been his idea. “But yes, thank God you didn’t manage to get me pregnant, Jonathan. A baby I didn’t want in the first place turning out to have a genetic predilection for cocaine and white jeans.” I left before he could say anything else.
Meg Mason (Sorrow and Bliss)
Having found the book which has a message for us, let us not be guilty of the folly of saying we 'have read' it. We might as well say we have breakfasted, as if breakfasting on one day should last us for every day! The book that helps us deserves many readings, for assimilation comes by slow degrees.
Charlotte Mason, Ourselves
West Country novelist Thomas Hardy almost did not survive his birth in 1840 because everyone thought he was stillborn. He did not appear to be breathing and was put to one side for dead. The nurse attending the birth only by chance noticed a slight movement that showed the baby was in fact alive. He lived to be 87 and gave the world 18 novels, including some of the most widely read in English literature. When he did die, there was controversy over where he should be laid to rest. Public opinion felt him too famous to lie anywhere other than in Poets’ Corner in Westminster Abbey, the national shrine. He, however, had left clear instructions to be buried in Stinsford, near his birthplace and next to his parents, grandparents, first wife and sister. A compromise was brokered. His ashes were interred in the Abbey. His heart would be buried in his beloved home county. The plan agreed, his heart was taken to his sister’s house ready for burial. Shortly before, as it lay ready on the kitchen table, the family cat grabbed it and disappeared with it into the woods. Although, simultaneously with the national funeral in Westminster Abbey, a burial ceremony took place on 16 January 1928, at Stinsford, there is uncertainty to this day as to what was in the casket: some say it was buried empty; others that it contained the captured cat which had consumed the heart.
Phil Mason (Napoleon's Hemorrhoids: ... and Other Small Events That Changed History)
Some spiritual people say there's no such thing as coincidence. And I guess I can't know if it's the chicken or the egg for my lack of spirituality. But I do believe in coincidence. I believe in it very much. I see it everywhere. I have to. Otherwise I'd start to believe the universe if adversarial, and I don't need another opponent right now.
Jamie Mason (Monday's Lie)
If a boy was hot, I admired him from afar. Under no circumstances would I ever, EVER, walk over and strike up a conversation. What would I even say? Hi, I’m that totally-not-creepy girl who’s been accidentally following you through the grocery aisles, and sure, we’ve never met, but I know every social media account you have? And I follow them all?
Emily Lowry (It Had to be Mason (Beachbreak High #1))
We’re roommates.” Immediately, he backpedals. “I-I mean, not just roommates, obviously…” “No, we’re much more than that,” Lyssa supplies, nodding at my son encouragingly. This is like watching a bad sitcom. They’re both terrible liars. “We’re like, all the things,” Mason says finally. Lyssa smiles brightly. “All of them!” And then they high five. Christ.
Jessa Kane (The Loner's Lady)
For a man who doesn’t woo women very often, you’re certainly doing a great job at it.” “You like my woo?” “It’s decent wood,” I say coyly. “Is that a challenge? All right. But I have to warn you, you might not be prepared for the full Tucker Simms experience.” “You make it seem like a ride at a theme park.” “I’m not gonna touch that comment with a ten-foot pole.
Lauren Runow (Perfect Song (Mason Creek, #2))
When you get back, we'll just do nothing but stare at each other until we're sick." He gave her a real smile followed by a chuckle. "I would like that, Rosie," he whispered, touching his nose to hers. "I would win." She laughed. "You'd get sick first." "Never." "You say that now," she assured. "I'll say that when you're two hundred thousand." "I'll be dead," she laughed.
Mason Sabre (Cuts Like An Angel : 2)
I’m going to need you to do something besides the deer in headlights look. You’re giving everyone the impression that I brought you here at gunpoint.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re sweet.” “Seriously. Looking even moderately enthused will do.” “Yeah, duly noted. How could I say no to such a sweet and sensitive boyfriend?” Mason smirked… “I didn’t realize sweet and sensitive was what you wanted.” “I think that’s what most girlfriends want, but I understand that you wouldn’t know that,” I replied, averting my eyes as Mason watched me gather my hair over one shoulder. “Duly noted. If that’s what works with you, then here.” One step forward and Mason was suddenly inches from me. The breath hitched in my throat as he locked his gaze on mine. Shit.
Stella Rhys (Ex Games)
Charlotte Mason says, this “idea of definite work to be finished in a given time is valuable to the child, not only as training him in habits of order, but in diligence; he learns that one time is not 'as good as another'; that there is no right time left for what is not done in its own time; and this knowledge alone does a great deal to secure the child's attention to his work.
Deborah Taylor-Hough (A Twaddle-Free Education: An Introduction to Charlotte Mason's Timeless Educational Ideas)
The commissioner was silent for a moment. “It was Dickens did this to you,” he said at last. “Gave you ideas above your station, didn’t he.” “Dickens? Not him, sir. I’d say the greater influence on my current thinking would be Mr. Karl Marx.” “Karl Marx? Indeed.” “Indeed, sir. Herr Marx urged me personally to stop waiting beneath your bloody table for the bleeding crumbs to fall.
Tim Mason (The Darwin Affair)
WE THE PEOPLE PULL THE CORD . . . there is no one who understands; there is no one who seeks God. Romans 3:11 The Founding Fathers didn’t think too highly of human nature, so they created three branches of government to keep power-hungry officials in check. They also slipped another “check” on these politicians into the Constitution. Remember learning how the Constitution can be amended through Congress? Well, even better, there’s a lesser-known way to change it when necessary, without Congress or the president stopping “We the People.” Our Founders knew government could grow so drunk on its own power that it wouldn’t ever voluntarily restrict itself, so constitutionalist George Mason allowed for a “Convention of States” in Article V to give the power back to the people. My friend Mark Levin describes this: “By giving the state legislatures the ultimate say on major federal laws, on major federal regulations, on major Supreme Court decisions, should 3/5 of state legislatures act to override them within a two year period, it doesn’t much matter what Washington does or doesn’t do. It matters what you do . . . the goal is to limit the entrenchment of Washington’s ruling class.” Keep educating the people, Mark!
Sarah Palin (Sweet Freedom: A Devotional)
Given what the stigmatized individual may well face upon entering a mixed social situation, he may anticipatorily respond by defensive cowering. This may be illustrated from an early study of some German unemployed during the Depression, the words being those of a 43-year-old mason:   How hard and humiliating it is to bear the name of an unemployed man. When I go out, I cast down my eyes because I feel myself wholly inferior. When I go along the street, it seems to me that I can’t be compared with an average citizen, that everybody is pointing at me with his finger. I instinctively avoid meeting anyone. Former acquaintances and friends of better times are no longer so cordial. They greet me indifferently when we meet. They no longer offer me a cigarette and their eyes seem to say, “You are not worth it, you don’t work.”37
Erving Goffman (Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity)
What Paul is saying is that the gospel strengthens us through the Spirit to see things in our society that others do not. We are called, as the people of God, to wake up. To see what others don’t and call it out. The church in America is not awake to the reality of what is happening in communities across this nation, and we are missing out on our calling to shine the light into these places of darkness for Christ’s glory.
Eric Mason (Woke Church: An Urgent Call for Christians in America to Confront Racism and Injustice)
There is one other wall, of course. One we never speak of. One we never see, One which separates memory from madness. In a place no one offers flowers. THE WALL WITHIN. We permit no visitors. Mine looks like any of a million nameless, brick walls— it stands in the tear-down ghetto of my soul; that part of me which reason avoids for fear of dirtying its clothes and from atop which my sorrow and my rage hurl bottles and invectives at the rolled-up windows of my passing youth. Do you know the wall I mean? —Steve Mason, U.S. Army captain (Vietnam), poet Excerpted from the poem “The Wall Within” by Steve Mason, a decorated Vietnam combat veteran considered the unofficial poet laureate of the Vietnam War. “The Wall Within” was read at the 1984 dedication of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, DC, and was entered in its entirety into the Congressional Record.
Kevin Sites (The Things They Cannot Say: Stories Soldiers Won't Tell You About What They've Seen, Done or Failed to Do in War)
It is the impossibility of living by any other means that compels our farm labourers to till the soil whose fruits they will not eat, and our masons to construct buildings in which they will not live. It is want that drags them to those markets where they await masters who will do them the kindness of buying them. It is want that compels them to go down on their knees to the rich man in order to get from him permission to enrich him ... What effective gain has the suppression of slavery brought him? ... He is free, you say. Ah. That is his misfortune. The slave was precious to his master because of the money he had cost him. But the handicraftsman costs nothing to the rich voluptuary who employs him ... These men, it is said, have no master – they have one, and the most terrible, the most imperious of masters, that is need. It is this that reduces them to the most cruel dependence
Simon linguet
There was also more practical inquiry. How should I make a living? How do I get my relatives out of my house? Could you help me postpone payment of this loan? The dervishes had jobs in the workday world: mason, weaver, bookbinder, grocer, hatmaker, tailor, carpenter. They were craftsmen and -women, not renunciates of everyday life, but affirmative makers and ecstatics. Some people call them sufis, or mystics. I say they're on the way of the heart.
Coleman Barks (The Soul of Rumi: A New Collection of Ecstatic Poems)
Since ancient days there has been a name for Senatorial recommendations that carry the force, not of law, but of the Will of the Leviathan, but the name is Latin, and we cannot say Senatus Consultum without implying that the Latin-speaking Masons somehow own this, much as we half believe they own all Romanova, built for us by MASONS past. So we instead say 'Senatorial Consult,' which translates to 'Let's pretend we aren't thinking about Masons right now.' Of course we are.
Ada Palmer (The Will to Battle (Terra Ignota, #3))
THE ADULT BRAIN, it turns out, is not just plastic but, as James Olds, a professor of neuroscience who directs the Krasnow Institute for Advanced Study at George Mason University, puts it, “very plastic.”16 Or, as Merzenich himself says, “massively plastic.”17 The plasticity diminishes as we get older—brains do get stuck in their ways—but it never goes away. Our neurons are always breaking old connections and forming new ones, and brand-new nerve cells are always being created.
Nicholas Carr (The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains)
Mason’s face softens, and I know what he doesn’t have to say. Having me here with him at Avix means the world to him. He might be bossy and moody, but like me, my brother needs family and people he cares about nearby. He does about as well as I do alone, which is probably why it’s taking me longer than it should to wake up from my self-pity stage because I’ve been pushing my family and friends away instead of taking comfort in the fact that they’re here for me. If only I’d allow them to be.
Meagan Brandy (Say You Swear)
Rising above mediocrity never just happens; it’s always a result of faith combined with works. Faith without works is like gold within the earth. It is of no value until it is mined. A person who has faith but no actions is like a bird that has wings but no feet. The Bible says, “Faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead” (James 2:17 NKJV). Biblical principles multiplied by nothing equal nothing. Let’s be people who put our faith into action. One individual with faith and action constitutes a majority.
John Mason (An Enemy Called Average)
You are beautiful, Layla." Layla gave a tiny shake of her head. "I didn't feel beautiful when I saw the women Jonas had brought to our bed. Don't get me wrong. I have no desire to be that thin. I like my curves. But it was like he was saying there was something wrong with me, and it made me even angrier because he was right." She attacked the burger like it was a Scooby Snack. Did she really not see her own beauty? Evan had been falling all over himself to get her into bed, and the dudes with the mason jars weren't the only ones who'd been checking her out in the bar.
Sara Desai (The Marriage Game)
Dixon, our, um, Lives? are in Danger?” “Hardly enough to interrupt a perfectly good—” Here he is silenc’d by an immense Thunder-Bolt from directly overhead, as their frail Prism is bleach’d in unholy Light. “— Saturday Night for, is it I ask you . . . ?” his Head emerging at last from beneath a Blanket, “Mason? Say, Mason,— are thee . . . ?” Mason, now outside, pushes aside the Tent-flap with his head, but does not enter. “Dixon. I will now seek Shelter beneath that Waggon out there, d’ye see it? If you wish to join me, there’s room.” “Bit too much Iron there for me, thanks all the same.
Thomas Pynchon (Mason & Dixon)
Debbie Nathan also puts a great deal of weight on a letter from Shirley Mason to Dr. Wilbur stating that her MPD was made up. Dr. Wilbur’s explanation was that the letter was based on resistance. Debbie Nathan takes the letter as a statement of the real truth. But if Shirley Mason was such an unreliable historian of her own trauma and mental health history, why should we take this single letter as the truth? If a person with a long history of treatment for alcoholism wrote a letter to her psychiatrist, in the middle of treatment, saying that she did not have a drinking problem, what would we conclude?
Colin A. Ross
One should not grow attached to other people, Doctor,” said Margarete, when he came to the door, and he didn’t know if she was speaking for him or for herself. Her eyes were red, and he wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t think of what to say. He had thought he was inured to death by then, even prided himself on the calmness with which he absorbed the news of the most recent passing. He who had once stared in shock at the frozen soldier without a jaw. But the great Rzedzian’s body seemed horribly small, the stiffening fingers too familiar, and the way his lip drew back over his teeth reminded him of the corpse of an animal.
Daniel Mason (The Winter Soldier)
something in. I wonder what the heck he’s doing. It was almost like he was waiting for me. I don't say anything, not wanting to be rude. Maybe he lives in the building. He’s not a tall man, maybe five-eleven, which doesn’t seem so big after having Mason in my space. Mason’s more than a few inches over six foot. But what this man doesn’t have in height, he has in muscles. He looks like someone who used to wrestle, I think absently. His gray hair streaks over his once-solid black hair. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s in his early fifties. The elevator dings, and he follows me on, hitting the button for both of us. When I step out, he follows me out the building and down the street. I start walking faster, unsure what the heck is going on. “Miss Myers.” When he says my name, I stop and turn, and he almost runs into me. “I’m your security. No need to be scared of me.” “Security?” “Seems you like to wander. I’m here to make sure you don’t wander into trouble.” “I don’t wander,” I fire back. He raises his eyebrows and smiles. “Just doing my job, ma’am.” His easy smile forces me to release the tension in my shoulders. Sometimes things would get a little scary when I walked home to my old apartment. It wasn’t in the nicest neighborhood. Heck, sometimes I didn’t even feel safe in my apartment.
Alexa Riley (Paid For)
Mason prefers to switch over to Tea, when it is Dixon’s turn to begin shaking his head. “Can’t understand how anyone abides that stuff.” “How so?” Mason unable not to react. “Well, it’s disgusting, isn’t it? Half-rotted Leaves, scalded with boiling Water and then left to lie, and soak, and bloat?” “Disgusting? this is Tea, Friend, Cha,— what all tasteful London drinks,— that,” pollicating the Coffee-Pot, “is what’s disgusting.” “Au contraire,” Dixon replies, “Coffee is an art, where precision is all,— Water-Temperature, mean particle diameter, ratio of Coffee to Water or as we say, CTW, and dozens more Variables I’d mention, were they not so clearly out of thy technical Grasp,— ” “How is it,” Mason pretending amiable curiosity, “that of each Pot of Coffee, only the first Cup is ever worth drinking,— and that, by the time I get to it, someone else has already drunk it?” Dixon shrugs. “You must improve your Speed . . . ? As to the other, why aye, only the first Cup’s any good, owing to Coffee’s Sacramental nature, the Sacrament being Penance, entirely absent from thy sunlit World of Tay,— whereby the remainder of the Pot, often dozens of cups deep, represents the Price for enjoying that first perfect Cup.” “Folly,” gapes Mason. “Why, ev’ry cup of Tea is perfect . . . ?” “For what? curing hides?
Thomas Pynchon (Mason & Dixon)
Mason prefers to switch over to Tea, when it is Dixon’s turn to begin shaking his head. “Can’t understand how anyone abides that stuff.” “How so?” Mason unable not to react. “Well, it’s disgusting, isn’t it? Half-rotted Leaves, scalded with boiling Water and then left to lie, and soak, and bloat?” “Disgusting? this is Tea, Friend, Cha,— what all tasteful London drinks,— that,” pollicating the Coffee-Pot, “is what’s disgusting.” “Au contraire,” Dixon replies, “Coffee is an art, where precision is all,— Water-Temperature, mean particle diameter, ratio of Coffee to Water or as we say, CTW, and dozens more Variables I’d mention, were they not so clearly out of thy technical Grasp,—
Thomas Pynchon (Mason & Dixon)
When a boy grows up in a “dysfunctional” family (perhaps there is no other kind of family), his interior warriors will be killed off early. Warriors, mythologically, lift their swords to defend the king. The King in a child stands for and stands up for the child’s mood. But when we are children our mood gets easily overrun and swept over in the messed-up family by the more powerful, more dominant, more terrifying mood of the parent. We can say that when the warriors inside cannot protect our mood from being disintegrated, or defend our body from invasion, the warriors collapse, go into trance, or die. The inner warriors I speak of do not cross the boundary aggressively; they exist to defend the boundary. The Fianna, that famous band of warriors who defended Ireland’s borders, would be a model. The Fianna stayed out all spring and summer watching the boundaries, and during the winter came in. But a typical child has no such protection. If a grown-up moves to hit a child, or stuff food into the child’s mouth, there is no defense—it happens. If the grown-up decides to shout, and penetrate the child’s auditory boundaries by sheer violence, it happens. Most parents invade the child’s territory whenever they wish, and the child, trying to maintain his mood by crying, is simply carried away, mood included. Each child lives deep inside his or her own psychic house, or soul castle, and the child deserves the right of sovereignty inside that house. Whenever a parent ignores the child’s sovereignty, and invades, the child feels not only anger, but shame. The child concludes that if it has no sovereignty, it must be worthless. Shame is the name we give to the sense that we are unworthy and inadequate as human beings. Gershen Kauffman describes that feeling brilliantly in his book, Shame, and Merle Fossum and Marilyn Mason in their book, Facing Shame, extend Kauffman’s work into the area of family shame systems and how they work. When our parents do not respect our territory at all, their disrespect seems overwhelming proof of our inadequacy. A slap across the face pierces deeply, for the face is the actual boundary of our soul, and we have been penetrated. If a grown-up decides to cross our sexual boundaries and touch us, there is nothing that we as children can do about it. Our warriors die. The child, so full of expectation of blessing whenever he or she is around an adult, stiffens with shock, and falls into the timeless fossilized confusion of shame. What is worse, one sexual invasion, or one beating, usually leads to another, and the warriors, if revived, die again. When a boy grows up in an alcoholic family, his warriors get swept into the river by a vast wave of water, and they struggle there, carried downriver. The child, boy or girl, unprotected, gets isolated, and has more in common with snow geese than with people.
Robert Bly (Iron John: A Book about Men)
They pay their bill, gather their number, and, hand in hand, arm in arm, drift out into the night. Kady Grant pauses by the door, turning for one last look at the vidwall. Her eyes are clouded as she watches the truth she fought so hard to tell now playing on the wall for all the universe to see. Ezra Mason walks back into the restaurant, takes her hand in his. "You okay?" he asks softly. She turns and looks at him. Blue eyes shining bright. "I love you, Ezra Mason," she says. He blinks in surprise. His smile says more than any words could, but still he speaks. "I love you too, beautiful." She squeezes his hand. Kisses his lips. And together, they walk toward their distant shore. Some place fine and far from here.
Amie Kaufman (Obsidio (The Illuminae Files, #3))
Pierre’s heart thrilled to these words as he gazed with shining eyes into the mason’s face. He listened without interrupting or asking any questions, and with all his soul he believed what this stranger was saying to him. Whether he was believing rational arguments coming from the mason, or trusting more like a child in the persuasive intonation, the sense of authority, the sincerity of the words spoken, the quavering voice that sometimes seemed on the verge of breaking down, or the gleaming aged eyes grown old in that conviction, or the tranquillity, the certainty and true sense of vocation radiating from the old man’s whole being and striking Pierre very forcibly, given the state of his own debasement and despair – whatever was happening to him, he longed to believe with all his soul, and he did believe and he felt a joyful sense of calm, renewal and return to life.
Leo Tolstoy (War and Peace)
Since we’ve ruled out another man as the explanation for all this, I can only assume something has gone wrong at Havenhurst. Is that it?” Elizabeth seized on that excuse as if it were manna from heaven. “Yes,” she whispered, nodding vigorously. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss on her forehead and said teasingly, “Let me guess-you discovered the mill overcharged you?” Elizabeth thought she would die of the sweet torment when he continued tenderly teasing her about being thrifty. “Not the mill? Then it was the baker, and he refused to give you a better price for buying two loaves instead of one.” Tears swelled behind her eyes, treacherously close to the surface, and Ian saw them. “That bad?” he joked, looking at the suspicious sheen in her eyes. “Then it must be that you’ve overspent your allowance.” When she didn’t respond to his light probing, Ian smiled reassuringly and said, “Whatever it is, we’ll work it out together tomorrow.” It sounded as though he planned to stay, and that shook Elizabeth out of her mute misery enough to say chokingly, “No-it’s the-the masons. They’re costing much more than I-I expected. I’ve spent part of my personal allowance on them besides the loan you made me for Havenhurst.” “Oh, so it’s the masons,” he grinned, chuckling. “You have to keep your eye on them, to be sure. They’ll put you in the poorhouse if you don’t keep an eye on the mortar they charge you for. I’ll have to talk with them in the morning.” “No!” she burst out, fabricating wildly. “That’s just what has me so upset. I didn’t want you to have to intercede. I wanted to do it all myself. I have it all settled now, but it’s been exhausting. And so I went to the doctor to see why I felt so tired. He-he said there’s nothing in the world wrong with me. I’ll come home to Montmayne the day after tomorrow. Don’t wait here for me. I know how busy you are right now. Please,” she implored desperately, “let me do this, I beg you!” Ian straightened and shook his head in baffled disbelief, “I’d give you my life for the price of your smile, Elizabeth. You don’t have to beg me for anything. I do not want you spending your personal allowance on this place, however. If you do,” he lied teasingly, “I may be forced to cut it off.” Then, more seriously, he said, “If you need more money for Havenhurst, just tell me, but your allowance is to be spent exclusively on yourself. Finish your brandy,” he ordered gently, and when she had, he pressed another kiss on her forehead. “Stay here as long as you must. I have business in Devon that I’ve been putting off because I didn’t want to leave you. I’ll go there and return to London on Tuesday. Would you like to join me there instead of at Montmayne?” Elizabeth nodded. “There’s just one thing more,” he finished, studying her pale face and strained features. “Will you give me your word the doctor didn’t find anything at all to be alarmed about?” “Yes,” Elizabeth said. “I give you my word.” She watched him walk back into his own bed chamber. The moment his door clicked into its latch Elizabeth turned over and buried her face in the pillows. She wept until she thought there couldn’t possibly be any more tears left in her, and then she wept harder. Across the room the door leading out into the hall was opened a crack, and Berta peeked in, then quickly closed it. Turning to Bentner-who’d sought her counsel when Ian slammed the door in his face and ripped into Elizabeth-Berta said miserably, “She’s crying like her heart will break, but he’s not in there anymore.” “He ought to be shot!” Bentner said with blazing contempt. Berta nodded timidly and clutched her dressing robe closer about her. “He’s a frightening man, to be sure, Mr. Bentner.
Judith McNaught (Almost Heaven (Sequels, #3))
Patricia! Baby! Why don’t you pick up your phone?” he cries. “I called you eight hundred times. Listen, I’m telling you, baby, I never cheated on you . . .” “I know that,” Patricia says calmly. “You know . . .” He stares at her. “If you know that . . . then why . . . in the fuck . . . did you key my CAR!?” he shouts. “BECAUSE YOU LEFT MY GRANDMOTHER AT THE AIRPORT!” Patricia bellows back at him. “You said you were going to pick her up while I was at work! She waited THREE HOURS, MASON! That woman is eighty-seven years old! She saw the Hindenburg explode. Actually, she heard it—BECAUSE THERE WAS NO FUCKING TV!” Mason is standing there frozen, with a guilty grimace on his face. He definitely forgot all about Patricia’s grandma until right this very moment. “Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “I might have fallen asleep—” “ASLEEP?” “But you didn’t have to key my car, baby! It’s a classic!” “Nana’s a classic, Mason! NANA!
Sophie Lark (Savage Lover (Brutal Birthright, #3))
I had my Boswell, once,” Mason tells Boswell, “Dixon and I. We had a joint Boswell. Preacher nam’d Cherrycoke. Scribbling ev’rything down, just like you, Sir. Have you,” twirling his Hand in Ellipses,— “you know, ever . . . had one yourself? If I’m not prying.” “Had one what?” “Hum . . . a Boswell, Sir,— I mean, of your own. Well you couldn’t very well call him that, being one yourself,— say, a sort of Shadow ever in the Room who has haunted you, preserving your ev’ry spoken remark,— ” “Which else would have been lost forever to the great Wind of Oblivion,— think,” armsweep south, “as all civiliz’d Britain gathers at this hour, how much shapely Expression, from the titl’d Gambler, the Barmaid’s Suitor, the offended Fopling, the gratified Toss-Pot, is simply fading away upon the Air, out under the Door, into the Evening and the Silence beyond. All those voices. Why not pluck a few words from the multitudes rushing toward the Void of forgetfulness?
Thomas Pynchon (Mason & Dixon)
They are examin’d skeptickally. “Not from the Press, are you?” “ ’Pon my Word,” cry both Surveyors at once. “Drummers of some kind’s my guess,” puts in a Countryman, his Rifle at his Side, “am I right, Gents?” “What’ll we say?” mutters Mason urgently to Dixon. “Oh, do allow me,” says Dixon to Mason. Adverting to the Room, “Why aye, Right as a Right Angle, we’re out here to ruffle up some business with any who may be in need of Surveying, London-Style,— Astronomickally precise, optickally up-to-the-Minute, surprisingly cheap. The Behavior of the Stars is the most perfect Motion there is, and we know how to read it all, just as you’d read a Clock-Face. We have Lenses that never lie, and Micrometers fine enough to subtend the Width of a Hair upon a Martian’s Eye-ball. This looks like a bustling Town, plenty of activity in the Land-Trades, where think yese’d be a good place to start?” with an amiability that Mason recognizes as peculiarly Quaker,— Friendly Business.
Thomas Pynchon (Mason & Dixon)
Well brought up folks no longer believe in the devil, but as their ideas are no more rational than those of our nurses, they do but disguise devil and angel under a pedantic wordiness honored with the name of philosophy. They do not say "devil" nowadays, but "the flesh," or "the passions." The"angel" is replaced by the words "conscience" or "soul," by "reflection of the thought of a divine creator" or "the Great Architect," as the Free- Masons say. But man's action is still represented as the result of a struggle between two hostile elements. And a man is always considered virtuous just in the degree to which one of these two elements --the soul or conscience-- is victorious over the other --the flesh or passions. It is easy to understand the astonishment of our great-grandfathers when the English philosophers, and later the Encyclopedists, began to affirm in opposition to these primitive ideas that the devil and the angel had nothing to do with human action, but that all acts of man, good or bad, useful or baneful, arise from a single motive: the lust for pleasure.
Pyotr Kropotkin (Anarchist Morality)
Okay, superstar. Here’s three words for you. You ready?” I adopt a serious face, though my heart is hammering. “I’m ready.” Looking into my eyes, she says calmly, “Let’s get married.” I almost topple over onto the floor. “What?” “You don’t have to shout at me. You did ask for three words, after all.” I’m so astonished I almost can’t from a sentence. “B-but I thought… I meant… I love you!” She smiles serenely at me. “I know you do, Mason. I love you, too. So much.” “No—I meant I thought you were going to say I love you!” “I know you did, honey, but I figured unless I popped the question first, you’d carry that big pink diamond around for who knows how long before you got around to asking me, so…” She shrugs. “Here we are.” My jaw hangs open. “You know about the ring?” Waldine throws herself onto one of the sofas, props her feet up on the arm, folds her arms behind her head, and grins at me. “Son, half of Atlanta knows about the ring. You think you could sneak into a jewelry shop and plunk down millions on a piece of ice in that town and nobody would hear about it? Psh.
J.T. Geissinger (Rules of Engagement)
Grabbing my hair and pulling it to the point my skull throbs, I rock back and forth while insanity threatens to destroy my mind completely. Father finally did what Lachlan started. Destroyed my spirit. The angel is gone. The monster has come and killed her. Lachlan Sipping his whiskey, Shon gazes with a bored expression at the one-way mirror as Arson lights the match, grazing the skin of his victim with it as the man convulses in fear. “Show off,” he mutters, and on instinct, I slap the back of his head. He rubs it, spilling the drink. “The fuck? We are wasting time, Lachlan. Tell him to speed up. You know if you let him, he can play for hours.” All in good time, we don’t need just a name. He is saving him for a different kind of information that we write down as Sociopath types furiously on his computer, searching for the location and everything else using FBI databases. “Bingo!” Sociopath mutters, picking up the laptop and showing the screen to me. “It’s seven hours away from New York, in a deserted location in the woods. The land belongs to some guy who is presumed dead and the man accrued the right to build shelters for abused women. They actually live there as a place of new hope or something.” Indeed, the center is advertised as such and has a bunch of stupid reviews about it. Even the approval of a social worker, but then it doesn’t surprise me. Pastor knows how to be convincing. “Kids,” I mutter, fisting my hands. “Most of them probably have kids. He continues to do his fucked-up shit.” And all these years, he has been under my radar. I throw the chair and it bounces off the wall, but no one says anything as they feel the same. “Shon, order a plane. Jaxon—” “Yeah, my brothers will be there with us. But listen, the FBI—” he starts, and I nod. He takes a beat and quickly sends a message to someone on his phone while I bark into the microphone. “Arson, enough with the bullshit. Kill him already.” He is of no use to us anyway. Arson looks at the wall and shrugs. Then pours gas on his victim and lights up the match simultaneously, stepping aside as the man screams and thrashes on the chair, and the smell of burning flesh can be sensed even here. Arson jogs to a hose, splashing water over him. The room is designed security wise for this kind of torture, since fire is one of the first things I taught. After all, I’d learned the hard way how to fight with it. “On the plane, we can adjust the plan. Let’s get moving.” They spring into action as I go to my room to get a specific folder to give to Levi before I go, when Sociopath’s hand stops me, bumping my shoulder. “Is this a suicide mission for you?” he asks, and I smile, although it lacks any humor. My friend knows everything. Instead of answering his question, I grip his shoulder tight, and confide, “Valencia is entrusted to you.” We both know that if I want to destroy Pastor, I have to die with him. This revenge has been twenty-three years in the making, and I never envisioned a different future. This path always leads to death one way or another, and the only reason I valued my life was because I had to kill him. Valencia will be forever free from the evils that destroyed her life. I’ll make sure of it. Once upon a time, there was an angel. Who made the monster’s heart bleed.
V.F. Mason (Lachlan's Protégé: A Billionaire Romance (Dark Protégés Book 1))
If there’s one thing you learn from me, after hearing about just under one year of my life can it be that you should do whatever makes you happy. People can bring you down, people can bully you, can cheat on you but if you are doing whatever makes you happy they’ll never break you. Like you saw Jacob cried but he went back fighting, no way was he going to drop out that course, it was what he wanted to do in his life and Noah was as happy as always when he told us about Stephen, because he knew although that hurt him he was about to go onto bigger and better things. Oh and never let people hold you back, ever. Mason wouldn’t be going to university this September if he had and he wouldn’t be doing what makes him happy (see full circle). And most of all, always have the courage to stand up and say I am what I am, never apologize for who you are or who you love and always take a chance because you never know what could happen and although some people call it cliché, it’s okay to fall in love with your best friend because sometimes having your best friend as your lover is the best thing you could ask for. I promise. It’s also perfectly acceptable to dress up as a women on a weekly basis and singing popular songs as long as it makes you happy doing so.
R.J. Seeley (Released (Trapped #2))
So what's going on with you and your boyfriend?" Eli asked me right before he shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth during breakfast the next morning. I made a face in the direction of my plate before shooting a glance upward to find Gordo’s eyes on me, a smirk on his face. "Mason?" I asked, going back to my food. Eli made a gagging noise, elbowing me hard in the ribs. "I'm not gonna go into details on how disturbing it is that I say ‘your boyfriend’ and you automatically think of fucking Mase." "He's always calling me his wife, or telling people I don't know that we're getting married," I replied, elbowing him back as hard as he got me. It was partially the truth… but mostly, I didn’t want to talk about the man who had been kissing my shoulder hours ago. "I love Mase, but it'll be a sunny day in my asshole before you and him get together," he mumbled. I snorted, biting into my biscuit. "Who the heck else would you be talking about?" I asked, but I knew. Oh, I knew damn well he was referring to Sacha. Freaking Gordo snickered from across the table before putting his hands up in surrender when I glared at him. "I didn’t say anything." "Sacha, Flabby. Sacha. Your boyfriend. Your snuggle bug." Eliza finally answered. Suddenly the half-eaten biscuit on my plate needed to be eaten immediately. I shoved the entire piece into my mouth to avoid the conversation my brother was trying to edge into. I'd had talks about boys with Eli in the past, and they never ended—or started—well. "There's nothing going on between us. We're just friends." Because we were. Eli made a noise that sounded like “hmmph” deep in his throat. It was incredulous and disbelieving. Then he asked the question to prove it, his attention back on his band mate. "Gordo, do you think I'm blind?" Gordo shook his head. "Gaby, do you think I'm blind?" he asked. "Not blind, just dumb.” I smiled. He shot me a frown. A moment later, he threw his arm over my shoulders and started shoving his plate away with his free hand. "Flabby Gaby, that kid is in love with you." In love. With me? I leaned forward and tried to sniff his breath. “Are you still drunk?” But my brother kept talking before I could keep going. "Anyone with eyes and ears knows that guy thinks you shit out Lucky Charms." Gordo and I burst out laughing. "Is that a good thing?" I asked him. Eliza shoved my face away with his palm, ignoring my commentary again. "And I think that you love him, too." The noise that came out of my mouth sounded like a hybrid “moo” and squawk at the same time. "I—,” I slammed my mouth shut before opening it again with a sputter. “What?
Mariana Zapata (Rhythm, Chord & Malykhin)
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel “T hey shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us)” (Matthew 1:23 ESV). This is perhaps our oldest Christmas carol. Historians say its roots go back to the 8th century. In its earliest form, it was a “plain song” or a chant and the monks sang it a cappella. It was sung or chanted in Latin during the seven days leading up to Christmas. Translated into English by John Mason Neale in 1851, we sing it to the tune “Veni, Emmanuel,” a 15th-century melody. Many churches sing it early in the Advent season because of its plaintive tone of expectant waiting. Traditionally Advent centers on the Old Testament preparation for the coming of the Messiah who will establish his kingdom on the earth. When the words form a prayer that Christ will come and “ransom captive Israel,” we ought to remember the long years of Babylonian captivity. Each verse of this carol features a different Old Testament name or title of the coming Messiah: “O come, O come, Emmanuel.” “O come, Thou Wisdom from on high.” “O come, Thou Rod of Jesse.” “O come, Thou Day-spring.” “O come, Thou Key of David.” “O come, Thou Lord of Might.” “O come, Desire of Nations.” This carol assumes a high level of biblical literacy. That fact might argue against singing it today because so many churchgoers don’t have any idea what “Day-spring” means or they think Jesse refers to a wrestler or maybe to a reality TV star. But that argument works both ways. We ought to sing this carol and we ought to use it as a teaching tool. Sing it—and explain it! We can see the Jewish roots of this carol in the refrain: Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel. But Israel’s Messiah is also our Savior and Lord. What Israel was waiting for turns out to be the long-expected Jesus. So this carol rightly belongs to us as well. The first verse suggests the longing of the Jewish people waiting for Messiah to come: O come, O come, Emmanuel And ransom captive Israel That mourns in lonely exile here Until the Son of God appears The second verse pictures Christ redeeming us from hell and death: O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free Thine own from Satan’s tyranny From depths of Hell Thy people save And give them victory o’er the grave This verse reminds us only Christ can take us home to heaven: O come, Thou Key of David, come, And open wide our heavenly home; Make safe the way that leads on high, And close the path to misery. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel. Let’s listen as Selah captures the Jewish flavor of this carol. Lord, we pray today for all those lost in the darkness of sin. We pray for those who feel there is no hope. May the light of Jesus shine in their hearts today. Amen.
Ray Pritchard (Joy to the World! An Advent Devotional Journey through the Songs of Christmas)
Go away.” I stick my elbow in his ribs and force him to step back. “Sit on the couch and keep your hands to yourself,” I instruct, then follow him to the sofa and grab my Dating and Sex for Dummies books off the coffee table and shove them into my sock drawer while he laughs. “You’re making me miss my show,” I gripe as I toss things into the suitcase. “Your show? You sound like you’re eighty.” He glances at the TV behind me then back to me. “Murder on Mason Lane,” he says. “It was the neighbor. She was committing Medicare fraud using the victim’s deceased wife’s information. He caught on so she killed him.” I gasp. “You spoiler! You spoiling spoiler who spoils!” Then I shrug. “This is a new episode. You don’t even know that. It’s the daughter. She killed him. I’ve had her pegged since the first commercial break.” “You’re cute.” “Just you wait,” I tell him, very satisfied with myself. I’m really good at guessing whodunnit. “Sorry, you murder nerd, I worked on this case two years ago. It’s the neighbor.” “Really?” I drop my makeup bag into the suitcase and check to see if he’s teasing me. “I swear. I’ll tell you all the good shit the show left out once we’re on the plane.” I survey Boyd with interest. I do have a lot of questions. “I thought you were in cyber crimes, not murder.” “Murder isn’t a department,” he replies, shaking his head at me. “You know what I mean.” “Most crimes have a cyber component to them these days. There’s always a cyber trail.” Shit, that’s hot.
Jana Aston (Trust (Cafe, #3))
She leaned over the basket again, taking in the mouthwatering aromas wafting out of it. "Fried chicken? Oh, I'm thinking buttermilk fried chicken?" Dylan was once again amused. "How do you do that?" "I like food." "You don't say." "And I love Southern fried chicken." She tried to open the basket, and he tapped her hand jokingly. "Sit," he said. And she did, crossing her legs and plopping down on the blanket. Opening the basket and playing waiter, Dylan began removing flatware and plates and red-checkered napkins, and then wrapped food. "For lunch today in Chez Orchard de Pomme, we have some lovely cheese, made from the milk of my buddy Mike's goat Shelia." He removed the plastic wrap, which covered a small log of fresh white cheese on a small plate, and handed it to her. Grace put her nose to the cheese. It was heavenly. "Oh, Shelia is my new best friend." "It's good stuff. And we have some fresh chili corn bread. The corn, I think, is from Peter Lindsey's new crop, just cut out from the maze, which is right down this hill." He motioned with his head toward the field, and then he handed her a big loaf of the fresh corn bread wrapped loosely in wax paper. "It's still warm!" Delighted, she held it to her cheek. Then he pulled out a large oval Tupperware container. "And, yes, we have Dolly's buttermilk fried chicken." Grace peeled open the top and smelled. "Fabulous." "It is!" He also pulled out a mason jar of sourwood honey, a sack of pecans, and a couple of very cold bottles of a local mountain-brewed beer.
Jeffrey Stepakoff (The Orchard)
There she is,” he said. I scanned the room for Mason’s current love interest. “Where?” “Pink top, brown ponytail.” “She’s cute. But a little too innocent for your taste.” “Looks can be deceiving.” He grinned. “How did a girl like me end up with a man-whore like you for a best friend?” “I’m the one who should be asking how a guy like me ended up with a prude like you.” “Hey, I’m not a prude. Well, at least I don’t think I am. Who knows?” “I already volunteered my services. Telling you, once you’re devirginized you’re gonna go wild. Might as well get it out of the way.” I hushed him and looked around. “Someone will hear you.” “A guy who likes sex and a girl who’s a virgin. Yeah, that’s something no one’s ever seen before.” He shrugged. “I’m just trying to do you a favor.” I laughed. “Your thoughtfulness amazes me.” “No-strings-attached sex is very generous. You laugh now but one day you’ll come around.” “No thanks. I know where you’ve been.” “Good point.” He glanced back at the girl. “And you know where I’m going.” I rolled my eyes. “Go. It’s fine.” “That’s okay. I’ll find her later. I promised not to abandon you.” “Go. Seriously. I’m fine. I’ll practice blending in with the walls.” “Now I really can’t leave you.” He shifted his weight and stared at me. “It was a joke. Anyway, I see a girl from one of my classes. I’ll go say hi.” I walked away and glanced back. With a shooing motion, I said, “Go.” He shrugged and went to find his brunette. I hadn’t really seen a friend but Mason came to have fun. I didn’t want to be his party paperweight.
Renita Pizzitola (Just a Little Crush (Crush, #1))
I know I’m supposed to stand up here and say a bunch of nice things.” Mason’s voice grew serious; there was no forced lightness now. The room grew quiet. “But I can’t do that. I can say a bunch of things about what I hope for their future. I hope they continue to be happy. I hope they’ll remain faithful to each other. I hope Analise won’t start drinking because even though that’s not what her problem was, I know it might’ve helped. I hope she won’t do anything to tear this family apart. I hope one day Logan and I will enjoy coming to the house again, the place we grew up. I hope our father will one day apologize to our mother for the endless stream of mistresses. I hope Logan will have a relationship with his father, because he didn’t growing up. I hope Samantha won’t fear her mother one day. I hope you both will be welcomed at my wedding one day.” He looked at me then. “I hope you’ll both be doting grandparents to my future children, and I hope I’ll let you see them, and maybe even have unsupervised sleepovers. I hope for a lot of things.” [...] “I know this wasn’t the nicest speech, but I’m not one to be fake. My dad knows that, so he must’ve been expecting something like this. I can say a few good things. I can say that I used to hate my dad, and I don’t any longer.” He tore his eyes away to look at his father. “I don’t have as much anger at you as I did, so maybe you wanted to hear that?” Then he looked at my mother. “And Analise…” I heard a woman suck in her breath at the nearest table. “I can thank you for giving Sam space, but I want you to let her go.
Tijan (Fallen Crest Home (Fallen Crest High, #6))
The Sailor-boy’s Gossip You say, dear mamma, it is good to be talking With those who will kindly endeavour to teach. And I think I have learnt something while I was walking Along with the sailor-boy down on the beach. He told me of lands where he soon will be going, Where humming-birds scarcely are bigger than bees, Where the mace and the nutmeg together are growing, And cinnamon formeth the bark of some trees. He told me that islands far out in the ocean Are mountains of coral that insects have made, And I freely confess I had hardly a notion That insects could world in the way that he said. He spoke of wide deserts where the sand-clouds are flying. No shade for the brow, and no grass for the feet; Where camels and travelers often lie dying, Gasping for water and scorching with heat. He told me of places away in the East, Where topaz, and ruby, and sapphires are found: Where you never are safe from the snake and the beast, For the serpent and tiger and jackal abound. I thought our own Thames was a very great stream, With its waters so fresh and its currents so strong; But how tiny our largest of rivers must seem To those he had sailed on, three thousand miles long. He speaks, dear mamma, of so many strange places, With people who neither have cities nor kings. Who wear skins on their shoulders, paint on their faces, And live on the spoils which their hunting-field brings. Oh! I long, dear mamma, to learn more of these stories, From books that are written to please and to teach, And I wish I could see half the curious glories The sailor-boy told me of down on the beach. Eliza Cook.
Charlotte M. Mason (Elementary Geography: Full Illustrations & Study Guides!)
My dwelling was small, and I could hardly entertain an echo in it; but it seemed larger for being a single apartment and remote from neighbors. All the attractions of a house were concentrated in one room; it was kitchen, chamber, parlor, and keeping-room; and whatever satisfaction parent or child, master or servant, derive from living in a house, I enjoyed it all. Cato says, the master of a family (patremfamilias) must have in his rustic villa "cellam oleariam, vinariam, dolia multa, uti lubeat caritatem expectare, et rei, et virtuti, et gloriae erit," that is, "an oil and wine cellar, many casks, so that it may be pleasant to expect hard times; it will be for his advantage, and virtue, and glory." I had in my cellar a firkin of potatoes, about two quarts of peas with the weevil in them, and on my shelf a little rice, a jug of molasses, and of rye and Indian meal a peck each. I sometimes dream of a larger and more populous house, standing in a golden age, of enduring materials, and without gingerbread work, which shall still consist of only one room, a vast, rude, substantial, primitive hall, without ceiling or plastering, with bare rafters and purlins supporting a sort of lower heaven over one's head—useful to keep off rain and snow, where the king and queen posts stand out to receive your homage, when you have done reverence to the prostrate Saturn of an older dynasty on stepping over the sill; a cavernous house, wherein you must reach up a torch upon a pole to see the roof; where some may live in the fireplace, some in the recess of a window, and some on settles, some at one end of the hall, some at another, and some aloft on rafters with the spiders, if they choose; a house which you have got into when you have opened the outside door, and the ceremony is over; where the weary traveller may wash, and eat, and converse, and sleep, without further journey; such a shelter as you would be glad to reach in a tempestuous night, containing all the essentials of a house, and nothing for house-keeping; where you can see all the treasures of the house at one view, and everything hangs upon its peg, that a man should use; at once kitchen, pantry, parlor, chamber, storehouse, and garret; where you can see so necessary a thing, as a barrel or a ladder, so convenient a thing as a cupboard, and hear the pot boil, and pay your respects to the fire that cooks your dinner, and the oven that bakes your bread, and the necessary furniture and utensils are the chief ornaments; where the washing is not put out, nor the fire, nor the mistress, and perhaps you are sometimes requested to move from off the trap-door, when the cook would descend into the cellar, and so learn whether the ground is solid or hollow beneath you without stamping. A house whose inside is as open and manifest as a bird's nest, and you cannot go in at the front door and out at the back without seeing some of its inhabitants; where to be a guest is to be presented with the freedom of the house, and not to be carefully excluded from seven eighths of it, shut up in a particular cell, and told to make yourself at home there—in solitary confinement. Nowadays the host does not admit you to his hearth, but has got the mason to build one for yourself somewhere in his alley, and hospitality is the art of keeping you at the greatest distance. There is as much secrecy about the cooking as if he had a design to poison you. I am aware that I have been on many a man's premises, and might have been legally ordered off, but I am not aware that I have been in many men's houses. I might visit in my old clothes a king and queen who lived simply in such a house as I have described, if I were going their way; but backing out of a modern palace will be all that I shall desire to learn, if ever I am caught in one.
Henry David Thoreau (Walden)
My route, Sior Francis—and don't be surprised when you hear it—my route when I set out to find God... was... laziness. Yes, laziness. If I wasn't lazy I would have gone the way of respectable, upstanding people. Like everyone else I would have studied a trade—cabinet-maker, weaver, mason—and opened a shop; I would have worked all day long, and where then would I have found time to search for God? I might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack: that's what I would have said to myself. All my mind and thoughts would have been occupied with how to earn my living, feed my children, how to keep the upper hand over my wife. With such worries, curse them, how could I have the time, or inclination, or the pure heart needed to think about the Almighty? But by the grace of God I was born lazy. To work, get married, have children, and make problems for myself were all too much trouble. I simply sat in the sun during winter and in the shade during summer, while at night, stretched out on my back on the roof of my house, I watched the moon and the stars. And when you watch the moon and the stars how can you expect your mind not to dwell on God? I couldn't sleep any more. Who made all that? I asked myself. And why? Who made me, and why? Where can I find God so that I may ask Him? Piety requires laziness, you know. It requires leisure—and don't listen to what others say. The laborer who lives from hand to mouth returns home each night exhausted and famished. He assaults his dinner, bolts his food, then quarrels with his wife, beats his children without rhyme or reason simply because he's tired and irritated, and afterwards he clenches his fists and sleeps. Waking up for a moment he finds his wife at his side, couples with her, clenches his fists once more, and plunges back into sleep.... Where can he find time for God? But the man who is without work, children, and wife thinks about God, at first just out of curiosity, but later with anguish.
Nikos Kazantzakis (Saint Francis)
Hey, Ben,” she says, ignoring the rest of us. “You want to dance?” Ben’s cheeks turn the same scarlet as Rosie’s dress. He and Ryder exchange a pointed look while Lucy and I just stand there gawking. “Go on, man,” Ryder says, nudging him. “You look great, Rosie,” he adds. “Nice dress.” She smiles up at him, her blue eyes seeming to glitter beneath the disco-ball lighting. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.” She glances from Ryder to me and back to Ryder again. “The two of you…You looked good together up there.” “I know, right?” Lucy nods, and I shoot her a “what are you doing?” glare. She ignores it. “Maybe these two should stop the hating and listen to their parents.” An awkward silence follows. Finally, Ben seems to remember why Rosie came over in the first place. “Um, you want to go dance?” “Yeah. I love this song.” Ben nods. “Okay. Catch you guys later.” Rosie’s smile seems genuine as she follows Ben to the dance floor. I hope that means she’s finally figured out what a sweetheart he is. As soon as they’re gone, Lucy lets out a low whistle. “Whoa, did that just happen?” “I think it did,” I say, watching as Rosie wraps her arms around Ben’s neck. She must have said something funny, because he throws his head back and laughs. Lucy shakes her head in amazement. “I swear, it’s like we’re in some kind of alternate universe tonight.” “Well, in that case, how about you and me, Luce?” Mason says with a cocky grin. “Think you can handle me on the dance floor?” “Oh, what the hell?” Lucy says with a shrug. “Why not!” She reaches for Mason’s hand and drags him toward the dance floor but stops a few feet away and turns back to face Ryder and me. “Hey, you two--behave!” In seconds, she and Mason are swallowed by the crowd. “And then there were two,” Ryder says, reaching for my hand. He leans down, his lips near my ear. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to kiss you right now?” he whispers. “Later,” I say with a shiver. It’s not an empty word. It’s a promise. He gives my hand a squeeze. “So…until then, I guess we dance.” “We dance,” I say as a slow song begins to play. Talk about good timing.
Kristi Cook (Magnolia (Magnolia Branch, #1))
Eeh, but whah’s the use, the fuckin’ use?” Dixon resting his head briefly tho’ audibly upon the Table. “It’s over . . . ? Nought left to us but Paper-work . . . ?” Their task has shifted, from Direct Traverse upon the Line to Pen-and-Paper Representation of it, in the sober Day-Light of Philadelphia, strain’d thro’ twelve-by-twelve Sash-work, as in the spectreless Light of the Candles in their Rooms, suffering but the fretful Shadows of Dixon at the Drafting Table, and Mason, seconding now, reading from Entries in the Field-Book, as Dixon once minded the Clock for him. Finally, one day, Dixon announces, “Well,— won’t thee at least have a look . . . ?” Mason eagerly rushes to inspect the Map of the Boundaries, almost instantly boggling, for there bold as a Pirate’s Flag is an eight-pointed Star, surmounted by a Fleur-de-Lis. “What’s this thing here? pointing North? Wasn’t the l’Grand flying one of these? Doth it not signify, England’s most inveterately hated Rival? France?” “All respect, Mason,— among Brother and Sister Needle-folk in ev’ry Land, ’tis known universally, as the ‘Flower-de-Luce.’ A Magnetickal Term.” “ ‘Flower of Light’? Light, hey? Sounds Encyclopedistick to me, perhaps even Masonick,” says Mason. A Surveyor’s North-Point, Dixon explains, by long Tradition, is his own, which he may draw, and embellish, in any way he pleases, so it point where North be. It becomes his Hall-Mark, personal as a Silver-Smith’s, representative of his Honesty and Good Name. Further, as with many Glyphs, ’tis important ever to keep Faith with it,— for an often enormous Investment of Faith, and Will, lies condens’d within, giving it a Potency in the World that the Agents of Reason care little for. “ ’Tis an ancient Shape, said to go back to the earliest Italian Wind-Roses,” says Dixon, “— originally, at the North, they put the Letter T, for Tramontane, the Wind that blew down from the Alps . . . ? Over the years, as ever befalls such frail Bric-a-Brack as Letters of the Alphabet, it was beaten into a kind of Spear-head,— tho’ the kinder-hearted will aver it a Lily, and clash thy Face, do tha deny it.” “Yet some, finding it upon a new Map, might also take it as a reassertion of French claims to Ohio,” Mason pretends to remind him. “Aye, tha’ve found me out, I confess,— ’tis a secret Message to all who conspire in the Dark! Eeh! The old Jesuit Canard again!
Thomas Pynchon (Mason & Dixon)
I thought we were meeting by the field house,” I call out as I make my way over. He doesn’t even turn around. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I said the parking lot.” “You definitely said the field house,” I argue. Why can’t he ever just admit that he’s wrong? “Geez, field house, parking lot. What difference does it make?” Mason asks. “Give it a rest, why don’t you.” I shoot him a glare. “Oh, hey, Mason. Remember when your hair was long and everyone thought you were a girl?” Ryder chuckles as he releases a perfect spiral in Mason’s direction. “She’s got you there.” “Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?” Mason catches the ball and cradles it against his chest, then launches it toward Ben. I just stand there watching as they continue to toss it back and forth between the three of them. Haven’t they had enough football for one day? I pull out my cell to check the time. “We should probably get going.” “I guess,” Ryder says with an exaggerated sigh, like I’m putting him out or something. Which is particularly annoying since he’s the one who insisted on going with me. Ben jogs up beside me, the football tucked beneath his arm. “Where are you two off to? Whoa, you’re sweaty.” I fold my arms across my damp chest. “Hey, southern girls don’t sweat. We glow.” Ben snorts at that. “Says who?” “Says Ryder’s mom,” I say with a grin. It’s one of Laura Grace’s favorite sayings--one that always makes Ryder wince. “The hardware store,” Ryder answers, snatching the ball back from Ben. “Gotta pick up some things for the storm--sandbags and stuff like that. Y’all want to come?” “Nah, I think I’ll pass.” Mason wrinkles his nose. “Pretty sure I don’t want to be cooped up in the truck with Jemma glowing like she is right now.” “Everybody thought you and Morgan were identical twin girls,” I say with a smirk. “Remember, Mason? Isn’t that just so cute?” “I’ll go,” Ben chimes in. “If you’re getting sandbags, you’ll need some help carrying them out to the truck.” “Thanks, Ben. See, someone’s a gentleman.” “Don’t look now, Ryder, but your one-woman fan club is over there.” Mason tips his head toward the school building in the distance. “I think she’s scented you out. Quick. You better run.” I glance over my shoulder to find Rosie standing on the sidewalk by the building’s double doors, looking around hopefully. “Hey!” Mason calls out, waving both arms above his head. “He’s over here.” Ryder’s cheeks turn beet-red. He just stares at the ground, his jaw working furiously. “C’mon, man,” Ben says, throwing an elbow into Mason’s side. “Don’t be a dick.” He grabs the football and heads toward Ryder’s Durango. “We better get going. The hardware store probably closes at six.” Silently, Ryder and I hurry after him and hop inside the truck--Ben up front, me in the backseat. We don’t look back to see if Rosie’s following.
Kristi Cook (Magnolia (Magnolia Branch, #1))
If you are a great warrior, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before the lowest opponent. If you are a great general, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before the lowest soldier. If you are a great politician, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before for the lowest constituent. If you are a great governor, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before for the lowest peasant. If you are a great president, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before the lowest citizen. If you are a great leader, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before for the lowest servant. If you are a great pastor, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before the lowest parishioner. If you are a great prophet, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before the lowest seer. If you are a great pope, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before the lowest priest. If you are a great teacher, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before for the lowest student. If you are a great guru, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before for the lowest disciple. If you are a great architect, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before the lowest mason. If you are a great engineer, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before the lowest mechanic. If you are a great inventor, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before for the lowest scientist. If you are a great doctor, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before for the lowest nurse. If you are a great judge, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before the lowest lawyer. If you are a great artist, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before the lowest apprentice. If you are a great coach, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before for the lowest athlete. If you are a great genius, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before for the lowest talent. If you are a great philanthropist, you are supposed to be prepared to humble yourself before for the lowest beggar. In the school of patience, it is the long suffering who graduate. In the school of generosity, it is the kind who graduate. In the school of activism, it is the devoted who graduate. In the school of honor, it is the noble who graduate. In the school of wisdom, it is the prudent who graduate. In the school of knowledge, it is the curious who graduate. In the school of insight, it is the observant who graduate. In the school of understanding, it is the intelligent who graduate. In the school of success, it is the excellent who graduate. In the school of eminence, it is the influential who graduate. In the school of conquest, it is the fearless who graduate. In the school of enlightenment, it is the humble who graduate. In the school of courage, it is the hopeful who graduate. In the school of fortitude, it is the determined who graduate. In the school of leadership, it is servants who graduate. In the school of talent, it is the skilled who graduate. In the school of genius, it is the brilliant who graduate. In the school of greatness, it is the persevering who graduate. In the school of transcendence, it is the fearless who graduate. In the school of innovation, it is the creative who graduate.
Matshona Dhliwayo
She doesn’t remember us, Mason.” “I know that.
Meagan Brandy (Say You Swear)
What kind of girl would invite ‘some guy from the beach she sat and talked to for a minute’ to sleep down the hall from her for two weeks?” My lungs fill, and I turn to him. “The kind that remembers a topic from her freshman orientation.” His brows snap together. “That… that was after she left for the summer. Weeks after.” A small smile pulls at my lips, and I nod. “I know.” With that, I move toward my truck, leaving Mason to explain why I don’t have to run home to grab some things before we make the short trip. I already packed.
Meagan Brandy (Say You Swear)
Trust me, I do, but I’m trying to do what’s right here. This is what she wants.” “What she wants is you.” “Mason.” “She loves you, bro! That’s what’s right, end of fucking story!
Meagan Brandy (Say You Swear)
Mason slides in front of me, brows caved. He’s angry, but it’s more than that. The inability to protect the one person he’s spent his life protecting is eating him up.
Meagan Brandy (Say You Swear)
Go back in with your family, Mason.” “You go back in with your family!
Meagan Brandy (Say You Swear)
It could hurt him, and he’s been nothing but hurt since the day you were hit by that truck, which was on this street, by the way. Right here, in front of this house.” “Cameron,” Mason snaps, but she pushes on. “It was right after their last game of the season, a loss in the playoffs. You came here to find him, but Chase found you first.” I frown, shaking my head.
Meagan Brandy (Say You Swear)
Miss Breckenridge: We want the child to build relationships with the things in nature, which would include the earth itself, plant and animal life, oceanography, and astronomy. So, all things that eventually fall under science, and the more physical parts of geography. Miss Mason: And, as educators, what do we generally do with that? We consider the matter carefully; we say the boy will make a jumble of it if he is taught more than one or two sciences. We ask our friends “what sciences will tell best in examinations?” and “which are most easily learned?” We discover which are the best text-books in the smallest compass. The most economical, so to speak. The student learns up the text, listens to lectures, makes diagrams, watches demonstrations. Behold! he has “learned a science,” and is able to produce facts and figures, for a time anyway, in connection with some one class of natural phenomena; but of tender intimacy with Nature herself he has acquired none. I will now sketch what seems to me a better way.
Anne E. White (Revitalized: A new rendering of Charlotte Mason's School Education)
I think Lauren was all about me.” She scoffs. “I bet you do.”  “What? Are you saying she wasn’t?” “I’m saying that you think every woman is about you.”  I can’t help myself. I take a step closer and grin. “What about you? Are you about me?
Adriana Locke (Reputation (Mason Family, #2))
We need to make them fuck, not fall in love,” Lyric says. “Doesn’t romance lead to fucking?” Mason asks.
Eden Finley (Encore (Famous, #4))
When people discover that you and your husband were separated for a time but have since reconciled, they put their head on the side and say, “Clearly you never stopped loving him deep down.” But I did. I know I did. It is easier to say yes, you’re so right, because it is too much work to explain to them that you can stop and start again from nothing, that you can love the same person twice.
Meg Mason (Sorrow and Bliss)
But the long-term prospects for capitalism are bleak. According to the OECD, growth in the developed world will be ‘weak’ for the next fifty years. Inequality will rise by 40 per cent. Even in the developing countries, the current dynamism will be exhausted by 2060. 2 The OECD’s economists were too polite to say it, so let’s spell it out: for the developed world the best of capitalism is behind us, and for the rest it will be over in our lifetime. What started in 2008 as an economic crisis morphed into a social crisis, leading to mass unrest; and now, as revolutions turn into civil wars, creating military tension between nuclear superpowers, it has become a crisis of the global order.
Paul Mason (Postkapitalismus: Grundrisse einer kommenden Ökonomie (suhrkamp taschenbuch))
Ah well, Mulholland decided. Better out than in. ‘How did the golf proceed at the weekend, sir?’ The floodgates of grievance burst asunder and spilled out a veritable deluge. ‘I had a five-foot putt on the last green to win the match for myself and partner. Just as I was about to strike the ball, just at that moment, mind you, just then, not at any other moment, Sandy Grant, my own chief constable and a fellow mason to boot, jingled the coin in his pocket. A deliberate jingle!’ Mulholland bowed his head in sorrow and spoke. ‘My Aunt Katie always says, “There’s no limit to the darkness in man. To win the prize, he’d murder the world.
David Ashton (Fall From Grace: An Inspector McLevy Mystery 2)
Elan Golomb (1992) says: To grow up as a whole person, children in their formative stages need the experience of genuine acceptance; they have to know they are truly seen and yet are perfect in their parent’s eyes; they need to stumble and sometimes fall, only to be greeted by a parent’s commiserating smile. Through parental acceptance, children learn that their “is-ness,” their essential selves, merit love.
Paul T. Mason (Stop Walking on Eggshells: Taking Your Life Back When Someone You Care About Has Borderline Personality Disorder)
After his meeting with Romney, Fonesca encountered Keith Flax, a local jeweler who was also speaker of the legislative council and a close friend of both Romney and Peters. It didn't take long for the Panamanian and the Belonger to recognize they shared a special bond. Both were members of the ancient order of Freemasons. Dating to the Industrial Revolution in England, Freemasonry appropriated the symbols of craft guilds like the stonemasons to forge a fraternal order kept alive through esoteric rituals and Masonic lodges. ¶ Fonseca had tapped into an underground network—a secret society within a secret society—that exists in tax havens, particularly the British ones. Knowledge of Freemasonry, its signs, symbols, and rites, often serves as a doorway into closed cultures. It provides instant solidarity and an opportunity for government and business interests to network privately. John Christensen [the Jersey island exposé cooperator] says he was approached multiple times on Jersey to join one lodge or another. He always declined the offer. Holding no particular animus toward Freemasonry or the elite hobnobbing in the lodges, Christensen nonetheless viewed it all as slightly creepy.
Jake Bernstein (Secrecy World: Inside the Panama Papers Investigation of Illicit Money Networks and the Global Elite)
I vowed from that moment on, I’d never hold back from Mason. I’d never miss an opportunity to tell him I loved him ever again. I’d never put off tomorrow what I could say today.
Amie Knight (The Final Play (Summerville Sports #3))
group was refreshing in a way I’ve never experienced. I love talking to Cam, and I’d trust her with all things in my world, but I had a fresh mind with a fresh outlook, and I think it was exactly what I needed. While it seemed to bother him that I was upset, he wasn’t wounded by the situation like me, Chase, and Cameron were, or as Brady or Mason would be if they knew. It’s different, and I love that. We didn’t sit around the entire time working to wash away or prevent awkwardness. It was fun and stress-free. It was easy. Noah being here now, though, I one thousand
Meagan Brandy (Say You Swear)
How many siblings do you have?” “Three sisters. The oldest is Charity. She’s twenty-eight. Then there’s Serenity, who is twenty-four. And Hope is twenty-two.” Mason’s eyebrow raised slightly, and I knew where his thoughts probably headed. Our names. Yes, we were all named after virtues. And yes, I was fully aware of the ridiculousness. “So…Charity, Serenity, Hope and Felicity?” “Between you and me”—I leaned toward him—“Charity is the most selfish person I know. Serenity is borderline crazy and nobody is more pessimistic than Hope. And me…well, I’m a ball of anger.” He laughed. “I wasn’t going to say a thing.” I stared at him. He grinned. “Okay, I was. And point taken.” I smiled. “My sisters are actually great. But so help me God, I’ll never give my children matching names, nor will I choose ones that will forever be their defining characteristic. I mean, c’mon, it’s like we were set up for failure.” He laughed. “So what’s your full name?” “Felicity Anne Daniels.” “Your initials are—” “Fad. Yes. I know. My parents are awful, and I can never get anything monogrammed.” “Hey, it’s not so bad. I’m named after a jar.” “Doesn’t ‘Mason’ originate from, like, a stoneworker or something?” “Yeah, but my mom literally got it from the jar. Apparently, she loved eating my great-grandma’s homemade preserves while pregnant with me. One day, she’s staring at the canning jar and thinks I should name my baby Mason. The rest is history.” I covered my mouth to hide my laugh. “Well, it could be worse. You could be named after what was in the jar.” “No shit. I’m pretty sure if I’d been a girl I’d be named Strawberry.
Renita Pizzitola (Just a Little Kiss (Crush, #3))
He says, "Nola once told me she wished people could be stars in the sky and look down on those that they loved. I always wished that could be so. Let's you and I pretend it's true, even if it isn't, would that be okay with you?" Madly nods, her throat tight. "And after I die, why, you look up in the sky for two stars, real close together. That will be Nola and me. Those stars will be so close together, it'll look like they are one, but they'll be two. Me, and then just to my right, Nola. Look up at us sometimes." "I will," Maddy says, "I promise. But you're not going anywhere yet.
Elizabeth Berg (The Story of Arthur Truluv (Mason, #1))
Thought it was funny to answer his phone by saying, “You DID?
Elizabeth Berg (The Story of Arthur Truluv (Mason, #1))
When a book, any sort of book, reaches a certain intensity of artistic performance, it becomes literature. That intensity may be a matter of style, situation, character, emotional tone, or idea, or half a dozen other things. It may also be a perfection of control over the movement of a story similar to the control a great pitcher has over the ball. That is to me what you have more than anything else and more than anyone else. . . . The character that lasts is an ordinary guy with some extraordi-nary qualities. Perry Mason is the perfect detective because he has the intellectual approach of the juridical mind and at the same time the restless quality of the adventurer who won’t stay put. I think he is just about perfect. So let’s not have any more of that phooey about “as literature my stuff still stinks.” Who says so—William Dean Howells? Raymond Chandler to Erle Stanley Gardner, 1946
Richard B. Schwartz (Nice and Noir: Contemporary American Crime Fiction)
However, if the therapist takes everything the person with BPD says at face value without probing further—and this is not uncommon—the therapist may inadvertently reinforce their twisted thinking, making things worse.
Paul T. Mason (Stop Walking on Eggshells: Taking Your Life Back When Someone You Care About Has Borderline Personality Disorder)
Ourselves,’ a Vast Country not yet Explored.––When we think of our bodies and of the wonderful powers they possess, we say, under our breath, “Great and marvellous are Thy works, Lord God Almighty.” Now, let us consider that still more wonderful Self which we cannot see and touch as we can our bodies, but which thinks and loves and prays to God; which is happy or sad, good or not good. This inner self is, as we have said, like a vast country much of which is not yet explored, or like a great house, built as a maze, in which you cannot find your way about. People usually talk of ‘Ourselves’ as made up of Body, Mind, Heart, and Soul; and we will do the same, because it is a convenient way to describe us. It is more convenient to say, ‘The sun rises at six and sets at nine,’ than to say, ‘As the earth turns round daily before the sun, that part of the earth on which we live first gets within sight of the sun about six o’clock in the morning in March.’ ‘The sun rises and sets’ is a better way of describing this, not only because it is easier to say, but because it is what we all appear to see and to know. In the same way, everybody appears to know about his own heart and soul and mind; though, perhaps, the truth is that there is no division into parts, but that the whole of each of us has many different powers and does many different things at different times.
Charlotte M. Mason (Ourselves: Our Souls and Bodies: With linked Table of Contents)
For HCPs, there often cannot be any shades of gray. This is called splitting. You may recognize this all-or-nothing, black-and-white thinking when you hear an HCP say things like, “You always do this,” and “You never do that.
Paul T. Mason (Stop Walking on Eggshells: Taking Your Life Back When Someone You Care About Has Borderline Personality Disorder)
Remember, your loved one’s behavior is not about you. You may feel controlled or taken advantage of through threats, no-win situations, the silent treatment, rages, and other methods that seem unfair. But, no matter what the person with BPD may say, everything that’s going on stems not from you, but from the disorder, and the deep pain your loved one feels inside.
Paul T. Mason (Stop Walking on Eggshells: Taking Your Life Back When Someone You Care About Has Borderline Personality Disorder)
The feelings of the person with BPD may not make sense to you, but they do make sense to them. Here are some guidelines for how to address them: Don’t judge the person’s feelings, deny them, trivialize them, or discuss whether or not you think they are “justified.” Restate the person with BPD’s feelings; dig a bit beneath the surface for feelings that may not be as obvious. Ask the other person if your perceptions are correct. Show the person with BPD you are hearing what they are saying. Avoid sounding patronizing or condescending, or the person with BPD may get enraged because you don’t sound like you are taking his or her concerns seriously. If you want the conversation to facilitate change, you must validate your loved one’s emotions.
Paul T. Mason (Stop Walking on Eggshells: Taking Your Life Back When Someone You Care About Has Borderline Personality Disorder)
Heldmann suggests paraphrasing, or repeating, the key points of the speaker’s statements to show that you want to understand what the person is saying. Develop your own style of doing this so it comes across naturally.
Paul T. Mason (Stop Walking on Eggshells: Taking Your Life Back When Someone You Care About Has Borderline Personality Disorder)
Are you going to come, Ms. Van Kempt?” “No.”I want to grit my teeth, but the rest of my body will tense up if I do that. “Your pussy says otherwise.” My muscles react without my permission, and Mason takes in a sharp breath. “I’ll feel it if you come, Charlotte. I only have my cock inside you so I know when to punish you harder.
Amelia Wilde (Hostile Takeover)
Whether in skirt-chasing or basketball, Mason always craved a win. Perhaps too much. Mason had recently retired from the NBA when his second son, Antoine, graduated from junior high. After the commencement ceremony, Antoine challenged his old man to a one-on-one game to 11 points. Antoine made up for his height disadvantage by hitting several jumpers from outside to start, taking a 5–0 lead. Then Anthony buckled down, came back, and took a 10–9 edge. Antoine got past his father with a crossover dribble and raced in for a layup that would have tied the score. But just before he could finish the play, the elder Mason—at least seven inches taller and 80 pounds heavier than Antoine—flew into the frame and clotheslined his adolescent son in the throat. “As I’m laying on the ground, holding my throat and coughing, he grabs the ball, lays it in, and says, ‘Game.’ And then walks in the house,” he says. Other family members, there to celebrate Antoine’s graduation, looked on in stunned horror. It simply wasn’t in Anthony Mason’s nature to let anyone walk away with a win at his expense.
Chris Herring (Blood in the Garden: The Flagrant History of the 1990s New York Knicks)
I come from the lower orders, that is understood by all. Not the lowest; you’d have to go back to my grandfather for the lowest. He was a night-soil remover, did you know that, Sam? One shilling per stinking cesspit. Did you know that they set me to working with him when I was a boy? One summer I chucked it, ran to the countryside, hid in a hay mow. Farmer found me in the morning, took pity, let me stay. Let me work with him and his dogs, tending his sheep. It was bliss. I never loved anything like I loved them dogs. Then my father showed up and dragged me home. Why? He didn’t want me. “Never mind. You could say my father’s rise to running his own public house was nothing short of a miracle, really. And then I went and edged up a rung from him, didn’t I, when I became a constable. Promoted to detective. Then chief of detectives. Still and all, I got about as high as I could possibly go, given what I come from. And that ain’t particular high. Just ask Sir Richard Mayne, commissioner of the Metropolitan, if you’re unsure of that.” Llewellyn sighed deeply and shook his head. “You seem impatient, Mr. Llewellyn. Am I keeping you?” Field poured the last of the whiskey into his glass. “Now, forget my old man. Forget the night-soil remover. Start over. Say I come from a monkey. And so did you. And Commissioner Mayne—him, too.” He looked around the tavern. “And so did every bleeding body on the whole earth come from monkeys, and those monkeys come from God knows what—fish? Worms? Who benefits, Sam? Who gets hurt? Who likes it, and who don’t?” Llewellyn shrugged. “I’ll tell you who don’t like it: the merchants who run the bleeding empire don’t like it, not one bit. It puts every man on the same level as them, see? The rich, the poor, the light-skinned, and the dark. The bishops don’t like it, nor the lords, because if Mr. Darwin has his way, where’s the control? Who’s in charge, who’s on top and who’s not? Bad for business, Mr. Darwin’s notions are. But for blokes like me and you? Well, even a policeman can dream, can’t he? It’s not flattering, perhaps, having an orangutan as your forefather, but there’s a kind of hope in it, don’t you see? Last I checked, there weren’t no quality monkeys, nor were there lower-class ones.” “And?” “Crash, boom, Mr. Darwin brings it all down. Rule Britannia and the lot. Brings it down harder and more thorough than Mr. Marx ever dreamt in his darkest revolutionary dream.
Tim Mason (The Darwin Affair)
It’s hard to be proud of something you messed up, even if everything around it is perfect.” “Don’t ignore the problems,” he says. “Learn from them. But also, don’t knock what you get right. Every success deserves a celebration.
Mason Deaver (I Wish You All the Best (I Wish You All the Best, #1))
In this age when different cultures are killing each other over whose definition of God is better, one could say the Masonic tradition of tolerance and open-mindedness is commendable.
Dan Brown (The Lost Symbol (Robert Langdon, #3))
Conscience would seem to have but a single office––to convince us of sin––that is, of transgression. The older divines used to speak much of an approving conscience; but this approval would appear to be no more than silence; for self-approbation, as we have seen, is, in itself, an offence. Then, when conscience says nothing we are all right? you ask. By no means, for the verdict of conscience depends upon what we know and what we habitually allow.
Charlotte Mason (Ourselves (The Home Education Series) (Volume 4))
Narcissists are actors playing a part. They are expert liars, and, even worse, they believe their own lies. Practiced in dishonesty, they can’t tell the difference between their own version of truth and a falsehood. They may take the past and rearrange it to make themselves look good. They rarely if ever admit fault, and they never say they’re sorry. —Rokelle Lerner, author of The Object of My Affection Is in My Reflection: Coping with Narcissists
Paul T. Mason (Stop Walking on Eggshells: Taking Your Life Back When Someone You Care About Has Borderline Personality Disorder)
Granny nods. “Here.” She leans down and grabs a mason jar from under the chair. “Have some moonshine.” “That’s not going to help anything.” “Well, it ain’t gonna hurt nothing either unless you drink too much. But it’s like I always say. Life should be full of moon words. Moonlight kisses and moonshine and your ol’ grandpappy mooning me from the front yard.” She holds the mason jar higher, extending it toward me.
Mary Frame (Ridorkulous (Dorky Duet #1))
No. Real love isn’t like that. My dad says real love is when the other person is your best friend and you shouldn’t have to work hard around them, it should be, like, more natural, and you just want to be with them even if you’re not doing anything.
Elizabeth Berg (Night of Miracles (Mason #2))
so I was in desperate need to bever which is a verb for when you consume a beverage. And if you say it isn’t and I agree with you, then I simply ask the question why 'bever' isn’t a word. 'Feed' is a word. You feed on food, but you don’t bever a beverage? That won’t do, so I must make it do, and now it has been done.
J.S. Mason (A Dragon, A Pig, and a Rabbi Walk into a Bar...and other Rambunctious Bites)
And don’t even get me started on the anti-Blackness in the Korean side of my family,” Mason says, slouching back in his seat. “Fuck that, we’re all Asian—and here, we celebrate that.” He flashes me a charming grin. “Consider yourself celebrated, eh, Rika Rakuyama?
Sarah Kuhn (From Little Tokyo, with Love)
Many people say that when things are good, they’re really good. The flattery, attention, and obsessiveness are exhilarating to the ego. To feel so important to someone can be exciting and empowering. The exhilaration can be recognized immediately, especially if you have not been in this position of being an “idol” before. You may also begin to look for the exhilaration—to anticipate the flattery and attention. And, after a while, when the flattery begins to gradually fade, you will miss it and may even make attempts to get your loved one with BPD to idolize you again. The law of intermittent reinforcement applies here again, since your loved one may intermittently engage in obsessiveness and flattery throughout the relationship. This in turn reinforces your commitment to the relationship. Jim
Paul T. Mason (Stop Walking on Eggshells: Taking Your Life Back When Someone You Care About Has Borderline Personality Disorder)
He had been thrown into the dungeon after refusing to accept that ‘bridegroom’ was no longer an acceptable term to call a groom. Needless to say, he had been there quite a long time.
J.S. Mason (The Satyrist...And Other Scintillating Treats)
I’m going to kiss you,” he says, the words brushing against my skin. “If you want to object, now is the time. Otherwise, I’m taking it as consent, and I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.” “Coy …” His thumbs dig into my cheeks. “Yeah?” I open my eyes as my heart threatens to burst out of my ribs. “Kiss me.
Adriana Locke (Reputation (Mason Family, #2))
That means I gave you everything,” I say slowly. “My first kiss. My virginity,” I say, ignoring the shock on Coy’s face. “My heart on that boat and my vulnerability when I needed someone and dared to ask for help.
Adriana Locke (Reputation (Mason Family, #2))
When I’m gone,” he says, starting again, “Bellamy will have no one. There will be no one to celebrate her birthdays.” His voice breaks once again. This time, it doesn’t find its rhythm. “There will be no one to make sure she makes it home after she stays out too long with Larissa. Nobody will make sure she goes to the doctor when she gets bronchitis in the fall or makes her chicken noodle soup without carrots. And that …” Tears stream down his cheeks in a quiet river. “That’s what keeps me up at night.
Adriana Locke (Reputation (Mason Family, #2))
There’s nothing left to say, nothing I can do. I gave her everything I have. I don’t know why I’m surprised that it wasn’t enough.
Adriana Locke (Reckless (Mason Family, #3))
Go about your business in the best way you know how, and love will find you. You know what they say: It’s like a butterfly—you do better letting it land on you than trying to capture it.
Elizabeth Berg (The Confession Club (Mason, #3))
The arc of the moral universe is indeed long but it does bend toward justice. At the root of all this of course is the trade. As he always calls it. His craft is the oldest there is. Among man's gifts it is older than fire and in the end he is the final steward, the final custodian. When the last gimcrack has swallowed up its last pale creator he will be out there, prefering the sun, trying the temper of his trowel. Placing stone on stone in accordance with the laws of God. The trade was all they had, the old masons. They understood it both in its utility and its secret nature. We couldn't read nor write, he says. But it was not in any book. We kept it close to our hearts. We kept it close to our hearts and it was like a power and we knew it would not fail us. We knew that it was a thing that if we had it they could not take it from us and it would stand by us and not fail us. Not ever fail us.
Cormac McCarthy (The Stonemason: A Play in Five Acts)
If you ever start to feel any certain way about yourself,” he says, “I want you to remember the look on my face right now.” He gives me a soft, simple grin. “Because this is the look of a man who can’t believe he gets to be inside you.
Adriana Locke (Reputation (Mason Family, #2))
It is that inner atmosphere that has An unfamiliar gravity or none at all Where words are flung out in the air but stay Motionless without an answer, Hovering about one’s lips Or arguing back to haunt The memory with what one failed to say, Until one learns acceptance of the silence Amidst the new debris Or turns again to grief As the only source of privacy, Alone with someone loved.
Herbert Mason (Gilgamesh: A Verse Narrative)
Finding happiness in life is like using a litter box. If you can't find a good spot, just kick the clumps out until you MAKE a good spot.
Patricia Mason (Confucius Cat Says...)
You know what they say,' Suz had texted. 'Once you go geek, you never go back.
Linda Morris (The Mason Dixon Line)
Live your dreams every day! Why do you think cats nap so much?
Patricia Mason (Confucius Cat Says...)
Mason fixed on betrayal of the president’s fiduciary duty and oath of allegiance to our system of government, saying that “attempts to subvert the Constitution” would be chief among the “many great and dangerous offences” beyond treason and bribery for which removal of the president would be warranted.
Andrew McCarthy (Faithless Execution: Building the Political Case for Obama’s Impeachment)
Ella Jane Mason, I'm going to kiss you before this night is over. If you don't want me to, you should say so. Soon." His eyes looked like they were memorizing her mouth. "If you won't kiss me, after all that, then I'm going to be seriously disappointed." "Well we can't have that," Hayden said softly just before he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Fireworks went off around them as they both fell headfirst in love for the first time ever.
C. Quinn (Storm Warning (Broken Heartland, #1))
On my first Sunday morning visiting Capitol Hill Baptist Church in Washington, DC, my family and I sat in front of a lovely family in the church balcony. I first noticed them because their young children sat attentively and patiently as they participated in the service. I then noticed their lovely, vigorous singing. But they really grabbed my attention when they greeted us warmly immediately after the service. The man of the family took me around and introduced me to many of the men in the church, and after about fifteen minutes or so invited my family to join his family at their home for lunch—right then. Honestly, the experience made me feel a little weirded out. First of all, his name was Jim, and literally the first three men he introduced me to were all named Jim. Strange, I thought. What kind of church is this? Will I have to change my name again? Then the quick invitation to lunch about knocked me down. It happened too fast. And with my Southern upbringing, it might have even been considered impolite. So I gave him my best polite Southern way of saying no: “That is mighty nice of you. Perhaps some other time.” Everybody down South knows that a sentence like that means no. Southerners know that that is how you must say no because saying no itself is impolite. Southerners are nothing if not polite. So I had clearly said no to this man’s kind but hasty offer of lunch. And wouldn’t you know it? The very next week, when we went to this strange church again, he insisted that we join them for lunch. I was North Carolina. He was New Jersey. There was a failure to communicate. He didn’t understand the rules of the South, but Washington, DC, apparently was too close to the Mason-Dixon Line to clearly establish which “Rome” we were in and what we should do. But I was wrong, and Jim was right. He was the godlier man. He was more hospitable than anyone I had ever met and remains more hospitable than I am today. He embodied Paul’s insistence that hospitable men lead Christ’s church. And rightly, he was a church elder.
Thabiti M. Anyabwile (Finding Faithful Elders and Deacons (9Marks))
Tony looked me up and down appraisingly. I have to say he didn’t look disappointed or anything. He actually looked a little intrigued. “You gotta be Mason, the guy who called from the library.” “How can you tell?” He shrugged his shoulders. “We don’t get many Mr. Rogers sweaters in here.” “Oh,” I held up my brand spanking new gym bag to prove I belonged there in that temple of testosterone, “I brought shorts and a T-shirt.
Nick Pageant (Beauty and the Bookworm (Beauty and the Bookworm #1))
Cats are nature’s way of teaching humility to humans.
Patricia Mason (Confucius Cat Says...)
Confucius Cat says...Quoting a plague victim's statement circa 1347.   "I knew we shoulda been nicer to those cats!
Patricia Mason (Confucius Cat Says...)
Confucius Cat Says...     A collection of advice and observations from the wise and wonderful feline philosopher!
Patricia Mason (Confucius Cat Says...)