Merch Quotes

Thoughts of moonlight and silken hair evaporated in a black bolt of fury. Kaz saw Inej tug on the sleeve of her left forearm, where the Menagerie tattoo had once been. He had the barest inkling of what she'd endured there, but he knew what it was to feel helpless, and Van Eck had managed to make her feel that way again. Kaz was going to have to find a new language of suffering to teach that smug merch son of a bitch.

She took a shaky breath. The words came like a string of gunshots, rapid-fire, as if she resented the very act of speaking them. “I didn’t know if you would come.” Kaz couldn’t blame Van Eck for that. Kaz had built that doubt in her with every cold word and small cruelty. “We’re your crew, Inej. We don’t leave our own at the mercy of merch scum.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted to give. It wasn’t the answer she wanted.

You’re a blackmailer—” “I broker information.” “A con artist—” “I create opportunity.” “A bawd and a murderer—” “I don’t run whores, and I kill for a cause.” “And what cause is that?” “Same as yours, merch. Profit.” “How do you get your information, Mister Brekker?” “You might say I’m a lockpick.” “You must be a very gifted one.” “I am indeed.” Kaz leaned back slightly. “You see, every man is a safe, a vault of secrets and longings. Now, there are those who take the brute’s way, but I prefer a gentler approach—the right pressure applied at the right moment, in the right place. It’s a delicate thing. “Do you always speak in metaphors, Mister Brekker?” Kaz smiled. “It’s not a metaphor.” He was out of his chair before his chains hit the ground.

Why had he called Jesper by Jordie’s name? When he looked into the past, he saw his brother through the eyes of the boy he’d been: brave, brilliant, infallible, a knight bested by a dragon dressed like a merch. But how would he see Jordie now? As a mark? Another dumb pigeon looking for a shortcut? He leaned his hands on the edge of the sink. He wasn’t angry anymore. He just felt weary.

He looked down at the keys and played a gentle chord. Jesper wondered at how he could have mistaken Kuwei for Wylan. Their hands were completely different, the shape of the fingers, the knuckles. “Jes,” Wylan said, “did you mean what you told my father? Will you stay with me? Will you help?” Jesper leaned back on the pianoforte, resting on his elbows. “Let’s see. Live in a luxurious merch mansion, get waited on by servants, spend a little extra time with a budding demolitions expert who plays a mean flute? I guess I can manage it.” Jesper’s eyes traveled from the top of Wylan’s red-gold curls to the tips of his toes and back again. “But I do charge a pretty steep fee.” Wylan flushed a magnificent shade of pink. “Well, hopefully the medik will be here to fix my ribs soon,” he said as he headed back into the parlor. “Yeah?” “Yes,” said Wylan, glancing briefly over his shoulder, his cheeks now red as cherries. “I’d like to make a down payment.” Jesper released a bark of laughter. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good. And no one was even shooting at him.

Vile, ruthless, amoral. Isn't that why you hired Kaz in the first place? Because he does the things that no one else dares? Go on, Van Eck. Break my legs and see what happens. Dare him." Had she really believed a merch could outthink Kaz Brekker? Kaz would get her free and then they'd show this man exactly what whores and canals rats could do.

However, displayed right alongside all the Confederate flag paraphernalia is a bunch of American flag merch – American flag place mats, patriotic “body crystals,” flag stickers you attach to your skin. Personally, I’m small-minded and literal enough that I see the two symbols as contradictory, especially in a time of war. But I fear that the consumer who buys a Confederate flag coffee cup, which she will then put on her American flag place mat, is the sort of sophisticated thinker who is open-minded enough that she is capable of hating blacks and Arabs at the same time.

Our hopes rest with you, Mister Brekker. If you fail, all the world will suffer for it.” “Oh, it’s worse than that, Van Eck. If I fail, I don’t get paid.” The look of disgust on the merch’s face was something that deserved its own DeKappel oil to commemorate it. “Don’t look so disappointed. Just think how miserable you would have been to discover this canal rat had a patriotic streak. You might actually have had to uncurl that lip and treat me with something closer to respect.” “Thank you for sparing me that discomfort

You're a blackmailer-" "I broker information." "A con artist-" "I create opportunity." "A bawd and a murderer-" "I don't run whores and I kill for a cause." "And what cause is that?" "Same as yours, merch. Profit.

You’re a blackmailer—” “I broker information.” “A con artist—” “I create opportunity.” “A bawd and a murderer—” “I don’t run whores, and I kill for a cause.” “And what cause is that?” “Same as yours, merch. Profit.

Kaz was going to have to find a new language of suffering to teach that smug merch son of a bitch.

Van Eck folded his soiled handkerchief twice, tucked it away. He nodded to the boy and the girl. “Do whatever you have to. The auction starts in less than an hour, and I want answers before then.” “Hold him up,” the stout boy said to the girl. She hauled Wylan to his feet, and the boy slipped a pair of brass knuckles from his pocket. “He’s not going to be so pretty after this.” “Who is there to care?” Van Eck said with a shrug. “Just make sure you keep him conscious. I want information.” The boy eyed Wylan skeptically. “You sure you want to do it this way, little merch?” Wylan summoned every bit of bravado he’d learned from Nina, the will he’d learned from Matthias, the focus he’d studied in Kaz, the courage he’d learned from Inej, and the wild, reckless hope he’d learned from Jesper, the belief that no matter the odds, somehow they would win. “I won’t talk,” he said. The first punch shattered two of his ribs. The second had him coughing blood. “Maybe we should snap your fingers so you can’t play that infernal flute,” Van Eck suggested. I’m here for her, Wylan reminded himself. I’m here for her. In the end, he was not Nina or Matthias or Kaz or Inej or Jesper. He was just Wylan Van Eck. He told them everything.

I think beyond the superficial accolades, at its core, fans stream and buy albums and merchs, because they want to show that they acknowledge the hard work of the artists and their staff. The stream count, album sales and awards are tangible proof that the idols’ music is good. That they are popular. That they are better.

Idol groups generally assigned each member an official color, which would be used for the light sticks that fans would hold up to show your support at a performance or for other individual merch. My oshi's was blue, so I systematically surrounded myself with everything blue. Just being in a blue space made me feel calm.

Jes,” Wylan said, “did you mean what you told my father? Will you stay with me? Will you help?” Jesper leaned back on the pianoforte, resting on his elbows. “Let’s see. Live in a luxurious merch mansion, get waited on by servants, spend a little extra time with a budding demolitions expert who plays a mean flute? I guess I can manage it.” Jesper’s eyes traveled from the top of Wylan’s red-gold curls to the tips of his toes and back again. “But I do charge a pretty steep fee.” Wylan flushed a magnificent shade of pink. “Well, hopefully the medik will be here to fix my ribs soon,” he said as he headed back into the parlor. “Yeah?” “Yes,” said Wylan, glancing briefly over his shoulder, his cheeks now red as cherries. “I’d like to make a down payment.” Jesper released a bark of laughter. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good. And no one was even shooting at him.

The drug dealer leaned forward and covered his mouth conspiratorily with the back of his hand. In a voice softer than a gust of wind, he said: ‘Got some new merch, though. High tech, top of the line. Muy experimental. Packs quite the punch they say, and hits you like a brick wall, espiritualmente,’ he pushed three fingers together and planted them a kiss. ‘Real sweet. Un dragón muy poderoso.’ ‘Any... particular side-side-side-effects?’ Mario scratched his chin, thinking back on his aggresive nosebleeds. ‘Not a dicky bird,’ affirmed the dealer. ‘This stuff’s cleaner than la cocina de tu abuela. Mind you, it does call for some weird shit, no doubt about it. And you gotta watch yourself for sharp table corners and the lot, cause you WILL be tripping.

No licenses? But how do you keep out bad entertainers and merchandise?” “Hey, bad ones have to learn somewhere. And shoddy merch gets noticed pretty quickly.

We drove through unbelievable blizzards in the north-east, argued with in-house merch sellers in New York and played our first ever show in Boston. (187)

When they were only a few yards from the stone hull, Inej halted and watched the mists wreathing the branches. “He was going to break by legs,” she said. “Smash them with a mallet so they’d never heal….” She took a shaky breath. The words came like a string of gunshots, rapid-fire, as if she resented the very act of speaking them. “I didn’t know if you would come.” Kaz couldn’t blame Van Eck for that. Kaz has built that doubt in her with every cold word and small cruelty. “We’re your crew, Inej. We don’t leave our own at the mercy of merch scum.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted to give. It wasn’t the answer she wanted. When she turned to him, her eyes were bright with anger. “He was going to break my legs,” she said, her chin held high, the barest quaver in her voice. “Would you have come for me then, Kaz? When I couldn’t scale a wall or walk a tightrope? When I wasn’t the Wraith anymore?” Dirtyhands would not. The boy who could get them through this, get their money, keep them alive, would do her the courtesy of putting her out of her misery, then cut his losses and move on. “I would come for you,” he said, and when he saw the wary look she shot him, he said it again. “I would come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together—knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.” The wind rose. The boughs of the willows whispered, a sly, gossiping sound. Kaz held her gaze, saw the moon reflected there, twin scythes of light. She was right to be cautious. Even of him. Especially of him. Cautious was how you survived. At last she nodded, the smallest dip of her chin.

Earlier that day, a typewriter bomb had exploded at a black market skin house over on Eel Street, sending words raining through the cardboard walls of the boudoirs and tattooing copies of the Machinist’s ‘Twelve Terms’ on the bodies of whores and patrons alike. Forty pieces of merch ruined. Their bodies had been obliterated by language, all traces of their sexuality buried beneath a storm of words. There was something horrific about the sight of those who had survived a typewriter attack. Their faces scarred with text, as if they had become hostages to some awful advertisement. A few of the victims took to working the streets around the library where bibliophiles sometimes paid them to satisfy their fantasies amid the desolate hush of the reading rooms and the deserted stacks where the only witnesses to this erotic pantomime of the blank body and its printed partner were other words.

Mister Brekker. If you fail, all the world will suffer for it.” “Oh, it’s worse than that, Van Eck. If I fail, I don’t get paid.” The look of disgust on the merch’s face was something that deserved its own DeKappel oil to commemorate it.

These fans were excited to see your mother perform, but more than that it was as if she was taking her audience to church like a fiery, foul-mouthed preacher who offered up profane salvation. There was the new mom who was enjoying her first night out after giving birth a month prior. There are fans who dress up like your mother, imitating the outfits she wore when you were both in her belly There are mothers who bring their daughters. There are those who travel from across the country, and sometimes across the world. They talk about your mother being their spirit animal. Their eyes are lit up, their faces relaxed and smiling, their postures open and welcoming. Watching this magical effect on her fans keeps me manning the merch table to this day.

After the merch booth has closed, I join the melee, but am nudged to the middle of the mob, and then the back, where I stand on my toes to watch person after person embrace my husband. Jeff’s words from our pseudo-poker game rise to the surface of my consciousness and bob there, refusing to be silenced. This is the very definition of being a supporting character. But I don’t really mind that I’m this far away—I can still see the smile on his face as bright as a spotlight, and his joy seems to vibrate across the distance. Surely everyone knows what a big deal this must be to him, but I still look at him and remember the subway musician hunched over his guitar, sitting on a narrow stool, guitar case open at his feet. And now here he is, wearing a suit, standing beside Ramón Martín, and getting the praise and adoration of an entire cast and crew. I’m still on the sidelines, but I helped make that happen.

He took up another long strip of towel in his right hand. He had to lean in to loop it behind her. He was so close now. His mind took in the shell of her ear, the hair tucked behind it, that rapid pulse fluttering in her throat. Alive, alive, alive. It isn’t easy for me either. He looped the bandage around again. The barest touches. Unavoidable. Shoulder, clavicle, once her knee. The water rose around him. He secured the knot. Step back. He did not step back. He stood there, hearing his own breath, hers, the rhythm of them alone in this room. The sickness was there, the need to run, the need for something else too. Kaz thought he knew the language of pain intimately, but this ache was new. It hurt to stand here like this, so close to the circle of her arms. It isn’t easy for me either. After all she’d endured, he was the weak one. But she would never know what it was like for him to see Nina pull her close, watch Jesper loop his arm through hers, what it was to stand in doorways and against walls and know he could never draw nearer. But I’m here now, he thought wildly. He had carried her, fought beside her, spent whole nights next to her, both of them on their bellies, peering through a long glass, watching some warehouse or merch’s mansion. This was nothing like that. He was sick and frightened, his body slick with sweat, but he was here. He watched that pulse, the evidence of her heart, matching his own beat for anxious beat. He saw the damp curve of her neck, the gleam of her brown skin. He wanted to … He wanted. Before he even knew what he intended, he lowered his head. She drew in a sharp breath. His lips hovered just above the warm juncture between her shoulder and the column of her neck. He waited. Tell me to stop. Push me away. She exhaled. “Go on,” she repeated. Finish the story. The barest movement and his lips brushed her skin—warm, smooth, beaded with moisture. Desire coursed through him, a thousand images he’d hoarded, barely let himself imagine—the fall of her dark hair freed from its braid, his hand fitted to the lithe curve of her waist, her lips parted, whispering his name.

He surveyed what remained of his crew. Rotty still hovered by the wreckage of the longboat. Jesper sat with elbows on knees, head in hands, Wylan beside him wearing the face of a near-stranger; Matthias stood gazing across the water in the direction of Hellgate like a stone sentinel. If Kaz was their leader, then Inej had been their lodestone, pulling them together when they seemed most likely to drift apart. Nina had disguised Kaz’s crow-and-cup tattoo before they’d entered the Ice Court, but he hadn’t let her near the R on his bicep. Now he touched his gloved fingers to where the sleeve of his coat covered that mark. Without meaning to, he’d let Kaz Rietveld return. He didn’t know if it had begun with Inej’s injury or that hideous ride in the prison wagon, but somehow he’d let it happen and it had cost him dearly. That didn’t mean he was going to let himself be bested by some thieving merch. Kaz looked south toward Ketterdam’s harbors. The beginnings of an idea scratched at the back of his skull, an itch, the barest inkling. It wasn’t a plan, but it might be the start of one. He could see the shape it would take—impossible, absurd, and requiring a serious chunk of cash. “Scheming face,” murmured Jesper. “Definitely,” agreed Wylan. Matthias folded his arms. “Digging in your bag of tricks, demjin?” Kaz flexed his fingers in his gloves. How did you survive the Barrel? When they took everything from you, you found a way to make something from nothing. “I’m going to invent a new trick,” Kaz said. “One Van Eck will never forget.” He turned to the others. If he could have gone after Inej alone, he would have, but not even he could pull that off. “I’ll need the right crew.” Wylan got to his feet. “For the Wraith.” Jesper followed, still not meeting Kaz’s eyes. “For Inej,” he said quietly. Matthias gave a single sharp nod. Inej had wanted Kaz to become someone else, a better person, a gentler thief. But that boy had no place here. That boy ended up starving in an alley. He ended up dead. That boy couldn’t get her back. I’m going to get my money, Kaz vowed. And I’m going to get my girl. Inej could never be his, not really, but he would find a way to give her the freedom he’d promised her so long ago. Dirtyhands had come to see the rough work done.

A veces para saber por qué llora tu alma, debes arriesgarte a mirar hacia atrás para descubrir la verdad, aunque eso signifique aceptar que la has perdido para siempre... Falco, Destino

You’ve seen what this drug can do. I assure you it is just the beginning. If jurda parem is unleashed on the world, war is inevitable. Our trade lines will be destroyed, and our markets will collapse. Kerch will not survive it. Our hopes rest with you, Mister Brekker. If you fail, all the world will suffer for it.” “Oh, it’s worse than that, Van Eck. If I fail, I don’t get paid.” The look of disgust on the merch’s face was something that deserved its own DeKappel oil to commemorate it. “Don’t look so disappointed. Just think how miserable you would have been to discover this canal rat had a patriotic streak. You might actually have had to uncurl that lip and treat me with something closer to respect.” “Thank you for sparing me that discomfort,” Van Eck said disdainfully. He opened the door, then paused. “I do wonder what a boy of your intelligence might have amounted to under different circumstances.” Ask Jordie, Kaz thought with a bitter pang. But he simply shrugged. “I’d just be stealing from a better class of sucker. Thirty million kruge.” Van Eck nodded. “Thirty. The deal is the deal.” “The deal is the deal,” Kaz said. They shook. As Van Eck’s neatly manicured hand clasped Kaz’s leather-clad fingers, the merch narrowed his eyes. “Why do you wear the gloves, Mister Brekker?” Kaz raised a brow. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.” “Each more grotesque than the last.” Kaz had heard them, too. Brekker’s hands were stained with blood. Brekker’s hands were covered in scars. Brekker had claws and not fingers because he was part demon. Brekker’s touch burned like brimstone—a single brush of his bare skin caused your flesh to wither and die. “Pick one,” Kaz said as he vanished into the night, thoughts already turning to thirty million kruge and the crew he’d need to help him get it. “They’re all true enough.

There was a note on the table.” “Bring it here,” Van Eck barked. The boy strode down the aisle, and Van Eck snatched the note from his hand. “What does it … what does it say?” asked Bajan. His voice was tremulous. Maybe Inej had been right about Alys and the music teacher. Van Eck backhanded him. “If I find out you knew anything about this—” “I didn’t!” Bajan cried. “I knew nothing. I followed your orders to the letter!” Van Eck crumpled the note in his fist, but not before Inej made out the words in Kaz’s jagged, unmistakable hand: Noon tomorrow. Goedmedbridge. With her knives. “The note was weighted down with this.” The boy reached into his pocket and drew out a tie pin—a fat ruby surrounded by golden laurel leaves. Kaz had stolen it from Van Eck back when they’d first been hired for the Ice Court job. Inej hadn’t had the chance to fence it before they left Ketterdam. Somehow Kaz must have gotten hold of it again. “Brekker,” Van Eck snarled, his voice taut with rage. Inej couldn’t help it. She started to laugh. Van Eck slapped her hard. He grabbed her tunic and shook her so that her bones rattled. “Brekker thinks we’re still playing a game, does he? She is my wife. She carries my heir.” Inej laughed even harder, all the horrors of the past week rising from her chest in giddy peals. She wasn’t sure she could have stopped if she wanted to. “And you were foolish enough to tell Kaz all of that on Vellgeluk.” “Shall I have Franke fetch the mallet and show you just how serious I am?” “Mister Van Eck,” Bajan pleaded. But Inej was done being frightened of this man. Before Van Eck could take another breath, she slammed her forehead upward, shattering his nose. He screamed and released her as blood gushed over his fine mercher suit. Instantly, his guards were on her, pulling her back. “You little wretch,” Van Eck said, holding a monogrammed handkerchief to his face. “You little whore. I’ll take a hammer to both your legs myself—” “Go on, Van Eck, threaten me. Tell me all the little things I am. You lay a finger on me and Kaz Brekker will cut the baby from your pretty wife’s stomach and hang its body from a balcony at the Exchange.” Ugly words, speech that pricked her conscience, but Van Eck deserved the images she’d planted in his mind. Though she didn’t believe Kaz would do such a thing, she felt grateful for each nasty, vicious thing Dirtyhands had done to earn his reputation—a reputation that would haunt Van Eck every second until his wife was returned. “Be silent,” he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. “You think he won’t?” Inej taunted. She could feel the heat in her cheek from where his hand had struck her, could see the mallet still resting in the guard’s hand. Van Eck had given her fear and she was happy to return it to him. “Vile, ruthless, amoral. Isn’t that why you hired Kaz in the first place? Because he does the things that no one else dares? Go on, Van Eck. Break my legs and see what happens. Dare him.” Had she really believed a merch could outthink Kaz Brekker? Kaz would get her free and then they’d show this man exactly what whores and canal rats could do. “Console yourself,” she said as Van Eck clutched the ragged corner of the table for support. “Even better men can be bested.

Disney now unofficially tolerates hundreds of small online shops run by die-hard fans selling T-shirts, buttons, pins, patches, jewelry, and thousands more items that leverage Disney characters. These stores don’t pay Disney a dime in licensing fees. Why the pivot to tolerating knockoffs? Because Disney learned that fan-made, unlicensed twenty-five-dollar T-shirts drive their wearers to Disney parks, where they buy expensive entrance tickets and pass the day spending even more money. Another reason for Disney’s newfound tolerance: it has discovered the marketing research value from the hundreds of small knockoff shops. These shops turn out to be a vibrant source of ideas for new official Disney merchandise. In 2016 the online vendor Bibbidi Bobbidi Brooke came out with a hugely popular line of rose-gold sequined Mickey ears, something that had not occurred to the Disney licensors. So Disney copied the design, which sold out immediately in its official stores. Bibbidi Bobbidi Brooke was gracious, posting “always excited to see new merch offerings.” Her fans replied, “Yours will always be the original!!!” Everyone wins.

Rollins reached for his watch. It had to be about time for the dealers to change shifts, and he liked to supervise them himself. "Son of a bitch," he exclaimed a second later. "What is it, book?" Rollins held up his watch chain. A turnip was hanging from the fob where his diamond - studded timepiece should have been. "That little bastard--" Then a thought came to him. He reached for his wallet. It was gone. So was his tie pin, the Kaelish coin pendant he wore for luck, and the gold buckles on his shoes. Rollins wondered if he should check the fillings in his teeth. "He picked your pocket?" Doughty asked incredulously. No one got one over on Pekka Rollins. No one dared. But Brekker had, and Rollins wondered if that was just the beginning. "Doughty," he said, "I think we'd best say a prayer for Jan Van Eck." "You think Brekker can best him?" "It's a long shot, but if he's not careful, I think that merch might walk himself right onto the gallows and let Brekker tighten the noose." Rollings sighed. "We better hop Van Eck kills that boy." "Why?" "Because otherwise I'll have to." Rollins straightened the knot of his painless tie and headed down to the casino floor. The problem of Kaz Brekker could wait to be solved another day. Right now there was money to be made.

Porque solo cuando encuentras a esa persona que te entiende y te comprende, que te cuida y te acompaña en los días buenos y malos; cuando tú también correspondes a esa persona con esos sentimientos, es cuando se dan los besos de amor verdadero.

Cashing in on the hoopla, the souvenir trade cranked out an unprecedented pile of Lafayette-themed merch.

—¿Sabes que querría hacer ahora mismo? —le susurró sin apenas voz, pero ella lo escuchó. Siempre lo escuchaba. —No —respondió sin saber de dónde había encontrado la fuerza que se había atascado en su garganta y le impedía hablar. —Besarte —dijo de golpe, y ambos se callaron. Faith ahogó un gemido y Evan cerró los ojos, regañándose mentalmente de que quizás ni era el momento ni el lugar para hacer ese tipo de declaración. Fue soltándose poco a poco, liberando de su agarre a la joven con intención de disculparse, ya que debía arreglarlo. No podía perder lo que tenían, aunque fuera insuficiente para su corazón. Pero Faith le agarró una de las manos antes de que este se soltara del todo y se giró con rapidez hacia él. Sus ojos se encontraron unos segundos. Evan fue a decir algo…, quizás ese perdón que había aparecido en sus labios y le sabía tan amargo, pero Faith no lo dejó. Se abalanzó sobre su boca y un gemido de reconocimiento se escuchó por encima de los acordes de la guitarra o del sonido de la batería. Un beso ansiado por los dos. Un beso al que le siguieron otros tantos hasta que todo terminó".

Llevo muchos años rememorando ese beso que nos dimos bajo la luna, en el planetario, tanto... que he llegado a pensar que fue un sueño. Un sueño perfecto que no pudo ser real, por lo que necesito asegurarme de que no ha sido mi cabeza la que lo ha maquillado para que pueda continuar con mi vida".

Necesito confirmar que tus labios saben a fresa y tu savia me ofrece esa fuerza que me ha acompañado cada día".

Los sueños son bonitos pero no se pueden comparar con la realidad".

Las mentiras son verdades a medias. Las verdades a medias son afirmaciones silenciosas. Las afirmaciones son el valor que poseemos para decir lo que queremos.

—Debiste darme la oportunidad de elegir. —Lo sé —afirmó. Posó las manos en sus mejillas y acercó su rostro al de ella. —Lo habríamos solucionado de alguna forma. —Tocó la punta de su nariz, donde apenas ya se le veían las pecas que tenía de joven. —Carlo, yo… Este siseó, acallándola, y volvió a mirarla a los ojos. —Siempre lo hacíamos. Los dos. Juntos —le indicó, y selló sus palabras atrapando sus labios con un beso que pretendía ser delicado pero que se tornó poco a poco en apasionado. Si no hubiera sido por el estallido de los fuegos artificiales en el cielo y por la euforia de los reunidos en el pueblo, que liberaron multitud de farolillos, ninguno de los dos sabría cómo habría terminado esa escena. Ese beso…

Lo importante es disfrutar del día a día, sin importar el qué dirán, sin importar los demás… Aquí lo importante eres tú. Siempre tú".

Jane could already see the Cherish Hydration merch: mint-green water bottles with wooden caps, rose-quartz tote bags, possibly yoga-friendly T-shirts if she could find the right font. Cooking with Water: Recipes to Help You Cherish Hydration and Breathe Abundantly.

You gotta buy something when you want it, whether it’s books or merch or whatever. Impulse buys are just more fun. Plus, I don’t care if it’s a legendary video game mount or a literal real knife for a small child: The harder something is to obtain, the more you want it. And I was nuts for this knife.

The Gaza Sonnet, 1264 (All Free or None Free) Al-Shams to Alpha Centauri, All occupied lands will be free. Till there is smile on every face, All happiness is blasphemy. Happiness is not an imperial merch, Freedom is no colonizer's heirloom. Joy is no bigot's ancestral bequest, Earth is not a zionist hand-me-down. Divide and rule is the law of animals, Unite and integrate is law of humanity. One human life is worth more, than all the gas reserves underneath. Gaza is not a place, Gaza is a wake up call, to the peace-crying humanity. Awake, Arise, O Citizens of Earth - Till all of us are free, none of us are free!

Happiness is not an imperial merch, Freedom is no colonizer's heirloom. Joy is no bigot's ancestral bequest, Earth is not a zionist hand-me-down.

My living, moving oshi would be lost as soon as the show was over, but I wanted to take in every drop of what he was giving us, from the first look to the last breath. I wanted to remember that sensation of sitting alone in my seat feeling my chest fill up, to keep it with me, and I wanted the photos and the videos and the merch that would point me back to it.

Merch

Welcome to Pitlane Merch, your ultimate online store dedicated to Formula 1 enthusiasts, racing teams, and drivers alike. At Pitlane Merch, we offer a curated selection of high-quality F1 merchandise at reasonable prices, ensuring that every fan can show their support in style.

You gotta buy something when you want it, whether it’s books or merch or whatever. Impulse buys are just more fun.

Kanye West's influence extends far beyond the confines of music, resonating deeply in the realms of fashion and pop culture. His merchandise, often referred to simply as "Kanye West merch," has become a significant cultural phenomenon, reflecting his unique aesthetic and visionary approach. Kanye's venture into merchandise began with his concert tours, where limited-edition items became coveted symbols of fandom. The 2013 "Yeezus" tour marked a turning point, with merch that blended gothic motifs and bold graphics, creating a distinctive style that would define his future collections. Fans eagerly lined up for hours to grab a piece of Kanye's world, often reselling items at a premium, further cementing the status of his merch as not just apparel, but collector's items. In 2016, the "Life of Pablo" pop-up shops took this to a new level. Located in various global cities, these shops sold minimalist, streetwear-inspired pieces emblazoned with religious and personal iconography. The launch was a testament to Kanye's marketing genius and his ability to create a buzz that transcends traditional retail methods. The immediate sell-out of these items showcased his knack for blending exclusivity with mass appeal.

I will wear my own band’s merch because I am a fan of the American rock band The Blink One Eighty Twos.

A veces, para descubrir quién eres, hace falta romper las cadenas que te asfixian. Falco, Destino

Soltó el aire que sin darse cuenta había retenido, mientras una frase célebre, de uno de los escritores de la antigüedad, invadía su mente: «La mejor manera de librarme de la tentación es caer en ella.»

―El cambio climático provocó ciertas modificaciones. ―Eso lo sé ―le interrumpió―. Los polos de la Tierra se derritieron. Las aguas abnegaron la superficie terrestre y solo algunas zonas sobrevivieron, adaptándose a condiciones muy extremas como Antiqua Canadá, conquistada por la nieve y el hielo. »El resto del mundo sobrevive gracias a las grandes estructuras artificiales que se construyeron. Enormes urbes donde los puentes, viaductos y carreteras colgantes, dominan el paisaje de una civilización en la que ve, cada noche, 306 cómo el agua podría avanzar por sus calles sin ningún control, si no fuera gracias a las presas o diques que se han levantado en sus orillas. »Todo es artificial, Gabriel. ―Volvió a golpear con su pie el suelo―. La mayoría de los animales, por no decir todos, se han extinguido. Hay especies vegetales que no llegué a conocer. Y ahora… ―Miró lo que les rodeaba para devolver su atención al hombre―. Ahora mi mundo, las ideas que me han inculcado desde niña, han cambiado.

―Yo también pensaba lo mismo. Lo que nos habían enseñado, lo que habíamos visto, leído, catado desde niños. ―Señaló el paisaje―. Todo cambió cuando llegué aquí, a Nueva Esparta, y conocí a Séneca.

merch.

—Peter… aunque lo soñemos… —Se subió las gafas por el puente de la nariz en un tic nervioso—. Es un cuento. Nunca Jamás fue creado por un escritor… No existe. El joven enfrentó su mirada azul, y Claire pudo observar en sus iris un halo de tristeza que le rompió el corazón. —Si creyeras, lo verías —la acusó y salió de la habitación. —Peter… —Claire le llamó y fue detrás de él—. Espera, Peter…

My ass isn’t bare for you, Lush. No touching the merch.” “Ohhh?” He raised an eyebrow, totally ignoring a couple of people who shouted happy birthday at him. “Is it bare for a certain someone?” My

—¿Qué ha sucedido aquí? —preguntó refiriéndose a lo que había interrumpido con su llegada. Álvaro se llevó las manos a la cabeza y negó. —No lo sé… —dudó—. No sé qué estoy haciendo.

—No, ahora no Daniela. No seré capaz de controlarme si dices algo —señaló con voz grave—. Creo que he sido paciente, muy paciente… —Pero… —¡Dos! —gritó acallándola. Levantó el dedo índice y corazón de su mano derecha para dar énfasis a sus palabras, y avanzó unos pocos pasos hasta ella—. Dos años lejos de ti, sin pedirte explicaciones, sin… —¡¿Por qué?! —le preguntó subiendo el tono mientras también se acercaba a él—. ¿Por qué? —repitió mostrando todos los sentimientos que la ahogaban. Álvaro parpadeó sin comprender, gruñó de impotencia y atrapó el rostro femenino con sus manos. —Porque tú me lo pediste…

—Suéltame —le exigió. Álvaro tragó. —Discúlpate —ordenó. Daniela negó con la cabeza. —¿Por qué? ¿Por llamarte idiota? —Apretó su muñeca un poco más—. No voy a pedir perdón por algo que es verdad. Él gruñó, esperó unos segundos, midiéndose con su mujer, hasta que la soltó. La miró, observó su cara, su nariz, sus labios, donde se detuvo un poco más y al final, desistió. Se dio media vuelta y comenzó a subir las escaleras, alejándose de ella. —Este «idiota» sabía lo que tenía a su lado hacía unos años y tuvo que dejarlo escapar —susurró. Daniela observó la espalda del hombre, muda, sin saber muy bien qué decir o hacer, temblando... y sintió cómo su cuerpo se derrumbaba sobre los escalones dejando que un llanto silencioso la invadiera.

A single is really quick, man. You can get it out, and in two months have it on your merch table. And albums can take a really long time. But when you get done with an album, it's a lot more fulfilling.

It might help a bit,” said Merch, standing with his arms crossed, “if you were to show us how it’s done.” “I believe I already have,” Brandegan replied; “several times.” “All you did was tell us what to do,” Merch retorted. “The only thing you’ve showed us so far is how to hold and draw. We’ve yet to see you shoot.” Brandegan raised an eyebrow. “And if I were to stand where you just did, draw my bow and fire an arrow ringed with white flames that sailed over forty leagues into the north and cracked the eastern crest of Baulon, how would that help you to enhance your own scanty skills?” Merch blinked.

merch

Merch was a bottomless lake of colorful idioms, but she seldom explained their meaning to anyone except Etain.