Missy Quotes

I wanted to tell you that I just--I miss you. And maybe that sounds ridiculous--like we barely know each other, but between the emails and texts and... everything else, I felt like we did. Like we do. and I miss--I don't know how else to say it--I miss both of you.

We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It's easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven't even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.

I love you, Missy girl. Even if I can't be with you, know that I'm here. So, that's it. More than the stars, Taylor. More than the stars.

You have no right to tell me-" "You do not want to finish that sentence, missy. You want to sit down, close your mouth, and eat." "How am I supposed to eat with my mouth closed?

Faith don't come in a bushel basket, Missy. It come one step at a time. Decide to trust Him for one little thing today, and before you know it, you find out He's so trustworthy you be putting your whole life in His hands.

Hey show some respect. They’re real people with names. Carla and Krissy” He frowned. “Or was it Missy?

There must be a mistake," I said. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder. "That's a creative name. What do you shorten it to? Missy?

Juliette, please, tell me what I'm supposed to do. How am I supposed to feel? It's one shitty thing right after another and I'm trying to be okay--God, I'm trying so hard but it's really freaking difficult and I miss--I miss you, I miss you so much it's killing me.

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

I took a breath and blurted everything out before I was too chickenshit to say any of it. “I wanted to tell you that I just—I miss you. And maybe that sounds ridiculous—like we barely know each other, but between the emails and texts and… everything else, I felt like we did. Like we do. And I miss—I don’t know how else to say it—I miss both of you.” He swallowed, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly. I knew he would be all rational and do-the-right-thing and he would push me away again, and I was determined not to give him that chance. But then his eyes flashed open and he said, “Fuck it,” pushing me against the door, slamming his forearms on either side of my head and kissing me more forcefully than I’d ever been kissed

Somebody has to be sane during regular business hours, and it's not going to be me, missy.

What have you done to me, Missy?" he whispered, thinking I was asleep

A huge part of swimming for me is I love it, and it is so much fun.

Subject: You're totally picturing me naked right now Missy, So how about you and I head up to the stacks to do some “shelving”?

Don’t make me punch you again, because I swear to God, I will.” That elicited a smirk. His face still had a slight shadow where I’d gotten him. “I also have no qualms about going for your man bits again.” “I don’t doubt you for a second, Missy.

If you’re worried arresting my sister will come between us — really, that’s not a problem. I’m pretty sure it will bind us tighter together. Besides, we made plans…involving Missy’s desk.” “You know I was only torturing your sister.” “So you were just using me?” He actually sounded wounded. “Like a whore?” “Mace…” She stopped and rubbed her eyes. Of all the places he could be doing this, her precinct should not be one of them. “You’re doing it again.” “Doing what?” “Trying to make me crazy.” The look he gave her was pure predatory male. “I like you crazy.

Jane: "Missy was not so subtly reminding me that she had done something nice for me and here i was being rude when all she was asking me to do was attend a nice party. This was the way southern women worked all peaches & cream laced with arsenic.

Funny how someone can be so beautiful and totally fucked up at the same time.

You must see her pucker when she’s a dragon.” “This pucker can light your ass on fire, missy.

Subject: Not a chance Missy, I accept your challenge, and may I remind you, that if you want me to leave you alone, there is that little bet we have going. Win it, and I'm gone. Impatiently (and nakedly) yours, Mr. Hunter Aaron Zaccadelli, esquire. P.S. Bring it on.

Look at me and tell me you don't want me to kiss you. Tell me you don't like it when I do this," he said, running his hand down my arm. "Tell me you don't like it when I touch your face." HE brushed his hands on both of my cheeks, moving up to my forehead and then back down. HE rubbed both thumbs over my lips. "Tell me you don't like it when I do this." He leaned hisjead closer, stopping just short of my lips. "Tell me to stop and I will. You're in charge, Missy.

Remember how it felt yesterday? What you saw me do?” I snorted and grinned. “Man, do I ever. I remembered twice last night and again this morning.

I’ll leave before anyone wakes up. Promise.” “They’ll hear us,” I said, my heart pounding in growing panic. “I’ll take off my boots.” “How will that help you keep your mouth shut while we have sex?

Subject: Get back to work Missy, You're distracting me from the very important topic of workplace safety. How would you feel if I improperly climbed a ladder due to not learning the proper procedure and then fell to my death? Always, The Boy You Dream About P.S. I'm also a lost prince from a faraway land. Want to do me now?

You can’t choose who you fall in love with, but you can choose whether you act on those feelings.

I love you, Missy girl. Even if I can't be with you, know that I'm here. So, that's it. More than the stars, Taylor. More than the stars.” ― Chelsea M. Cameron, My Favorite Mistake

If Melissa Miller were an artist, she would have painted the world in vicious streaks of red. Nothing like Picasso's rose period, all soft and cheerful and so optimistic that it made you want to puke. Missy's red phase would have been brutal and bright enough to cut your eyes. Missy's art would have been honest.

Up until two years ago, I was one of the top-selling real estate agents in the tricounty area. I went to a convention in Boca Raton. I had one too many margaritas, met a tall, pale, and handsome man in the bar, and woke up a vampire." "I was mistaken for a deer and got shot," I offered." "Oh.

This girl had me so hard I was at risk of dislocating my cock.

They call me The Tornado. But for you, Jewel, I want to be the shelter to your storm.

…Keep your magic to yourself, missy.” “Like I’d want my magic mixing with yours anyway.

Are you Darah, Renee or Taylor? You look like a Taylor to me," he said, looking me up and down. I wasn't at my best, considering I was dressed for moving heavy objects in a blue UMaine t-shirt and black soccer shorts, and I had my light brown hair in a haphazard bun against the back of my neck. His eyes raked up and down twice, and for some reason the way he assessed me made me blush and want to kick him in the balls at the same time. "There must be a mistake," I said. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder. "That's a creative name. What do you shorten it to? Missy?

It's crazy what you can talk yourself out of when you're scared and into when you're not.

But I still feel like I lost. We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It's easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in the sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven't even met yet. probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you'll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there's still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it always happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of those lovable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. You will remember having conversations with this person that never actually happened. You will recall sexual trysts with this person that never technically occurred. This is because the individual who embodies your personal definition of love does not really exist. The person is real, and the feelings are real-but you create the context. And context is everything. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they're often just the person you happen to meet first time you really, really want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.

I can't do this, Wrenn. I can't just wait to die." "Then don't. Live because you can... Live because you love me, and I can't stand the thought of losing you yet.

Missis was, she dared say, glad enough to get rid of such a tiresome, ill-conditioned child, who always looked as if she were watching everybody, and scheming plots underhand." Abbot, I think, gave me credit for being a sort of infantine Guy Fawkes.

I feel alive when you kiss me.

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

Wow. Look at the lines in your face, Missy. It's like your bitterness just dug in and stayed.

And soon we were just rolling around on the ground, cursing and screeching and ripping out handfuls of hair. Without super hearing, I wouldn't have heard Zeb whisper, "This is the coolest thing I have ever seen." "Maybe they'll get muddy," Dick said. "Please, Lord, let them get muddy.

Believe it or not, missy, back in my salad days, I was what we called a gay blade, he says. Had a fine manly figger. I had dash an charm an... oh, I was devilish handsome, no word of a lie. Females flocked to me, helpless moths to my deadly flame. There you go, says Em. You jest need to scrub up some.

Sometimes we complain, but there is something beautiful about waking up before everyone to get better at what we love.

The lies will lock you up, the truth the only key

Just because a person has gone, it doesn’t mean they won’t live on in your heart forever.

For as much as Hillary Clinton might hate admitting this about Monica Lewinisky, Eleanor Roosevelt about Missy Le Hand, Queen Alexandra about Lillie Langtry, Lady Nelson about Emma Hamilton, or Jackie about Marilyn, the reality is that despite their intrinsic animosity toward each other, on a a deep level, the wife and the mistress generally have far more in common than they might care to admit and could, had fate dealt them different cards, even been true friends.

She tried to hurt Fitz!" He turned to Gabriel and Dick. "That'll get her mad. " Gabriel rolled his eyes. "She's been framed for murder twice over, shot in the back, her arms were set on fire, and her parents are being held hostage. You think tampered dog water is what's going to make her angry?" "You tried to hurt my dog!" I wheezed as I lurched toward a grinning Missy. "Oh, big deal, " Missy huffed. "It's the ugliest dog I've ever seen. " "You tried to hurt my dog, " I said again. "I would have been doing you a favor. " Missy sneered. "Nobody. Screws. With. My. Dog. " I growled, punctuating each word with a punch to Missy's face. I gave an upper cut to the chin that sent her flying back into a pile on the ground. Zeb grinned at Dick and Gabriel. "Told you.

Seem like it be a mighty hard thing to change someone’s mind,” he said. “Most folks won’t change their mind unless they have a change of heart first.” “Well, then . . . how do I change their heart?” “You can’t, Missy Caroline,” he said gently. “Only Massa Jesus can change folks’ hearts.

You can't live life waiting for things to go wrong, because then you're not really living. Everyone is going to die. That is part of the journey of living. What matters most is living each day you do have like it might be yout last.

Life’s going to do that to you missy. Gonna upset your wagon, not just once but many times. And you got to choose who’s sitting next to you. Someone you can trust…or not.

And you,” Large Marge said. “What’s your story, missy?” “I don’t have a story.” “Everyone has a story. Maybe yours just starts up here.

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

Children are so beautiful, flawless and shiny, like a chestnut newly out of its shell. Such a shame they all grow up to be abominable adults.

Oh, I dasn't, Mars Tom. Ole missis she'd take an' tar de head off'n me. 'Deed she would.

Missy could fall down and hurt herself, even if I'm walking right there beside her. That doesn't mean that I allowed it to happen. She knows, as far as unconditional love, I'll pick her up and I'll carry her. I'll try to heal her. I'll cry when she cries. And I'll rejoice when she is well. In all the moments of my life, God has been right there beside me. The truth of God's love is not that He allows bad things to happen. It's His promise that He'll be there with us when they do.

Before their marriages, Mr Dearly and Pongo had lived in a bachelor flat, where they were looked after by Mr Dearly’s old nurse, Nanny Butler. Mrs Dearly and Missis had also lived in a bachelor flat (there are no such things as spinster flats)

Let me tell you something, missy. You young maidens now days get misty-eyed thinking about true love and the fathomless adoration you will share. It’s not like that. Real love is looking at someone and knowing that you wouldn’t mind waking up to their bad breath for the next century, and you are fine with them seeing you before you brush your hair and fix your face for the day. Elle

And then, one Saturday morning, I came down to breakfast, and it all came to a head when she flat-out told me that I wasn’t going to training. Straw met camel’s back. Breaking commenced. “You have no right to tell me—” “You do not want to finish that sentence, missy. You want to sit down, close your mouth, and eat.” “How am I supposed to eat with my mouth closed?” “Bryn, that’s enough.

He settled in beside me, and I curled into him. Cocooned in Wes. God, it felt so good. “Thank you,” I whispered. “I’ve never felt so amazing.” “I wanted you in my life from the beginning, Mal. Any way I could have you.” He snuggled me closer. “Even if it meant just as friends.” I couldn’t help snorting. “Thank God that’s not the case.” He chuckled and gave me a squeeze. “Amen, my friend.

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

So the floodgates open, but nothing comes out. I’m feeling no relief in my head, just doubt. But my heart keeps telling me, 'hold your ground. You’ll never learn a thing if you bail out now.

What about San Francisco?" "What about it?" "Did you like it?" She shrugged. "It was O.K." "Just O.K.?" She laughed. "Good God!" "What?" "You're all alike here." "How so?" he asked. "You demand adoration for the place. You're not happy until everybody swears undying love for every nook and cranny of every precious damn --" "Whoa, missy." "Well, it's true. Can't you just worship it on your own? Do I have to sign an affadavit?" He chuckled. "We're that bad, are we?" "You bet your ass you are.

I sighed and wondered if I'd done it- made a friend. I hoped I had even as I wondered if it was a mistake. If nothing else, I supposed, one good thing had come from all this. Now there was a colorful little sprinkle on the vanilla pudding of my life.

Make reading a guilty pleasure...

It doesn't really seem possible that being happy is as simple as deciding to focus on what is good in the world and not on what is bad

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

Synthetic chocolate sounds wrong.

She doesn't need to see him go to know he is gone.

Above the cloud with its shadow is the star with its light.

Would you kick her ass already?" Dick said, shoving me back toward Missy. "Come on, Stretch, man up. You do better than this! Get mad." I nodded, rolling a dislocated shoulder back into place with a grunt and staggering back toward my opponent. Behind me, Zeb yelled, "She tried to hurt Fitz!" He turned to Gabriel and Dick. "That'll get her mad." Gabriel rolled his eyes. "She's been framed for murder twice over, shot in the back, her arms were set on fire, and her parents are being held hostage. You think tampered dog water is what's going to make her angry?" "You tried to hurt my dog!" I wheezed as I lurched toward a grinning Missy.

The study showed women who were slower to smile in corporate life were perceived as more credible." As Missy talked, I began to think about history-making women like Margaret Thatcher, Indira Gandhi, Golda Meir, Madeleine Albright, and other powerful women of their ilk. Not one was known for her quick smile. Missy continued, "The study went on to say a big, warm smile is an asset. But only when it comes a little slower, because then it has more credibility." From that moment on,

Listen you..you.."he sputtered. "You what ? You've already used hellion,draft girl and missy' .i can think of several more degradation,but then again im not the one trying so hard to be intimidating." "How about you,maddending,foolish,moronic little chit ?" "Much better !" she applauded.

Yet the point that JFK missed—and that almost everyone else has gone on to miss—is that much of this journalism was devoted to upholding and defending the ideas not of the coming Russian and Chinese or (as Kennedy failed to appreciate at the time) Cuban Revolutions, but of the earlier American one.

Oooh, and I should check if Fletch is around.” “Fletch?” “Kyle Fletcher, but I call him Fletch,” she says absently. “Ex-boyfriend.” My head swivels toward her. “You’re making plans with your ex-boyfriend?” “Retract those claws, missy. Fletch is still a good friend of mine.” I can’t fight my curiosity. “How long were you together?” “Three years.” I whistle softly. “And then three and a half more with Sean…You’re a nester, huh?” “No, I’m not,” she protests. “Babe, that’s almost seven years of your life spent in a serious relationship. And you’re only twenty-two.” “Twenty-one. I’m a Christmas baby.” “For real? Your birthday’s the twenty-fifth?” “The twenty-fourth. I guess that makes me a Christmas Eve baby. Sorry.” “You better be sorry. How dare you mislead me like that?

I'm not sure whether to be relieved she didn't hurt you or diappointed. Now he's going to think he got away with that junk." -Abby I wouldn't say that. He got a stern talking-to, but he already made great progress with his groveling lessons." -Sam ""Ill show you exactly how much progress I've made the next time I get you in a shower." -Noah "I'm gonna kill him! Did you hear that? You have to let me kill him." -Graham "Stay right where you are. There will be no killing. I thought I made that clear to everyone last night. Don't make me go over it again!" -Missy

We never really had a beginning. For months, we fought and insulted each other. Then we combusted into bed. We pretended what happened didn't matter, but it did, Blondie. You matter." "Braeden," I whispered and took a step farther into the room. He shook his head. "All the shit with Missy, and Zach… hell, even with my father, it got in our way. I let it. This is me swearing I won't let it again. This is me swearing this is our beginning. You're it for me." He took a breath, and I watched his chest rise with it. His dark, chocolate eyes latched onto mine. "Because I still don't like you, Blondie." I started to roll my eyes. "I love you." My heart stopped. Everything stopped. That place deep down inside me burned and tingled. "I don't like you either." My voice wobbled. The intensity of his stare drilled right into me, like he was seating desperately for my reply. "I love you so damn much," I confessed. -Braeden & Ivy

Cowboys don’t go around breaking hearts.

He had bright elfin eyes and a knowledgeable ass.

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

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

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

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

Why the hell are you wearing it on your left hand? I swear to God, if you're married I'm going to kick your ass. I'm not joking.

Friendship always benefits; love sometimes injures. Seneca

Nothing turns me on more than showing a woman all the reasons why she can’t handle me.

NOT long ago, there lived in London a young married couple of Dalmatian dogs named Pongo and Missis Pongo. (Missis had added Pongo’s name to her own on their marriage, but was still called Missis by most people.) They were lucky enough to own a young married couple of humans named Mr. and Mrs. Dearly, who were gentle, obedient, and unusually intelligent—almost canine at times. They understood quite a number of barks: the barks for “Out, please!” “In, please!” “Hurry up with my dinner!” and “What about a walk?” And even when they could not understand, they could often guess—if looked at soulfully or scratched by an eager paw. Like many other much-loved humans, they believed that they owned their dogs, instead of realizing that their dogs owned them. Pongo and Missis found this touching and amusing and let their pets think it was true.

Dr. Doris Parker: I have your ten week report. You know what it says "F, F, F… ". Do you know what that means? It means you don't care. Student: You're brilliant. (Pause) Can I go now? Dr. Doris Parker: (Sarcastic laugh) God! you're shallow, disgusting creature. You wanna know the truth? Dr. Doris Parker: One, you're not gonna be in a band or a model missy because you have no ambition. With no skills you'd be competing with 80 percent of US work force for minimum wage job which you will work at for the rest of your life, till you're replaced by a computer. Student: I don't care! Dr. Doris Parker: The only talent you ever have is *insult*. Your life will basically become a carnival of pain and when you can't stand not one more day, not one more hour, it will get worse, much worse. Every day I come to this office and I listen to you kids *insult* all over your selves. It is so easy to be careless, it takes courage and character to care. Not that you have any of those qualities.

He doesn’t stop a lot of things that cause him pain. Your world is severely broken. You demanded your independence, and now you are angry with the one who loved you enough to give it to you. Nothing is as it should be, as Papa desires it to be, and as it will be one day. Right now your world is lost in darkness and chaos, and horrible things happen to those that he is especially fond of… Papa has never needed evil to accomplish his good purposes. It is you humans who have embraced evil and Papa has responded with goodness. What happened to Missy was the work of evil and no one in your world is immune from it.” ~Sophia

He says, "It's just a hat." But it's not just a hat. It makes Jess think of racism and hatred and systemic inequality, and the Ku Klux Klan, and plantation-wedding Pinterest boards, and lynchings, and George Zimmerman, and the Central Park Five, and redlining, and gerrymandering and the Southern strategy, and decades of propaganda and Fox News and conservative radio, and rabid evangelicals, and rape and pillage and plunder and plutocracy and money in politics and the dumbing down of civil discourse and domestic terrorism and white nationalists and school shootings and the growing fear of a nonwhite, non-English-speaking majority and the slow death of the social safety net and conspiracy theory culture and the white working class and social atomism and reality television and fake news and the prison-industrial complex and celebrity culture and the girl in fourth grade who told Jess that since she--Jess--was "naturally unclean" she couldn't come over for birthday cake, and executive compensation, and mediocre white men, and the guy in college who sent around an article about how people who listen to Radiohead are smarter than people who listen to Missy Elliott and when Jess said "That's racist" he said "No,it's not," and of bigotry and small pox blankets and gross guys grabbing your butt on the subway, and slave auctions and Confederate monuments and Jim Crow and fire hoses and separate but equal and racist jokes that aren't funny and internet trolls and incels and golf courses that ban women and voter suppression and police brutality and crony capitalism and corporate corruption and innocent children, so many innocent children, and the Tea Party and Sarah Palin and birthers and flat-earthers and states' rights and disgusting porn and the prosperity gospel and the drunk football fans who made monkey sounds at Jess outside Memorial Stadium, even though it was her thirteenth birthday, and Josh--now it makes her think of Josh.

Rage swallowed remorse. Rage drop-kicked self-pity. Rage murdered sorrow. And then, like blood-red wine tucked into the refrigerator, rage chilled to become cold, calculating anger. Anger was a creature that arrived on her doorstep with a suitcase full of strategy and vengeance. It tipped its hat at her and hopped into her brain. It knocked on the Logic Department's door. It found a broken mirror somewhere in the crevices between her hippocampus and her hypothalamus, and it was wondering if somebody had misplaced it. No retaliation? It scoffed. Think again, missy.

I'm happy when I write. I've written my first novel, my pencil is down. My last work has been written. No turning back. No more hesitation. I'm writing my future one page at a time. Inspire. Dream. Live. Breath. Happy. Succeed.

Tom grasped his hand, and continued,—"Ye mustn't, now, tell Chloe, poor soul! how ye found me;—'t would be so drefful to her. Only tell her ye found me going into glory; and that I couldn't stay for no one. And tell her the Lord's stood by me everywhere and al'ays, and made everything light and easy. And oh, the poor chil'en, and the baby;—my old heart's been most broke for 'em, time and agin! Tell 'em all to follow me—follow me! Give my love to Mas'r, and dear good Missis, and everybody in the place! Ye don't know! 'Pears like I loves 'em all! I loves every creature everywhar!—it's nothing but love! O, Mas'r George! what a thing 't is to be a Christian!

She was in control of her life, even though it seemed she wasn’t. All she had to do was take the steering wheel and start driving.

In many ways, aging well is about learning to let go of earthly things and clinging to God alone

Of course, there has been a lot of speculation over the last couple of years that our wives must have married us bearded ugly ducklings because of our fame and fortune. The fact is that none of us had much at all when we met our wives, and our long, full beards came after we married them. Our crazy uncle Si likes to joke that our gift of gab--or “hot air,” as he puts it--is what helped woo our wives. Actually, our relationships were built on spiritual principles such as faith, hope, and love. Through our poverty, rugged appearances, and, at times, musty aromas, I learned that true joy doesn’t come from what you have or how you look but from what kind of man you are on the inside. On my second date with Missy, I explained to her my love for hunting and fishing, which often causes me to be gone for several days and sometimes weeks at a time. I figured my admission would rule out a third date, but I was surprised when she replied, “Okay.” I knew right then that Missy was a keeper, and she has become my spiritual soul mate and a wonderful mother to our three beautiful children.

That’s disappointing,” she says with exaggerated distress. “But at least it’s progress.” “Goodness, I’m so sorry you’re so sad about this.” “Did you just say ‘goodness’?” “Apparently. I don’t know why.” “How quaint of you. Perhaps I shall start exclaiming ‘Goodness!’ from now on. It has an old-fashioned ring to it. There’s no reason to get a bee in your bonnet, missy! Egad and fiddlesticks and dang it all! God save the queen!” “God save the queen? Really? How does that fit in here?” “I think it’s a nice substitution for swearing. I’m going to start using it, like, all the time, so get ready.

I love you, Em. I love you so fucking much," I wihispered. She craweld back into my arms and began to cry. i told myself I'd be strong, that I'd never let her see me cry, but there was nothing I could do right now then to stop the tears as they rolled down my cheeks. "I'll always love you, Andy. Forever.

It's appealing to imagine that if we can just get that one thing in our life to work out-- [...] that everything will be solved, absolved, good to go for good. I slipped into that way of thinking way too often, I admitted to Missy, even though I knew that sometimes in life all of a sudden there you were--standing with your Technics turntables just across the Canadian border, and you're not a new you, you're just you, but in Canada.

-Escribí algo para ti,- dijo, agarrando su guitarra para nuestra noche de sexo música, como él la llamaba. La primera vez que escuche su voz cantando, me sorprendió. Su voz cuando hablaba era increíble, pero su canto era como si la miel y el humo se hubieran enganchado en la parte trasera de una camioneta en un concierto de rock y tuvieron un cariñoso hijo. Era suave y áspero al mismo tiempo. Te voy a contar una historia de una chica que conozco, Su nombre es Missy, y ella quiere hacérmelo, Quiero hablarte de mi chica Missy, Su cabello es castaño y sus labios son de color rosa, Sus ojos son de color verdoso o azulado creo, Ella lucha y coquetea conmigo todo el día, Es por eso que me decidí a escribir esta canción, Ella puede pensar que yo he cruzado la línea, Pero ella me dice que me odia todo el tiempo, Así que realmente no crean nada de lo que dice. Me gusta la forma en que se ve cuando ella está enojada conmigo, Me gusta la forma en que sonríe cuando piensa que nadie la ve, Puedes pensar que esta canción significa que me gusta, Pero ella estaría muy equivocada, Me aburría mucho, por lo que me decidí a escribir una canción, Hay dos cosas más sobre Missy que me gustan, ¿Podría alguien entregarme un micrófono por favor? La forma en que se pone su aparato de dientes cuando lee obscenidades vampíricas, Y realmente, realmente me gusta su… Me guiña un ojo. …culo. Yo le tiro una almohada a él, pero eso no impidió que parara la canción. Se trataba de mí. Mi tonta, linda y sexy chica Missy… chica Missy… chica Missy. El toco el último acorde y la guitarra paro de sonar.

Second hand books had so much life in them. They'd lived, sometimes in many homes, or maybe just one. They'd been on airplanes, traveled to sunny beaches, or crowded into a backpack and taken high up a mountain where the air thinned. "Some had been held aloft tepid rose-scented baths, and thickened and warped with moisture. Others had child-like scrawls on the acknowledgement page, little fingers looking for a blank space to leave their mark. Then there were the pristine novels, ones that had been read carefully, bookmarks used, almost like their owner barely pried the pages open so loathe were they to damage their treasure. I loved them all. And I found it hard to part with them. Though years of book selling had steeled me. I had to let them go, and each time made a fervent wish they'd be read well, and often. Missy, my best friend, said I was completely cuckoo, and that I spent too much time alone in my shadowy shop, because I believed my books communicated with me. A soft sigh here, as they stretched their bindings when dawn broke, or a hum, as they anticipated a customer hovering close who might run a hand along their cover, tempting them to flutter their pages hello. Books were fussy when it came to their owners, and gave off a type of sound, an almost imperceptible whirr, when the right person was near. Most people weren't aware that books chose us, at the time when we needed them.

Lavigerie was een geweldig praktisch man, en ook was hij historicus aan de Sorbonne in Frankrijk, waar hij die visie had om het binnenland van Afrika te reconstrueren, zoals dat in Europa in de Middeleeuwen was gedaan door een soort koninkrijk, maar dan ook met nederzettingen van bevrijde slaven, het grootste deel van de bevolking in Oost-Afrika was echt reddeloos, Lavigerie wilde daarom dat de missionarissen nederzettingen en missies bouwden, waarvoor hij broeders stuurde, voormalige Zoeavens, en paters, die dan de taal moesten leren, en ook moesten leren bouwen, en als die slaven bevrijd waren door de verschillende expedities die werden uitgezonden, werden ze naar de missies gestuurd. Het idee hierachter was heel praktisch, en ook het idee, dat de Afrikanen dit nieuwe Christelijke volk zouden worden, zoals hoe Clovis werd bekeerd, en dan geleidelijk aan Frankrijk, op die mythe bouwde hij alles. (Dr. H Hinfelaar, witte Paters)