Monroe Smile Quotes

The real lover is the man who can thrill you by kissing your forehead or smiling into your eyes or just staring into space.

Beneath the makeup and behind the smile I am just a girl who wishes for the world.

This life is what you make it. No matter what, you're going to mess up sometimes, it's a universal truth. But the good part is you get to decide how you're going to mess it up. Girls will be your friends - they'll act like it anyway. But just remember, some come, some go. The ones that stay with you through everything - they're your true best friends. Don't let go of them. Also remember, sisters make the best friends in the world. As for lovers, well, they'll come and go too. And baby, I hate to say it, most of them - actually pretty much all of them are going to break your heart, but you can't give up because if you give up, you'll never find your soulmate. You'll never find that half who makes you whole and that goes for everything. Just because you fail once, doesn't mean you're gonna fail at everything. Keep trying, hold on, and always, always, always believe in yourself, because if you don't, then who will, sweetie? So keep your head high, keep your chin up, and most importantly, keep smiling, because life's a beautiful thing and there's so much to smile about.

Keep smiling, because life is a beautiful thing and there's so much to smile about.

When you have a good friend that really cares for you and tries to stick in there with you, you treat them like nothing. Learn to be a good friend because one day you're gonna look up and say I lost a good friend. Learn how to be respectful to your friends, don't just start arguments with them and don't tell them the reason, always remember your friends will be there quicker than your family. Learn to remember you got great friends, don't forget that and they will always care for you no matter what. Always remember to smile and look up at what you got in life.

He had a new girl, and I told him she looked like Marilyn Monroe. He smiled because he thought I meant she was beautiful, and I smiled because I meant she looked like a corpse.

So keep your head high, keep your chin up, and most importantly, keep smiling, because life's a beautiful thing and there's so much to smile about.

Always, always, always believe in yourself, because if you don't, then who will, Sweetie? So keep your head high, keep your chin up, and most importantly, keep smiling, because life's a beautiful thing and there's so much to smile about.

A smile is the best makeup a girl could wear

just because you fail once, it doesn't mean you're going to fail at everything. keep trying, hold on, and always, always, always believe in yourself because if you don't, then who will? so keep your head high, keep your chin up, and most importantly, keep smiling because life's a beautiful thing and there's so much to smile about.

Always remember to smile and look up at what you got in life.

You’ll make a sucky father someday,” I tell him with a smile. “I feel sorry for the kid that doesn’t get to burst into light to get out of your house.” He chokes out a laugh. “Is it my sarcasm?” “Definitely. And that obnoxious accent.

Lauren leaned over and grabbed the bottle, pouring some into his glass. For a minute, they just sat next to each other in silence. Then Lauren said, "This is oddly familiar. Only it used to be whiskey." Michael smiled. "And it used to be straight out of the bottle. We've classed it up a bit, apparently.

See how people smile when they see a butterfly? They can't help themselves. Butterflies are joy with wings.

Oh no, I think Boobear is hurt.” It took some serious thinking, but I finally decoded the mystery. “Do you mean Boudmare?” “Yeah, that’s him. His nickname is Boobear.” “The commentators are calling him Boobear?” I asked, fighting a smile. “No, I nicknamed him Boobear. He looks like a giant teddy bear. He’s so cute!” “Oh, dear God,” Thatch groaned. “Oh,

Don’t worry, honey,” he said, his lips mere inches from mine. “We’re on the same page.” “But how do you know?” I asked. “What if we’re not even reading the same fucking book?” “Because I know.” His mouth quirked up at the corners as a confident smile took over his lips. “We’re on the same word, in the same paragraph, on the same page, in the same fantastic fucking book.” “But how do you know?” “Because it’s our book, Cassie. Yours and mine. This is our story, and I’ll be damned if I let it end badly.

Hey, Mrs. Jakes, how come people can’t afford new shoes or food, but they can still buy candy?” She smiled and waved him off. “Oh, people will always find a way to buy chocolate, Elliot. Chocolate is forever.

This is my wish for you. Comfort on difficult days, smiles when sadness intrudes, rainbows to chase the clouds away, laughter to kiss your lips, sunsets to warm your heart, hugs when spirits sag, beauty for your eyes to see, friendships to brighten your being, faith so that you can believe, confidence for you when you doubt, courage to know yourself, patience to accept the truth and love to complete your life. I love you, baby boy.

Brandy Alexander smiling and looking terrific. “They’re Vicodins, dear,” she says. “It’s the Marilyn Monroe school of medicine where enough of any drug will cure any disease.

Charles smiled. “Allison showed up for work while you were away,

Keep smiling, because life is a beautiful thing and there is so much to smile about.

It’s magic. It’s perfect. It’s hands-down the sexiest moment of my entire life. And then my stomach gurgles loudly. Zach pulls away, smiling. “Was that you, or a truck passing somewhere?

The vic who looked to be the older of the two had bleach stains on his pants.” I smiled at the men in our group, because they were about to get the raspberries. “Now, granted, he was a man.

Maybe not the puking,” he affirms with a wink. “But everything right up until that moment and beyond…” He shrugs. “I feel privileged just to be around you, Brooke. No one makes me smile like you do.

Despite how horrifying today had been, my knees trembled when his warm body bucked softly against me. His eyes met mine in the mirror, and he gave one of those half-smiles only very hot guys could master.

Julia Kline, you’ve spent your whole life running and all you’ve done is run farther away from the love that’s been waiting for you all along. The first time you smiled at me with your two missing teeth you had my undivided attention. When you laugh, I want to laugh with you. When you cry, I want to be the one to hold you. When you said you loved me, you highjacked my heart forever. They say that love is the condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own. Your happiness is what I will spend the rest of my life striving to give you. I love you so much. Will you do the honor of marrying me?

inevitable. The characters we’ve come to know and love are no longer part of our lives. This can leave us with a certain longing. Perhaps we’ll open the book again and skim through it, searching out favorite passages to kindle again those powerful emotions. But the passion is never stirred quite as strong the second time around. So it is with life. We rush through the days that we’re given, eager to engage in the conflicts and passions, to push through and conquer and see how it all ends. When suddenly the end is in sight, we’re surprised. We stall, frantically savoring each moment. The sun shines brighter, the smiles appear more tender and we listen for words of love with an urgency that would be poignant if it were

What is your name?” asked the smiling man. “Marilyn,” Valkyrie mumbled. “Marilyn Monroe.” “And where are you from, Marilyn?” “Graceland.” “And where is Graceland?” “It’s where Elvis lives.” The smiling man nodded. “I don’t know these people, but I know a lie when I hear one. Are you going to start telling me the truth at all today, or will I just have my associate continue to hit you?” “I’ll tell you the truth.” “Good. Where are you from?” “Your butt.” The big guy hit her again. It was worth it.

I took her face in my hands and brought her close so only she could hear. “This is the day we meet for the first time and the rest of forever.” “I still don’t understand,” she cried, so I kissed her lips and prepared myself for what came next. “You promised me a long time ago that when it was all over, you’d bring me to my knees.” I let go of her face and took her hand. “I hope one will do.” I lowered myself to one knee and looked her in her eyes. “You chased away the monsters and became my reason—my forever. I’m yours, Lake Monroe. Will you marry me today?” “Yes, I fucking will,” she screamed. Just then, a light showering of flower petals rained down on us, and when she looked up, her breath caught. Buddy sat on the edge of the monkey bars with a handful flowers, sprinkling them over us. “Buddy!” “You were my hero.” He grinned. She smiled up at him and then turned to face me, and I nodded at the priest to begin. “We are gathered together to celebrate the very special love between bride and groom, by joining them in marriage…

Dude, wait until you see the hot little number on there!” He was grinning like the Cheshire cat. “What are you talking about? Aren’t all flight attendant’s middle-aged, blonde women?” “Not this one. She’s feisty too, kneed me right in the balls.” I smiled, and it was actually genuine. I wondered if he was fucking with me. But, it was enough to peak my curiosity. I slowly walked towards the plane wondering if it was going to be a grandma, or something. It wouldn’t be the first time. I really hoped that it wasn’t some die-hard groupie either. As soon as I reached the top of the stairs I almost tripped and fell on my face when I got my first look at her. She was gorgeous! She looked like she walked straight off of a pin-up girl calendar. She had long, black hair with strands of hot pink. I appraised my way down her body. She had a slim waist and curvy hips. She was built like an hourglass. I noticed a couple of sexy facial piercings. She had an adorable little nose and big brown eyes. Then I saw a tattoo peeking out on her shoulder. I could tell that she had a chest piece. I was instantly hard. Awesome…

But what George [Monroe] really gave me was a model of how to live. Though he had experienced a lifetime of tragedy, including burying his wife and two of his sons, that went far beyond the events of the riot, he was not consumed by hate, crippled by rage, or burdened by slf-pity. He had no shortage of strong opinions, but he also knew how to smile, how to laugh, and how not to take himself too seriously. He had worked hard all his life, yet had never found work to be a burden. His secret? 'Find out what you like to do,' he'd tell me, 'and do that. It's that simple.

All stories come to an end. That moment when we sigh and close the book, perhaps sit back in our chair and rest our palm over the cover, is met with quixotic emotions. On the one hand, we're satisfied if the author successfully tied up loose ends, turned a memorable phrase and rewarded the hero's moral choice with his heart's desire. Yet we're also saddened that the adventure is over. Sometimes when we see that we only have a few pages left we slow down, savoring each word, staving off the inevitable. The characters we've come to know and love are no longer part of our lives. This can leave us with a certain longing. Perhaps we'll open the book again and skim through it, searching our favorite passages to kindle again those powerful emotions. But the passion is never stirred quite as strong the second time around. ...We stall, frantically savoring each moment. The sun shines brighter, the smiles appear more tender and we listen for words of love with an urgency that would be poignant. ...Isn't life grand?

the present grandeur and prospective pre-eminence of that glorious American Republic, in which Europe enviously seeks its model and tremblingly foresees its doom. Selecting for an example of the social life of the United States that city in which progress advances at the fastest rate, I indulged in an animated description of the moral habits of New York. Mortified to see, by the faces of my listeners, that I did not make the favourable impression I had anticipated, I elevated my theme; dwelling on the excellence of democratic institutions, their promotion of tranquil happiness by the government of party, and the mode in which they diffused such happiness throughout the community by preferring, for the exercise of power and the acquisition of honours, the lowliest citizens in point of property, education, and character. Fortunately recollecting the peroration of a speech, on the purifying influences of American democracy and their destined spread over the world, made by a certain eloquent senator (for whose vote in the Senate a Railway Company, to which my two brothers belonged, had just paid 20,000 dollars), I wound up by repeating its glowing predictions of the magnificent future that smiled upon mankind—when the flag of freedom should float over an entire continent, and two hundred millions of intelligent citizens, accustomed from infancy to the daily use of revolvers, should apply to a cowering universe the doctrine of the Patriot Monroe.

The sun starts to sink lower over the ocean, and Zach somehow magics up a fire from driftwood and kindling. And then he brings out the marshmallows. Not a bag of mass-produced, uniform white cylinders of sugar. But two not-quite-square, hand-made, artisanal marshmallows. I look up at him. “Are you kidding me right now?” The right side of his mouth kicks up in a smirk that says I gave him exactly the reaction he was looking for. “Nope,” he says. “I asked the baker and she made these special for us. After all, I did promise you.” He grabs a forked stick and roasts them for us. When they’re perfectly golden brown and sagging off the stick, he slides it onto a graham cracker, and adds a square of chocolate. I put the entire thing in my mouth. “Ohmigod!” I murmur. “This is amazing!” “Transcendent?” he teases. “Absolutely.” I agree, licking some of the sugar off my fingers. He grabs my wrist and the next thing I know, he’s licking the sugar off my fingers. Oh God, and now I’m thinking of last night and what else he licked. As I watch, his eyes get intense; he’s thinking the same. “We can’t have sex on the beach,” I say breathlessly. “Too sandy.” “You have a one-track mind, don’t you?” he teases. “I only brought you here for the sunset.” Aaaand now I feel like an idiot. “Right,” I cough, blushing. “Well, thank you.” “But …” He adds, his mouth curving into that sexy smile that kills me. “That doesn’t mean we can’t … kiss.” His hand comes up to push a stray lock of hair behind my ear. I nod because resistance is futile. The best I can do is make light of it so he can’t see the emotion coursing through me. “I’m pretty sure it’s the law that when you drink wine and eat artisanal marshmallows on the beach, you have to kiss.” I wave vaguely toward where we left the car. “I saw it on the sign by the parking lot.” “Well, if it’s a law,” he grins. A second later, his lips find mine. He tastes like wine and sugar, and pure Zach. I sigh in pleasure. This picnic, the marshmallows—everything—just might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me. But that perfect sunset? We totally miss it. After all, there are better things to do.

I’m Scarlet,” she said. The smile never left her lips for a second. “Scarlet Monroe.” She was absolutely gorgeous. With her long blonde mane of hair, almost pure-white porcelain skin, those ruby red lips and the queenly arched eyebrows, it was impossible not to notice how beautiful she was. But her being beautiful didn’t strike me right off the bat. It wasn’t the first thing I noticed about her. What that first thing was, it’s impossible for me to say. Any skull has a human face, but that’s not the first thing anyone notices about a skeleton—that it was human once, and so still is.

Really? You’re doing the work yourself?” If she had been a dog, I imagined her ears would have perked up. I smiled and nodded. “Really. I had an electrician work on the wiring and Thatch and Wes have helped me a couple of times with the heavy lifting, but I’ve done most of it myself.” She slammed an open hand down on my thigh and squeezed, her expression deadpan. “I think I just orgasmed.” I shoved the gearshift into park and reached for her neck at the same time. I rubbed my nose with hers and smiled before touching my lips to hers just once. “Please, Benny. For the love of all that’s holy, hold on to that thought—and the easy trigger.

I’m not lying,” I said, fighting a smile. Dean pointed to my mouth. “Says the girl who’s notorious for smiling or giggling nervously whenever she’s lying.” Shit. I covered my mouth. “Honey, you are too much,” he teased, placing his hand at the small of my back. “Now, let’s get your lying ass inside that deli so I can fight the starvation that’s threatening to take place.

The commentators are calling him Boobear?” I asked, fighting a smile. “No, I nicknamed him Boobear. He looks like a giant teddy bear. He’s so cute!” “Oh, dear God,” Thatch groaned. “Oh,

She had but one hope. “Lord,” she prayed, her voice raspy in her tight throat. “I’m not here to complain. You know me better than that after all this time. But the Bible says You never close a door without opening a window. So I’m praying for You to open the window. You know how things are between Cara and me. It will probably take a miracle to make peace. But You’re famous for those, so I’m hopeful. Please, Lord, that’s all I’m asking for. Not more time. I’d go willingly if I knew things were settled here before I left.” She smiled ruefully. “I’m going whether it’s willingly or not—I know that, too.” Her smile fell as she grimaced in pain. “Please, Lord, answer this one small prayer. Not just for me, but for Cara. Help me play with my child once more before I die. Bring my Cara home.

February 13: On its cover Se Og Hor (Denmark) features a shot of Karen Blixen (Isak Dinesen) and Marilyn (dressed in a fur stole and low-cut dress) smiling over a large manuscript.

February 17: Andre de Dienes publishes a color photograph of Norma Jeane on the cover of Parade. He shoots her from her left side. She is wearing a green sweater and yellow-gold slacks in a strongly diagonal shot that shows her posed against a mountainside, her right and left hands touching a rock face, her right knee bent as though she is climbing. She is smiling and looking directly at the camera. Her sleeves are rolled up, and on her left arm is a lady’s watch. The photograph was taken in Death Valley in 1945.

are not to be published in book form. All material has to be presented for her approval: “This magazine article shall be signed either by me as the author or by you as the author as I may at my option elect.” Oggi (Italy) shows a smiling Marilyn among a group of soldiers during her Korean campaign.

January 20: Andre de Dienes’s color photograph of Marilyn on Mount Hood is on the cover of Vecko Revyn (Sweden). She is wearing a snow cap and a red sweater, and snow covers her pants and left leg, which is bent in a kneeling posture as she smiles straight at the camera.

Baked Beans, Best Before 8/2020.” Suddenly the light in my hand is gone, and the room returns to black. I smile. Beans twelve years past their prime are better than nothing.

When a Single Glance Can Cost a Million Dollars Under conditions of stress, the human body responds in predictable ways: increased heart rate, pupil dilation, perspiration, fine motor tremors, tics. In high-pressure situations, such as negotiating an employment package or being cross-examined under oath, no matter how we might try to play it cool, our bodies give us away. We broadcast our emotional state, just as Marilyn Monroe broadcast her lust for President Kennedy. We each exhibit a unique and consistent pattern of stress signals. For those who know how to read such cues, we’re essentially handing over a dictionary to our body language. Those closest to us probably already recognize a few of our cues, but an expert can take it one step further, and closely predict our actions. Jeff “Happy” Shulman is one such expert. Happy is a world-class poker player. To achieve his impressive winnings, he’s spent much of his life mastering mystique. At the highest level of play, winning depends not merely on skill, experience, statistics, or even luck with the cards, but also on an intimate understanding of human nature. In poker, the truth isn’t written just all over your face. The truth is written all over your body. Drops of Sweat, a Nervous Blink, and Other “Tells” Tournament poker is no longer a game of cards, but a game of interpretation, deception, and self-control. In an interview, Happy says that memorizing and recognizing your opponent’s nuances can be more decisive than luck or skill. Imperceptible gestures can reveal a million dollars’ worth of information. Players call these gestures “tells.” With a tell, a player unintentionally exposes his thoughts and intentions to the rest of the table. The ability to hide one’s tells—and conversely, to read the other players’ tells—offers a distinct advantage. At the amateur level, tells are simpler. Feet and legs are the biggest moving parts of your body, so skittish tapping is a dead giveaway. So is looking at a hand of cards and smiling, or rearranging cards with quivering fingertips. But at the professional level, tells would be almost impossible for you or me to read. Happy spent his career learning how to read these tells. “If you know what the other player is going to do, it’s easier to defend against it.” Like others competing at his level, Happy might prepare for a major tournament by spending hours reviewing tapes of his competitors’ previous games in order to instantly translate their tells during live competition.

Hamilton tried to smile it off as patrons looked his way.  He took his napkin and tried to wipe it off.  But there was no wiping away the reality.  Roz, he now knew, was not the one.

January 28: Marilyn attends a March of Dimes fashion show at the Waldorf Astoria, held to benefit children with polio. She is photoraphed with several children, smiling and talking with them, as well as posing for the camera.

February 25: Mr. and Mrs. Rupe write to Marilyn about their son’s reaction to her Korean trip. They quote his letter to them: “When she appeared on the stage, there was just a sort of gasp from the audience—a single gasp multiplied by the 12,000 soldiers present, was quite a gasp. . . . She is certainly making a lot of friends here . . . unlike the other entertainers . . . after the show she autographed, chatted, and posed for pictures. Then thru all the trucks and jeeps she rode perched on top of the seat of her jeep, smiling and waving. . . . She came to the divisions that have been so long on the line, and by-passed the easy duty in Seoul, Inchon, and the sunshine cities.” One of the soldier’s parents adds, “You are a real soldier. I know what the trip cost you. But you didn’t disappoint those boys.

February 8: Marilyn does her “black sitting” session with Milton Greene. Marilyn poses in black hat and fishnet stockings, her face partially in shadow. She also appears in a shot where she lies down, her left leg extended in the air, as she covers part of her face with her hands. She also kneels, drink in hand, smiling. She props herself up with her arms and draws her knees into her body, with half her face in the dark—a study in moody bifurcation. Greene’s photographs will eventually punctuate the text of Norman Mailer’s Of Women and Their Elegance. In the evening Marilyn, wearing a white fur coat over a low-cut dress, long black gloves, and jeweled earrings that stretch all the way down her neck, attends the premiere of Middle of the Night, a Paddy Chayefsky play directed by Josh Logan.

February 9: In the company of Laurence Olivier, Marilyn calls a press conference in the Terrace Room of the Plaza Hotel to announce their joint project, The Sleeping Prince (later titled The Prince and the Showgirl). Publicity shows a smiling Marilyn, flanked by Olivier on her right and Rattigan on her left, gazing at her. In front of more than 150 reporters and photographers, one of the straps on her dress breaks, setting off a flurry of photography until a safety pin repairs the strap. One shot shows the dangling pin after it comes undone—twice.

February 26: Picture Week features a smiling Marilyn in black-and-white, dressed casually in a loose blouse, resting the right side of her face on her hands and her upper body on her elbows. “A Glimpse into Marilyn’s Future” is the promising headline. Joe DiMaggio takes Marilyn to a birthday party for Jackie Gleason at Toots Shor’s restaurant. Marilyn is photographed signing autographs, laughing with Gleason and DiMaggio, and with a very satisfied looking Milton Berle. She gets a splinter when she sits on a wooden chair, and actress Audrey Meadows removes the splinter with a straight needle sterilized with a cigarette lighter.

Once I found her sitting straight up at the dining room table with her eyes half open, staring at nothing. When I touched her shoulder, she didn’t even look at me. In spite of all this, or maybe because of it, I always smiled and said hi to her in the halls. I helped her with her English Lit homework and practically did her PowerPoint presentation on the New York Stock Exchange on the morning that it was due. Even so, whenever she saw me coming, she always looked away, like she knew how much crap people gave me about it—not my real friends; I’m talking about world-class losers like Dean Whittaker and Shep Monroe, rich jerks whose Fortune 500 dads swam the icy seas of international finance looking for their next meal. None of that bothered me.

February 4: Today (England) shows a smiling Arthur Miller with Marilyn in the polka dress she wears in The Misfits. The headline reads, “Monroe and Miller: The Full Facts.

Thank you, Lord, for allowing me to live another day.” Then she smiled with introspection. “Another summer.” For

She smiled too high, that’s what was wrong, and it made deep lines around her nose. We taught her how to bring her smile down and show her lower teeth.

Sorry,” she said after a few minutes. Her voice was still a bit raspy, and she cleared her throat. “I couldn’t sleep last night,” she said, and she sounded nearly human again. “So I had a few shots of dark rum.” She shrugged. “Okay, more than a few. Anyway, it didn’t work. So I took a couple of sleeping pills.” Jackie closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. “Boy, oh, boy, did that work,” she said. “I think I almost pulled a Marilyn.” “A what?” I said. “Monroe,” she said with a very small smile. “You know, screen goddess takes fatal overdose. Oh, my head.

I hated it. I hated the weak part of myself that wanted to accept his soft smile and let it thaw my chilly disposition.

Do you believe you have a Robin Hood complex, Mr.…umm, Monroe?” I bare my teeth in a half-smile. “If that’s what turns you on, Kitty cat, then sure.

lanterns are strung between the buildings, and under them is a cute bistro table set for two, with white linens and a vase of roses. What the hell? Then a three-piece mariachi band steps from the shadows and starts to play. I look around wildly. Am I on some kind of YouTube prank show? What is Zoey doing? Then I realize, the song they’re playing is weirdly familiar. Pretty Woman. It can’t be … My heart stops. I almost don’t want to hope, but when I turn around, there he is. Zach. And he’s got a smile on his face.

Warriors of a kind’ he then added, smiling. ‘And why should you not be? If you are not a warrior within then you have fear. Fear is one of the most dangerous things for people. Fear pulls a person further into the trap of your reality and lessens your potential for perception. Fear is a wonderful distracter; it keeps you occupied on the mundane, and on the false.

Monroe turned away from the water and gave me a casual smile. ‘You see, humans are so impatient. They wish to see change yesterday. They believe they are the drivers of change on this planet. Yet they are blissfully ignorant of the bigger picture – of the evolutionary picture.

Mark shook his head and smiled at what he was being told. “How are you able to do all of this without it being a privacy issue?” Adrian smiled as he replied, “It’s in the disclaimer of the game. It’s not our fault users don’t read it.

Zane knew he needed to pull out the big guns. "I'm falling in love with you, Monroe O'Connor." Her gray eyes went wide. "No." "Yes." "No." She shook her head, looking terrified. It almost made Zane smile. "You don't get to tell me how I feel." He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her until she made a sweet little moan. "I love you, Monroe." Turbulent gray eyes met his- filled with a mix of fear, wonder, and love. "And you love me back," he added.

stamp or where they sealed the envelope?” I asked. “Sure, we’ll check those too. That’s common procedure, but we have nothing to compare it to.” Jack added his two cents. “The message itself sounds kind of like the hell-and-damnation type of speech. Somebody in the clergy or even a religious zealot could have written it.” Clayton slowly read the message out loud again. “Yeah, I see where you’re coming from, Jack. It does sound kind of preachy.” “Yes it does,” I said, “but we still don’t know if it’s a serious threat or just someone blowing smoke.” Clark stood. “Okay, guys, check out whatever you can as far as forensic evidence. Make ten copies of that letter before you get started. The rest of you, keep your eyes and ears peeled for somebody with an ax to grind. That’s all we can do for now.” Chapter 2 The long driveway beyond the dead-end road led to the small, faded clapboard house. The walls inside the home held family secrets that were as dead and buried as the family dog. Nobody spoke of Alice’s incident anymore—it was neatly tucked away, hopefully forgotten, and life carried on. Forced smiles and the cautious daily routine filled the family’s waking hours. Alice’s eyes darted toward Mandy and then at the clock. She watched as her twenty-year-old daughter crossed the living room, barefoot and still wearing her green flannel bathrobe. Mandy took a seat on the old floral couch, as she did every day at eleven o’clock. The dark-paneled living room in that house held the sofa, a rocker, two end tables, and two velvet wall hangings of horses. The sofa had seen better days—sun fading had taken a toll on it after being in front of windows year after year. What used to be vibrant colors on that threadbare couch now appeared as pastel hues at best. Two flattened cushions looked as though somebody had let the air out of them; they held permanent indentions from years of use.

Someone is standing next to him, and as I near them and focus on the man, I’m left speechless. It's like he stepped off the pages of a men's fitness magazine, with muscle in places I didn't think muscle existed. His muscles have muscles. He's not terribly tall, but that's okay. Neither am I. But he's fit and tan and rippled gorgeousness. He stands out in this place that’s usually filled with space nerds or kids on field trips. I am immediately curious why he's here and why Richard is smiling awkwardly.

would not share the truth of your immunity from the Hades Virus, Tatum. Even if keeping this secret meant every star in the heavens would fall from the sky and everyone on earth would die in a fiery blaze." I inhaled deeply in surprise then leaned forward and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tight. "Thank you." "I'm your Night Keeper, Tatum," he purred. "And I will keep you safe from anything and everything I can.” I smiled at him and he leaned in again as if to kiss me, my breath catching in my throat. But then the door slammed downstairs and the sound of Kyan, Blake and Monroe talking in concerned voices reached up to us. “Where’s Tate?” Blake asked anxiously and I drew away from Saint, chewing my lip as I gazed at him. There was a vow in his eyes which told me he was going to show me how deeply he could possess me soon enough. But not now. And that was infuriating, because I was desperate to show him how deeply I could possess him too.

Keep smiling because life is a beautiful thing and there’s so much

am not a man, Diarmid.”“What do you mean? You look like a man, that’s for sure.”“I’m a seraph,”Michael responded calmly. “Some people call us angels. I’m an archangel.”Diarmid stared at Michael blankly. Apparently he had never heard of such a thing. Joni gripped my arm tightly. We were probably even more stunned by Michael’s announcement than Diarmid was perplexed. “It means I’m a messenger,”Michael continued. “I’m an ambassador, carrying out my master’s will. I am one of God’s messengers.”Diarmid raised his eyebrows. “Which one? There are so many gods. Every visitor or tradesman who visits our clan seems to claim different gods. I can’t keep them straight.”“Surely you are familiar with the Great Tree. The Tree of the Spirit Bull?”Michael’s inquiry was met with a grin of satisfaction and an open-mouthed, “Ahh.”His previous bewilderment was immediately replaced with an air of confidence. “I know this one,”Diarmid said resolutely. “The great branch. Taranus. The White Bull. The Creator. From his branch, Hu-Esus, the ideal man who will one day emerge from the tree and guide us all to perfection. And Beli, the Great Flame. A fire that burns still in man, guiding him back to the tree. Together, united in one trunk, all rooted in Ana-Earth, but extending its reach upward toward the skies.”“Indeed,”Michael responded with a smile. “Ceridwen has taught you well. That is the God whom I represent.”“One? But that’s three gods. Taranus, Hu-Esus, and Beli.”“Distinctly three, yes. But together, unified by a single trunk. They are ever distinct, ever inseparable. A unity. I serve all three, even as I serve the one. Together this God is known as All Father, the creator of the world. The One who made you and me. The animals. The forest around us. All of it.

That never could have happened if he hadn’t been a guy. For one, girls aren’t allowed to wear onesies to school. They’re deemed immodest. Because, you know, distracting female bodies pose a huge educational barrier for the poor boys. And if a girl had done that zany dance, either it’d have been sexualized or it’d have been stupid, depending on the girl. “She’s hot,” people would say. Or “She’s weird.” That morning, leaving Town Meeting, everyone was jostling one another, still in high spirits. “Andy is so out there.” Voices dripping with admiration. “He’s such a…” They couldn’t even finish. No words. Shake head. Smile, smile, smile. What they meant, of course, was this: Andy Monroe is so, so freaking cool. Right after that dance—still in the onesie!—he tapped the mike and said, “Next announcement. The Service Club is hosting a winter-coat drive on behalf of the Coalition for the Homeless.” A girl wouldn’t be allowed to bridge both worlds, the silly and the sober. To be taken seriously, she’d have to act serious, and her seriousness would make her unelectable—just as a lack of seriousness would. It was a quintessential catch-22, and we couldn’t even call it out, because it sounded like an excuse. Well, I could be that cool, if I were a guy…. We couldn’t say it, but we felt it. We felt it as surely as we felt the weight of our bodies, because, like gravity, it was a truth about how it worked, this world we knew. Girls didn’t even consider running for Chawton School chairman because, as girls, we knew, we knew deep in our bones, that we would always lose.

However, it is important to note that Breonna Taylor's story does not solely define her. While she may not have pursued a career as a doctor, nurse, or ambulance personnel, (she wasn’t Holy Mary) it is unfair to dismiss her intelligence or potential. As much as it is unfair to say „she was such a bright lady, and was always doing the right things in life, she was about to become a doctor, saving lives, and of course she was such a good kid.” The evidence shows otherwise. „Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Martina was such a good kid too. On the surface. The mask of sanity. Mirroring the victim. Illusion. Illusionist. Not with her hairy thing. But that smile. Like Monroe in the movies. „Hollywood.” „Holy.” Wood. The Cross. The Show. Atop a hill. „Look look.

What was I saying?” I pause to sip my ice water. I’ve lost the thread of my story. I had been telling Marie and Tonio about Emily and Paul’s wedding. “Well, it was gorgeous.” I smile at Marie. “The prettiest wedding I’ve been to. It was at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Marilyn Monroe once lived in one of the bungalows.

—who definitely didn’t found this whole business herself without no help from anyone or anything,” I finished. “What an altruist!” And smiling as sweetly as apple pie, still keeping eye contact, I tossed his business card right out the window. You could have framed the look on his face and sold it for a million dollars. “Goodbye, Mr. Young.

avoiding her, but to my surprise, she got out of the chair and walked over to me. “I’m not trying to cause any problems by being here,” I said. Shelby crossed her arms in front of her. “Yeah, whatever.” She half-pointed to a side room. “My dad’s in there.” “Are you okay?” She looked at me like I was crazy. “Why? Are you going to do something for me if I’m not?” She was hurting. Now was the time to keep my mouth shut. I smiled and

But what George [Monroe] really gave me was a model of how to live. Though he had experienced a lifetime of tragedy, including burying his wife and two of his sons, that went far beyond the events of the riot, he was not consumed by hate, crippled by rage, or burdened by self-pity. He had no shortage of strong opinions, but he also knew how to smile, how to laugh, and how not to take himself too seriously. He had worked hard all his life, yet had never found work to be a burden. His secret? 'Find out what you like to do,' he'd tell me, 'and do that. It's that simple.

When Robinson and Davis take over at orientation, they bark at the new recruits to stand up, then issue their first command: “Smile.” Students will learn a lot of things in Strive, but the first lesson is how to smile. The first few days are devoted to it. The new class members are always confused, and then they start to smile—except for about 20 percent of the room, who stand stone-faced. Robinson calls out those who don’t smile, pulls them up to the front of the room, and says, “This is my smile crew.” He tells the rest of the room to cheer until they can get these men and women, mostly men, to finally crack a smile. The claps and hoots and whistles rise in a crescendo heard throughout the building. Meanwhile, Davis and Robinson walk up and down the line, yelling, “Smile,” and pantomiming it, using their fingers to pull the corners of their own mouths back. The reluctant recruits roll their eyes. Some get tense, their faces get stuck in passive displays of aggression, as Robinson goes up and down the line and mocks: “Is it painful? Is there a medical condition? Smile!” He and Davis continue their full-on assault of well-wishing and joking and silliness until one by one, the students fold. A smile is the Strive game face, they explain. “I’m not asking you to smile on North Monroe Street at two in the morning,” Davis says. “I’m asking you to smile in here.” It’s usually the youngest men who bow out at this stage—the 19- and 20-year-olds who are too cool to tolerate the corniness, the guys who’ve been strongly encouraged to try Strive by some parole officer or social worker attempting to keep them from spending their twenties in prison. It’s the older guys who are eager to cooperate. They’re hungry.

Seeing him on my TV screen made my woowoo smile. Smelling him in person made my woowoo jump up and down doing a rain dance.

Everyone wanted to talk at her, tell her how she felt, tell her to put on a smile and muddle through, but no one could be bothered to listen. To see how much she hurt